Royal Families Vs. Historicals - Rebecca Winters Mills & Boon e-Book Collections

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can’t spare the time for a while yet, though,’ he warned. ‘If you’re desperate, you’d better buy yourself something in Fort William. You can do the shop next week. Don’t expect any fancy shops, though.’

      Lotty parked Corran’s Land Rover and reminded herself to lock it and put the key away safely. There was no footman here to drive the car away for her, to wash it and valet it and make sure that it was full of fuel before the next time she went out. All she normally had to do was get out and walk up the steps to the palace.

      It was all very different here.

      Lotty was excited at the trip to Fort William on her own. This was another whole new experience for her. She had been thrilled when Corran had told her she could do the supermarket shop. That morning he had handed her a wodge of cash.

      ‘That’ll have to be enough,’ he said, and then he added some more notes. ‘And this is for you.’

      ‘For me?’

      ‘Your housekeeping wages,’ he explained patiently. ‘It’s not much, but you’ve earned it.’

      Now that money was burning a hole in Lotty’s pocket, and she was looking forward to her day off.

      Not that she wasn’t enjoying her job. Having cleaned the cottage from top to bottom, she had helped Corran do some minor repairs—filling in holes in the plaster, fixing the broken banister, replacing the kitchen window—and since then she had been painting. Lotty loved seeing how the cottage looked brighter and fresher with every stroke of the brush.

      She was on her mettle about the cooking now too. Which was nothing to do with the fact that Corran was looking for a woman who could cook, because she didn’t care, did she? And there was no point in trying to impress him. Still, Lotty wanted to do better, and she thought she was improving.

      A little, anyway.

      Now she felt as if she had earned her morning off. As Corran had warned, the shops were far from fancy, but Lotty didn’t care. She shopped in Paris and London, but none of the very expensive designer shops she usually frequented compared to the fun of flicking anonymously through the racks in a cheap and cheerful chain store with the music thumping and a sales assistant filing her nails behind the counter and nobody paying the slightest bit of attention.

      Lotty loved it.

      She bought a couple of vest tops, a shirt and a cotton jumper and smiled to herself imagining her grandmother’s expression. The Dowager Blanche would be horrified by the idea of her granddaughter in cheap off-the-peg clothes, and yet Lotty had more satisfaction buying them with the money she had earned from Corran than she had ever had buying designer labels with her inheritance.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      THINKING of her grandmother reminded Lotty that she ought to check in with Caro and make sure that everything was all right in Montluce. She wandered around until she found an internet café and sat down at a computer with a coffee.

      Caro had written a long, chatty email, and made Lotty laugh describing her first meeting with the Dowager Blanche, and her grandmother’s beloved pug. It was strange reading her friend’s reaction to the palace and to Philippe, but she sounded in fine form, which was a big relief to Lotty, who had known just what a big deal it was when she had asked Caro to stand in as Philippe’s girlfriend.

      The Dowager Blanche had been intent on making a match between Lotty and Philippe ever since his father had become Crown Prince of Montluce, and Caro had agreed to act as a decoy while Lotty escaped. She had told her grandmother that she was too embarrassed to stay in Montluce with Philippe flaunting his new girlfriend, which hadn’t predisposed the Dowager Blanche to like Caro very much. Knowing how intimidating her grandmother could be, Lotty hoped she hadn’t been too caustic to Caro. But Caro had obviously taken it all in good spirits, and was even generous enough to feel sorry for the Dowager.

      I think that beneath all the guff about duty and responsibility and behaving like a princess, she’s really worried about you, Caro had written.

      Lotty sighed. She knew that Caro was right. Her grandmother had controlled every aspect of her life since her mother had died—and probably before then, knowing the Dowager. She was a small, erect woman with a rigid composure and an excoriating tongue. Everyone in Montluce respected and adored her in equal measure.

      Lotty felt much the same. She knew her grandmother loved her, but the Dowager didn’t believe in open displays of affection. Lotty had not been allowed to run around and behave like other children. For as long as she could remember, she had been good and done what was expected of her.

      Other members of the royal family, like Philippe, had escaped, refusing to be crushed under the burden of duty and privilege, but Lotty had never dared stand up to her grandmother.

      Until now.

      Lotty drafted a careful email to the Dowager’s private secretary, saying that she was safe and well, and another to Caro, telling her about what she’d been doing. Caro would laugh at the idea of her peeling potatoes or making tea, but Lotty was still loving it. She wasn’t ready to go back to being dutiful just yet.

      It was hard to shake off a lifetime of being good, though, and Lotty couldn’t help feeling selfish and guilty as she drove back to Loch Mhoraigh House that afternoon. She had had such a lovely time pushing a supermarket trolley along the aisles. Even queuing to buy cheese from the delicatessen counter was fun. Lotty had never queued before, and it was a thrill to take a ticket and wait for her number to be called like everyone else.

      On the way home, she stopped in the village to buy the basic items she could get at the shop there. Corran always shrugged off any suggestion that he try and improve his relationship with the community, claiming that he had more important things to do, but Lotty thought it was a shame. The least they could do was support the local shop, she said. He was lucky to have one so close.

      Not that the shop offered a big range of stock.

      It had a post office counter at the back, and a small selection of basic goods. A plump woman with tightly permed grey hair and winged glasses presided behind the counter. She eyed Lotty with interest as she carried over milk and butter.

      ‘You’ll be working up at the big house?’

      Unused to the way information travelled in village communities, Lotty was amazed. ‘How did you know?’

      ‘That’s Corran McKenna’s Land Rover you’re driving,’ she said, which was a pretty big clue when Lotty thought about it. ‘Besides,’ she went on as she rang up the milk and butter, ‘they said at the hotel that you’d gone up there. We’d all expected to see you back before now.’

      ‘No, I like it there,’ said Lotty. ‘I’m hoping to stay a couple of months. Corran’s doing a great job,’ she added loyally.

      ‘Aye, well, his heart was always there, even as a wee boy.’

      ‘Oh, you know him?’

      ‘I did. I was Cook up at the big house for a while.’

      ‘You’re Mrs McPherson?’ said Lotty in delight.

      ‘I am.’

      ‘Corran told me about your scones.’

      Mrs McPherson flushed with pleasure and settled herself more comfortably against the counter. ‘I used to make them for him specially,’

      she confided. ‘I felt sorry for the lad. It was shameful the way they treated him, it was. I’m not saying he was an easy boy, but that child practically brought himself up. His father had no time for him, and his mother never cared what anyone thought of her. What a minx she was!’ She sniffed disapprovingly. ‘She was English, you know.’

      Then she paused, evidently realising what she had said. ‘Of course, not like you.’

      Lotty

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