Page 3 of The Heir
“Edward?” she cried.
“Sir?” The doctor bent close. “Sir, we must bring your fever down! I must bleed you once more.”
Edward’s tongue pressed against his lips, trying to wet them. Victoire snatched up the cloth and rinsed it again and dabbed it against his mouth.
Edward’s eyes closed. He swallowed. Victoire felt her heart creak, like ice in the last moment before it shatters.
“Let it be done,” Edward said in English. His eyes opened, and she saw the spark in them. Her heart cried out with hope, and the pain was worse than despair.
“Conroy,” Edward breathed. “Conroy, look after my wife and my daughter.”
“Of course, sir.” Conroy bowed crisply, like the soldier he was.
Then in German Edward said, “Fear not, my heart. I am still strong. Maton will drain this fever out of me.” His fingers curled around hers again. “Then we will show them. You and I and our daughter. We will show them a true queen, and they will all kneel.”
Chapter 1
KENSINGTONPALACE
JULY1835
“Keep up, Jane, can’t you?”
“I’m trying!” whined Jane Conroy. Perched uncomfortably on Smokey, her plump mare, the girl had already fallen a full length behind.
“It’s a beautiful day!” Victoria tried, even as the wind snatched at her hems and the edge of her bonnet. The chill air smelled of soot, mud, and rain. This late in July, it should be hot and dry, but it had been raining for three days straight. As a result, Victoria had been stuck inside. She was not going to waste this clear spell, however brief it might prove. “Don’t you long for a gallop?”
“You mustn’t, Your Highness.” Hornsby, today’s groom, looked positively panicked. “Your mother would never allow it.”
As if I were not fully aware of that.
But Mama was inside the palace, and Victoria (and Jane and Hornsby) were outside. They had already ridden beyond the gardens’ straight paths and formal hedges. The Round Pond, with its honking geese and suspicious swans, was likewise behind them. Ahead was nothing but an unbroken carpet of grass and low hills stretching to the gate that divided the palace grounds from the park beyond.
Prince felt Victoria’s restlessness. He shifted underneath her, letting her know he wanted to run as much as she did.
Jane tipped her head back to look at the lumpish gray clouds that obscured the sky. From the way the other girl screwed up her face, one might have thought they were about to drop down and smother her. Instead, a single raindrop fell and smacked her in the eye.
“Ouch! Oh!”
Victoria ducked her head and tried hard not to smile.
“We can’t,” Jane mumbled as she wiped at her eyes. “Father will be angry. I promised to bring you back at the first sign of rain!”
She had, in fact. That promise and Jane’s dreary presence were the only reasons Victoria had been able to ride out at all today.
It was not fair. But it was all a part of the “Kensington System.” That system dictated how Victoria’s life was to be lived. It required that every minute of her day be accounted for and, worse, that she never be alone. So, if Mama could not ride out, Victoria was stuck with Jane or stuck indoors.
She had tried to remain patient today. She had sat dutifully through having her hair done and had stood still while being dressed. She’d attended to her lessons in geography and history and penmanship and music (not that this last was any great trial). She’d stayed quiet while Mama inspected her journal and her books and examined her tutors as thoroughly as her tutors examined Victoria.
After her journal had been pronounced satisfactory, Mama had gone to confer with Sir John about some one or the other of the plans for the tour of the northern counties they had declared she would undertake in September.
This resulted in Victoria having a rare ten minutes with nothing to do and only Lady Flora Hastings and her own governess, Louise Lehzen, watching over her.
And, of course, Jane Conroy. Jane slumped sullenly in a chair with her needlework in her lap and a copybook beside her. Jane was hopeless on horseback, hopeless with a needle or a piece of music or a sketching pencil or a paintbrush. Hopeless in the face of her father’s endless commands.
Victoria tried to muster some sympathy for the other girl. Jane did not want to be here any more than Victoria wanted her, and yet, like Victoria, here she was. Today and every other day.
Victoria stood in front of the windows with her spaniel, Dash, in her arms. She looked out across the gardens. At least she tried to. Streaks of grime obscured the view. When she was six, she’d been asked what she wanted for her birthday. She’d answered that she would like to have the windows washed. She remembered the startled faces of the adults around her and their nervous laughter. But nothing had come of it. Victoria had received dolls and books and an enamel brooch rather than what she had actually wanted.
