Page 62 of A Queen's Match
“All of it. The tangle of relations and connections that keeps drawing us in.” Emanuele shook his head. “It’s why I hope that things will stay as they are, that I will never be king. I want toextricatemyself from the web, not become one of its major axes.”
“My feelings exactly,” Hélène remarked.
He cast her a sidelong glance. “And yet you fell for the Prince of England.”
“All the more proof that I love Eddy for himself. I love him despite his position, not because of it.” It felt strange, and at the same time a relief, to speak about her feelings for Eddy. She hadn’t been able to really talk about him since she’d seen Amélie all those months ago.
They walked for a few more moments in silence. Emanuele seemed lost in thought. Hélène found herself curious as to what was distracting him.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t completely honest just now.” Emanuele sighed. “In truth…there are times I also feel the opposite. That Idowant to be an axis in the web—that I want to someday be king.”
His confession seemed to hang in the air between them. Hélène started to reply, but before she could quite find the words, Emanuele kept talking.
“It’s a terrible thought, obviously. I love my cousin. And when I catch myself feeling this way, I am so ashamed, because I am wishing his death—”
“That’s not true! You are merely wishing to play a greater role in things. It’s not your fault that monarchy is set up thisway,” Hélène said resolutely. “It’s a ridiculous system, really, that the heir to the throne must always be waiting for his predecessor to die.”
The corner of Emanuele’s mouth twitched upward. “Don’t tell me that you, a French princess, are secretly a republican.”
“I just don’t want you to take personal blame for an entirely understandable feeling!” Hélène exclaimed. “You know, when I was little, I used to dream of my father becoming King of France again.”
“And now that you are a future Queen of England, you no longer dream of such a thing?” Emanuele supplied for her.
Hélène shook her head. “I no longer dream of it because I’m not sure my father would actuallylikebeing king.” It was shocking of her to say this aloud, and she would certainly never voice such words to her father, but that didn’t make them any less true. She sighed. “My father is a good man, and I love him dearly. But he has trouble deciding which jacket to wear to a social outing. How on earth would he ever make decisions about a country? If all the monarchist plotting actually came to fruition and he found himself on the throne—I don’t think he would have the slightest idea how to rule France. No,” she mused aloud, “he is well suited to the life he leads.”
“And what about you? Are you well suited to the life youlead?”
It was a rather personal question. But then, she and Emanuele had entered strange territory, collaborating on breaking into someone’s home.
“I wish being a princess allowed for other things,” Hélèneadmitted. “Seeing the world. Meeting people—real people.” Not just the ones in the narrow circle of her existence, so proud of the heraldic emblems on their carriages, of their six-foot-tall footmen in livery, of their gowns and yachts and tiaras.
“I hope that you will think of me as a real person,” Emanuele replied, surprisingly earnest.
Hélène stopped, then, and turned to face him. “I don’t know how to thank you for what you did today. You were incredible.”
“As I said before, I’m Italian. We are constitutionally required to help damsels in distress.” Emanuele winked, but she knew that his bravado masked a very real kindness.
Smiling from ear to ear, Hélène pushed open the door to the post office. She had defeated May at last.
And now it was time to bring Eddy back.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Alix
Conversation floated cheerfully around thedining table as everyone dug into their roast beef with mushrooms, forks scraping over Darmstadt’s finest porcelain. The so-called two-night visit had stretched into a week. Alix was pleasantly surprised how much she enjoyed hosting her cousins and Maximilian. Most mornings, Ducky and Missy went out riding with Ernie; Maximilian usually stayed back with Alix, reading or walking around the village.
Just that afternoon they had all piled into a pony cart and driven through the countryside. Alix had been eager to show Maximilian her childhood landmarks: the fields where she and her mother used to pick daisies, the crumbled old house that Ella had always said, in a spooky voice, was inhabited by a witch.
“We need to discuss the water chute.” Maximilian turned to Alix with a twinkle in his eye. “How long hasthatbeen around?”
“My father hired some loggers to build it when we were young.” Alix smiled, wistful for the days when their mother would climb with them into a rowboat at the top of the slope. Their boat would hurtle down the chute into the pond, drenching them all with the splash. Alix had adored it.
“I’d like to try it,” Maximilian declared.
“You’ll get quite wet,” Alix warned.
