Page 104 of A Problem Princess

One Year Later

Clayton looked up from his papers and glanced out the window of his office as a commotion rose from the front lawn.

A messenger in palace livery galloped up the drive, reined his horse to a stop at the portico, and dropped to the ground. He handed over a small satchel to the butler who went out to greet him. Then he mounted his horse and charged away as quickly as he’d arrived.

“That can’t be good,” Clayton muttered and pushed himself to his feet. He’d learned over the past year that the best way to deal with British royals was to keep them as far away as possible. He pulled in a deep breath as a knock sounded at his door. “Come.”

Instead of the butler, Cordelia sailed into the room. She held out the satchel to him.

He placed a kiss to her cheek. She was the only royal he loved to see and the one he wanted to keep close at his side for the rest of their lives.

“A dispatch from London,” she announced. “From the palace. What do you think it could be?”

God only knows.He leaned back against his desk, casually crossed his ankles, and drawled, “Your cousins have decided to leave England to us and move to the south of France?”

“Wishful thinking.” With a laugh, she leaned up and kissed him.

Then she handed him the satchel and bounced away with a glowing brightness that lit the room.

He didn’t think it was possible to love her any more than he already did. Yet every new day proved him wrong.

She was simply lovely. He supposed that was what love and joy—and freedom—did to a person. Even as she craned her neck to look out the window at the group of children playing on the lawn, her face shone with pride at the home they’d created here for themselves and the children whose lives they were working to save.

Clayton had to give her credit. She’d adapted well to country life in England after their return from Monrovia six months ago, when she’d officially abdicated her royal duties and resigned her designation as Her Serene Highness. Her visit to Monrovia hadn’t been easy, with half its people wanting her to stay and the other half calling for her exile.

Thank goodness, Lady Devereaux and her husband had come to her aid. Neither of them had been caught up in Ernest’s evil machinations, and they were just as shocked as the rest of Monrovia to learn the truth—and determined to help their country weather the storm. The hard-nosed woman with the demeanor of a drill sergeant was exactly what the principality needed. She’d become the assistant for the new princess consort and served as Lord Devereaux’s right hand in his new role of making reparations for Prince Ernest’s embezzlement. They were further helped by Cordelia herself, who handed over her family’s personal wealth and those properties not entailed to the crown.

Making right what Ernest had done would take a long time, but the new sovereign prince and Crown Council were both dedicated to it.

When the Council put her second cousin Albert on the throne, Cordelia made her decision to leave. She wanted to give her cousin the space to rule in his own way without being haunted by any ghosts from the past, and she wanted a new home in England to go with her new future.

Now, instead of a princess, she’d become a patroness. Together, they ran a home for children in need on the country estate Clayton received as part of his viscountcy, which the regent grudgingly granted after all. Clayton resigned his position at the Home Office and gave up all chance of becoming Home Secretary. He never looked back. That part of his life was over. He had a new future waiting for him.

“Maybe they’re rescinding their blessing on our marriage,” she commented. “And the dowry my cousin the regent gave me.” She sent him a knowing look. “Did you really blackmail George into giving us his permission to marry?”

He grinned. “Yes, I did.”

The regent’s blessing was delivered personally to their wedding at St George’s in Mayfair by Lord Sidmouth, the Home Secretary, who hadnotbeen invited to the small ceremony. But neither man truly had a choice after Clayton threatened to strike the regent where it would hurt most if the blessing wasn’t given—his princely pride. Clayton had to admit that the Home Office was good for providing secret information…including that the Prince of Wales’s famous London to Brighton four-in-hand drive in just over four hours had actually been a cheat. Prinny couldn’t care less what people thought of his marriage or his mistresses, but his reputation as a skilled driver…Thathe would never surrender.

Oh, he and Cordelia would have married regardless. Nothing could have stopped them. But having a royal blessing made their life together much easier, both here and in Monrovia, where they planned to eventually create a second home. Even though she was no longer a princess, her country still needed her, and she still needed it.

Her eyes darted to the satchel, and he knew she was beyond curious to learn what was inside. “Aren’t you going to open it?” She bit her bottom lip. “It’s probably important.”

“No hurry.” He bit back a smile at her expense and tossed it onto the desk with the rest of his work supporting the estate.

He’d once feared country life as a landowner, with its mundane chores and responsibilities. Now, he reveled in it because of Cordelia, the children, and their shared mission. Dealing with matters of estate repairs, tenant farmers, and livestock no longer bothered him since he knew it had a greater purpose. Neither did arguing in Parliament since he’d become a firebrand for reform, not caring that his views alienated him from most of theton. He had his friends at the Armory, he had his work on the estate, and he had Cordelia. He needed nothing else.

“How has your day been?” he asked, purposefully growing her curious agitation at the dispatch by ignoring the satchel. “Good news from the dairy and barns? Any word from the tenant farmers about their plantings? Been to the mercantile to see the new ribbons?”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Clayton Elliott, if you don’t—”

In one motion, he shoved himself away from the desk, wrapped her in his arms, and kissed her until she melted bonelessly against him.

“We’ll open it together, shall we, Lady Elliott?” he murmured and caressed her cheek.

She shifted back to look up at him, and her bright expression darkened as a thought struck her. “Do you think the dispatch is about Scepter?”

“No.”