Page 73 of A Queen's Match
But May was done cowering. Why else had she done all this, schemed and plotted and left a trail of hurt in her wake, if not to become stronger than her father? To protect herself, and her mother, from his cruelty?
Adopting her boldest, most imperious voice—the one Agnes used, the oneVictoriaused—she stared her father down. “You will not be joining me at my portrait sitting. And now you will apologize to Mother.”
An excruciating silence echoed through the house.
Francis stared at May; then slowly he smiled. Somehow it was more chilling than all his blustering anger. “Well, well. Look who learned to fight back. I wondered if you would ever be brave enough to turn on me, or whether you would stick to terrorizing other young women.”
May felt the blood drain from her face. “I have not terrorized anyone. I have tried to plan ahead, to be clever—”
“Do you deny that you went after other young women, tore them down in order to pave your rise?” he bellowed. May said nothing, and he nodded. “I knew you did something to that Hessian girl. And you and your tawdry American friend were always whispering together. Whose life did you destroy? That cousin of Eddy’s, the one from Coburg? No,” he mused, watching May’s face. “You might have gotten rid of her, too, but you also did something else. Something bigger.”
So he did know the truth. Her father had discovered her sabotage of Alix, and had guessed at her blackmail of Hélène, even if he didn’t know precisely what it was.
“May, what is he talking about?” Mary Adelaide asked shakily. May ignored her.
Icy fear snaked through her core. How had Francis figured out what she’d done?
Had he seen right through May because, deep down, they were the same?
“You will not repeat such things ever again, to me or to anyone else,” May insisted, though her voice shook a little.
“Don’t forget that I can still hurt you,” Francis threatened.
“You wouldn’t dare! I am the future Queen of England. Someday my son will be king!” May took a step forward—and to her surprise, her father retreated. Just a few inches, but it gave her the courage to keep going.
“Iam the one who can hurtyounow. Which is why I insist that you leave the country,” she commanded.
May heard her mother’s shocked intake of breath. Francis went dangerously still.
“You will leave, Father,” May continued, her voice hot. “Go to Rumpenheim, to Württemberg, to Mecklenburg-Strelitz—I don’t care, as long as you are far from me and Mother.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, their eyes locked. May swallowed, refusing to lower her chin, even to blink.
Finally Francis growled, but she saw now that he was more like a caged bear than a wild lion. Embittered, defeated, all teeth and no bite. “Fine. It’s not as if I want to stay here, anyway.”
He spun on one heel and was halfway to the door when May’s next words stopped him cold.
“You still haven’t apologized to Mother.”
A roaring silence seemed to echo through the room. Francis didn’t turn around, but he did mumble, “I’m sorry I ever married you, Mary Adelaide.”
It was probably the only apology they would ever get fromhim.
When he’d gone, May’s mother turned, her expression torn between gratitude and confusion. “May, you shouldn’t have— Thank you for sending him away,” she said haltingly. “But those things Francis said about you, what was he—”
“I’m sorry, Mother. I’m late.” May averted her gaze, hurrying out before her mother could ask any more questions.
Safely inside the waiting coach, May sank her head into her hands. She was trembling as if she’d survived an earthquake.I’m nothing like Father,she told herself.He and I are not the same.
It wasn’t as convincing as she’d hoped.
She had grown up conditioned by Francis’s cruelty. What if, unwittingly, her own mind had adopted the same shape?
May wanted to be proud of herself for making him leave, but she couldn’t shake the sense that she’d succeeded only because her teeth were sharper than his.
Because he was no longer the greatest monster living at White Lodge.
Sir John Lavery, the queen’sofficial portrait painter, frowned in concentration. Then he stepped forward to adjust May’s ermine cape, letting it fall dramatically over the arm of the chair. “Perfect,” he muttered.
