Page 61 of A Queen's Match
Finally, after all this time—after months of heartache, of scheming against May and failing, of nearly giving up hope—Hélène had succeeded.
She snatched the letter, unable to stop herself from scanning it. Scattered phrases jumped out at her—the first night you came to me, when it was rainingandRemember that day in the carriage—and she winced. How could Laurent have been so foolish as to put all this to paper? It was even more incendiary than she’d realized.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
“You helped me. It’s only right that I do the same.” Annie gave a weary shrug. “That’s how I knew you weren’t a maid. It’s everyone for themselves in this house.”
Hélène folded the letter, tucking it into her bodice. “Annie…do you wish to leave?”
“More than anything, but I need work.”
“Go to Sheen House. The housekeeper is Mrs.Archer. I’ll tell her to look for you.”
“Sheen House,” Annie repeated. Then she gasped. “Wait, does that mean you are—”
“Thank you, Annie.” Hélène smiled and ducked into the hallway.
It took all her self-restraint not to run down the back stairs two at a time. When she was safely in the alley, Hélène allowed herself to fully breathe at last. Her blood pounded with the thrill of success.
I did it,she kept thinking, in a wild, delirious refrain. Shecould have Eddy back. He was engaged to May, yes, but royal engagements had been broken before. Surely he would brave any scandal, once he knew that she still loved him. Once she told him all the reasons for what she had done.
A few minutes later, Emanuele emerged through the Endicotts’ front door, accompanied by Agnes, who seemed to cling to him with the determination of a barnacle. Emanuele detached himself from the American as gracefully as he could, then finally made his way to the street.
“You look happy,” he observed, falling into step alongside Hélène. “I take it our endeavor was successful?”
“I need to telegraph Eddy!”
Hélène pressed her hand against her bodice, where the letter made a reassuring crinkling noise. She felt positively giddy. A childlike joy was bubbling up out of her, making her want to twirl right there in the street.
“Excellent.” Emanuele held out an arm. “To the post office, then?”
Hélène started to protest that they couldn’t be in public without a chaperone; then she remembered that she wasn’t dressed like herself. Today she was a maidservant, and the ordinary rules were off.
“I suppose Violette can cover for me a little bit longer.”
For once the London weather—normally fickle and disagreeable—seemed inclined to match Hélène’s mood. They strolled toward a grassy area at the end of the street, where a few nurses pushed babies in perambulators. Several older boys were flying a kite, its crimson color vibrant against the robin’s-egg blue sky. Hélène was well aware how mismatched they looked, her in the maid’s uniform and Emanuele in thefull trappings of prince attire, the better to awe Mrs.Endicott. People probably thought she was his mistress.
Hélène didn’t care. She was planning exactly what she would say to Eddy. She would have to be circumspect; the telegram would almost certainly be read by someone else before it reached him. She just had to trust that he would know her intent, no matter how she phrased it.
“London is prettier this time of year than anyone gives it credit for,” Emanuele mused, admiring their surroundings.
“Don’t let today fool you. Usually at this time of year, it’s rain and more rain.”
“You haven’t seen Siam in the rainy season. It’s relentless,” Emanuele teased, and Hélène’s bubble of joy deflated ever so slightly.
“You’re right,” she said softly. “I haven’t seen Siam, and I probably never will.”
“Oh, but surely you’ll go with Eddy someday?”
Hélène doubted it. Even if this plan worked, and she got Eddy back, their future would always be confined. He was the future King of England.
“Any travel we do will be similar to what I recently did with my parents,” Hélène admitted. “Venturing from one royal court to another, repeating the same conversation at every dinner, with different hosts.”
They turned onto one of Mayfair’s high streets; the black awning of the General Post-Office loomed at the corner. Hélène felt Emanuele slow his steps, as if he wanted to prolong their walk. She matched her pace to his.
“It’s impossible to escape, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.
“Our families?”
