Deadly Receptions Read online

  © 2018 Veronica Cline Barton

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either imaginary or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN (Print): 978-1-54395-465-4

  ISBN (eBook): 978-1-54395-466-1

  Contents

  Nuptials in the Air

  A Royal Moment for the Ages

  Royal Clean-up

  Scottish Bliss

  Things Can Change in an Instant

  Gossip Season in Full Bloom

  Broken Hearts

  Premiere Time

  Royal Reviews and the Jet Set

  The Big Apple

  Turmoil in the City

  Shock and Gall

  Terrors on the Train

  Revelations and Murder

  Clues and Blues

  Lancaster Legacy

  The Telly Tiara Awards

  Malibu Danger

  Revenge Is Not So Sweet

  Proposal and Next Steps

  To Bruce, thank you for joining me on this journey…

  1

  Nuptials in the Air

  “I feel like a boiled lobster. When will this heat ever end?” Amy whined, fanning herself by the open French doors, looking out at the sapphire blue waters of the North Sea.

  I looked up at her and smiled. Amy Princeton, my marketing assistant, was feeling the heat more than usual this afternoon. This July was proving to be the hottest on record, and not just here in the U.K. It seemed the entire planet was under a severe weather watch. The air was thick with humidity and not even the churning winds that skimmed the North Sea brought relief. It was making the planning of our inauguration wedding in the newly opened Wedding Pavilion here on the Cherrywood Hall estate a bit difficult, to say the least.

  We had less than a week until the big event. As an added pressure, our first wedding involved the wedding of a royal grandson, Sir Timothy Oxmoor, MBE, son of the princess royal, Princess Zane, and his fiancé, Lady Kimberly Birchfield. The press corps were already lining up at the front gate, hunkering down to try and get the best positions for photos of the bride and groom, as well as the celebrity guests that were rumored to attend. We were expecting press outlets from all around the world to be out in full force, including the British television networks, to cover the wedding. No expense was being spared and expectations were set incredibly high. The pressure was on, one did not disappoint the royals no matter what, especially when it involved the ‘royal wedding of the season’.

  “Let’s make sure we send down some drinks and food to the press. I don’t want any of them to drop over from thirst or hunger. We can ask Bridges to see to it on our way down to the pool,” I said, standing up from my desk, arms stretching in the air. I looked around the room at the sample photos, fabric swatches, candles, and bouquet samples that seemed to be tucked in every nook and cranny. At this point in time I wasn’t yet seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, but I didn’t want Amy to sense my inner panic, not with just one week to go.

  “Oh, Gemma, can we? A swim would be perfect,” Amy said, turning from the French doors, grinning. “I’m at a great place to stop anyway. I’ve made the final check of the catering menu and there are just three changes this time. They just don’t seem to understand that no garlic, means, no garlic. I need to emphasize one more time that this is the queen’s rule, not mine.”

  The royals had a strict no garlic rule for their cuisine. The queen did not like it, and garlic breath did make interacting with the public a bit dodgy. I grabbed Amy’s hand and laughed as we made our way down the staircase and headed to the swimming pool.

  “Why don’t you have Chef Karl go over the final details with them this time. I think having the chef from Cherrywood Hall speaking with them might carry a bit more weight than you or me. Besides, they know if they handle this job well and get Chef Karl’s approval, it will bode well for future weddings and events.”

  “Everyone wants a piece of this action, Gemma. You would not believe how many messages I get on social media every day from people and businesses. Everyone thinks we can get them an exclusive deal with the royal wedding or the Castlewood Manor crew. I never knew so many people fancy themselves as actors too,” Amy said, chuckling.

  “I believe it. I get the same thing. Who knew there were so many decorating, fashion, hair and make-up artists in Maidenford? Royal fever is out of control too. I think everyone has chucked their day jobs hoping to break into anything showbusiness or royal wedding related. We’ll be lucky if Henry doesn’t decide to take a shot at it himself and close The Howling Pig. I’d never last without their cider and shepherd’s pie.”

  “You’re not alone there. I think half of the village would be up in arms if Henry closed the Pig. Aunt Sally would start a campaign in the Maidenford Banner for sure.” Sally Prim was the editor of the local paper and a good friend, in addition to being Amy’s aunt. She was a major asset to our public relations efforts as well and had proven her support time and time again. No one in their right mind would take on Sally, not if they knew what was good for them.

  We giggled and made our way across the grand hall and through the dining room to enter the conservatory, one of my favorite rooms here at Cherrywood Hall. Its glass ceiling, thirty-foot high waterfall, marble walkways, and luscious plants made it a favorite gathering place for us to rehash the day’s events. Bridges, the head butler at Cherrywood Hall was in there, managing the setup of a bar, table, and chairs for this evening’s cocktails. I waved as we walked over to him.

  “Good afternoon Miss Gemma, Miss Amy,” Bridges said, with a slight bow of his head. “May I help you with anything?”

  “Good afternoon, Bridges. I was wondering if you could have some cold drinks and sandwiches sent down to the front gate area. The press corps is already gathering there, and with this heat I want to make sure everyone has enough to eat and drink. I can’t believe they’re already lining up, but there’s not much we can do at this point.”

