The Shot: Traincoach of Death, Book 1 Read Free Page B

magnificence. Dwarf versions of trees from Hyde Park dotted the rich meadow with the High King’s Lake represented as well. Only those in favor of the High King or Queen were allowed entrance into the once public park, and he wondered how the earl managed to copy it so realistically on his traincoach.
    The dome-like car contained walking passageways on the upper levels, with a glass ceiling and plenty of windows. He stopped to read the mock historical information and learned with astonishment that the board was an exact duplicate of the one at Hyde Park. It told of the rich history and how, after a civil war in the seventeenth century and the establishment of the four king constitutional monarchy system, they’d closed down the park because of the rebels who’d used it for their battleground. For nearly three hundred years, it stood as a monument of what can happen and as a symbol that the monarchy must remain strong, or it could lose the many lands which provided such great wealth to all of the Great Britain Empire.
    The Americas became a great source of untapped wealth at that time. A rebellion there nearly cost them the northern continent. However, the High King, Emperor for those not on the home continent, foresaw the simmering issues. He listened to the lower king, who’d warned him of the grumblings, and lowered taxes on tea and other goods, as well as given boons which snuffed out the rebellion before it caught fire. All of this passed through his mind quickly as he reappraised himself of the continent’s history.
    Now, Bill looked around him. The Empire had mightily excelled and expanded, becoming the largest nation in the world due to men and women like those in the Hastings family. But it still didn’t answer his question, so he asked Victoria. “How’d you get a replica of bits of Hyde Park and the historical board?”
    “My grandmother and the dowager queen grew up together and were fast friends. As a youngling, I played in those gardens,” she replied.
    “But that means...” He trailed off, not sure of the safest way to ask. How much could he say without risking revealing his identity? The King of Americas would have his hide. He looked around. No pun intended.
    “Is it a problem that I possess a title?”
    More like six, including Duchess, which, for some reason, the family managed to subvert from the public consciousness. One of his many tasks to fish out. “Not a problem. You just hadn’t informed me that I should be addressing you as my lady .”
    “They are not as formal in the Americas as on the Continent. In the early days, the land was so wild and seemingly untamable, lawlessness abounded. For our protection, we got out of the habit. Now, at a formal ball, I am still introduced as The Lady Moores, Viscountess.”
    “So your titles are Scottish?”
    “Now, kind sir, the Scottish aren’t the only ones with hereditary titles for the fairer sex, mostly thanks to the dowager queen. But I’m sure you have heard the stories as often as I.”
    He laughed and took her hand, tucked it under the crook of his arm, and began walking. “I think, my Lady Moores, that your grandmother and m...” He hoped she didn’t catch the hesitation and hear his slip. He almost said his great aunt. “My queen was more into telling you these stories than my father was in passing them on.”
    “What about your mother?”
    “She always did as my father asked.” When had he become so bitter about it? He realized, with a jolt, that watching Victoria’s father had brought it to the surface. Though gifted with many talents, his mother had little time to explore any of them. He’d have to think on it at a later time.
    “Are you from the Americas?”
    Bill paused as he thought how to answer the question. According to his work profile, he came from the American continent. However, he held no desire to lie to her. The only desire he possessed came from a completely different part of his anatomy, although using his