“I’m sorry,” May murmured, though he wasn’t listening.
“It’s an outrage, frankly. A grave insult. After everything I’ve been through!”
Everything he had been through? In other words, his complete inability to live within a budget and spend according to his means, which had landed them in such debt that May had spent years in exile?
Of course the queen had refused his request to become a Royal Highness. Francis had asked the same thing half a dozen times before, as if sheer persistence might wear Victoria down. May didn’t share his optimism.
She took a tentative step toward the staircase, causing Francis to glance at her again. He must have finally noticed that her hair was half-curled, because he asked, “Are you going somewhere?”
“We’ve been invited to the Cadogans’ fancy-dress party.”The invitation had been extended to the whole family, though May wasn’t sure whether her parents planned on attending.
“Fancy dress.” He sneered. “It’s ridiculous, grown people dressing up as if they’re children playing at make-believe.”
That sounded like a resounding no.
Still clutching the enormous box to her chest, May started up the stairs, but her father’s next words stopped her in her tracks. “You know, when the doctor came out of the birthing chamber and told me your mother had delivered a girl, I was delighted.”
The burst of sentimentality was so unexpected that May nearly stumbled. “You were?”
“I thought to myself, a girl, now that’s something. A girl could be the making of this family—provided she married well.”
The smile that had started to form on May’s face evaporated.
Francis snorted in derision. “What a fool I was. You…” He waved a hand in her general direction, indicating her dowdy outfit, the curls of hair already growing limp and straight, her plain face.
“You are not the daughter I expected, not at all,” he’d said dismissively.
Now May blinked and stared around the party, trying to shake off the memory. She was grateful for the distraction when Agnes looped an arm through hers.
“I thought you said the prince was coming?” Agnes asked, her voice low and conspiratorial.
“I believe so.” Though May had seen Agnes a few times since she’d returned from Balmoral, she hadn’t explainedeverything that had happened. Namely, that she had given up hope on Prince Eddy.
May liked to think of herself as clever and resourceful, but even she knew her limits. What good was it continuing on this path when Eddy was publicly attached to Alix and privately enamored of Hélène?
No, May thought wearily, she couldn’t afford to waste time on lost causes. She needed to resign herself to her dwindling prospects and look elsewhere.
Lord Weymouth was here, dressed as Emperor Augustus. He might be old enough to be her father, but May wouldn’t let a consideration like that stop her. Should she go over and make a remark about how they were both dressed as ancient Romans, or would he think it too forward?
Oblivious to May’s distress, Agnes squeezed her arm. “Well, I for one cannotwaituntil His Royal Highness sees you! You look stunning.”
May was wearing the gown Agnes had sent, a deep green silk with velvet brocade down the skirt. Agnes had remarkable instincts when it came to these things—May would never have selected this shade for herself, but it was undeniably flattering. The emerald color emphasized her skin, making her unremarkable face seem almost pretty, or at least unblemished, and it caught the darker strands of her blond hair, enriching its normally ashen color. Thoughtfully, Agnes had instructed the dressmaker to include a woven crown with artificial leaves, adding a vaguely Roman touch.
“Thank you for the dress,” May said warmly. “Though, really, you shouldn’t have bought it.”
“Please! It’s the least I could do, after you saved me from the social suicide of coming here as Guinevere.” Agnes lookedaround. “I wouldn’t have noticed it, but of course you’re right. I see a thousand French and Spanish kings, but not a single Tudor.”
When Agnes had announced that she would dress as Guinevere, a horrified May had quickly explained the unspoken mandate ruling British fancy-dress parties. One couldneverdress as a British king or queen, even a fictional Arthurian one, if real royalty might be present. It was a gross example of lèse-majesté.
Forced to abandon her Guinevere plan, Agnes had commissioned a Cleopatra costume instead. The billowing white fabric of her dress was shot through with gold, and a snakelike headpiece fastened back her chestnut-colored hair.
“You’rethe one who looks stunning. You were born to be Cleopatra,” May said loyally, at which Agnes brightened.
It was a bit surprising that the Endicotts had been invited tonight; the Earl Cadogan and his wife always entertained on a grand scale, but May had never known them to befriend Americans before. Good for Agnes, she thought. May might have launched her career, but Agnes seemed to be moving along quite well on her own.
May hadn’t realized how much better it would be to attend this sort of party with a friend, instead of languishing on the side with all the other unmarried women. Agnes might be unmarried, too, but she was constitutionally incapable of sitting still.
“Look, there she is!” Agnes whispered excitedly. May followed her gaze to where Alix of Hesse stood across the ballroom.
