By Rhys Bowen
It's Nineteen Thirties London, and woman Georgiana -- thirty-fourth in line to the throne -- has much on her plate, yet little in her cabinets, during this nationwide bestseller...
Baked beans and boiled eggs. That's what my houseguest, the Bavarian princess, must consume if I don't get support posthaste. The Queen of britain has asked I entertain stated princess, putting her within the playboy prince's course, in hopes he may possibly ultimately marry.
But queens by no means think of cash, of which i've got little. And that's why I moonlight as a maid-in-disguise. My plans:
1) fresh residence in demeanour of palace.
2) Blackmail brother, Binky, into sending a couple of quid.
3) Unteach Princess Hanni English from gangster videos -- lest she deal with the queen as "old broad."
4) hold eye on princess at events, the place she beverages like a fish.
Then there's the problem of the physique within the book shop and Hanni's unwitting involvement with the communist celebration. It's adequate to force a lady mad...
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Additional resources for A Royal Pain (Her Royal Spyness, Book 2)
Long after dusk, since light meant heat, the hotel lights stayed off. The inhabitants of the hotel preferred to feel their way blind through the halls in their never-ending search for cool air. This one particular evening Mr Terle, the proprietor, and his only boarders, Mr Smith and Mr Fremley, who looked and smelled like two ancient rags of cured tobacco, stayed late on the long veranda. In their creaking glockenspiel rockers, they gasped back and forth in the dark, trying to rock up a wind. 'Mr Terle .
He stared. That's it, thought Martinez, look at our smiles. Now, look at the skeletons behind our smiles! Measure here, there, up, down, yes, do you see? Mr Shumway saw. He nodded. He shrugged. ' He jerked the curtain. 'There! ' Martinez peered quietly into the booth, his motion drawing the others to peer, too. The suit was there. And it was white. Martinez could not breathe. He did not want to. He did not need to. He was afraid his breath would melt the suit. It was enough, just looking. But at last he took a great trembling breath and exhaled, whispering, 'Ay.
It was white as the whitest vanilla ice-cream, as the bottled milk in tenement halls at dawn. White as a winter cloud all alone in the moonlit sky late at night. Seeing it here in the warm summer night room made their breath almost show on the air. Shutting his eyes, he could see it printed on his lids. He knew what colour his dreams would be this night. 'White . . ' murmured Villanazul. ' 'Say that again,' said Gomez. Villanazul, proud yet humble, was glad to repeat his tribute. ' . . ' Shocked, the men whirled to see Vamenos in the door, wine bottles in each hand.