The Prince's Secret (Prince Harry Fanfic)

Part 20 - The Queen's Speech

Christmas Day 2017

Samantha

I was up into the wee hours on Christmas Eve, hand stitching a couple of new dresses. I'm usually not much for dressing up and prefer a much more casual look, but I was hoping I might get a chance to wear one on a date when Harry returned to London.

It was still strange to be thinking that way, and I still found it quite hard to believe. Yet when I was doubtful I pulled out my phone and took a glance at the texts that were piling up on my phone. We may not have spent a lot of time together but slowly, bit by bit, we were getting to know each other.

I woke up late on Christmas Day. Remembering Christmases with my grandma when I was a little girl, I attempted making pancake men on the electric griddle. My men were sort of abstract, more modern art than the traditional man shape, although somewhat recognizable. I dipped them in hot butter and jam while I Skyped with my dad and stepmom.

"You'll be coming home in the spring, right?" my dad asked.

I shrugged. "Dunno. We'll see. How's the skiing?"

"Last I heard Greta will be returning to London in May and wanting her flat back," he warned. "You can fly back then, have a laid-back summer here in Vancouver, and start grad school in the fall."

"I'll think about it, Dad."

"You're not still shoveling shit, are you?" he asked.

I sighed, any homesickness I might have felt evaporating. "No. I'll actually be working at a high class polo club beginning in January."

"What's so high class about grooming horses?" my stepmom asked, looking bored.

"Well, you never know. I might meet a royal or something. All those princes play polo."

She laughed and my dad rolled his eyes. I smiled a secret smile as I signed off. Wouldn't they be surprised if they knew?

I pulled on jeans and a warm Fair Isle sweater—I wasn't calling them jumpers yet—to walk over to the Sleeping Lion. I was just about to leave when the doorbell rang.

Almost everyone I knew was out of town, so I was mystified as to who might be visiting. A peek through the door revealed a delivery driver with a large box.

"Guess Santa Claus forgot to load this on his sleigh," the driver joked. "Merry Christmas!"

"Thanks," I said, carrying it into the living room. The package was much heavier than I expected and had no return address.

I ripped open the paper. Inside was a wooden chest with my initials burned into the top, and an envelope taped to it. The note inside was on plain paper, the handwriting bold.

Thought I'd send you something for both your new job and your art. Happy Christmas. --H.

Inside the box was a blue leather satchel holding a set of exquisite grooming tools and brushes from Renwick & Sons, all with my initials carved into them, undoubtedly handmade and very expensive. Another package, in silver paper, held several yards of beautifully woven floral fabric, perfect for a long spring duster coat.

I was so happy with the gifts I almost teared up. They were thoughtfully chosen and totally unexpected. I had a moment's guilt when I realized I hadn't gotten Harry a gift, but then began to plan...what could I make him that would be unique? Something he couldn't buy in a store. I wouldn't see him for a week at least—I had plenty of time to plan and sew.

I picked up my phone and sent him a text.

Thank you so much for the gifts! They are perfect.

I didn't expect an answer until later that night, since he was busy with his family. In fact—I glanced at my watch and cursed—it was almost time for the Queen's speech.

I ran all the way to the Sleeping Lion, sliding in out of breath. The pub was empty save for Tom, who sat at the bar, a bowl of hot stew in front of him and one next to him.

"Thought you might be standing me up, Sammy girl," he said. "And me Doris made you some stew, special like, knowing you were alone for Christmas. Sent some biscuits and jam tarts for you too."

I dropped onto the stool. "You'll have to tell me what size your Doris wears. I'll have to sew up something for her in thanks for all the goodies she has sent me."

"Ah, I'm not knowing ladies' sizes, and I know better than to ask such a question," he said, laughing. "You'll have to come by some evening with your tape and take her measures and I'll stay well out of it." He reached for the remote and turned up the sound on the TV. "Hush now, and let's hear what Her Majesty has to say."

I felt my phone vibrate as the Queen's speech began, but out of respect I didn't peek at it until she had finished.

H: Glad you like them.

Me: Aren't you watching the Queen?

H: Yes. Are you?

Me: Of course. Having fun?

H: Best gift was a clay animal from George. I think it's a giraffe. Might be a horse with spots. Or a hippo. Afraid to ask.

I laughed and slid the phone back in my pocket.

Tom gave me a sideways glance. "Wouldn't happen to be the grandson of the fine lady on the telly, would it now?"

"Perhaps."

"He's welcome to come back any time. I told him last time it was on the house, but he insisted on paying and left a nice tip besides. He's a good one, ol' Ginger. Not sure if he's good enough for my Sammy, but we'll see."

I gave Tom a hug. "He'll have to be really special to be good enough for me. We're just friends."

"For now," Tom said firmly. He picked up the remote and switched channels until he found an old black and white version of A Christmas Carol for us to watch while we dug into the cookies and jam tarts. "I'm not a betting man most generally, but I'll make you a bet. Next Christmas you'll be watching Her Majesty's speech from Sandringham."

I blew crumbs out of my mouth in surprise. "What?"

"I've just got a feeling, I do."

I held out my hand. "Ten pounds. It's a bet."

Tom shook my hand solemnly. "You're laughing now, but I'll be the one laughing this time next year." He lifted his pint glass to mine. "To the Queen!"

"To the Queen!" I echoed, and as I took a drink I wondered if Tom was right.