The Secret Princess

‘I might have known you’d turn out to be a princess,’ said Corran, and Lotty jerked, spilling most of the mug over his shirt.

‘What?’

‘You’re very particular about your coffee.’ His eyes sharpened suddenly. He was clearly putting something together. ‘You were singing in French just now… I didn’t guess because your English is perfect, but you’re French, aren’t you?’

Perhaps it would have been easier to have pretended that she was French, but pride in her country was ingrained in Lotty. ‘I’m from Montluce,’ she corrected him, chin lifting.

‘Isn’t that part of France?’

Lotty bridled. People always thought that. ‘No, it isn’t! We speak French, but Montluce is an independent state with its own monarchy.’

‘And a big chip on its shoulder?’ Corran suggested with a sideways glance.

‘Not at all. We’re small, but we have a very high opinion of ourselves!’

The corner of his mouth lifted. ‘I see. Does everyone in Montluce speak such good English, or is it just you? I wouldn’t have guessed if I hadn’t heard you singing.’

‘I was sent away to school in England after my mother died,’ she told him. ‘You soon pick up the language when you have to.’

‘Must have been tough to lose your mother and be sent to a strange country at the same time,’ said Corran.

‘It wasn’t the best time of my life,’ Lotty allowed, ‘but I just had to get on with it.’

She had begged her father to let her stay with him in Montluce, but it was her grandmother who had dealt with all the practicalities of life after her mother’s death. Lotty needed to speak English, the Dowager Blanche had decreed, and it would do her good to have a change of scene. The child was much too nervous as it was. She couldn’t be allowed to mope around Montluce. Yes, her mother’s death was sad, but Lotty had to learn to deal with whatever life handed her. There were to be no tears, no complaints. She was a princess.