  “Certainly, Miss Gemma. We’ll take care of it straightway. I suppose we should continue serving them until the big day?”

  “Yes, we might as well plan on it. Best to keep them in good humor just in case. A happy press is a good thing,” I said, grinning.

  Refreshments to the press secured, we headed over to the faux rock door that served as the gateway into the hidden pool room and entered, making our way into the changing rooms off to the side. Suits on, we jumped into the refreshing, cool water. As I floated across the pool, my eyes stared at the beautiful blue sky scattered with puffy clouds, magnified just a bit by the glass ceiling overhead. I couldn’t believe it had been almost eleven months since my cousin Evan, the 8th Marquess of Kentshire, had asked me here to help him and his estate manager, Kyle Williams, to win the estate competition for the new television period drama series production, Castlewood Manor. Cherrywood Hall won the competition, its one-hundred-fifty plus rooms and five-thousand-acre grounds having been selected by the judges affiliated with Rosehill Productions, the studio handling the production of Castlewood Manor. We had just completed the filming of season one of the series, with a few unfortunate tragedies that threatened to stop production.

  Not all was tragic, however, Kyle and I had fallen in love, and for that I was very grateful. I might also add that he is now known as Sir Kyle, having been newly knighted by the queen for his work in technologically enhancing some of Britain’s finest
estates. Castlewood Manor had changed my life, as well as my family and new-found friends. In my new role, I act as the marketing liaison between the Cherrywood Hall estate and the staff and executives at Rosehill Productions, handling all matters associated with the estate and the Castlewood Manor public relations and marketing activities. I also manage the planning of the weddings and special functions taking place at the Wedding Pavilion.

  My tasks were growing daily. The public was anxiously awaiting the global debut of season one of Castlewood Manor in a few weeks. Once again, we were set to participate in a whirl wind of activities, both in London and overseas. After the premiere event in London, we would be traveling to the U.S. for a few weeks of glam filled events, and I couldn’t wait for the festivities to begin. Excitement was in the air for this debut, and word on the street whispered the series would be a huge hit.

  The premise of the Castlewood Manor series storyline involves a very wealthy and somewhat controlling American mother who brings her daughters over to Britain in the early twentieth century to live at their estate, Castlewood Manor, to snag suitable aristocratic husbands. The American mother happens to be best friends with the queen, who is also trying to find suitable husbands for her princess daughters, albeit from the historical royal palaces. Castlewood Manor would explore the trials and tribulations of both mothers and their daughters as well as the deep, dark secrets that roam the halls of these aristocratic manor houses and palaces. My own mama, the actress Jillian Phillips, surprised us all last year by announcing she was playing a lead role in the Castlewood Manor series. Ma-ma landed the role of the American mother who just happens to be best friends with the queen.

  I should take some time to introduce my family, since it’s a bit different from everyday American and British lineage and somewhat relevant to the Castlewood Manor series. My name is Gemma Alexandra Lancaster Phillips, and I’m a twenty-seven-year-old California girl, born and bred. I was awarded my PhD degree last year, my dissertation largely based upon my family’s heritage.

  My American Lancaster family had been one of the first industrial giants to make huge fortunes as the railways pushed west across the United States. My great-great-grandfather was Patrick Lancaster, an entrepreneur who’d had the brilliant idea that the railways were going to need iron and labor—and lots of it.

  I emphasize American Lancaster family because Patrick’s great-great-grandfather, John Lancaster, had left his ancestral home in England to come over to the American colonies, as they were then known, just before the Revolutionary War. John was the second son of the Marquess of Kentshire, James Lancaster, who lived on the family estate, Cherrywood Hall. Being the second son, the rules of primogeniture prevailed, John would inherit nothing. He thus split with the British family and made the trip to America to begin a new life.

  Patrick had two daughters: Phillipa, called Pippa, my great-great-aunt; and Lillian, my great-grandmother. Pippa went to England in 1912 endowed with a generous multi-million-dollar dowry Patrick had bestowed upon her. She came over to marry her distant Lancaster family cousin Charles Edward Lancaster, who was the 4th Marquess of Kentshire. Pippa was something of a renegade for her time. She didn’t want to be just an American socialite living in the hills of San Francisco or New York. She had bigger aspirations, and they included becoming a British almost royal living half a world away.

  Her marriage to Charles reunited the American and British Lancaster families—a huge event given that we had been separated by years of war, waves of family ill feeling, and miles and miles of sea and land. Pippa had brought a badly needed fortune to the marquess and the Cherrywood estate. Thanks to Pippa and her American money, Cherrywood Hall had been saved, and my cousin Evan was now the 8th Marquess of Kentshire.

  My great-grandmama Lillian became one of the first female medical doctors of her time, and her daughter, Meredith, followed her career path. Lillian was endowed with a multi-million-dollar trust just as Pippa had been and generously supported her descendants in a very comfortable style of life, which was how I happened to have a rather large trust fund.

  My mama, Jillian, scandalously went out on her own to become a successful film and television actress. She married my father, David Phillips, who was then pursuing his doctoral degree in history at the University of California while surfing in Malibu. They divorced when I was two, history and acting not mixing in their case.

