“Here, let’s sit.” Hélène wrapped an arm around Alix and pulled her down to sit on the uppermost stone step. At least now they were out of sight of the front door, should anyone open it.
“Sorry,” Alix rasped, when the coughing had subsided. “I’ve never smoked before.”
“I gathered as much,” Hélène said drily.
Silence fell between them, but it was a relaxed, almost friendly silence. Hélène took the cigarette back and inhaled again, staring out at the scattered lights of the city.
“Did the Duke of Aosta do something to offend you?” Alix ventured.
Oh, right; that was Emanuele’s title. Hélène shook her head. “I wasn’t upset with him; it was about—”
She broke off, but Alix finished the sentence for her. “About Eddy.”
“I’m sorry. This must be strange for you, talking about him. With me, I mean.”
“Not really. Or at least, not any stranger than the rest of this mess.” Alix pulled her legs toward her, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her gown—a beautiful silver-blue, the color of glaciers or winter stars—was probably getting dirt stains along the rear. “Things with me and Eddy have been over for a very long time. If they ever even began in the first place.”
Hélène said nothing. After a beat, Alix added mournfully, “I’ve actually had a proposal from someone else.”
“Someone awful?” It sounded that way, from the bleakness of Alix’s tone.
“Oh no! I love him! But it doesn’t matter.” Alix tipped her head onto her knees. “His parents won’t let us marry. They hate me.”
“Hateyou?” Hélène repeated incredulously. “That’s impossible.”
“They flat-out denied us permission to marry.”
“On what grounds? You’re every parent’s dream daughter-in-law—you’re perfect!”
Alix went rigid, and Hélène knew at once that she’d said the wrong thing. “I assure you, I’m far from perfect,” Alix finally answered, in a very small voice.
Hélène stole another glance at her. There was something different about Alix tonight: an angular swiftness to her movements, spots of color in her cheeks. Her normally pale blue eyes seemed mercurial, and darker than normal, as if the evening light had turned them almost violet.
“Did the same thing happen between you and Eddy?” Alix ventured. “You weren’t able to get permission to marry him?”
“Not exactly. It’s complicated.”
“If you want to talk about it, I’m happy to listen. After everything we’ve been through, I would hope that we can trust each other.” Alix smiled sadly. “I spoke with Eddy, and I know you didn’t spread those rumors about me fainting.”
“I would never do that!” Hélène exclaimed. “When you accused me of being indiscreet, I assumed you meant that I—well—”
“That you loved the man I was supposed to marry?”
“Yes, that.” Again Hélène felt an incongruous urge to laugh. Never in a lifetime would she have expected to find herself here: sharing a cigarette with Alix of Hesse, talking about the man they had both been linked to, each in her ownway.
We can trust each other,Alix had claimed. Maybe she was right. Hélène had already seen Alix’s shameful secret, the way Alix had dissolved into a helpless fit that night at the opera. Maybe she could afford to let Alix in on her own problems.
“You were right, though, when you said I’ve been indiscreet,” she began, which was quite the understatement.
Haltingly, Hélène told Alix about Laurent, and then about Eddy. She tried to sketch over the logistics of their encounters, since Alix, unlike her, was as sheltered and proper as a princessshouldbe. Still, there was no judgment in Alix’s expression. She just nodded and listened, letting Hélène talk until the cigarette had wound down to an orange stub in her hand.
When she got to the part about May, and the blackmail letter, Alix gasped in indignation.
“May of Teck? But she’s so sweet!”
“I used to think so, too. Clearly I was mistaken.”
Alix shook her head incredulously. “And here I thought she was in love with George.”
