Page 61 of The Heir
“Lehzen indicated that rumors have also reached Sir John and the Duchess of Kent that His Majesty means to change the princess’s establishment.”
“What? Who told them that?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. But she suggests that a final decision be made quickly, before Sir John is able to muster support. . .”
Before he is able to create controversy. To raise a stink in Parliament and in the newspapers.There was nothing that man was better at than making a mess of simple things. Of course it was ridiculous that the king could not house his niece and heir as he saw fit. But there it was. She supposed she could not entirely blame Parliament for making Victoire the girl’s guardian when Fat George was alive. That man had been no proper guardian, and his court no fit home for a pretty little girl. But since then . . .
Well, there was no use in railing against what could not be helped. Parliament controlled the civil list and, therefore, the household budgets of all the royals. If Their Lordships would not allocate money to set up a new house, hire new servants, or appoint new attendants, it could not happen. If Parliament would not change the guardianship for the heir to the throne, then it was Victoire, not William and not her, who would say where the princess lived and how.
Sir John had been nothing short of masterful in charming those men who were best placed to sabotage any such change, and of course, Victoire had done nothing to stop him.
Oh, Victoire, what has become of you? How did you let that man get such a tight hold on you?
But Adelaide knew. Her own pride had helped drive Victoire away. They had been friends when they both arrived in England, but since then . . . First, there was the animosity between their husbands. Then there was Victoire’s refusal to come to court or allow her daughter to have any contact with William’s children by Mrs. Jordan. Adelaide did understand. She might have done so had she had any choice in the matter. But as it was . . .
Then there was the simple, devastating fact that Victoire’s daughter had lived and not one of Adelaide’s had.
Adelaide wanted to believe that she had never truly resented Victoire’s little daughter. She wanted to explain to her former friend how it had been so hard, how much her heart had bled with each child she and William lost, until it seemed there was nothing left in her but grief—and yes, anger against any child who lived and breathed while her own lay buried in the cold clay.
She wanted to tell Victoire about the nights when she woke from dreams of her little ones crying in that endless dark.
Slowly, the dreams had faded. Slowly, the pieces of her heart had knit themselves together. But by then it had been too late. Victoire had decided not to forgive, and she had turned instead toward the ready smile and—if rumors were to be believed—the waiting arms of Sir John.
Yet Victoire declares she will not have her daughter brought to court, because there is a grievous moral taint to William’s children.
And once again, Adelaide found herself unable to see past her anger.
“Is there anything else?” she asked Mrs. Wilson.
Mrs. Wilson correctly interpreted her tone as indicating there should not be. “No, ma’am.”
“Very good, then. I will lie down for an hour. If there is any change from the king, or anyone else, I am to be woken at once.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Chapter 28
Thankfully, the next day was a sunny one. Victoria was able to sit through her lessons and Mama’s interrogation with patience because she knew at half ten she would be required to take her morning walk through the gardens.
Victoria had never been so glad for the system’s rigid schedule in her life. When the time came, she all but leapt out of her chair.
“Let us walk out to the round pond,” she said to Jane. “I want to draw.”
So, Jane dutifully gathered up both her and Victoria’s sketchbooks and pencil boxes. She even remembered Dash’s favorite ball. Dash barked and ran for the door, more than ready to be outside.
The summer morning was oppressively hot and still. Even the geese and ducks huddled under the shade trees, leaving the water to the swans. Victoria had been dressed in her lightest muslin, but she still felt unbearably sticky underneath her shift, corset, and stockings. Her hair under her bonnet was growing damp with perspiration. The roses drooped, and the green lawn was burnt as brown as the gardeners who dug in the borders by the hedgerows.
A stone bench waited near the pond. Victoria sat down, and Jane handed her her sketchbook and opened her pencil box.The very image of the waiting lady.Victoria quirked a brow at her. Jane shrugged with one shoulder and nodded toward Lehzen and Lady Flora, who stood some little distance away, but not too far, holding shawls and fans and other such things that might be called for at a moment’s notice.
Also close enough to hear the conversation if they raised their voices. Victoria nodded.
Jane sat beside her and opened her own sketchbook. Anyone who came across them, or who took it into their head to watch from a window, would see a perfectly peaceful scene without a single aspect out of place.
“I got the note.” Victoria took up a charcoal stick and opened her book to a clean page. “That Sir John was making use of Dr. Maton. But there’s more to it.”
Jane’s brows rose. Victoria nodded. Then, making sure to glance occasionally out at the pond and its inhabitants, she told Jane about her attempt to visit Aunt Sophia the night before and all that happened afterward.
She did not mention the ghost.
