Page 87 of A Queen's Match
The two young women hadn’t actually spoken. Hélène was here illicitly, stashed away with neighbors like some kind of guilty secret. But May was paying attention. She’d heard the servants whispering, had figured out that a young woman who was decidedlynotEddy’s fiancée was visiting him in his room.
When she saw Hélène slipping out a side door one day, May had actually ducked—as if Hélène might look back and see her through the window. Should she return to London? No, May decided; her instincts told her to stay put. There were too many moving pieces right now. She didn’t need to retreat, not yet.
Still, May knew enough to avoid a confrontation with Hélène. Which was why she’d come to St.Mary Magdalene. At the Sandringham estate she was too busy playing the role of the concerned fiancée to actually take a moment for herself. Here in church, May had space to think, to plan. To try to plot a way out of this mess.
And of course, it didn’t hurt that praying at church, hands clasped before her, contributed to her image of piety.
“I thought I might find you here.”
Something in May loosened at the sound of George’s voice. She shifted off the kneeler and met his gaze.
He didn’t seem happy to see her. Of course he wasn’t happy, May chided herself; his brother was ill. And yet. George hadn’t tried to be alone with her since that afternoon at the portrait sitting. Whenever they saw each other in person, he was distant, as if his mouth hadn’t hovered a breath awayfrom hers. She might have thought she’d imagined the whole thing, except that the memory of the almost-kiss kept replaying in her mind, over and over.
She glanced around the church; they were alone. Then she patted the pew next to her.
George hesitated for a moment before sitting, then lowered his head into his hands. “I don’t understand! Just last week we were on the train, and Eddy said he was tired and didn’t want to play cards. The next thing I knew, he was in bed, surrounded by doctors who began saying—saying I need to start preparing myself, just in case I need to—” He broke off, staring at the enormous mural of Christ behind the altar.
May shifted closer to him on the pew. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, I mean— I’m sorry, too. You must fear for Eddy’s life as much as I do.”
She blinked. For a few minutes there, she had utterly forgotten that she and Eddy were engaged.
“George, Eddy and I…You must know that we are not…” How to say this without sounding insensitive? May faltered, changing tack. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
George was silent for a long moment. It was warm inside the church, but he still hadn’t shrugged out of his heavy wool coat. May wondered if he’d walked there.
“Did you know I didn’t speak until I was nearly two?” he said at last.
“No, I didn’t,” May replied, confused.
“My parents were worried about me. Not about my hearing; I could follow instructions, so they knew I was listening and understanding. I just didn’t say anything in reply.”
“Perhaps you were keeping your opinions to yourself,” she ventured.
“I think that I didn’t learn to talk because I had Eddy to do it for me,” George explained. “From the beginning he took care of me. He made himself my interpreter for the world, telling everyone ‘George wants this’ or ‘George doesn’t agree,’ and I would just nod along. If we ever got into trouble, he would say it was his fault so that he took the caning from our tutor.”
“I’m sure whatever prank got you into trouble was Eddy’s idea,” May pointed out.
George smiled, but it quickly faded. “May…I can’t bear the thought of losing him. We may have drifted apart since childhood, but he’s still Eddy. He’s still my brother.”
May longed to tell George a soft, palatable lie, likeOf course you won’t lose him,but she knew better. That kind of lie hurt more than the truth.
It had always struck her as unfair, that George had grown up in Eddy’s shadow—that his family had showered Eddy with attention and concern while leaving George to his own devices. But that distance from the throne had also granted George a measure of freedom. He’d been able to grow up quiet and introspective because Eddy had taken center stage; had been able to make choices for himself that Eddy never would.
If George had to step into the spotlight, and actually take on the burden of being the heir…
May shouldn’t even think it. It felt wrong to sit here imagining her fiancé’s death.
Yet the fact remained: if Eddy were gone, all of May’s problems would vanish with him.
Hélène would never tell Queen Victoria about May’s blackmail without Eddy to back her up. And even if she did, May could always say that Hélène was lying—that she was jealous and grief-stricken, and had imagined things.
If Eddy died, Hélène would have no choice but to leave May alone. And then, after an appropriate mourning period, May could find a way to be with George.
It might shock some people if she married her dead fiancé’s brother, but there was royal precedent. That was the nice thing about royal history: there was precedent for everything. Just look at the current tsar and tsarina. Minnie had originally been engaged to the tsar’s older brother, Nicholas, but when he died, she went on to marry Sasha. And everyone knew that Catherine of Aragon had been married to Henry VIII’s older brother, Arthur, first.
As long as Queen Victoria approved, May felt certain that she and George could find a way.
