Page 55 of A Queen's Match
May had a sudden urge to march onto the dance floor and rip him from Missy’s hands. That girl was as flighty as an incandescent moth. She wouldn’t make George happy. And she didn’t deserve him—his selfless devotion, his warmth.
Before May could doubt herself, she turned and walked with bold strides toward Aunt Vicky. Her Majesty’s oldest daughter and the Queen of Prussia, Aunt Vicky could always be counted on to share gossip. Or to ruffle feathers.
May was thinking of what Missy had said back at the Waleses’ anniversary party:You wouldn’tbelievehow obvious Ferdinand of Romania was. He followed me around all week like a puppy, talking about his hunting.
Aunt Vicky’s son Wilhelm, May recalled, was friends with Prince Ferdinand.
Aunt Vicky mustered up a half-hearted smile at May’s approach. “My dear May. Congratulations!”
May allowed herself a moment to relish Vicky’s envy. Once upon a time, Vicky had turned up her nose at May as a potential bride for her son Henry. Well, that was Prussia’s loss. Forget being the wife of a younger prince; May was going to be Queen of England.
“Thank you. How are Moretta and Margaret?” May asked sweetly. Aunt Vicky’s oldest daughter, Sophie, was the only married one. Margaret was still quite young, but it must have been galling, seeing May chosen for Eddy over Moretta—whose real name, of course, was Victoria.
“They both send their regards,” Aunt Vicky replied, with an unmistakably pinched expression.
May nodded to where Missy and George were dancing. “And from the look of things, we will have even more to celebrate soon.”
“Missy and George? Oh yes, Mummy has been fixated on their wedding since they were children.” Vicky sounded distinctly bored.
“It seems inevitable, doesn’t it?” May paused for effect. “Unless Missy gets snatched up by some other suitor.”
Predictably, Vicky perked up at the hint of drama. She had always been meddling, a trait that May could only assume she’d gotten from her mother. “What do you mean, another suitor?”
“I’m sure they’re just rumors,” May said swiftly.
“May.” Vicky adopted her sternest voice. “If you have heard something untoward about Missy, you must tell me.”
“Nothing untoward! It’s just…” May glanced away, bitingher lip. “Shedidspeak rather freely about His Royal Highness Prince Ferdinand of Romania.”
Vicky’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Oh, he’s a friend of Wilhelm’s. What did Missy say?”
“She told me that Ferdinand behaved in a distinctly forward manner.” In case this was ever traced back to May, she didn’t want to be accused of lying. “Though I suspect she might have encouraged his attentions. She giggled when she spoke of him.” That part was true.
“Missy encourages a great deal of attention, doesn’t she?” Vicky sniffed. “I would never let my own girls behave in such a manner, but Marie has raised Missy and Ducky with far more leeway than is appropriate. Who knows, perhaps such behavior is common enough in St.Petersburg. Or Romania.” Vicky spoke the word as if she wasn’t quite sure of the pronunciation. Of course, no one in the British royal family would ever even visit Romania; to them it was a distant country in a remote, inconsequential corner of Europe.
“I’m sure it was nothing. We all know that Missy and George are destined to marry, after all. Please, don’t repeat what I said,” May added, thereby ensuring that Aunt Vicky would do exactly that.
Both women looked at Missy, who was galloping down the dance floor with wild abandon, sweat dampening the armpits of her gown. How typically Missy. Something about her reminded May of Hélène: the way she laughed and frowned and pouted and generally overreacted to everything, as if she were alone with George and not in public.
“I have so loved our chat, May. It has been quite illuminating,” Vicky said at last, with a nod of farewell. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”
When she’d gone, May allowed herself a small smile of victory. Already she was doing it: moving people about like pieces on a chessboard, managing the world as she saw fit. As Queen Victoria did.
May knew she had no claim on George, of course.
But she was pleased to think that Missy might not get him, either.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alix
“Another letter has arrived foryou,” Ernie announced, coming to join Alix on the front steps.
It was chilly out; the majestic spruce trees that lined the driveway had already shed their needles onto the paving stones. In another month snow would begin to dust the tops of their branches, gathering on the gabled roofs of town like icing on a cake.
“From Maximilian? Or Hélène?” Alix guessed. Both had become regular correspondents of late. It had been hard at first, staying close with Hélène after everything that had happened, but it wasn’t Hélène’s fault that the tsar and tsarina approved of her when they were so opposed to Alix. Besides, Hélène and Nicholas had already informed their parents that the hoped-for engagement would not happen. Hélène had written that her parents were livid: that they blamed Nicholas, since he was the one who’d officially ended it. Now Philippe d’Orléans was telling Hélène not to worry, that it was better she hadn’t married Nicholas, since he was apparently such a cad.
At least Hélène had a protective father. But then, Alix thought fondly, she had Ernie.
