Page 18 of The Heir
“I’m sorry, Father,” said Jane. She tried again. “Well, I . . . she . . . Prince, rather, began to gallop away, and Hornsby went after her, and I tried to keep up, but I couldn’t, and the reins kept getting muddled, and I was afraid I might fall.”
Father made an impatient sound. “And the princess went up the rise, and then Prince shied, and she fell?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And that was all you saw? You have not left anything out?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, that’s something, anyway,” he muttered. “Jane, you must do better with the princess. We all of us must do our part if we are to elevate our family to the position we are owed. This is not only for me or for your brother. You understand that when Victoria takes the crown, I am to become her personal secretary, yes?”
I understand that’s what you always say.
“When that happens, you will become an official lady-in-waiting. Keep that post, keep your influence with the princess, and you will eventually make a brilliant marriage. You’ll be a rich and influential woman all your life. But if you fail, if you causeusto fail, you will be nothing but a ridiculous spinster shut up in her rooms, like the Princess Sophia.”
Princess Sophia was one of Victoria’s aunts. There were six elder princesses in total, but Sophia was the only one who lived in Kensington Palace. The rest had been married off, mostly to German nobles. Nobody talked about why no husband had been found for Princess Sophia and why she had been sent away from St. James’s to live in absolute retirement at Kensington.
“But we need for you to be herfriend, not just another lady at court,” Father went on. “Thatis why I let you go out with her today. To give you a greater chance to enter into her confidence. You should know this by now. You must make her trust you and your judgment. She mustdependon you—on all of us—to act in her interests. She must come to trust us more than she trusts herself.”
Father rose and went to stand in front of the window. He gazed out toward the palace, lost in daydreams and stubborn pride.
“We deserve our position, Jane. You must not ever forget that. We are not merely connected to them but bound by the closest possible ties. Her grace, the duchess, understands this. That is why she trusts me—trustsus—to protect her daughter from those influences that might corrupt her before she can ascend the throne.”
Jane felt as if she was in the midst of a yellow fog. Distant shapes moved and shifted in the sickly vapors, and she was filled with a nagging curiosity to know what they might really be. There were whispers, too, as vague as the shadows. All of them twisted together in the uneasy depths of her dull, restless mind.
Father was looking at her, expectant. Jane realized with a jolt, she’d heard nothing of what he’d just said. Then, worse, she realized it didn’t actually matter, because she knew the answer required of her.
“Yes, sir.”
Father nodded. “Now I must return to the palace. I’ll be home late tonight, and tomorrow morning we can judge if you are fit to be seen.”
She could let him go. Her silence would be taken for obedience. He did not need to know she’d found anything on the green. She could quietly dispose of the spectacles on her own. That would be easiest and best.
“Father?”
He paused on the threshold. His grim expression warned her that his patience was at an end.
“I only tried to do right, Father.”
Jane lifted her eyes to his. Her jaw throbbed. She felt suddenly aware of every part of herself—of the breath in her lungs and the beating of her heart.
Let him say he loved her.
Let him say he needed her.
Let him mean it. This once, let him mean even one word of it.
If he did, she would bring out the spectacles she had found and hand them over. He would thank her and praise her foresight and cleverness.
“Well, you must try harder.” His eyes were flat and distracted. Jane knew his mind had already traveled elsewhere—back to the palace perhaps, to the duchess and the princess and his own private dreams.
Jane felt herself fade slowly back into the yellow fog. It closed over her, cradling her—cold, foul, and dangerous—and whispering in her ear.
In her mind, Jane turned and let herself listen.
Chapter 8
To call the royal household an organization was to grant it too much credit or, perhaps, too little. It was a living, breathing entity comprised of nearly a thousand souls, each with their own very particular job. Those jobs were grouped into departments and subdepartments that amounted to fiefdoms of varying sizes. The powers, privileges, and duties of the office holders in these departments had been contorted and complicated by the ever-expanding requirements of the monarchs and their families, not to mention by centuries of intrigue, failed reform, and royal whim.