  I followed my father’s academic route, pursuing my PhD at the University of California. I wanted to make my own mark, not just be a Malibu trust-fund baby. I had an enormous appreciation for my family’s feats, especially Pippa’s. Her reunification of the Lancaster family and her inheritance became the subject of my dissertation: Twentieth-Century Reunification of British and American Aristocratic Families with the Influx of American Heiress Inheritances. Pippa and Lillian both believed that a family united was invincible. Evan and I continued in this belief, a family united, British and American, in a major new family venture. We were enjoying our time as reunified family very much; our relationships were now stronger than ever. Cherrywood Hall was becoming my home. I didn’t quite know what I would do if the Castlewood Manor series came to an end.

  “The swim was so refreshing. I’ve got my second wind,” Amy laughed, swinging her svelte body up the pool ladder. “You take your time, I’m going to find Chef Karl and figure out a way to get the garlic crisis averted with the catering folks. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

  I waved at Amy as she exited the pool and went back into my hypnotic float. My body drifted aimlessly on the surface of the water, bumping into the side of the pool wall every now and then, causing me to change route. I continued my cloud watching, amazed at the shapes floating overhead. I was just getting ready to turn over to swim some laps when I felt strong arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me under the water. I was startled for a minute until I realized whose arms entwined me. Kyle was soon properly kissing my lips and holding me tightly under the water. Our embrace lingered, until I finally realized I was out of air, breaking abruptly to the surface.

  “How’s my Malibu princess?” Kyle asked, kissing my face as I coughed and smoothed back my soaked waist length hair.

  I smiled and touched his long black locks, loving the feel of his hair between my fingers. “Surprised to see you,” I answered. I wrapped my arms around Kyle’s neck as he swung me around in the water. “I thought you and Evan wouldn’t be home until evening. How did your meeting go with the Royal Architecture Society?”

  Kyle pulled me over to the side of the pool so that we could stand. The Royal Architecture Society, also known as the R.A.S., was a prestigious group dedicated to the preservation and modernization of Britain’s estate homes. Kyle had worked with the group for many years and was instrumental in getting new technologies and architectural concepts accepted by their group.

  “It went quite well. They want to do a feature article and video of our work here with the Castlewood Manor crew of course, but they will also feature the Wedding Pavilion and Honeymoon Chateau too, to showcase how modern architecture can be infused into the manor house estates. I’m sure Elliot will try and get them to do a bit more. There’s never too much publicity, as he would say.” Kyle grinned and playfully splashed some water at me.

  Elliot Pierce, owner of public relations firm Magnum PR, was on retainer with us to help with the marketing and public relations efforts for our Castlewood Manor and Cherrywood Hall winery and wedding businesses. He was working overtime with the upcoming royal wedding, making sure as many articles as possible mentioned the nuptials that were to be held at Cherrywood Hall. He and his partner, Max, had become good friends of Ma-ma and Aunt Margaret, as well as us, and frequently joined us at social events here at Cherrywood Hall, and in London at Aunt Margaret’s Belgravia mansion. Margaret Lancaster, Evan’s mother, was the dowager marchioness. She was good friends with Queen Annelyce, continuing the Lancaster ladies’ alliance with the queen and her f
amily, and making sure that all our events that included the royals were of the highest standards. Ma-ma stayed with her at the house in London during filming at the Rosehill Studios, the two becoming quite close.

  “I’m sure Elliot will get more coverage. He knows every PR trick in the book. I’m glad he’s on our side,” I said, tugging Kyle’s locks. “Where’s Evan? Is he back too?”

  “He’s on his way. I took a car back after our meeting with the R.A.S. Evan was going to Belgravia to pick up Lady Margaret and your mother and bring them here to Cherrywood. They’ll be here just in time for your royal wedding---hope you have everything under control. I see the press has already started to line up at the gates.”

  Kyle grinned as we made our way up the pool steps to dry off and change. I bent over and wrapped my hair in a towel, thinking about all the work still to be done. Aunt Margaret and Ma-ma’s impending presence was both a blessing and a curse. Too many wedding planners in the pavilion wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Kyle noticed the wrinkles forming on my forehead and took me in his arms for a reassuring hug.

  “I think we’re okay. Amy is proving to be a master coordinator, and I don’t know what I’d do without her. Believe it or not, hosting a royal wedding is actually not as intimidating as it would seem. The royals have a fairly comprehensive checklist as to what will be done, can be done, or will not be done in any circumstance,” I said, laughing, giving Kyle a quick kiss as I moved to dry the rest of my body off. “All we have to do is follow the guidelines to the tee, coordinate with the royal bakers, florists, and wedding coordinators. Nothing to it. The press corps is another ball of wax all together. Bridges is sending down cold drinks and sandwiches for them until the big day.” I shook my hair out from the towel, brushing it to dry.

  “Well, you’re lucky that this royal wedding is for one who’s pretty far down the line for the crown, with all due respect to Sir Timothy. I’m sure the rules are much stricter for the ones further up the heir-to-the-throne chain.”