What We're Writing: Rhys and Royals

RHYS BOWEN:  Once again I'm writing about the royal family, only this time it's Queen Victoria and the year is 1897. She is an old woman who now spends her winters on the Riviera in Nice, in a splendid new hotel built for her. She travels on a private train with a retinue of her own staff including her own cooks, some highland pipers, her Indian secretary and all her own bedroom furniture.

My story features a young woman who becomes her cook and then encounters various problems, one of which appears in the excerpt below, proving that it wasn't ever easy to be a female in a man's world. But my heroine's problems go beyond sexual harassment to being blackmailed and becoming mixed up in a couple of plots.

And I can't give you a title yet, because we don't have one. So let's just call it QUEEN VICTORIA'S COOK... probably not VICTORIA'S SECRETS!

I was halfway down the grand staircase when I heard footsteps behind me. I paused and glanced around to see the Prince of Wales following me. I flattened myself against the wall, allowing him to pass, but instead he drew level with me.

“What’s your hurry, bright eyes?” he asked. He was looking at me with a sort of half-smile.

“I have to get back to my duties, Your Royal Highness,” I replied, my voice scarcely more than a whisper. “I have to make the puddings for dinner.”

“Nonsense.” He chuckled, a deep, throaty chuckle. “Nobody can complain if the queen kept you, can they?  Or even if the Prince of Wales kept you.” He took a step closer to me. Rather too close to be comfortable. “What a delightful little creature you are.” He raised a hand and stroked my cheek. “Do I detect a wisp of auburn hair under that severe white cap?” And before I could do anything he had whipped the cap from my head. To my mortification my hair tumbled over my shoulders. The prince’s eyes let up. “I was right.” He picked up a curl and toyed with it. “I have a distinct softness for red hair. Red heads are supposed to be fiery and passionate, aren’t they? Are you fiery and passionate?”

“No sir,” I mumbled. “I’m sure I’m a most quiet and well behaved young woman.”

He laughed, tugging on my hair. “That’s because you haven’t met the right man to wake you up yet. I bet you’ll be a little tiger one day.”

I could feel my cheeks burning, trying to think how I could possibly get away. But he had me pinned against the wall and one can hardly give the heir to the throne a good shove.  “Please sir, let me go,” I whispered. “I really should get back to the kitchen.”

“I’ll wager you have more talents than making scones,” he said.  His eyes were challenging me.

I could sense what he was hinting at, but I replied, “Perhaps I do, your highness. I am told I have a light hand with pastry”

This made him throw back his head and laugh heartily. “What a sweet innocent you are. I can’t wait to--I can’t wait to taste your pastry, young woman. Or experience your light hands. Why don’t you come and cook for me?

Oh dear--how do you say NO to the Prince of Wales. Unfortunately this is just one of the difficulties my heroine faces, including being accused of murder! It's all fun on the Riviera.
The book comes out next February and hopefully we will have a title by then. Suggestions gratefully received!