Except that there weren’t just two women who wanted him: there were three.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hélène
SEVERAL WEEKS LATER, HÉLÈNE WALKEDslowly through the gallery, snatches of conversation floating around her.
I never imagined that photography might be an acceptable hobby, but I suppose if the Princess of Wales is doing it…
What are you wearing to the Cadogans’ ball? I was thinking of going as Madame dePompadour, except there are sure to be so many of those…
Her Royal Highness really captured the spirit of the dogs, don’t you think?
Hélène paused before the portrait in question: a photograph of a mournful-looking basset hound, nestled on a tasseled and fringed pillow.Lockey at Home, by Her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales, read a plaque below the photo. If she weren’t in such a rotten mood, Hélène might have burst out laughing.
Her parents had dragged her to today’s gathering at an art gallery on Regent Street. Though they weren’t in the palace, this was to all intents and purposes a court function: the unveiling of a series of photographs taken by Alexandra, Princess of Wales.
So far, Hélène had successfully managed to avoid aconversation with Prince Eddy, as she’d done ever since their return from Balmoral.
Belatedly, she realized that the Princess of Wales was approaching, and sank into a curtsy. “Your Royal Highness.”
Alexandra looked impeccable as usual in a dusky pink dress, her smile bland. “Thank you for coming. What do you think of the photographs?”
“Oh! Your work is so…” Hélène scrambled to find a fitting adjective. “So interesting! I’d love to hear more about the process. Have you set up a darkroom at Marlborough House?”
“I don’t actually develop the photographs. That would be the work of Mr.Helsby.”
At his name, a man with a black mustache stepped forward and bobbed his head. “Thomas Helsby, of the London Stereoscopic Society, at your service.”
“Mr.Helsby has been giving me private photography lessons, and of course, he handles the development process. I find that it’s more pleasant just to take the images.”
“Silver nitrate solution is quite noxious. Hardly appropriate for a lady to be handling,” Mr.Helsby said officiously. “And of course I help Her Royal Highness to carry the camera and the tripod.”
“Yes, the implements are quite heavy,” Alexandra agreed.
It sounded like the Princess of Wales hadn’t done much to produce these images at all, except perhaps to arrange her various dogs in front of Mr.Helsby and his tripod.
Eddy’s mother turned aside to greet someone else, leaving the photographer with Hélène. “Are you interested in photography, miss?” he asked politely. “We’ve had a number of young ladies of quality taking lessons at the institute, as amodern alternative to painting and sketching. And we have the loveliest garden out back.”
“A garden?” Hélène repeated.
“So that you can photograph the flowers.” He gave what he probably thought was an encouraging smile. “The Countess of Erroll is quite enamored of our rosebush. She took a charming series of pictures there, featuring her Siamese cat.”
Her cat. Of course.
“Mr.Helsby, are all the cameras very heavy, or is there one that I could carry on my own?” At his blank look, Hélène added, “There must be some research into reducing the camera size. I would love to be able to bring a camera with me.”
“Bring it with you? Where?” he asked, bewildered. “Surely you have a manservant or a brother who can assist you with the tripod, even at your country home.”
Mr.Helsby probably thought he was being tactful, avoiding any mention of a husband or fiancé, but it didn’t matter. He’d made his point. Photography was yet another activity that a woman couldn’t engage in without the help of a man.
Hélène had no desire to sit placidly in a garden, photographing rosebushes. She wanted to sail down the Nile and drink tea in Ceylon and ride horses across a sand dune, wearing the outfit Eddy had given her. And she wanted a camera that could record it all, so that when she was old and bedridden she could look at the images and remember how full and adventurous her life had been.
Not that such a life was even an option for her.
Hélène murmured a goodbye to Mr.Helsby and started to turn aside—only to freeze at the sight of Prince Eddy. He was over by the windows with his father and Alix of Hesse.
Hélène’s body felt still, and cold, and heavy, as if she’dplunged into a frozen lake and was being dragged down into its icy depths.
