Prince Harry of Wales is engaged to marry a beautiful American actress. He loves her...or so he keeps telling himself. He's ready to marry. She's the one. She has to be.
So why is he having so many doubts?
And then, a chance meeting with aspiring cl...
Eugenie and her fiance, Jack, lived in Ivy Cottage, which was not a detached house, as the name suggested. It was a corner unit in the Kensington Palace complex, with a front of red brick, just around the corner from Nottingham Cottage, where Harry—and Meg—lived.
I peered out the window as the car pulled through the private security entrance, and wondered what Harry's life here was like. Would I ever see the inside of Nottingham Cottage?
I still couldn't make the leap to a time when I might live there, instead of Meg, to a time when Harry and I were an official couple. It was still unreal to me, even though Harry's ring was on a chain around my neck.
The car dropped me at the front door and I knocked, trying to fight down the surge of self-consciousness that threatened to swamp me. It's okay. She's just a regular person, like Harry is a regular person. It doesn't matter that she's a princess...
Eugenie opened the door and her eyes widened. At first I thought she was surprised to see me, that maybe she forgot about our meeting, even though she had sent a car for me. But then she grabbed my hand and pulled me inside, saying, "What are you wearing? It's gorgeous!"
She spun me around, like in a square dance, right in the front hall, admiring my coat from all angles. It was long, almost down to my ankles, of vintage fawn-brown velvet that I suspected had once been a pair of long curtains. I had drawn up the pattern based on a picture of a lady in a Victorian riding habit, nipped in at the waist but wider over the hips, and the velvet was worn and faded in places, giving the coat a look of faded grandeur. At least, that was the look I was going for.
"I thought the tapestry coat was beautiful, but this is so chic! Stylish but antique looking at the same time. You must have sold dozens of this one!"
I shook my head. "I've only made this one."
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"I've got to have one, if you can fit it to me as well as yours. Maybe a black one?" And then, as if suddenly realizing we were standing in the hall and I was still clutching a large case of sketches and samples, she laughed and said, "I am so sorry. Forgive me. I'm Eugenie."
I smiled. "Samantha. But you can call me Sam."
"I am so pleased to meet you. Did Harry tell you I've been bugging him for absolute weeks to introduce us?"
"He might have mentioned it," I said cautiously, unsure of how much she knew of my relationship with Harry.
"Come on into the sitting room and let's see what you've brought," she said. "Jack—my fiance—is hiding upstairs. He's not much into fashion and it bores him to death. But I want to hear all about your work."
We spent almost two hours chatting about clothes and style. At last Eugenie decided she wanted to commission three coats—a version of the tapestry coat in green, a black velvet equestrian-style coat for herself, and a blue one for her sister Beatrice.
