The Prince's Secret (Prince Harry Fanfic)

Part 4 - Falling For You

Samantha

8 December 2017

With the colder weather the riding school was not so busy. I still did stall duty in the mornings, but now that I had proven myself the stable manager, Carolyn, would send me out to work for friends of hers at other stables and riding schools.

I got a frantic call in the morning from Carolyn. "Listen, Sam, I've got a friend in a sticky spot, hope you can help. There's a big charity polo match going on out at Westcroft Park today, and two of the grooms are off sick. Can you possibly pop out there for the day? Randa's agreed to go, and they'll send a taxi for you and pay your fare back home tonight. Plus they'll feed you. And trust me, there's some pretty high class food out there."

I laughed. "Sounds like they're pretty desperate."

"You've no idea," Carolyn said.

"Sure, why not?" I'd never worked with polo ponies, but how difficult could it be? Besides, Randa would be there to help me. And it's not like I had any plans beyond stitching up a new coat pattern I had drafted and hitting the local pub for dinner.

On the taxi ride over Randa gave me the rundown on what our day would be like. After that it was a rush of braiding tails, bandaging legs and tacking up so many ponies it was a blur.

Working the polo yard was much more exciting than helping out around the riding school, and when one of the riders tucked a £100 note into my pocket, I had a hunch that it might be a better paying gig than my current one. I made a mental note to see if I could pick up more work at the club during our slow season at the riding school.

Randa and I stood at the gate, each holding two ponies by the reins, waiting for the changeover. It seemed like the riders were constantly riding out, jumping from one pony's back to the other, and we kept busy leading ponies back and forth. I laughed at the thought of the free food they had offered us as one of the perks—there wasn't a spare minute to run to the loo, much less grab anything to eat at the clubhouse.

At long last there was a break between matches. The people in the stands got up to socialize a bit, and we could relax for a few minutes.

"Is it always this wild?" I asked.

Randa nodded, her brown curls bouncing. "Yes. Summer polo is even worse because you're outside and you have to keep the ponies cool, so there's lots of jogging back and forth to the barn."

"Do you think I could get some work doing this too?"

Randa shrugged. "Why not? I can introduce you around, see if anyone is looking for a spare hand. Especially if you're still around in the summer."

"Not sure when Dad's friends are going to want their flat back," I cautioned. As much as I was enjoying myself in London, it was an expensive place to live and my pay was woefully low. I'd sold exactly one shirt, literally off my back, to a girl in a Tube station, but other than sewing stuff up for myself, that I rarely wore, I was doing nothing in the arts scene. I didn't really mind, but I knew my father did, and pretty soon he would begin putting on the pressure for me to make a decision about grad school.

A groom walked by with half a dozen ponies, and the gray pony I was holding suddenly took exception to a black pony at the end of the string. The gray's ears went back and she bit the black pony's flank, and then for a moment it was all tails and teeth and flashing hooves.

I dove into the fray, yanking the gray out of the scuffle, tossing the reins to my other pony to Randa. I spun the gray around so she couldn't see the offender, and felt my shoulder collide with something solid. Assuming it was another pony, I gave a it a hearty nudge.

"Hey!"

I'm a pretty substantial girl, 5'10" barefoot and not one of those twiggy little yoga types. The polo player I elbowed went down.

I muttered a curse, seeing my future as a polo groom pass before my eyes. "So sorry! Didn't realize you were there," I said, extending a hand to help him up.

He laughed and scrambled to his feet unaided, and I had an impression of ginger-colored beard and intense blue eyes. "I've taken worse falls than that! Not to worry." He looked at the gray pony, then back at me. "You're working for Coster? That gray's one of the finest little mares around here. I made an offer for her once but Jack refused."

"She's got a temper on her," I said. "Good under saddle but a handful in the barn. And watch out—she'll bite you in the ass when you're not looking."

He roared. I saw Randa shaking her head furiously at me on the other side of the ponies.

"What's your name?" he asked. "I've not met you before. I'd remember you."

"Samantha. They call me Sam."

"Canadian?" he asked.

"The accent gives me away, eh?"

He nodded. "I've been there several times. Beautiful country. Lots of open space. And mountains to take your breath away."

"Aw, you're making me homesick."

He smiled, and I had a hard time looking away. It was a genuine smile, warm and friendly, and his eyes sparkled. I hadn't come to London looking for love—in fact my dad warned me sternly against it—but for some reason I wanted to get to know this man better. I sensed a depth to him below the laughter, someone you could spend an entire evening getting to know and still come back for more.

Maybe that was what prompted my next words. Maybe it was the adrenaline from working the polo yard, or maybe it was the fact that I hadn't eaten all day and was light-headed. "So, you want to get a coffee sometime? Or a beer?"

"Sam!" Randa hissed, ducking under the pony's neck and grabbing my arm. To the polo player she said, "I'm sorry—"

He shook his head and his smile never wavered. "It's all right," he said to Randa. To me he said, "I'm sure we'll see each other again. Take care of the gray for me." He winked, and turned away with a grin.

"Sam! I don't believe you just did that! Asking him out—"

"It's not done?" I asked, watching him walk away, admiring the cut of his breeches. "Was I supposed to wait for him to ask?"

"Oh, Saaam!" Randa said, stretching my name out several syllables. "He's engaged, for feck's sake!"

"How am I supposed to know that?" I asked, keenly disappointed.

"Everyone knows that! And that's not the worst of it! You don't have a clue. That was Prince Harry!"

"Prince Harry?" I said, staring at her. And then my stomach dropped dangerously, like when you take the first plunge on a roller coaster. "The Prince Harry? Of Wales?"

"Yes, yes, yes! I kept trying to get to you to shut up, but you didn't notice."

"Fantastical," I said, drowning the word in sarcasm. "I not only knock a prince on his arse, but I ask him out for a beer. I might as well pack and go back to Vancouver. And I bet I can kiss my chance at working as a polo groom goodbye."