Page 23 of A Queen's Match
“I don’t think it’s foolish,” Maximilian assured her. “On the contrary, knowing what you want from life is the height of wisdom. If only more people knew what they wanted, the world would be a far better place.”
Alix had no idea what to say to that. No one had ever complimented that part of her—her dreaminess, her romantic nature.
“Rest assured, I won’t court you if you don’t wish it. I’m only here because your grandmother asked me to come. I’m a Prince of Baden, and from the younger branch of the family.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “I am hardly in a position to refuse a personal invitation from the Queen of England.”
“I understand, but I’m not ready to be courted by anyone.” Meeting his gaze, Alix added, “Would you mind terribly if we were just friends?”
“Friends,” he repeated. “Of course I wouldn’t mind. I would be honored.”
They kept walking, talking occasionally, lapsing into silence when neither of them felt like speaking. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. As they strolled through the verdant gardens, the wind sending little ripples over the surface of the pond, Alix decided that this was not nearly so painful as her and Eddy’s awkward forced courtship. Things went so much smoother when you were honest with men, instead of hiding your thoughts as society dictated. And perhaps, Alixadmitted to herself, she was more similar to Maximilian than she had ever been to Eddy.
He shared her love of quiet, gave her the space to be herself. And most of all, he had listened, and agreed to be simply a friend.
Chapter Ten
May
The Earl of Stafford wasnearly apoplectic with delight at having so many royal guests attend his gallery tour. He bent in a horribly exaggerated bow, glancing nervously from Princes Eddy, George, and Nicholas to the two Coburg sisters. “Your Royal Highnesses, Your Imperial Highness, I’m so honored that you’re here.” He practically tripped over his own feet as he led the group into the two-story entrance hall, where several other members of society already waited, casting curious glances at the royal party. May knew most everyone there, of course—elderly dukes, society matrons and their beribboned daughters, and even a deacon.
Unfortunately, Hélène d’Orléans had come, too.
May had thought Hélène would flinch at the sight of her: because as far as Hélène knew, May really was the author of the blackmail note, threatening Hélène with all her sordid secrets. But Hélène had hardly spared May a glance. She’d just walked right past May—and Eddy—to stand near Nicholas, giggling flirtatiously at something he’d said.
Perhaps Nicholas was the one who’d alerted Hélène to this little outing. May was not such a fool as to think it was coincidence.
The Earl of Stafford cleared his throat. “Thank you all forcoming! This is a much larger group than normally attends my little tours. Please, if you’ll join me in the conservatory…”
May followed the group into a massive room with a domed glass ceiling. Sunlight glinted on classical statues in various attitudes: heroes brandishing swords, satyrs, at least three sleeping nymphs.
“One of my greatest acquisitions is this fragment of a Roman temple from Pompeii. Please, if you’ll note the bas-relief along the bottom…” the earl began, but May stopped listening. She was looking at Ducky, who must have felt May’s gaze, because she glanced up and nodded.
When the group moved on, the two of them lingered, ducking behind a marble statue of a reclining young man. The sculpture was nude, May noted, and not at all covered in the usual carved loincloth or bunch of grapes.
“It was a good suggestion, trying to bring us all here,” Ducky whispered. “What do I do now?”
May had been pondering the best way for Ducky to cultivate Eddy’s disinterest. Based on what she knew from Eddy after a lifetime of family events—and what she knew about Hélène, the one woman Eddyhadfallen in love with—May had put together a plan.
“He should think of you as delicate, sensitive, the sort of woman who wants a man to hover over her. Act as though you’ll demand all his time. Talk as much as you can about the wedding.”
“Anything I should avoid?”
“Perhaps don’t talk about all your recent travel,” May added, thinking of Eddy’s instinctive restlessness. “Or remind him what an inconvenience it is.”
There was a sound nearby, almost like a sharp intake of breath. May whirled about, but no one was there.
Ducky smiled nervously. “All right, then. Wish me luck.”
They rejoined the group just as Lord Stafford was leading everyone into a picture gallery, its walls nearly obscured by heavy gilt frames. At the far end of the room, a pair of double doors had been thrown open to the sunshine-drenched lawn.
“My collection of oil paintings,” the earl explained, lifting his arm. “Please enjoy yourselves. I am available to answer any questions.”
The group quickly dissolved, everyone drifting off alone or in pairs to examine a favorite work. May pretended to be studying the paintings alone, lost in thought, though she was really following several paces behind Ducky.
Ducky came to stand near Prince Eddy, who slowed with visible reluctance. He had clearly also been told that they were courting.
“What do you think of Lord Stafford’s collection?” Eddy asked politely.
May watched Ducky transform before her eyes. She tipped her face up, looking at Eddy through her lashes, an expression of silly infatuation on her face. “It’s so romantic, don’t you think? It makes me want to paint something! Why, perhaps I could paint you,” she added breathlessly. “Would you sit forme?”
