She had no idea what time it was, but light from the window was coming into the room, so it must be morning. She forced herself out of bed, even though she knew she could happily sleep for at least a few more hours—she hadn’t fallen asleep until pretty late the night before, either because of jet lag, or excitement, she wasn’t sure which. But she was only going to be in England for a handful of days; she didn’t want to waste any of the daylight. Especially since they didn’t appear to have a ton of it.

She checked her phone to see if anyone at home had texted, but no, it was the middle of the night there, wasn’t it? She sent a quick text to her sister Jo to see how she was feeling. Jo’s cancer had been in remission this time for six months, and while she was a lot better, she was still pretty weak. Vivian had felt really guilty about leaving her, but Jo had laughed at her and told her there was no way she should miss this trip.

Vivian walked across the hall to the bathroom and wondered what she was going to do all day. Maddie would be working, and Vivian wasn’t quite sure how much she was allowed to just wander around a royal estate on her own. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure about how a lot of things would operate for the next few days—for instance, how was she going to manage to get coffee this morning? This wasn’t some bed-and-breakfast where there would be coffee and tea and muffins down in the living room. And her lack of sleep the night before meant she needed that coffee.

No matter what, she’d better go downstairs showered, with her hair in place, and with a bra on. There might be a prince in the kitchen, for God’s sake.

When she walked back into her room after her shower (first scanning the hallway to make sure no royalty was around to see her in a towel), she noticed a piece of paper on the floor by the door.

Morning, Mom! I’ll be closeted away (no pun intended) all morning making clothes decisions and doing fittings, but I’ve been instructed to tell you to head into the kitchen whenever you wake up and decide you want breakfast.—Maddie

Okay, so she was supposed to just head into the kitchen, presumably to find whoever made the amazing sandwiches they’d gobbled down the night before, and ask for coffee?

The whole idea of someone else at her beck and call made her so uncomfortable. Of course, yes, it would be great to wake up as a princess and have someone there to make her bed every day and build her bedroom fire and cook her meals and whatever else a household staff did for you, but since she wasn’t a princess, she had no idea how to do this. She wasn’t walking into a restaurant; she was walking downstairs in a house and asking people who were used to working for royalty to work for her, a black woman from Oakland who had celebrated her fiftieth birthday almost five years ago. Were they irritated about having to wait hand and foot on her and Maddie?

She pulled herself up straight. Hell with it. If they were, oh well. She was here, wasn’t she? It’s not like she was going to ask for a four-course meal, but coffee was a reasonable request. This was a trip of new experiences, wasn’t it? It was time to put her bra on and do this.

She heard a crackle on the other side of the room and looked up from the note. She shook her head and laughed. There was a brand-new fire in the fireplace. Someone must have come in and made it up while she was in the shower. If the staff was irritated about waiting on her, they hadn’t shown it.

Twenty minutes later, she made her way down two flights of stairs. When she got to the ground floor, she hesitated for a second and then turned left, toward the back of the house. She wasn’t positive that was where the kitchen was, but it made the most sense. She’d sort of expected to see someone on her journey across the ground floor—any of the men in suits, for example—but though she heard faint music and some voices in the distance, she saw no one.

Finally, after she walked through a formal living room with furniture that looked so elaborate she was afraid to touch it, and a huge dining room with a wooden table that gleamed, she followed a narrow hallway that she was sure must lead to the kitchen. The sound of voices and of running water from that direction made her even more certain. She took a deep breath and stepped into the room with a smile on her face.

“Good morning, I’m Vivian Forest,” she said to the young woman with red hair standing at the stove. Well, she was probably somewhere in her thirties, but Vivian would always call anyone in the vicinity of her daughter’s age “young,” no matter how old they both got. “If it’s not too much trouble, can I have . . . ?”

Her voice trailed off as she looked around the room. It wasn’t the huge wood beam ceiling that stopped her, or the enormous bright red stove, or the dried herbs and garlic and onion braids hanging over the big wooden table. No, it was the man standing by the back door.

His hair was short, with a touch of gray at the temples. He was wearing a shirt and tie and suit pants, but with a very cozy-looking cardigan on top instead of a jacket. He had a plaid scarf wrapped around his neck and was somehow pulling it off better than any nonmodel she’d ever seen. His skin was warm brown. And he was smiling at her like they’d been friends for years. She couldn’t help but return a smile just as big.

“Ms. Forest, good morning!” Vivian’s attention snapped back to the woman standing at the stove. “I just made a new pot of coffee. Would you like a cup? Or tea? I’m happy to make you whatever breakfast you want. We weren’t sure what you and the other Ms. Forest would like, so I have a lot of options, but I made some fresh scones this morning if that interests you? The other Ms. Forest mentioned you enjoy them at breakfast although we usually eat them at tea-time.”

Vivian couldn’t decide what appealed to her more, hot coffee and fresh scones, or that man in the corner who looked like a tall mug of hot chocolate.

Why choose?

“I’d love both the coffee and a scone. Thank you so much.”

Would Hot Chocolate leave? Or come farther into the room? Or just stay silent until she went away? Vivian tried to keep her mind on the woman pouring her coffee.

“I’m Julia Pepper. I’m the cook here at Sycamore Cottage. It’s nice to meet you.” She set the cup in a saucer and then on a tray. “I can bring the coffee and some scones into the sitting room where you ate last night, if that’s convenient for you?”

Vivian would rather stay in this warm, comfortable-looking kitchen and chat with Julia and Mr. Chocolate over there, but she didn’t want to disturb the running of the household.

“Oh yes, of course, that’s—”

“Now Julia can introduce us,” Hot Chocolate said. Good Lord, was that nickname a good one; his voice was so warm and dark and liquid. He was smiling at her again, and she smiled back.

“Ms. Forest, this is Malcolm Hudson.” Julia’s voice sounded amused. “He’s Her Majesty’s private secretary now, but he’s always had a soft spot for my scones.” Her Majesty. As in, the Queen. This man worked directly for the Queen? What in God’s name? “Mr. Hudson, Ms. Forest.”

He stepped all the way inside the kitchen to shake her hand. His big, warm hand enveloped hers and shook firmly, but not for too long. She sent up a tiny thank-you that she’d put a bra and lipstick on before coming downstairs.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hudson.” People seemed very fond of using last names here, so she was going to go with it. When in Rome, after all. “I hope there are enough scones for both of us.”