Page 9 of A Queen's Match
“For my sake?” Alix asked, confused.
“Grannie didn’t exactly send me the guest list, but the tsar and tsarina will surely be invited.”
The Tsarina of Russia and the Princess of Wales were sisters, the two princesses of Denmark who had married princes of the world’s two greatest nations. Which meant that Eddy and George were Nicholas’s first cousins.
“I doubt they’ll make it,” Alix pointed out. The tsar didn’t leave Russia for anything less than a state occasion. A wedding, a coronation, perhaps even a funeral; but not an anniversary. No matter how much his beloved wife begged him to.
“Exactly my point. They won’t be able to go, but someone needs to attend as the Romanov representative,” Ernie pressed.
Alix’s heart leapt. “You think Nicholas might be there?”
“Grannie didn’t say as much in her letter, but then, she wouldn’t.” Ernie knew how much Queen Victoria disapproved of Alix’s feelings for Nicholas. He gave Alix a nudge, nodding at Hélène’s letter. “Now, what does mademoiselle have to say?”
“You’re so nosy,” Alix scolded, amused. She scanned the letter and looked up sharply. “Hélène says she is heading back to England!”
“Which means she’ll probably be at the party, too,” Ernie observed.
Alix stood, brushing off her long skirts. A smile stole over her features at the thought of seeing her friend—and the prospect, however slim, of being with Nicholas. “Very well, write to Grandmama and tell her yes. We’re going back.”
Chapter Four
Hélène
Hélène had become enough ofan Englishwoman not to mind a bit of rain. Not even a wild thunderstorm at sea.
“We should have gone from Calais,” grumbled Antonia, the lady’s maid whom Amélie had sent to chaperone Hélène back to England. Hélène didn’t bother acknowledging that remark. They both knew that it was impossible for an Orléans to set foot in France. Hélène was forced to travel from Portugal to England through the rougher waters of the Atlantic, instead of the calmer winds of the English Channel.
Not that she minded. Hélène had always been tough of nerves—a sailor’s stomach,her brother Philippe had said approvingly, that fateful day they were exiled from France. Hélène’s mother and sister had spent the journey vomiting into a pair of buckets, but not Hélène. She’d stood at the window, staring out at the rain-lashed waves, wondering what their new life in England would hold.
When Hélène turned to leave their shared cabin, Antonia made an incredulous noise. “You’re not going up in this weather?”
“I want to see England.” Ignoring Antonia’s muttered commentary, Hélène shut the door behind her.
Rain thrummed on the planks of the deck. Hélène liftedone hand to shield her eyes, not caring that her green traveling dress was getting soaked through. She fixed her gaze determinedly on the horizon, willing the shore of England to appear.
When she finally saw it, a darker shadow against the blurred gray of the ocean, elation seized her chest.
She wiped the rain from her eyes, ignoring the curious glances of the sailors as they prepared the ship for landing. Eddy was standing on that very island. A large island, yes, and he was probably countless miles from her, but he was there all the same. For the first time in months, she would be within reach of him.
When they disembarked at Portsmouth, Hélène saw a waiting carriage emblazoned with her family crest. Thank goodness her parents had sent for her; Antonia would have complained at a hired hackney. Hélène hurried to throw open the carriage door—only to blink at the figure of her mother.
“Try not to track too much water inside.” Marie Isabelle reached for a dry cloak that was folded on the opposite seat, as if she’d expected Hélène to show up bedraggled and rain-soaked. “We’re headed to Farleigh, to stay with the earl. You’ve brought one of Amélie’s maidservants with you, yes? She can go in the second carriage, with the luggage.” Marie Isabelle gestured for her daughter to take the seat opposite her.
“I didn’t know you were coming, Mother.” As Hélène stepped inside, water dripped down the folds of her skirts, pooling on the carriage floor.
“I need to speak with you. I’m afraid it’s a matter of some urgency.”
Hélène’s hands, which were fumbling to unwrap the dry cloak, fell still. “Is Father all right?”
“Your papa is fine. Though I must admit, he was devastatedto learn about you and Prince Eddy,” her mother admonished. “Philippe had grown rather fond of the idea that his grandson would be King of England. I think he secretly hoped that child might unite England and France again, the way they were in the fifteenth century.”
“As if that worked out the first time,” Hélène muttered.
The carriage jolted forward, and her mother sighed. “Why didn’t you tell us that you and Eddy had broken off the engagement? Philippe found out during acard game,when the Prince of Wales mentioned his regrets that you had ended things. I believe your father would have happily forced you to go through with it,” her mother continued, “except that the Prince of Wales seemed to have abandoned the whole notion. Needless to say, Philippe lost a small fortune in that hand.”
“I’m sorry,” Hélène said curtly. She was grappling with too much heartache to worry about her parents’ disappointment.
Marie Isabelle stared at her. “What happened, Hélène? And don’t give me that nonsense about your religious change of heart. Your father might believe you don’t want to convert, but I know better. I saw what you and Eddy were like together.”
