Page 92 of A Queen's Match
“Teach us who survive, in this and other like daily spectacles of mortality, to see how frail and uncertain our own condition is; and so to number our days…”
His mother let out a wail.
“Here now, Mother,” George said gruffly. Eddy was glad that George was there. He thought he heard Louise weeping in the corner. And was that Grandmother? She might keep death at bay, he thought, with something like amusement. Nothing could fell Queen Victoria.
But where was Hélène?
He needed her here. She was his everything, the axis his whole world spun on. He had wanted to share the rest of his life with her; if he couldn’t have that, she should at least share his death.
With monumental effort, Eddy summoned every last vestige of strength in his failing body. He forced his lips to form the word that he held dearest in the whole world, one he had said so many times, in passion and despair and impossible love.
It came out a whisper, but everyone in the room heard it with utter clarity.
“Hélène. Hélène.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Hélène
It was nearly dusk, butHélène didn’t care. She rode hard, mud flying up from Odette’s hooves as the mare hurtled down the paths of Richmond Park. Hélène wasn’t normally such a reckless rider, but she had no regard for safety right now. She didn’t really care what happened to her anymore.
The forest rushed past in a shadowed blur. Wind whipped at her face, bringing tears to her eyes. They were the only tears she had shed in the past week.
Eddy was gone, and Hélène still hadn’t wept.
It seemed impossible that he had died, that a young man in the prime of his life could be felled by an illness, just like that. Hélène couldn’t bear it. She wanted to howl with grief, to scream at God for His unjustness in taking Eddy from her. For the fact that there was an Eddy-shaped hole in the world where he should have been.
So she did exactly that: tipped back her head and let out a wild, ragged scream.
Odette reared in protest, her hooves waving in the air; then she fell back down and slowed to a walk. “No,” Hélène muttered, and dug in her heels once more. Maybe if she keptrunning fast enough, she could outpace reality. Could run away from what had happened.
Hélène would never forget the earth-shattering moment she’d heard the news. She’d been at luncheon with Lord and Lady Wyclif, wondering when Louise would send for her: Louise had been coming daily to sneak Hélène over to Sandringham. A footman had entered the dining room and murmured something to Lord Wyclif, whose gaze instantly darted to Hélène.
“Tragic news,” he’d said gravely, and looked down with a sigh. “His Royal Highness has passed.”
The message was wrong, Hélène had immediately thought. The footman was mistaken, because Eddy couldn’t be dead.
Later, she would read every detail about his final hours; the account was printed in newspapers all over the country, along with some awful photo Eddy had previously posed for with May. It didn’t evenlooklike him, Hélène thought each time she saw that image. He seemed so miserable. Or constipated. Yet the papers kept printing it anyway, recounting how he had died peacefully, surrounded by his family, with his beloved fiancée, Princess May of Teck, holding his hand.
Somehow Hélène had made her way back to London. She felt numb with shock. None of this felt real—except, impossibly, it was. She knew because she came back to a city in mourning. Church bells clanged in the cold winter air; shops were closed and shuttered. Even the hansom cabs put black felt on their windows and black ribbons on the bridles of their horses.He was so young,everyone murmured in hushed, somber tones;and to think that he died just a few months after getting engaged!
Hewasengaged, Hélène wanted to scream. Not to May, toher.But May had become the personification of the nation’s grief: a desolate, romantic figure at the center of an epic tragedy. There was even a drinking song making its way through the nation’s beer halls: “A nation wrapped in mourning, shed bitter tears today, for the noble Duke of Clarence, and fair young Princess May.”
Fair young Princess May—more like, the manipulative and heartless Princess May. As if it wasn’t enough for May to steal Eddy in life, now she’d stolen Hélène’s rightful place of grief.
Hélènewas the one who should ride in a carriage at his funeral.Hélèneshould be the first to place flowers at his tomb. Not May, who’d never loved him at all, who had only ever wanted him for his title.
It was getting late. Hélène could barely see the trees to either side of the path. A chilly mist hung in the air, making the path feel otherworldly, matching her mood.
When hoofbeats sounded behind her, she cursed under her breath, twisting in the saddle. No one else ever rode this time of day. Then she saw who it was, and slowed.
“Maman?” she croaked.
Marie Isabelle was mounted in a man’s saddle, as Hélène was, rather than the sidesaddle that she should have been using. She was wearing a very loose gown that would have earned her a few raised eyebrows if anyone had seen.
“Hélène. It’s time we headed back,” her mother said gently.
Hélène just stared at her. “I didn’t know you rode astride.”
