“Thank you. We would love to join,” May said graciously.
If nothing else, a night at the theater would give her one last chance to dissuade Alix from marrying Eddy.
Maybe May was reaching too high; maybe marrying Eddy was impossible. But she had to at least try. She couldn’t afford to sit back and passively let the future hurtle toward her. She had no grandmother arranging brilliant matches on her behalf, no help from her parents.
If May of Teck wanted something done, she had to do itherself.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hélène
IT WAS SUCH A SHOCK,seeing Laurent walk into her family’s formal dining room, that at first Hélène didn’t process it.
The mahogany table before them was scattered with their breakfast plates: baguettes sliced in half, terrines of butter, carafes of steaming cocoa. Her parents had never converted to the heavy British breakfast of cold ham and venison pies.
“Majestés.”Laurent bowed to Hélène’s father, then to her mother. They seemed pleased by the gesture; out in public, in England, they were so rarely addressed as king and queen.
“Are you leaving?” her father asked cheerfully. He was speaking in French, which he considered the language of everything elegant and dignified.
Hélène stared at Laurent, who looked painfully out of place in the rococo dining room, with his callused hands and his simple collared shirt.
Laurent kept his eyes trained on Hélène’s parents, ignoring her. “I want to thank you again for the many opportunities you have given me. It has been an honor to work for you. I have trained Michel as much as I can, and I know he will do an excellent job.”
“What are you talking about?” Hélène exclaimed.
Hélène’s mother, Marie Isabelle, frowned from across the table. “Hélène, you know better than to interrupt anyone who is speaking, even—” She broke off before sayingeven a servantand turned to the coachman. “Laurent, I take it you haven’t shared your news with the princess?”
Laurent stared resolutely at the space above Hélène’s shoulder. “I’ve been offered the position of Master of Horse for the Marquis deBreteuil.”
“All the way in France,” Hélène said flatly. Her parents both sighed with longing and a touch of envy, because France, of course, was the one place they couldn’t go—not unless the Third Republic changed the terms of their exile.
“It’s a great opportunity for me,” Laurent replied.
The position was undoubtedly a step up in the world; as the Orléans family’s coachman, Laurent shepherded them around town and managed their eight horses. But as Master of Horse—especially for someone like the Marquis deBreteuil, who kept a massive stable—his life would be far bigger in scale. He would attend horse auctions and manage a team of grooms and stable hands; he wouldn’t sleep on a mattress up in the eaves but would be granted a real room in the servants’ quarters, perhaps even a cottage of his own near the stables.
This was clearly the news he had meant when he’d said that he had something to tell her.
She waited in a trancelike state as Laurent and her parents exchanged more pleasantries. Finally, when he started to leave, Hélène stood with him.
“Laurent, would you escort me to the stables before you go?” She fought to keep her voice even, though hurt coursed through her veins. “It’s such a lovely day; I was thinking I might ride.”
It was gray and overcast, not a lovely day at all, but Philippe and Marie Isabelle were too distracted to contradict their daughter. Laurent visibly flinched as he followed Hélène down the hallway and onto the back lawn.
“So. You’re moving to France.” She marched with angry steps, the heels of her boots digging into the grass. “When did you make this decision?”
“I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner. But you must agree that this is for the best,” he breathed. “Things were getting too risky.”
Hélène drew to a sudden halt. Not caring that they were in full view of the kitchens, she whirled to face Laurent, grabbed his shirt with both hands, and tipped her face up to his.
“Take me with you.”
He blinked at her. “What?”
“I’ll come with you. I’ll use a new name.” The words tumbled out of her, fierce and insistent. “We’ll tell everyone I’m your wife. Better yet, we’ll get married at some small country church along the way and I really will be your wife! Then we can live together, like we always wanted—you, me, and a stable full of horses—”
“No.”
The finality in Laurent’s tone was like the crack of a whip. He detangled Hélène’s hands from his shirt and stepped away, putting a healthy distance between them.
