Becoming Princess Olivia

By Lisa Prysock

Miss Olivia Jane Kennedy is something of a child prodigy when she becomes a published author earlier than anyone could have expected. She also finds herself with a broken heart by the time she's nineteen. When an opportunity arises to study abroad in England at The London Writing Academy on scholarship, she takes the chance, hoping a change of scenery will do her some good. "Ollie," as her kid sister, Kendra, has nicknamed her, takes up residence in a Victorian terrace flat on a scenic street in Chelsea.

Four years later, she's a successful writer, age twenty-three, and about to graduate, but maybe dreams only come true for the characters she writes about in her Christian historical romance novels, her "Beloved Britannia" series.

When the handsome twenty-eight-year-old, His Royal Highness Prince Stephen, asks to share her London cab to throw the paparazzi off, the country girl who grew up on a quiet farm in Minnesota is in for the ride of her life! The Prince is everything she could have hoped for and so much more, but falling in love means risking her once broken heart on high stakes far beyond her wildest dreams. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Prysock
• Release date: May 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386002024

Book preview

For Such a Time as This

Copyright Page

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means- electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author.

Becoming Princess Olivia

Copyright © 2018 by Lisa M. Prysock

All rights reserved.

Cover Design formatting by Lisa M. Prysock; front cover image contributed by cover artist ID 69114189 © Sergey Kovbasyuk | Dreamstime.com .  Clip art and illustrations used are public domain and illustrations by the author noted by initials LP or by Lisa Prysock, if any.  Any internet links, addresses, or contact information in this book are not guaranteed for the life of the book. 

Interior text edited by Rachel Skatvold.

For information or to contact the publisher or author:  Lisa Prysock, 7318 Autumn Bent Way, Crestwood, Kentucky, 40014, USA

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

This work is cataloged in the Library of Congress.

Unless paraphrased, otherwise noted or indicated, all Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

Becoming Princess Olivia

Copyright © 2018 by Lisa M. Prysock

All rights reserved.

ISBN:

ISBN-13: 978-1717316936

ISBN-10: 171731693X

Dedication

I dedicate this novel to all of the young girls, teenage girls, and women who need to know they are loved and beautiful exactly the way God created them.  As Christian daughters of the Most High and Living God, joint-heirs with Jesus Christ when we accept Him and the sacrifice He made for us on the cross for redemption from our sins, we have an inheritance, a purpose, and a position within the Kingdom of God and body of Christ.  Know you are deeply loved and cherished by a King.  You are His Princess.

Becoming Princess Olivia

Esther 4:14, NIV

For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?

Chapter 1

All good books are alike in that they are truer than if they had really happened and after you are finished reading one you will feel that all that happened to you and afterwards it all belongs to you: the good and the bad, the ecstasy, the remorse and sorrow, the people and the places and how the weather was. If you can get so that you can give that to people, then you are a writer.

Ernest Hemingway, American novelist, short story writer, journalist

Olivia Jane Kennedy fished one of her business cards out of her sequin-covered clutch and handed it to the kind lady married to the elderly gentleman seated at her table.  She hadn’t brought it up, but the Duchess, June Hanford, had requested it in response to discovering Olivia was a writer. 

Thank you, June examined the card and then tucked it inside her glittery evening purse. I’m looking forward to reading your books.

It’s always a pleasure to gain a new reader. Olivia had been glad to be seated next to the sweet couple during the high-society wedding reception.  They’d been down-to-earth, friendly, and easy to converse with.  She’d have felt awkward otherwise, since she barely knew anyone other than the bride, Callie, and Marie, both from her class at the London Creative Writing Academy. 

As she stood to leave, Olivia glanced nervously in the direction of the table where the Prince had been seated with a jovial group of friends from his circle.  She didn’t see him anywhere, but it had been an interesting evening with royalty in attendance.  She was almost sure she’d felt him staring at her a number of times, and three or four times their eyes had met. 

She hadn’t turned her gaze away until the last time, and only because his had seemed intense.  She couldn’t tell if he was with a date or not, and part of her wished she’d taken Marie up on the offer to fix her up with a blind date.  She hadn’t been in England long enough to meet anyone since she kept herself busy writing and studying, and it had been a nice gesture on Marie’s part. 

