Page 24 of A Queen's Match
“I didn’t realize you painted,” Eddy replied. May noted that he had ignored Ducky’s request. “You’re more of a rider, aren’t you? We could go out in Hyde Park tomorrow, as long as it doesn’t rain.”
“You must be thinking of Missy. She is the rider,” Ducky simpered. “It’s far too active for me—not to mention how dirty one gets! But of course, Iadorepainting.”
Eddy frowned. “Really? We raced through the grounds of Sandringham just a few years ago at Christmas. And didn’t you pick the winner at Ascot two summers ago?”
Fear flickered through May. She hadn’t considered that Eddy and Ducky might actually be a good match. Perhaps Queen Victoria had been onto something, pushing them together. Ducky was nearly as horse-mad as Hélène.
There was a flash of emotion from Ducky; then the vapid mask settled back over her features. She turned aside, and gave a dramatic, horrified gasp.
“Oh my!” Ducky lifted both hands to cover her eyes. “That painting is far too salacious for my taste!”
Eddy turned to look at it with evident confusion. May—who was standing at a distance, pretending to study a rather grim-looking Perseus and Medusa—did the same. It was a landscape, a forest scene with a river twining through it.
“This painting? The one of trees, and—” Eddy floundered, clearly as confused as May. “And oxen?”
“Near the cart, look! That man!”
May stole another furtive glance. She could just about make out the small human figure near the stream, alongside the cart and oxen. The man had been painted wearing pants, but his bare chest gleamed in the sunlight.
“Let’s go examine something in better taste,” Ducky sniffed, leading Eddy forward.
Ducky, who’d just been whispering near a statue’s carved genitalia, pretending to be shocked by abare chest? May was impressed.
“Here, this one is far more appropriate.” Ducky led Eddy in May’s direction, pausing at a Dutch still life of a gourd surrounded by fruit, arguably the most boring painting in the room.
“This is utterly brilliant,” Ducky said reverently.
Eddy looked as though he wanted to laugh, but then he glanced at Ducky’s face. “Brilliant? A painting of…carrots and apples?”
“But they’re not just apples! They aresymbols,” Ducky insisted. “Of humanity’s fallibility, of course, and original sin. Of life’s transience and our moral obligations. And since you buy apples at the market, there are connotations of commercialism and expansion, and the commoditization of everyday items in the rise of international trade….”
May wondered if Ducky’s governess had taught her this nonsense, or if Ducky had adopted the decidedly unladylike habit of reading newspapers. This sounded suspiciously like what might be written in the arts and culture section.
“Indeed.” Eddy looked half-ready to turn and flee, but Ducky didn’t seem to be done with him yet.
She flung a hand up, indicating the painting. “Seeing this beautiful image reminds me to ask, what is your favorite food?”
Eddy seemed confused. “Venison, probably, with baked potatoes. Why?”
“I need to start learning your preferences if I’m to manage your household someday. Actually, is your valet here?” Ducky made a show of looking around. “I’d like to speak with him.”
Eddy looked bewildered. “I really don’t see what business you can have with my valet?”
“I need one of your shirts,” Ducky replied, her voicepainfully sweet. “I shall have to cut it apart to learn the pattern, but never fear, I promise to sew it back.”
May turned aside so they couldn’t see her fighting not to laugh. Ducky really was outdoing herself.
“Ducky, while I appreciate the gesture, you don’t need to be cutting apart my shirts,” Eddy insisted.
“Of course I do! A wife’s primary duty, aside from having children, is to care for her husband. Mamaalwaysstitches Papa’s shirts herself,” Ducky added piously. “I hope you don’t imagine she entrusts that sort of thing to a maidservant!”
Eddy’s reply was so quiet that May could only just hear it. “Thank you, but I assure you that my valet is perfectly capable of handling all aspects of my wardrobe.”
“Very well,” Ducky said in a placating tone. “I suppose that means I shall have to focus all my energies on our children. I assume that if we have a girl first, she will be named Victoria. But for a son, would you prefer Albert or Edward? Or perhaps George?”
There was a beat of silence. May desperately longed to look behind her at Eddy’s expression, but she didn’t dare.
“Are you pleased?”
