Page 94 of The Heir
Chapter 42
When Victoria reached Aunt Sophia’s sitting room, it was to find a waiting woman holding a tray with a pot of chocolate and a rack of toast on it.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” The woman’s curtsy was slightly awkward because of her full hands. “Her Highness has not yet risen for the day.”
“Oh, I’m sure she won’t mind me visiting,” said Victoria. “Is that her chocolate? I’ll take it in.”
Victoria took the tray out of the woman’s hands and breezed toward Aunt Sophia’s boudoir, with Dash scampering behind. What could the woman do but open the door for her?
And close it right behind her.
Because Victoria—a Royal Highness and a member of the blood family—could enter Princess Sophia’s bedchamber when she was en déshabillé. Protocol dictated, however, that Lady Flora must wait outside until invited. Victoria felt quite sure Aunt Sophia would not be inclined to include one of Mama’s spies in their conversation, however trivial that conversation might be.
And what Victoria had to ask her aunt was far from trivial.
Aunt Sophia lay in her broad carved bed, under a tapestry canopy. In her nightclothes and cap, she was a tiny, pale, ruffled doll in a sea of brocade silk and velvet.
“Vickelchen!” Aunt Sophia cried. “What a lovely surprise!”
“Good morning, Aunt! I came to see how you are.” Victoria set the tray on her aunt’s lap and kissed her cheek. “I hope you do not mind Dash.”
“Not at all. Put him up here.” She patted the bed beside her. Victoria complied, and Aunt Sophia rubbed the spaniel’s chin. “There’s a good doggy!”
“Should I pour you some chocolate?”
“Yes, yes, and I’ll ring for a cup . . .”
“Oh no,” said Victoria as she poured the rich brew into the gilt-rimmed cup. “I’ve had mine. But I’ll steal a slice of your toast.”
“Greedy girl.” Sophia laughed.
Victoria hopped up on the bed, just as she had when she was small. Now she and Aunt Sophia sat side by side, propped up by the silk bolsters. Dash lay between them, looking mournful and thumping his tail hopefully against the covers until Victoria fed him several bits of toast.
Her aunt took a long, guzzling swallow of chocolate. “Ah! Now. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company on this horrid morning?” She waved at the windows. The rain had stopped, but the day remained thoroughly gray.
Victoria thought about saying she’d just wanted to visit. She didn’t have to disturb her aunt or herself. She could find another way. She could let the . . . the . . . other matter go.
Because if she spoke, she might very well break something precious, and she knew it.
“Vickelchen?” said Aunt Sophia. “Was ist los?What is it?”
Victoria took a deep breath. She patted Dash’s back. She found she could not look her aunt in the eye. “Aunt Sophia, I have to ask you about Dr. Maton.”
“Which Dr. Maton? I understand there is an entire flock of them.”
“Dr. William Maton. The household physician.” Now Victoria was finally able to lift her gaze. “The one who died.”
“Yes, yes, I know. I’m teasing.” Aunt Sophia selected a piece of toast from the rack and gnawed at it.
“Aunt . . .”
“Out with it, girl.” Aunt Sophia waved her toast, scattering crumbs across the bedcovers. “I’m too old for all this foot-dragging.”
“Was Dr. Maton your son?”
Aunt Sophia put down her toast. She drained her chocolate cup and set that down, too.
“My son?”
