Page 94 of A Queen's Match
“When did you start caring what everyone else thinks?” her mother demanded. “Eddy knew what was in your heart, and so does God. What else matters?”
“It matters because I want tomournhim!”
“Who says you cannot? You are mourning him now, here, in a place he loved. Which is far more appropriate for Eddy than a grand funeral procession.”
Her mother was right. They had reached the stables; it was fully dark, and peaceful, the only sounds the whickering of horses and the wind rustling the branches. An owl hooted deep in the forest.
Hélène dismounted swiftly. A stable hand stepped forward, but Marie Isabelle caught his gaze and shook her head.
“The Princess Hélène and I will stable our own horses tonight,” she murmured. “You may go.”
Sorrow was rising sharp in Hélène’s throat as she unsaddled Odette, found a set of combs, brushed her coat until it shone. There was something soothing about the repetitive motion. Odette leaned around, sniffing Hélène’s hands in search of a treat, her breath warm.
The shock or anger, whatever was holding back Hélène’s tears, began to crack.
Hélène sat down on the ground. And there, in the warm darkness that smelled of hay and horses, she wept at last.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Alix
Alix headed to Sheen Housethe very afternoon she arrived in London. She felt anxious to see Hélène, to tell her friend that she wasn’t alone in her grief—that someone, at least, knew what Eddy had meant to her.
London was unlike Alix had ever seen, the entire city shrouded in mourning. Windows were hung with black crêpe, church bells echoing through the silent streets. A massive pile of flowers had formed at the gates of Marlborough House, and was growing by the minute; weeping strangers kept stopping by to add their own arrangements. Alix knew they weren’t really grieving Eddy. How could they, when none of them had known him? They were thinking of someone else who had died too young—a daughter they had lost in childbirth, a friend who’d gone to war and never come home. Eddy became that person for all of them. His funeral would be an outpouring of national grief, and yet it wouldn’t be about him at all, because that was the point of the royal family—to let people channel their emotions somewhere. To give them a focal point for their joy or anger or heartbreak.
When she reached Sheen House, she asked the butler to please announce her to the Princess Hélène.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered, “but mademoiselle is not athome—”
“Alix? Is that you?”
Hélène stood at the end of the hall. She looked pale, her eyes shadowed. Her dark hair floated in a tangled cloud around her head.
“I just got to London this morning. I wanted to see you,” Alix said hesitantly. She wasn’t sure whether her friend was ready for company.
“Come in, then.” Hélène turned without preamble and headed down the hall, leaving Alix to follow.
The sitting room they entered felt stale; there was a pale green coverlet tossed on the sofa, and various glasses of water and bowls of uneaten food on the coffee table. “I’ve been sleeping in here.” Hélène flopped down on the sofa. “My room is…Well, Eddy was in there, at least, in my dressing room. Not long before he died.”
“Oh, Hélène.” Alix sat next to Hélène and pulled her into a hug, wrapping her arms around her friend’s body. She felt thin, almost frail.
“Excuse me, miss.” A maidservant ducked into the room and began stacking glasses with quiet efficiency.
“Annie! It ismyjob to look after mademoiselle!” hissed a French lady’s maid, hurrying into the room after the maid. Hélène waved them both away.
“I’m fine, really.” When they had left, she looked at Alix with a pale smile. “The two of them are like a pair of hens, clucking over a single egg. I can’t get rid of them.”
“I’m glad someone is looking after you. Where are your parents?”
“They’re making preparations for us to leave.”
“You’re going away?” Alix asked, startled.
“Right after the funeral. There’s nothing left for me in England,” Hélène said heavily.
“You’re welcome to come see me in Darmstadt—all of you,” Alix offered, but Hélène shook her head.
“Thank you, but I need to go farther afield. Italy, or perhaps Turkey. Somewhere warm, where it doesn’t rain.”
