Page 26 of A Queen's Match
“It’s from the tsarevich, isn’t it?” Hélène’s father had demanded, watching her rip open the envelope. Hélène had nodded, her heart sinking. Of course Eddy hadn’t written. Why would he, when she’d given him no reason to hope?
“Yes, it’s from Nicholas,” Hélène said distractedly.
Her father beamed. “Already you’re calling him by his Christian name! Ah, the number of ships the Romanovs could muster in a war, not to mention the number of troops…”
Ignoring her father, Hélène had scanned Nicholas’s message. It was only a single line of text.
If you’d like to continue furthering our mutual goals, I shall be at the Earl of Stafford’s gallery tour this afternoon with my cousins. Three o’clock.
So Hélène had come, just in time to see May sneaking off with one of Eddy’s cousins. What was the girl’s name—Daisy? Dona? Whoever she was, May had fed her a bunch of nonsense, effectively telling the girl to act like a clingingvine, to make Eddy feel suffocated and stifled. As if any man would want that.
Clearly, Queen Victoria was trying to push Eddy toward the cousin, and May was sabotaging the engagement.
Disgusted, Hélène had retreated, not wanting May to catch her eavesdropping. She’d hurried to rejoin the group in a gallery full of oil paintings.
Hélène was too distraught to even pretend to study the collection. She needed to clear her head, needed tothink.Lifting a hand to shade her eyes, she headed through the double doors that led to the earl’s back lawn.
There were more statues out here, arranged along a wandering path lined by trimmed hedges. Hélène lingered near a stone Cupid, relishing the sensation of the sunlight on her face.
“Hélène.”
She had known this would happen, hadn’t she? Perhaps her subconscious had drawn her outside for that very purpose, because she knew Eddy would also choose the outdoors over the art.
“Your Royal Highness,” she said, dipping into a curtsy. They were alone out here, but she suspected that May was still watching.
Eddy cursed softly. “Please don’t act like that.”
They stared at each other, both holding their breath. Hélène longed to reach for his hand, pull him close, lower his mouth to hers.
She realized she was staring at his lips and tore her gaze away.
“You never replied to my letters,” Eddy said hoarsely.
“I’m sorry.” It was all she could give him.
Eddy ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “My grandmother is pushing me to marry Ducky. She says that if I don’t announce an engagement soon, she’ll send me on a three-year world tour.”
“Three years?” Hélène blurted out.
He nodded, watching her closely. “I would stay in each location for several months—Canada, the West Indies, Bombay, Africa. The only way out is to get married. I’ll put Grandmother off as long as I can,” Eddy insisted. “I’llgoon the tour if that’s what it takes, as long as I know you’re waiting for me. As long as I know there’s hope.”
“Eddy,” Hélène began helplessly, “you know that—”
She broke off before saying,You know that I love you.Because of course she did; her love for him suffused every fiber of her being. How could he doubt that?
She dared a glance toward the house, and her heart sank. May stood there, arms crossed over her thin chest. Staring at them.
It took every ounce of Hélène’s willpower not to march up there and slap May across her lying face. God, how she itched to fight this battle out in the open, the way Eddy would do if he knew.
But that road led to certain defeat. At least if she tried to outsmart May, Hélène had a chance—however slight—of still marrying Eddy.
So she forced herself to do the hardest thing of all, and walk away from him.
“I’m sorry, Eddy. Truly, I am,” she told him, and turned back to the house.
She was moving so blindly, fighting back tears, that she nearly walked straight into a man’s chest.
“Your Royal Highness, there you are.” Nicholas caught her arms, steadying her. “I was hoping I could show you the Rembrandt in Lord Stafford’s collection.”
