Page 13 of A Queen's Match
The Orléans carriage was stillbehind at least four others, part of the long line that wound up to Marlborough House. Ordinarily, Hélène would have been impatient at the delay: tapping her foot, perhaps even slipping out of the carriage to run up the drive herself, skirts in hand. Tonight she was subdued.
Her mother must have noticed, because she leaned over and murmured, “You can turn right around and head back to Sheen House. No one even knows you’re in town.”
That was precisely the point. Since Hélène had only just arrived back in London, she would catch everyone by surprise. Particularly May of Teck.
When their carriage finally made it to the front, Hélène stepped out quickly, forcing a smile in her parents’ direction. “I’ll catch up with you both later?”
“Hélène, wait,” her father began. She pretended not to hear, hurrying through the grand hallways and onto the back terrace.
It was a glorious party. Colored lanterns hung every few feet, casting the guests in a jewel-toned glow, making them resemble a flock of tropical birds in their silk gowns andgleaming dinner jackets. Star-shaped flowers twined around the iron railing. In the center of the garden stood a marquee tent, where servers carried trays of honey-colored champagne.
“Hélène.”
She turned slowly, heart pounding. “Eddy,” she managed, though it came out as a whisper. Why had he been waiting near these double doors? Had he been looking for her—or for someone else?
“I hoped you would come,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “I told the footmen to let me know if they saw a carriage emblazoned with a fleur-de-lis. When they did, well…”
He ventured a step closer, lifting his hand, then lowered it again. That gesture nearly broke Hélène—that after so many nights together, their breaths and bodies intertwined, Eddy now hesitated to touch her.
“Can we talk?” he asked, voice rough.
Hélène darted a glance in each direction. They might feel alone, standing together on the terrace in relative privacy, but at a party this crowded, you never knew who might be watching.
“Not now,” Hélène said helplessly. “There are so many things I need to—”
“Hélène!”
At the sound of her father’s voice, she and Eddy both stood up a little straighter. Hélène hadn’t even realized they were leaning toward each other, drawn together like plants desperate for sunlight.
“Your Royal Highness,” Philippe said stiffly, in Eddy’s direction. “You’ll forgive me, but I require my daughter’s presence.”
Eddy cast Hélène a beseeching glance. If only she could give him a nod, a whisperedI love you.But Hélène didn’t dare, not when May was probably nearby.
Not when the secret that could ruin everything was still in her enemy’s possession.
She and her father didn’t speak until they were halfway down the steps, heading toward the lawn. “You didn’t need to interrupt,” Hélène muttered resentfully.
Philippe smiled for the benefit of the guests who drifted past, but his reply was tense. “You looked miserable! What was I supposed to do, let you keep talking to the young man who broke your heart?”
“That isn’t what happened!”
“Then whatdid?” he demanded. When Hélène said nothing, Philippe sighed. “No matter. Please just try to be cordial, all right? There’s someone I’d like you to speak with.”
Hélène stopped right there in the middle of the lawn, her cheeks hot. Did her father honestly think he could push her toward a new suitor tonight? When they were at the home of her former fiancé’s family, celebrating his parents’anniversary?
“I think I feel indisposed.”
“I’m not asking you to get engaged tonight! Please, just talk to him. He’s a nice young man.” Her father put a hand awkwardly on her shoulder, evidently trying to console her. “At the very least, he won’t make you cry.”
“I wasn’t crying,” Hélène retorted, though perhaps her eyes had been alittlemisty. If so, it was May’s fault—not Eddy’s. Though her father could have no way of knowing that.
“Your Imperial Highness!” her father exclaimed, tighteningthe hand on Hélène’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, I trust you had a safe journey, have you met my daughter Hélène?” The sentences came out in a single breath, rushed and frantic.
Hélène turned slowly, coming face-to-face with a young man in a dark jacket. Her eyes widened.
Though she had never met Nicholas, she knew him at once. He looked so much like his cousin George that they could have been brothers.
“It’s a pleasure,” the tsarevich murmured, reaching for her gloved hand. Hélène was so shocked that she let him press a polite, utterly chaste kiss to her wrist.
