Page 70 of A Queen's Match
“Don’t apologize. I’m just relieved to have you back.”
They sat like that for a moment in silence, her head nestled into the crook of his shoulder. Then Eddy asked, “So who is this Emanuele character, exactly?”
Hélène felt a laugh bubble out of her. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous. You, the future King of England, cannot envy an Italian prince who is second in line to the throne.”
“I can be jealous when you’re off scheming with him, telling him secrets you didn’t even tell me.”
“I promise you needn’t worry about me and Emanuele,” Hélène assured him. “It might seem strange that I shared so much with him, but I really do trust him. He’s back in Italy now, anyway. What would it benefit him to tell anyone that May was blackmailing me? He doesn’t even know what the blackmail was about.”
“I still don’t like it.” Eddy let out a frustrated breath. “In any case, I should request an audience with Grandmother, and let her know how wrong she was about May. Once she knows exactly what May has done, she will agree that we need to call off the engagement.”
Hélène hesitated. “Are you sure that’s the best plan?”
“Why else did you go to all the trouble of getting the letter back?” Eddy’s voice faltered. “That is—you still want to marry me—don’t you?”
“Of course I do!” Hélène pressed a swift kiss to his brow. “I just worry about your grandmother. You know she’ll demand the whole story, in all its ugly detail. You can’t tell her that May wrote me a threatening note and leave it at that. Which means that she’ll end up learning about me and Laurent anyway.” And Victoria wouldn’t be nearly as forgiving of Hélène’s indiscretions as Eddy had been.
“What other options do we have?” Eddy asked, confused.
“We can go to May, confront her face to face. If we offer her a dignified retreat, we mightallescape this mess unscathed.”
“Then she’ll get away with it!”
“I don’t care if she does, really. As long as I get to be with you.” As much as Hélène would have loved to destroy May,she wanted to marry Eddy far more than she wanted revenge. There was no use setting May’s life afire if Hélène would be caught in the flames.
Eddy nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right. Actually, I’m supposed to see May tomorrow, to sit for our first official portrait.” He made a face. “I think I’ll show up late. I don’t exactly trust myself not to shout the moment I see her.”
“I’ll come with you,” Hélène promised.
Eddy turned to Hélène with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Good. Now, I want to hear more about the disguise you wore at the Endicotts’ house. You really pretended to be a French maid?” He grinned. “Do you still have the outfit, by chance?”
“You’re incorrigible!” Hélène started to laugh, but then Eddy’s mouth was on hers again, and she was far too distracted to laugh about anything.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alix
Alix knelt in the middleof a sitting room downstairs, which had recently transformed into her command center for reorganizing the house. She hadn’t realized that their home was in such an appalling state, items tucked haphazardly into closets, fine linens moth-eaten and mismatched. Well, she was determined to fix all that before Ducky came to live here. It would be an embarrassment if a new mistress took over a home in such a state.
Because that’s what Ducky would be soon enough—the new mistress of their estate in Darmstadt. Once Ernie got married, Alix would be in the way. Ducky would take over all the responsibilities of hostess, all the charitable works and social obligations, that had been Alix’s since her mother died.
When the cousins were departing for Potsdam, Ducky had pulled Alix into an embrace. “I promise, you’ll always be welcome here,” she’d murmured into her future sister-in-law’s ear. It had thrown Alix wildly off-balance.
In all her worries about whether Ernie was making a mistake by getting engaged, she’d hardly considered what his marriage would mean for her. That she would be extraneous. Unneeded. An awkward third party, always hoveringaround the dinner table, trying not to disrupt her brother and hiswife.
Alix sighed and reached for another trunk that the footmen had fetched from an upstairs closet. As she opened the lid, a fine sheen of dust floated into the air.
Her eyes stung when she saw what lay inside. These were her mother’s old things.
So many of Alice’s possessions had been burned after her death—to prevent the spread of smallpox, the doctors had said. But here were a few items that must have escaped the blaze. Alix pulled out a Bible, its spine creased from frequent use; a polished silver hand mirror emblazoned with roses.
Underneath, wrapped in tissue that crinkled pleasantly, was a white gown. Alix’s breath fragmented in her chest as she unwrapped it.
The gown was lovely, reams of satin unfurling as Alix lifted the bodice. The lace veil beneath was yellowing with age, its stitching painfully delicate.
Outside in the driveway, hoofbeats sounded. Alix ignored them.
Would she ever get the chance to wear this veil? Once, she had dreamed of wearing it as she walked down an aisle toward Nicholas. She should probably offer it to Ducky, she realized; but wouldn’t Ducky want to wear the Coburg veil?
