A Call to Lord Porchester
The Queen Mother had always been a woman of control, orchestrating the movements of those around her with a deft hand.
This time, however, something felt off.
She had invited Lord Porchester and his family to Windsor Castle almost on a whim, a spur-of-the-moment decision after what she had seen at the play…that made her uneasy.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the behavior of her daughter that night and as much as she tried to play off the sudden invitation as nothing more than a mere oversight of the guest list, as she had claimed to her husband…she was truly dumbfounded.
That evening, as the Queen Mother entered the royal study, where Bertie was reviewing documents, she felt an unusual tension in the air.
The King glanced up at her with a raised eyebrow, his expression curious.
“Did you manage to find time to pay your call on Lord Porchester and his family?” he asked casually, his tone carrying a hint of amusement, though his sharp eyes were assessing her every move.
“I did,” she replied, her voice smooth as she took a seat across from him.
“It was quite an unplanned visit, really. I realized they hadn’t been included in our guest list for the week, so I thought it was time to rectify the oversight.”
The King gave her a knowing look, clearly unconvinced.
“You—an oversight? You never make mistakes when it comes to guest lists. You have the finest memory in the kingdom.”
She gave him a soft smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sometimes even the most organized among us can forget things, George. It wasn’t intentional.”
The King studied her for a moment, his gaze thoughtful.
“You are rarely so spontaneous” he remarked, his voice laced with curiosity. “Why the sudden invitation?”
She paused, smoothing the fabric of her gown, carefully choosing her words. “I simply thought it would be nice to have them over. It’s been some time since we’ve spent time with the Porchester family, and I wanted to make sure no one felt left out.”
“Hmm,” the King murmured, clearly unconvinced, but he said no more. “Very well, my dear. But you must admit, you’re usually more deliberate in your actions. What is it about this family that’s made you act on impulse?”
The Queen Mother remained silent, but a flicker of unease crossed her expression.
She didn’t need to answer him directly. He was astute enough to notice things she didn’t always want him to.
-
The following morning, the Porchester family arrived at Windsor Castle, and the royal household greeted them with the customary warmth.
Despite the formalities, there was an awkward tension in the air, especially between Lord Porchester’s son, Porchie, and Elizabeth.
Elizabeth stood near the window, exchanging pleasantries with Porchie, her gaze a little too distant for comfort.
She had always known Porchie to be rather stuffy and formal, but today, there was something about him that felt… different.
His attention, though polite, lingered on her too long, his compliments more pronounced than she remembered.
“Have you been to the races recently?” Porchie asked with a smile, his tone light but laced with the familiar undertone of flirtation.
Elizabeth, eager to deflect the growing tension, forced a smile. “Actually, yes. I went to Goodwood last season.”
She paused, feeling the weight of his stare on her, and quickly added, “It was an exciting race, but I think the outcome was a bit too predictable.”
Porchie grinned, clearly pleased with the direction of their conversation. “Predictable? Perhaps. But I’m not so sure you could say that about my betting skills.” He winked, leaning in a little closer. “Though I must admit, I always get a thrill from the unpredictable ones.”
Elizabeth felt herself growing uneasy as he continued to speak. His words felt like an invitation, a challenge, but she didn’t quite know how to respond. Before she could say anything more, Margaret’s voice rang out from across the room.
“Elizabeth, are you going to stand there all day with Porchie, or are we going to have some fun?” Margaret’s teasing tone cut through the air, drawing Elizabeth’s attention away from Porchie and the increasingly uncomfortable conversation.
Elizabeth shot Margaret a grateful smile, relief flooding through her as she turned her back to Porchie.
“Yes, I suppose I must,” she said with a hint of humor, though there was a faint tension in her voice.
Porchie, undeterred, nodded politely, his eyes flicking to her once more as she turned to leave. “Of course. Perhaps we can continue our conversation later?”
Elizabeth offered a distant smile in return, though her mind was far from the conversation she’d just had. As she walked away with Margaret, her thoughts were still occupied by Porchie’s attention.
Why was he suddenly acting this way?
The last thing that she needed was Porchie’s looming attention for the rest of the trip.
It would truly be unbearable.
But as they moved toward the other side of the room, Elizabeth’s gaze flicked to Philip, standing near the window.
