A Princess by Christmas (A Royal Wedding #3) - Julia London Page 0,4

have a very keen eye for color, you know.”

Caroline had discovered a natural talent for making gowns in the last year or so, and now, her creations were in high demand across London. She’d fashioned this one in a style that cut closer to the body, as the Alucians preferred, and with a lot of lace, as the English preferred.

“It’s awfully tight,” Hollis whispered.

“That’s not my fault,” Caroline said.

“Hollis, here she is! My little angel,” Eliza cooed. Hollis turned back to her sister. In the sea of men behind her, one emerged, a head taller than the others. He was making his way toward them. It was Eliza’s husband, Prince Sebastian, the Duke of Tannymeade and the future king of Alucia, carrying their firstborn child and heir. He had the baby high in his arms, his smile broad and proud.

“Should he carry her like that?” Caroline asked. “Shouldn’t a nursemaid be on hand?”

“He prefers to hold her,” Eliza said. “He’s utterly besotted.”

“Aren’t we all,” Hollis said dreamily. Princess Cecelia was seven months old and looked as if she’d just awakened from a nap—her dark hair was mussed, and one of her cheeks was pinker than the other, as if she’d been lying on it. She blinked at the adults gathered in the room, staring at them all sternly as if they were a new sort of animal she was seeing for the first time. But she quickly tired of the view and lay her head on her father’s shoulder.

“Hollis!” Prince Sebastian beamed as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Would you like to hold your niece?”

“Please!” Hollis said, reaching for the baby. The little princess came willingly, but stared very suspiciously at Hollis. She had wispy dark curls, pale green eyes, and pursed, plump lips. She was all cheek and thigh, too—the sort that demanded to be squeezed with affection. “Oh, dear,” Hollis said wistfully. “I can’t possibly love her more.”

“She’s beautiful, Eliza,” Caroline agreed.

“I don’t mean to boast, but I do believe she is the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen,” Eliza said, stroking her daughter’s back.

Beck, having managed to hoist himself from his chair, wandered over to have a look at the baby. “Do you want to hold her, Uncle Beck?” Caroline asked.

“I do not. Firstly, I am not her uncle. Secondly, I held her earlier and she drooled on my shoulder. Even if I were so inclined to hold her after that unforgivable incident, her parents are so smitten they can’t bear to let her out of their grasp for more than a moment.”

Cecelia began to fuss. “Give her to me, Caro,” Eliza said.

“My case is made,” Beck drawled.

“Eliza, we are due to appear for tea,” the duke reminded her, and lifted his hand, signaling someone.

Eliza pressed her baby’s cheek to hers. “I don’t want to leave her,” she said as a woman dressed in the gray of a nursemaid came forward and curtsied.

“She’ll be well tended,” the duke assured her.

“Yes, but I don’t like being away from her, not with all this talk of rebellions and coups.”

Sebastian—Bas, as he was known to his sister-in-law—didn’t look at Eliza. He looked directly at Hollis and frowned darkly.

Hollis guiltily avoided his gaze. What was she supposed to have done? Pretend she hadn’t heard what the two gentlemen at the London Library had said? Was she to be blamed when men of all ilk would speak of frank matters when she was within earshot, as if they assumed she was either an imbecile or invisible? As if she couldn’t possibly make sense of words like coup d’état or rebellion? Well, she’d heard the gentlemen very plainly, and she’d made perfect sense of those words. She’d gone to the library, determined to speak to Mr. Shoreham. But the word Wesloria had caught her attention, and she’d looked back at the two gentlemen who’d been standing on the walk. One of them said he’d heard rumors of rebellion brewing in Wesloria.

“A coup?” his companion had asked.

“Perhaps,” the other one had said. “The Weslorian economy is in shambles—it’s hardly a surprise. It’s been speculated for years.”

“Does the queen or the prime minister know?”

“The PM said himself that a rebellion could happen here, as King Maksim is unable to defend himself as robustly as he might in St. Edys.”

St. Edys, Hollis knew, was the capital of Wesloria.

“It’s all conjecture, but we’ve assigned more guards to the Weslorian... Excuse me, madam, are you lost?”

One of them had finally noticed Hollis, standing not two feet