Reluctantly Royal
Page 8

I balled my hands into fists at my sides and squeezed my eyes shut. What the hell was I going to do with that man? Grandfather had refused to believe he wasn’t worth saving—that he wouldn’t turn around at some point—but I knew better. I knew that my old man would sell us for a pint. Hell, he had sold his father’s life story before the man was cold and in his grave.
Soft footsteps broke my train of thought and I looked up into the face of one of the housekeepers. Quickly I wiped my cheeks and fought a sniffle.
“Can I help you?”
“My lady, I just wanted to let you know that Gerard, the head butler, accompanied your grandfather today. He wasn’t alone.” She smiled apologetically. “I know you worried about him, with you being so far away, but we all treated him like he was our own family.”
“Yes, you did.” I smiled and stood up a little straighter. It did help to know that he wasn’t alone. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She dipped her head briefly. “If you need anything, let us know. Gerard will help get everything ready for the funeral.”
When she left I slumped back against the door frame. I was tired; mentally, emotionally, and physically. I had no idea how to plan a funeral, but needed to get started. How long did Lilarians wait before having the service? Would it be scandalous to cremate my grandfather? Or did the family have some kind of special tomb? A royal burial ground? I smacked my head against the door frame once before standing back up.
There was too much to do to stand here having a pity party. Granddad would tell me to stop worrying and to get going. He’d be right, of course. Worrying wouldn’t get anything accomplished.
Inside my room, the blankets were already turned down and there was a packet of information lying on the foot of my bed. I picked the envelope up from the white duvet and pulled the papers out. There were different packages of services that could be held. Notes had been made in the margins to let me know what would be expected for a duke’s burial.
Even after the last few years it was hard to keep my eyes from bugging out of my head at the totals that were highlighted. My grandfather was going to have a burial fit for a king. Well, a duke anyway. Good grief, there were requirements for the type of ceremony he should receive. And one of the royal family members would be present? Were they serious?
Granddad would have wanted something small and simple. Probably with a round of pints for all. The ceremony these papers outlined was far from an intimate family gathering. There were lists of flowers, how many pallbearers were required. Pallbearers? Six were required. Penciled in next to the words were three names; men who had worked for my grandfather, including Gerard, who had made the notes.
I closed the package and dropped it on the nightstand. I needed to find three more pallbearers. Sadly, I couldn’t assume that my father would agree to the job, and while I hated to even think of it, I wondered if I should let Marty be one of the pallbearers. Would that be appropriate? Hadn’t Prince William and Prince Harry walked with their mother’s carriage? Was I a bad mother for considering this, or a bad person for comparing my grandfather’s death to that of the People’s Princess? Shit, I was just a bad person all around.
I threw myself back on my bed and used my toes to kick my shoes off. I loved this bed. It wrapped around me like a warm cocoon, without making me feel like I would suffocate. It was heaven.
I blinked slowly, my eyes tired and gritty from tears. Rolling over on my side I tucked my hands under my head and looked at the photograph on the nightstand. It was all of us in front of our old house. Even Dad had stood there with a smile on his face; one of the rare moments when we’d all been getting along. Reaching out, I grabbed the frame, tucking it against my chest, and choked down a sob.
I never got to hug my grandfather good-bye.Tears were my only company as I cried myself to sleep.
The soft glow of sunlight peeking through my curtains woke me up just before the sound of feet running down the hall.
“Mom!” My door flung open and Marty ran into my room. Tears streamed down his face.
“C’mere.” I held my arms open for him. He climbed on my bed and buried his face against my shirt.
“I’m sad.” His voice was muffled and thick with tears.
“I know, baby.” I squeezed him tight and dug deep to find the strength to not cry too. “I’m sad too, but he wouldn’t want us to be upset.”
“Why?” He rubbed his tear-streaked face on my shirt and I didn’t stop him. Even though I was sure that there was snot mixed in with those tears. It didn’t matter. The only thing that was important was my baby’s broken heart.
“Did Great-Granddad ever want you to be sad?” I tsked. “He would have done something silly to make you laugh, then give you a big hug.”
“But he’s not here to do that now.” Fat tears welled in his eyes.
“Well, I’m not really good at silly stuff, but I can give you big hugs.” I lay back on the bed and tucked him against me. “You know what helps me?”
“What?” Sniffle, sniffle.
“Well, I know that he’s watching over us.” I snuggled closer to him and placed a kiss on his head.
“Like from heaven?”
“In some form or fashion he will be here watching us, trust me.”
He rolled over to look at me. “Do you think it upsets him that I’m so sad?”
“I think that he would hate for you to be sad, but would understand.” I kissed his nose. “It’s never easy when someone we love leaves us.”