She’d already thanked the bride and groom for inviting her, said her farewell to Marie—presently getting her groove on in the middle of the dance floor with the date she’d brought along as her escort—and it was growing later than she’d intended to stay.  She would have to rise early tomorrow if she was going to make her writing deadline.  It was well after midnight, and the reception looked as though it could go on for hours.  At present, Olivia was thankful she hadn’t tripped on her evening gown, stumbled in her elegant heels, or spilled anything.  She could hardly wait for a breath of fresh air.

Ah, there you are, Lord Hanford. Olivia extended a gloved hand as the Duke, Jeremy Hanford, returned to the table after chatting with some of his friends.   It was very nice to meet both of you.

Don’t tell us you’re leaving the party this early at your age? The distinguished gentleman with kind, blue eyes and white hair appeared genuinely disappointed.

The Duchess spared Olivia from offering the Duke an explanation for her departure.  The valet parking staff just notified her on her mobile.  Her cab has arrived.  Fear not, Jeremy, dear.  She gave us one of her cards.  I intend to purchase all of her books.  She’s a writer and has deadlines, and probably a bit of a drive back to her flat.

Very good, then. Lord Hanford raised her gloved hand to brush it with a customary kiss and then winked at her good-naturedly. We’ll give you a ring and invite you to tea or dinner. Do you need help with your luggage?

Olivia shook her head.  That’s all been taken care of, but thank you for asking.  She’d enjoyed the weekend accommodations at the beautiful lodgings overlooking the park with its luscious green lawn, wooded borders, and deer roaming freely about the grounds.  While some guests would remain for one more evening, many would be leaving that night. 

Our new American friend is also the founder and owner of Adopt-A-Missionary, the Duchess—with her perfectly coiffed, silvery-white hair, and flawless complexion—informed her husband.  June Hanford, despite her age, possessed a generous amount of natural beauty and grace.  She looked like a china doll.  Turning back to Olivia as Lord Hanford sat down again beside his wife, she added, We’ll most certainly be supporting your endeavors, Miss Kennedy.

Remember, do call me Olivia.  All of my close friends do, and after this lovely day, I feel as though I’ve known you both a lifetime.  It will be an honor to have tea or dinner with you and I’m delighted you’ll be giving my work your support.  It means so much to me. She bobbed a slight curtsy, unsure if it had been the proper thing to do or not.  I’ll look forward to hearing from you.  Then she checked to be sure her chiffon shawl draped neatly over one arm and wouldn’t drag on the floor.  Did she have her clutch secure in one hand? Now, with the other hand, she raised the skirt of her emerald green satin and chiffon gown a bit in order to exit gracefully—she hoped. 

At first, she walked away slowly from her table and the room filled with happy guests.  When she’d made significant progress, she hastened her pace to make a dash for the double doors to exit the lavish banqueting room on the grounds of the Georgian mansion located on the southwest side of London.  It had certainly been a long day with a morning church ceremony followed by a wedding breakfast, a few hours for rest through the afternoon in one of the luxurious bedrooms, and then the evening reception.

She found her way to the cab, breathing in deeply in the breezy, warm evening as all of the tension left her body.  She tensed again when she spotted a conglomeration of paparazzi camped just outside the gated entrance—and several hiding in shrubs not too far from where she stood.  Obviously, they’d managed to get past the security guard at the gates by trekking onto the property from some other direction.  Olivia tried to ignore them, knowing they were there to snap photos of guests and Prince Stephen, if they could catch him.  A few other guests were leaving, attended by other valets, but she paid them no mind and kept her head down—praying the reporters wouldn’t photograph her.  Too late!  The sound of cameras clicking furiously, blinding camera lights flashing, and a scuffle of car doors opening took her by surprise.

She quickly tipped the valet after he showed her the luggage had been placed inside what the British called the boot of the cab.  Americans were far more relaxed and had things a lot easier.  She followed the valet to the passenger door of her cab, distracted further by the sound of the cameras and shouts from reporters.  Without looking around too much, she realized the Prince must have exited the mansion at about the same time as she had.  Nonetheless, she attempted to remain focused on accounting for her luggage and entering the black cab waiting for her.

As the valet attending her opened a rear passenger cab door, the Prince stepped forward, darting away from his bodyguards dressed in black suits, and the Rolls-Royce parked behind her cab.  The Prince had a convoy of two other vehicles behind the Rolls-Royce.

"London bound? Mind if I share your cab to throw the ‘razzi’ off our tail?" the Prince inquired, his voice smooth yet hurried.