His stance was stiff, his jaw clenched in a way that made her stomach flutter. And then she realized—the sharpness in his eyes, the barely concealed tension in his posture—it was jealousy.
He was jealous of Porchie’s attention, and though he wasn’t saying anything, she could feel it in the air.
A small, knowing smile tugged at her lips, though she didn’t let it show. Perhaps she could use this to her advantage.
-
The rest of the morning was filled with formal pleasantries and polite conversation.
The Porchesters were gracious, but the tension was palpable.
Margaret continued to interrupt any conversation Elizabeth had with Porchie, her chatter light and carefree.
Each time she did, Elizabeth felt a mix of relief and frustration. Margaret’s antics, while always entertaining, had never felt so necessary before.
As the group moved to the drawing room, Elizabeth’s gaze again flicked to Philip, who was standing at the far end of the room, his eyes still lingering on her.
But now, there was something more in his gaze—something that made her heart race, even though she didn’t fully understand it.
She had always known Philip to be protective, but this was different. There was an intensity in his look, a certain possessiveness that made her feel both confused and exhilarated.
Across the room, Porchie was still trying to engage her in conversation, his attempts becoming more obvious.
But Elizabeth’s responses had grown colder, more distant. She couldn’t help it.
The moment she realized Philip was jealous, something shifted inside her. She didn’t want Porchie’s attention.
It was Philip’s she craved.
As she excused herself from the conversation and moved to join Philip, she felt the weight of her mother’s eyes on her.
The older woman was observing everything with a careful gaze, her attention darting between Elizabeth and Philip, her expression unreadable.
-
It was well past midnight when Elizabeth found herself slipping out of her room, the cool night air pressing against her skin as she moved silently through the castle.
Her mind was racing, restless with thoughts she couldn’t quiet. Philip’s words from earlier echoed in her mind, his gaze heavy and possessive, the way he had looked at her with a quiet intensity that made her heart race.
The evening had been a whirlwind, filled with awkward silences and strained politeness as they all tried to navigate the strange presence of Lord Porchester in their midst.
Yet the most unsettling part was how Philip had reacted—how every time she had spoken to Porchie, his gaze had darkened, his mood shifting.
Elizabeth had felt it—a subtle, simmering jealousy that made her pulse quicken and her breath catch in her throat.
She couldn’t ignore it any longer.
As she wandered down the hall, she wasn’t sure what she was hoping for—only that she needed to speak to him, to somehow make sense of the tension between them.
When she turned a corner, she nearly bumped into him.
Philip was leaning casually against the stone wall, his arms crossed, his jaw set with a hard expression.
His eyes flickered to hers the moment she appeared, and a small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low, teasing. There was an edge to it, something in his tone that made her heart skip.
“I could say the same for you,” she replied, her voice quiet but steady. She didn’t want to admit just how much she had been thinking about him.
He pushed off the wall and moved toward her, his steps slow, deliberate. “True,” he said, his gaze lingering on her in a way that made her breath catch. “Though, I wonder… what kept you up tonight?”
Elizabeth frowned, trying to mask the vulnerability she felt. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Philip’s eyes darkened slightly, a glimmer of frustration in them. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know,” he said, stepping closer until they were standing only a few inches apart. “The way he kept staring at you—Lord Porchester’s son, I mean. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.”
She tensed at the mention of Porchie’s name, a flare of irritation rising within her. “He was just talking about horses” she said quickly, hoping to downplay it. “It wasn’t anything.”
“Oh, I know,” Philip replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. “You were just talking to him. Nothing more.” There was an undercurrent of possessiveness in his words that she couldn’t ignore.
“But tell me, Elizabeth… why is it that every time he spoke, you gave him so much of your attention? You made sure he knew you were listening.”
Elizabeth’s heart raced, but she tried to steady herself, meeting his gaze without looking away. “I wasn’t doing anything, Philip,” she said, her voice a little sharper than she intended. “We were just having a conversation. That’s all.”
Philip studied her for a moment, his lips pressing together in a tight line. “Funny,” he murmured, stepping even closer, until the space between them was practically nonexistent. “Because that’s not what it looked like to me. It looked like you were… enjoying his attention. A little too much.”
She swallowed, her breath hitching. His presence was so overwhelming, his proximity making it difficult to think clearly.
“It’s not what you think,” she whispered, though the words were weak in the face of his scrutiny.
