PARADE OF MARRIAGEABLE WOMEN VISIT BUCKINGHAM-3
440 Words
AMELIA WAITED UNTIL the next day, when Priya was at a lecture, to call the phone number on the card. Not to RSVP; her pleasure at accepting the honor of such an invitation was something that had to be registered on paper. But because she still didn’t entirely understand what she was looking at. And while Priya had shown no interest in the invitation, Amelia didn’t want to encourage curiosity or create a need for explanations. Not until she knew herself what was going on.
The phone rang exactly twice before it was answered by someone young, officious, and Welsh.
“Um, yes, hello.” She had no idea where to start and had clearly forgotten all of her phone training. “I’ve received an invitation to a tea, a private tea, and mostly I am confused and also concerned it’s been misdirected.”
“May I ask who I’m speaking with?”
“Oh, yes, right, sorry, hi. Amelia Brockett.”
She listened to the sound of typing and felt faintly cheered the Palace seemed to have a database of these things. Databases got things wrong all the time.
“Lady Amelia Brockett?” the voice asked after a moment.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. I’m not the Lady Amelia you’re looking for, am I?” She tried to ignore her own faint sense of disappointment, which was inappropriate and useless. Speaking with Prince Arthur at the races had been enjoyable until Charlie had interrupted. Another opportunity to do so would have been somewhat pleasant.
“Actually,” the voice said, “You are. And I can assure you, since I suspect you’re about to inquire further, the accuracy of our record keeping is very good. Now,” he said, clearing his throat with some drama. “You should consider me your royalty customer service representative. Is there anything else I can help you with regarding the occasion?”
Amelia laughed, relieved at the offer and at finding someone with a sense of humor about whatever strangeness was afoot. Mr. Jones, as it turned out her royalty customer service representative was named, did his utmost to help. But most of the matters she was curious about were not things he was privy to. He could not, for example, tell her the reason for or subject matter of the tea. He could only advise her on what to wear, which they agreed she probably already knew how to handle, being an earl’s daughter and suchlike.
Eventually, not wanting to ask if the royalty customer service representative joke was even something he was allowed to say, she gave into her own terror and whispered down the phone, “Is this about the thing at the races?”
Amelia could practically hear him smile. “I’m sorry ma’am, I wouldn’t know which thing, or which races, or what His Royal Highness’s considerations regarding you are.”
Amelia barely stopped herself from blurting Don’t you read the Daily Observer?
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- Writer
