Of course. He was watching Alix of Hesse.
Stupid, perfect Alix, with her golden hair, her enormous blue-gray eyes, her soft, delicate features and narrow waist. Even in the bridesmaid dress Louise had chosen, a fussy thing of pink crêpe de chine with a watered-silk sash, she still turned heads.
May had always suspected that Eddy would propose to Alix. He was the future King of England, and everyone knew that Alix was the most beautiful princess of their generation—not to mention Queen Victoria’s favorite granddaughter. Their pairing was simply inevitable.
Ifshehad been born that beautiful, May thought bitterly, there would be no heights she couldn’t reach.
Well, she would just have to make the best of what little she had. Finding a husband was a cruel, cutthroat business, but May would keep at it. She would findsomeoneto marry, someone kinder and easier to manage than her father. The alternative was simply unbearable.
She could never admit it, because there was nothing attractive about a stubborn woman, but May refused to accept defeat. Even when it stared her in the face.
CHAPTER TWO
Hélène
PRINCESS HÉLÈNE LOUISE HENRIETTE D’ORLÉANSglanced across the ballroom of Marlborough House to where the footmen kept entering with champagne. The best thing she could say about this wedding was that the wine was good, and there was plenty of it.
She sighed, and her sister Amélie cast her a knowing look. “Shall we take a turn around the room?”
“Perhaps,” muttered Hélène, though the one person she longed to see wasn’t in this ballroom.
“Oh, youmusttake a turn about the room if you haven’t yet.” May of Teck, who was seated in a neighboring chair, clapped her hands in a silly show of enthusiasm. Oddly, her eyes were on Alix of Hesse, though she was speaking to Amélie. “Have you seen the flowers near the cake? They aredivine.”
Alix blinked as if waking from a daydream. “Hmm?”
“We were just saying how lovely the wedding is,” Amélie said gently.
“Oh yes!” Alix beamed at her. “How long are you in town, Your Royal Highness? You must come over for tea before you leave. All of you,” she added, including Hélène and May in the invitation.
Hélène refrained from rolling her eyes, but only just.Youmustcome over for tea.As if she had nothing better to do than nibble at scones and exchange gossip.
These noblewomen were all the same, not an original thought in any of their heads. When Hélène had learned that the Princess Louise was marrying for love—and not even a prince, but a mere aristocrat!—she’d actually thought this wedding might be interesting. But, as usual, her imagination had outpaced reality.
“That sounds lovely,” Amélie agreed, when it was clear Hélène wouldn’t say anything.
May smiled at Amélie. “This must bring back such joyous memories from your own wedding day.”
Two years ago Amélie had married Carlos, the Crown Prince of Portugal. The two of them genuinely cared for each other, which was a rare gift in a royal marriage. Of course Hélène wanted her sister to be happy. Yet she missed theoldversion of Amélie, who used to follow along in Hélène’s schemes and giggle at inappropriate jokes. She missed the closeness they had shared before marriage and motherhood came between them.
This trip was Amélie’s first time away from her two-year-old son, Luis Filipe. Prince Carlos, clearly besotted with Amélie, had insisted she come home to see her family—or more accurately, come back to England, sincehomewould forever be France for the Orléans family. They were still very much in exile.
It had happened long before Hélène was even born, when her father was just ten years old. His grandfather, King Louis Philippe, had been forced to abdicate as King of France. Atleast he’d had it better than the king in theotherFrench Revolution, who’d died on the guillotine.
Hélène had grown up in Paris, in a townhouse that was beautiful, but certainly not a palace, her family treated like any other wealthy family—save the white roses that were occasionally strewn over their doorstep, a sign of illicit support from monarchists who wanted to see Hélène’s father restored to his throne. Perhaps the monarchists had been growing in number, because when Hélène was fifteen, the tides of the Third Republic shifted, and her family was informed thatthey must leave France and never return.
They had lived here in England ever since.
Ridiculously, no one ever spoke of what had happened. The British aristocrats who ran in their social circles addressed Hélène’s parents as the Count and Countess of Paris, a title that Queen Victoria had invented when she offered them asylum. Hélène’s father had been forced to smile and thank her, no matter how galling it was to be a made-up count when he should have been king.
A murmur arose among the young women as Prince Eddy approached, his brother George trailing along in his wake. Hélène had known Eddy long enough to remember when he’d been a boisterous, enthusiastic child. He was a young man now, but there was still something boyish about him—in his floppy hair and carefree smile and the coltish way he moved, as if he’d grown in a sudden spurt and wasn’t yet used to his long limbs.
The other girls smiled and tossed their heads coquettishly, but not Hélène. And, she realized, not Alix of Hesse. Alix was staring out the window again, lost in a world of her ownmaking.
Eddy’s eyes trailed over the line of women before him. When his gaze met Hélène’s, she cut hers away in cool dismissal, as if the very sight of him bored her. He stiffened, then turned to Alix.
“May I have the honor of a dance?”
Of course Alix was who he wanted. That porcelain doll of a girl whom his grandmother had set him up with.