Philip’s eyes softened, but there was still a trace of that possessiveness in them. “Maybe not,” he said, his voice lower now, almost a whisper.
“But I can’t help but notice it, Elizabeth. I can’t help but see that every time I look at you, you’re focused on something—or someone—else. And it drives me mad.”
Her chest tightened.
His words were like a weight pressing down on her, and yet there was something comforting about them—something that told her he cared. “I wasn’t focused on anyone but you,” she said quietly, almost as if she were reassuring herself. “It’s just… there’s so much going on, and I—“
“You think I don’t know that?” Philip cut in, his voice still low but filled with an intensity that made her heart race. “Of course, I know. But what I don’t understand, Elizabeth, is why you keep giving him even a second of your attention. Why you let him take that from me.”
She blinked, taken aback by the rawness in his words. “It’s not like that,” she whispered.
Philip’s eyes darkened further, his frustration building. He took another step forward, until the space between them was almost nonexistent. “Friends,” he repeated, his voice thick with something unspoken. “Is that what you really think? Because I don’t see it that way.”
Elizabeth’s breath hitched in her throat as he reached for her, his hand gently cupping her face.
She wanted to pull back, to maintain control, but something in his touch held her captive.
Something in the way he was looking at her, as if he were seeing straight into her soul, made her heart race with a thousand emotions she couldn’t name.
“Do you think,” Philip murmured, his voice almost a growl now, “that you can just let him have your attention like that and think I won’t notice? Think I won’t care?” He stepped closer, so close that their bodies were almost touching. “Because I do notice, Elizabeth. And I care more than I’d like to.”
She could feel his breath against her lips, and for a moment, everything else faded away. It was just the two of them, standing in the quiet corridor, the weight of his words hanging between them.
Her mind was spinning, her heart beating faster than she could keep up with.
She had never seen this side of him—this raw, vulnerable side that was so possessive, so unrelenting.
And yet, there was something about it that made her pulse quicken.
“You’re mine, Elizabeth” Philip said, his voice low and commanding. “And I can’t stand the thought of anyone else thinking otherwise. So stop pretending like it doesn’t matter. Because it does. To me.”
She swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling with every breath. His words were like a spark, igniting something within her. She didn’t know what this was between them, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.
All that mattered was him—was the way he made her feel.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “But I know this… I don’t want to keep pretending either.”
Philip’s gaze softened, though the fire in his eyes still burned bright.
Slowly, almost painfully slowly, he closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was filled with everything they hadn’t said, everything they hadn’t admitted.
At first, it was gentle, tentative, like a question asked in the silence between them.
His lips brushed against hers with a softness that made her stomach flip, a barely-there touch that seemed to ask for permission. Her breath hitched as she felt the warmth of his mouth, the electricity between them making her pulse quicken.
The kiss was tender, like a promise made with the gentlest of touches, but she could feel the intensity growing beneath the surface.
He deepened the kiss then, a slow, deliberate movement that had her body responding without thought. His hand slid from her face to the back of her neck, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them, until every inch of her skin was alive with the warmth of him. She gasped, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, her heart thudding in her chest as his tongue brushed against hers, coaxing her into a deeper kiss.
It was desperate, full of longing and need, the tension of everything unsaid finally finding its release. She felt his body pressed against hers, the hardness of his chest, the heat of his breath mingling with hers.
Her hands slid up to his shoulders, grasping him, pulling him closer still, as if she couldn’t get close enough. He groaned softly, his fingers threading into her hair, tilting her head back, taking the kiss to a place they had never been before.
When they finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, Philip’s forehead rested against hers, his hands still lingering on her face, his chest rising and falling with the same rapid breaths.
They were both trembling, their emotions so raw, so tangled, neither of them knowing how to name what had just happened.
“And what are we, Elizabeth?” Philip whispered, his voice thick with desire, his lips still so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin.
Her heart raced, her body humming with everything they had just shared.
She didn’t have the words, didn’t know how to explain the depth of what she was feeling. All she knew was that everything had changed in that moment.
She could no longer deny it, could no longer pretend.
“I don’t know,” she whispered back, her voice soft, barely a breath. “But I think I’m ready to find out.”
Philip’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. “Good,” he said, his voice low and almost possessive. “So am I.”