Slowly, the anguish drained from her.
“I’m sorry about Frittie. I can’t imagine what you went through.” Nicholas’s words rumbled through her. “But you need to let go of all this self-recrimination. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Nicholas, I can’t marry you! You deserve someone who can love you with a whole heart, not one that was broken years ago. Not someone who can’t even look at a crowd without feeling like she might faint.”
Nicholas took a step back but didn’t release her; his hands stayed clasped on her shoulders, then slid down over her arms, to lace his fingers in hers.
“Maybe your affliction will never go away. Guilt can be stubborn like that,” he said softly. “Still, I think that your episodes will become less frequent if you stop blaming yourself for Frittie’s death. As for your heart,” he went on, “I would rather have yours, no matter how bruised or broken, than any other.”
“You still want to marry me, knowing all of that?” she whispered.
Nicholas placed a gentle kiss on her brow. “I want to marry youmore,if that is even possible.”
Alix looked into his eyes. She had never imagined that someone might see all the terrible parts of her and still want her. Stillloveher.
“In that case,” she said through her tears—which were tears of joy, now, as much as grief—“I will marry you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
May
MAY HAD GOTTEN INTO THEhabit of attending the Princess of Wales’s at homes this year, hoping to run into Eddy or at the very least see Maud. The first few times, Agnes had asked to come with her, though to May’s relief she’d given up after May kept refusing—and besides, Agnes was in Paris now anyway.
Today, May had brought her mother with her. Mary Adelaide could be embarrassing, certainly, but she was also a living reminder that May was part of the royal family, too. That shebelonged.
The butler directed them upstairs, and Mary Adelaide groaned in protest, muttering that one should always receive guests on the ground floor. May nodded, grateful that her mother had never paid her all that much attention, and therefore didn’t notice her new hat: the same one that had blown away at Hyde Park. It was a bit overtrimmed for an at home, but May hadn’t been able to resist wearing it, in case she saw Prince George.
Surely he would understand what she meant by choosing this hat. It was a silent reference to that day, and the moment of intimacy they’d shared.
The sounds of laughter and conversation floated down the hall; Mary Adelaide began walking faster, unable to resist the allure of a party. “It sounds crowded! I wish I’d known; I would have worn my butterfly brooch.” At the doorway to the gallery, she straightened a little, then launched herself into the room like a ship at full sail.
May followed in her mother’s wake, glancing around in search of George. Then her gaze lit on someone she hadn’t expected to see: Hélène d’Orléans.
The French princess was standing near the window, talking to Prince Constantine of Greece. As always, there was something easygoing in her manner—perhaps in the way she was standing, her weight shifting restlessly from one foot to the other so that her skirts kept swishing and swaying, or perhaps it was the bright sound of her laughter. Other women kept their expressions neutrally polite, their smiles as lacquered as a mask, whereas Hélène allowed her emotions to run wild over her face.
Hélène looked up and, seeing her, flashed an unexpected smile. “May! How have you been?”
“I’m—um, I’m doing well, thank you,” May said haltingly. It wasn’t as if they had spoken much at Balmoral, and while she’d seen Hélène across the ballroom at the Cadogans’ fancy-dress ball, she’d been too preoccupied to seek her out.
“Maud was telling me that you have a charity bazaar coming up?” the French princess asked, and May nodded.
“For the Needlework Guild. It’s several weeks away, if you’d like to contribute anything.”
Predictably, Hélène shook her head. “I’m useless with a needle, much to my mother’s dismay. But I could always readto you and Maud whileyousew? That counts as supporting the Needlework Guild, doesn’t it?” she added cheekily.
“Read to us?” May repeated.
“Our governess used to read to me and Amélie while we were learning our embroidery stitches, though it was all quite tedious. You know,Ruminations on Female Behavioror other books about etiquette.” Hélène made a face. “Surely you and Maud would opt for something a bit more enjoyable?”
“I’m not really a fan of novels,” May replied.
“If you mean romances, then I wholeheartedly agree.” Hélène lowered her voice. “I prefer the epics. You know, the classics. I used to steal Philippe’s copies when he studied them with his tutor.”
“I did the same with Dolly’s books,” May admitted, to her own surprise.
Hélène flashed a quick, conspiratorial smile. “Did you play at being Jason, too—sailing after the Golden Fleece? Or Hercules performing his labors?”
May nodded, though her favorite stories were actually those of Odysseus. The crafty, wily one, the warrior who got by on his wits rather than brute strength.
