Page 49 of A Queen's Match
“Butwhy?”
“She worried that my parents would never let us marry.” He sighed. “I don’t think I realized how hard it was on her—meeting up in secret, hiding how we really felt. And the longer it went on, the more it seemed to crush her.”
It hadn’t gone onthatlong, Hélène thought. She and Eddy had been sneaking around far longer. But then, that sort of behavior would weigh on a girl like Alix.
“I’m so sorry, Nicholas,” she told him.
“I just…I need to get off this boat,” he said morosely. Well, that explained why he was taking the train to St.Petersburg instead of going by yacht. “I’m sorry, too, for what it’s worth. About Eddy,” he added.
“What a sad pair we are. Leaving the regatta early, wallowing in our sorrow while everyone else is celebrating.” Hélène had meant to be flippant, but the words didn’t quite come out right.
“We deserve each other, I suppose.” There was a beat of silence, and then Nicholas said, “Perhaps we should just get married after all.”
His words hung in the air between them. Hélène waited for Nicholas to take it back, but he was staring out at the horizon, his jaw clenched.
“I don’t think you’re serious,” she said at last.
“We both have to marry eventually. If I can’t have Alix…Believe me when I say that of all the princesses I’ve met, you are by far the most preferable.”
“Of course I am,” Hélène couldn’t help saying. “But Nicholas, you aren’t thinking clearly. You don’t want to do this to Alix.”
Nicholas hung his head in his hands. “You’re right. When I get back to St.Petersburg, I’ll tell my parents that you and I cannot get engaged.”
“Thank you.” Such an announcement could never come from Hélène. In this circumstance, only the man could end things.
“Hélène—know that you will always have a friend in Russia, should you need one.”
She had reached for his hand then, to give it one last squeeze. “You will always have a friend in me, too.”
Hélène’s parents had been blissfully unaware that the two were ending their supposed courtship. They’d clearly assumed that Nicholas had granted them use of the yacht as a gift to his future wife, and Hélène hadn’t disabused them of the notion.
So for the past week, Hélène and her parents had been on a pleasure cruise through the Mediterranean. At every port they pulled into, they stopped for dinner—and often stayed overnight—with whatever royal relatives or friends lived nearby. So far they had seen Hélène’s sister in Lisbon and her mother’s family in Malaga, and skirted around the French Riviera to visit Livorno before arriving in Rome. Now they were at the Quirinal Palace with King Umberto and QueenMargherita.
Hélène slid out of bed and began searching the room for a dressing gown and slippers. She needed some tea. Look how English she’d become, craving tea when upset. Eddy would have teased her for it.
The palace was quiet, with the rustling stillness of a building where dozens of people currently slept. Hélène’s hand skimmed over the iron railing as she descended the staircase. Moonlight fell through the arched windows overhead, pooling on the parquet floors. At the bottom she hesitated, uncertain in which direction lay the kitchens.
“You seem lost.”
Hélène whirled about, heart racing. It was too dark to fully make out the young man behind her; though he’d spoken in French, which implied that he knew who she was.
“I was looking for the kitchens. Could you direct me there…?” Hélène trailed off, waiting for him to provide his name.
“Emanuele. You don’t remember me, Your Royal Highness? I’m hurt,” he teased, putting a hand on his chest in mock sorrow.
He’d used her formal title instead of calling herMiss d’Orléans,as everyone in London did. But of course, Emanuele was a Savoy, and they recognized her father as King of France.
“Of course I remember.” They had met at Sophie and Tino’s wedding in Athens, the night that Hélène had ended things with Eddy. Emanuele, the Duke of Aosta, was King Umberto’s nephew. Because the king only had one, rather sickly teenage son, and because Emanuele’s father had died years earlier, Emanuele was second in line to the throne ofItaly.
Though it would have been in poor taste to say so aloud, many people expected him to be king someday.
“Why weren’t you at dinner?” Hélène asked, curious.
“If I’d known you were here, I would have rushed back,” Emanuele said smoothly. “Alas, I was at the Grand Prix in Turin.”
“Oh, who won?” Hélène hadn’t heard of Turin’s Grand Prix, but there were so many horse races these days, especially on the Continent.
“A Daimler.” Emanuele sighed. “At least it wasn’t a Peugeot; the French drivers are intolerable when they win. No offense, Your Royal Highness,” he added with a wink.