Your Royal Highness... The valet stepped back from the door in surprise and bowed slightly.  Prince Stephen now stood inches away, so close she could breathe in the intoxicatingly wonderful smell of sandalwood and spices from his cologne.

Olivia could sense the urgency in his voice and situation.  The razzi?  Oh, he meant the paparazzi, of course.  There wasn’t any time to react.  Reporters were clicking photos at a frantic pace and flashing lights were everywhere.  She did some sort of delayed curtsy and heard herself say, Sure, I mean, certainly! She chided herself for using casual terms around royalty.  Somehow, it didn’t seem right, and as a Regency Romance writer, she, of all people, knew better.

Her mouth open in shock, she slid over in the seat, gathering her skirts to allow the handsome, dark haired Prince space to share the seat with her.  Breathe, just breathe...act normal, casual, stay calm.  He’s just the Prince and future King of England.  No need to flip out, she told her rapidly beating heart.  He slid onto the seat beside her and the valet closed the door.

Where to? the driver asked in a Texan drawl.  A closer look at him revealed a red bandana tied in cowboy fashion around his neck. 

She rattled off her address, pleased she hadn’t stumbled over giving it.  The driver added the address to his GPS and pressed start.  This gave her heart time to settle and return to a normal rate.  More reporters and photographers had found a way around the guard house and onto the grounds.  They continued to snap photos and blind them with bright, flashing lights.  The Prince locked the car door and avoided peering outside the cab windows by looking straight ahead.   

Can you take back roads and throw off the paparazzi? the Prince asked as he helped her move her skirts over.

You got it, but buckle up, Your Royal Highness, Sir, and ma’am. The cab driver shot them a toothy grin through the rearview mirror.  He bowed his head and made the sign of the cross.  Hearing their seatbelts click in place, he tossed them an adventurous smile with twinkling eyes.  Hold on tight! 

Are you from Texas? she asked.  He had a kind of southern drawl she hadn’t heard in a while.

San Antonio. He reached over into the empty front passenger seat and slid a cowboy hat on his head, turned and winked at both of them.

The Prince grinned as he exchanged a look with her.  A Texas cowboy for a cab driver?  She wasn’t going to ask him what he was doing in London.  Everybody came to London at one time or another if they could manage it, even cowboys.  What wasn’t there to love about the renowned city?  There were the palaces, Covent Garden, the River Thames, the beautiful city skyline, and so much history.  She chuckled.  I think we’re in for a fun ride.  Texans are tough and amazing.

Yes, we are, and thank you, ma’am!

Nothing too crazy, mate, Prince Stephen requested as one of his arms stretched across the back seat behind both of them and their eyes locked.

Nothing too crazy, the cowboy repeated as he hit an electric button to close his window.  You’re in for a long ride, paparazzi.

The Prince chuckled and leaned closer to her.  I like this chap’s style.

Chapter 2

Texas is a state of mind. Texas is an obsession. Above all, Texas is a nation in every sense of the word.

Author John Steinbeck

Y ou haven’t seen anything , yet! The driver grinned in response to the Prince’s comment. 

Then he hit a button and instantly, they heard the cab mobile on speaker as it dialed a number.  A fellow answered, Cheerio.

Say, I’ve got the Prince on board in the cab with his lady.  I’m not going to stop for long at the gates.  I need you to open them without giving the press too much of a chance to take pictures.

Yes, Sir, the guard positioned at the entrance station replied. What about the Rolls-Royce and the bodyguards in the Prince’s convoy?

Let them pass through with us, Prince Stephen instructed the driver, who then relayed the instructions to the guard.

Here we go! He pulled out slowly into the lane leading to a roundabout.  As they rounded the turn toward the exit from the Georgian mansion, he sped up and squealed the tires up the lane leading to the main entrance gates, making them laugh. 

The gates opened slowly, but at least they were able to keep rolling instead of stopping to be questioned by the guard.  The driver’s phone call had probably spared them from dozens more photos, but reporters camped at the gate continued snapping more photos and blinding them with flashing lights.

The cab driver laughed at the surreal moment and just before he drove them all the way through the gate, he rolled the window down on the front passenger side and hollered a challenge at the reporters scrambling for their cars as he let a wild, long, Yeeee-haw!

Olivia and Prince Stephen couldn’t help but laugh.  What was she doing in a cab, next to the Prince of England, wearing an evening gown, being followed by reporters and