The Heir Affair

Freddie—all while pretending the reporters trailing us hadn’t just spent weeks calling me Duchess Degenerate. It was a high-wire act with no room for mistakes, especially with suspicion of me and my motives at an all-time high. Everyone knew that we knew that they knew that we knew that they knew what was at stake. To get through it, I had to believe in it. I had to put my faith in the notion that the sooner Nick and Freddie and I convinced the public that everything was fine—there was that word again—the sooner it actually would be.
*  *  *
The morning of the event, my nervousness had taken root and sprouted thorns. I had meant to stop reading the blogs devoted to covering me, but they’re as easy to quit as smoking (and about as hazardous to my health). People mostly fell into two camps: betrayed by my duplicity, or fiercely certain that every word Clive wrote was a lie. Those in the middle—even and often especially the ones with well-reasoned theories skating close to the truth—got shouted down and chased away. And every single one of them was itching to see what I would wear for my first public event since my disastrous wedding. Donna had been making pulls for weeks in anticipation of this exact eventuality, and would later be tasked with passing that information to the Palace’s social media director. Someone had to make sure reporters found out that my beige suede shoes were Jimmy Choos (pricey, to indicate that I wasn’t half-assing this) and my simple pink day dress was from Boden (a high-street brand, to communicate that I hadn’t been blowing all The Firm’s money).
Even so, managing all those outside expectations was practically uncomplicated compared to the other major X factor. I hadn’t spoken to Freddie in person since the night we were recalled to Balmoral. I’d seen him out the library window coming and going, and I’d texted him twice to ask if he wanted to come dig through Georgina’s junk, or join us for dinner. Both times, he’d been otherwise engaged.
Right before we were meant to leave for Hampton Court, I saw Freddie wander over and sit on our front steps to bury his nose in our dossier for this appearance. My stomach sank. Normally, Freddie wouldn’t think twice about walking in and flopping on the couch—hell, the first time we met, it was because he’d snuck into Nick’s room as a joke—but now he couldn’t even stand to ring the bell. I decided to force a conversation even if it killed him. Apparently, the main duty of the Duchess of Clarence was finagling recalcitrant royals into talking.
I pulled open the door as subtly as I could, poked out my head, and then shouted, “Why didn’t you knock?”
Freddie jumped, nearly dropping the dossier. He closed it around his finger to mark his place, and got to his feet. “I, uh, didn’t know if you’d be ready,” he said.
I eased outside and closed the door, then waved my hand in a ta-da motion. “My duchess costume is a go.”
He took a step back against the railing. “You look extremely unscandalous. Where’s Nick?”
“On the phone. Probably getting yelled at about something.”
“I heard Gran is giving you a rough go,” Freddie said.
“She is the immovable object and the unstoppable force, all at once,” I said. “Lacey’s theory is that she’s testing my moxie.”
“How is Lacey?” Freddie asked, a genuine smile on his face.
“She’s great. We Skyped the other day and it’s obvious she’s happy, even though she’s had to become a morning person. The time stamps on her emails are early as hell.”
“At least she’s finding time to reach out and put things in writing,” Freddie said.
A silence, pregnant with meaning, stretched between us.
I nudged him with my foot. “I’ve seen the woman visiting you.”
Freddie turned inward. “I can’t, Bex. Not now. Not with you.”
“Fred,” I began, shifting so that I was next to him. “I started so many texts, Freddie. I wanted to email. But I didn’t—”
“You can stop right there. You didn’t,” he said.
His face had turned pink. My heart simultaneously rose into my throat and sank into my feet.
“I hate that we made you feel alone,” I said.
“But you don’t hate that you left me alone.”
I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t. Leaving, and hiding, had been easier for me than staying and dealing with the fallout. Maybe we should have stayed. For Freddie, for the family, for The Firm. But I knew I’d make that same decision again. Nick and I had an entire lifetime ahead in which we’d doubtless, and often, surrender our personal needs for family and country, so even in the face of Freddie’s anguish, I couldn’t rightly say I felt regret.
“I know this was hard for you,” I said instead. “But it was hard for us, too, Freddie. That was our wedding day, and it was an epic disaster. I don’t think either one of us was in our right mind. Put yourself in Nick’s shoes.”
“You think I haven’t ever put myself in Nick’s shoes?” Freddie hissed.
“He would not have gotten his feet back underneath him if we’d stayed here,” I pressed on, opting to ignore his implication. “I hate seeing you like this and knowing it’s my fault, Freddie. I hate it. But staying would have killed us, and…we’re married. We have to be each other’s priority.”
“Yes, being cut out was a nasty reminder that we’re not three anymore,” he said. “We’re two and one. Things were already changing, and then they got infinitely worse.”
He appeared, for a split second, to check the door for any sign of Nick. “I don’t have a right to have expected more from Nick, but it was shitty that you abandoned me to deal with this by myself. I’d already been pretending I didn’t care that you chose him, that it didn’t hurt, that my heart wasn’t broken. But when you ran, it was like it happened all over again, only this time