Page 71 of A Problem Princess

With an excited nod, she fell into step beside him.

Around them, the town was lively with villagers coming and going, ships bobbing at anchor in the harbor, and rowboats making their way to and from the docks. Cordelia did her best to take it all in, and Clayton let her, purposefully slowing their walk. He knew how much seeing the village meant to her. But he also knew it distracted her from the danger surrounding them.

They chose a spot on the bluff above the harbor with a sweeping view of the coast and the village below. He shed his greatcoat and spread it out on the ground as an impromptu blanket. When he reached for the basket to unwrap the food, she snatched it out of his hand.

“I want to cook,” she announced and began to sort through the basket to find the best foods for their picnic.

“This isn’t cooking.” He bit back a grin as he settled onto the coat next to her. “It’s unwrapping.”

“Close enough.” She popped a dried apricot into his mouth to silence him.

He chuckled around the bite as he chewed it and lay back on his elbow to watch her set out the food.

“I know I’m just a joke to you, but I never get to do anything like this,” she confided as she set down the small bag of dried apricots and apples.

“You’re never a joke to me,” he corrected quietly.

She paused for a beat, the only outward sign she’d heard him.

“You never picnic?” he asked and brought the conversation back on point.

She continued with unwrapping a chunk of cheese and putting the bread next to it on its wrapper. “Oh, I go on picnics quite often, but I’m accompanied by ten footmen who set up tables, chairs, and a buffet with chafing dishes to keep the truffle cream sauce warm and ice buckets to keep the champagne cold.” She gestured toward the simple orange biscuits in their basket. “It’s not the same.”

“No, I don’t suppose it is,” he murmured, noting the frustration in her voice.

She let out a long sigh. “I know what you’re thinking—what everyone thinks—that I have no right to complain.Poor princess,” she drawled sarcastically with a roll of her eyes, “distraught that she has an army of servants at her beck and call to do everything for her, the finest foods to eat and the softest beds to sleep in, and every room heated like a summer’s day even during the coldest winters.”

Clayton said nothing. That was exactly what he’d thought of every royal…until he met her.

“I know how fortunate I am. I live a life of luxury that most people can never imagine, and I have done nothing to deserve it. I know that I should be grateful, but…” She played with the short length of twine that held together the package of cold boiled beef. “But I’m never alone, never allowed to argue or show any emotion in public, never allowed to make my own decisions—even the colors of my gowns are chosen for me by Lady Devereaux. My life is regimented, and I will be told where to be every moment for the rest of my life.” Her voice lowered to barely more than a breath. “Sometimes I feel like a prisoner.”

Clayton had no words of comfort to offer. In his heart, he knew she was right.

“I want to be useful,” she confessed. Frustration thickened her voice. “Is it so wrong to simply want to beuseful?”

Silently, he reached out and covered her hand with his.

With a faint nod of resolve, she gestured with her free hand at the spread of food in front of them. “At least I can be useful in setting out our picnic. What do you think—enough for us?”

It was enough for a small army. “It’s perfect.”

She smiled at the compliment with the same pride as if she’d actually made the food herself and pulled her hand free of his. “Then let’s enjoy it.”

He looked at her solemnly. “Cordelia, if you—”

“Enough about me,” she interrupted. She picked up a dried apple and gestured with it at the wide view of the coast in front of them, covered in sunshine and the fresh scent that only a warm spring day could bring. “I want to know more about village life. You grew up in a town similar to this. What was it like?” When he hesitated, she pressed gently. “I want to know more about the people who live here and what comprises their day-to-day lives. Today, I’m one of them.”

He looked at her dubiously. “Even the woman in the stall who insulted you?”

“Especiallyher.”

Clayton stifled a laugh and did as she asked. As they ate, he told her about what it was like to live in a coastal village that depended on the fickleness of the sea to provide a living, about everything from the smell of the day-old fish to the fun of holiday festivals of all kinds.

She listened raptly, mesmerized by even the most common part of existence in a typical village.

As the sun slid toward the horizon, their bellies grew full, yet they’d barely made a dent in the food. She pressed him for more stories and details even as he helped her wrap up the leftover food and place it back into her basket.

Then they fell silent and simply watched the deepening reds and purples of the sunset behind them as the shadows lengthened over the countryside and harbor. The tide once again covered the causeway for the night, and once more they were on an island, fittingly cut off from the world. Below, lights were slowly struck across the village and shone through windows of the cottages lining the streets, the shacks on the piers, even the ships sleeping in the harbor.