May had valiantly tried to swallow back her sobs, which stung the inside of her throat. That was the last time she’d ever let her father see her cry.
She hurried toward the front of the house, a shattering sound echoing behind her. Francis must have thrown a vase, or perhaps even one of the crystal candlesticks. It really was stupid. Money was the main cause of his resentment, yet he was careless with the little they had left.
This was why May had to get married. The alternative was living under her father’s roof forever, letting him inflict petty cruelties on her because it made him feel powerful.
Sometimes she wished that England had stayed Catholic, because then, at least, she could have gone to a convent. May would have made quite a good abbess; she sensed that she had a knack for managing things, if only someone would lether.
The Tecks no longer employed a butler: their housekeeper, Mrs.Bricka, answered the bell if it rang, but like all their staff, she was overworked. Their gardener, Charles, had been forced to start driving the carriage when they let their coachman go, and their cook had long since begun washing bedsheets.
May lifted a hand as she stepped into the sunlight, thinking she would just stroll around the yard for a moment—avoid the chaos inside—but then she saw Charles kneeling by a bed of gardenias. An idea rapidly formed in her head.
“Charles, could you bring the carriage around, please?”
He cast her a dubious stare. They both knew that there were few places a young lady could venture unchaperoned.
“Where are you headed, miss?”
Not for the first time, May wished she had a close friend, someone she could trust. Of course, she could never have actually told this mythical friend about the sordid details of her life. That kind of thing simply wasn’t talked about. But it would have been nice to have someone she could visit attimes like this, when White Lodge felt claustrophobic. When the pressure and panic roiling in May’s chest threatened to boil over.
For some reason she thought of Alix of Hesse, and what she’d said at the wedding last night: that they should all come have tea sometime. Alix probably didn’t expect May to actually come over, but no matter. The invitation had been issued.
She tipped up her chin as she looked at Charles. “I’m going to Buckingham Palace.”
MAY BEGAN TO DOUBT HERdecision the instant her carriage rolled through the palace’s iron gates.
A footman sprang forward to help her step down. She couldn’t help noticing how pristine his white gloves were: even crisper than hers, and this was her nicest pair.
“I’m here to see the Princess Alix,” she informed the footman, handing him her card.
His gaze flitted from the card to her dress, a three-year-old one that had been darned twice in an attempt to make it over for this year’s fashions. Thankfully, skirts were getting narrower rather than wider.
After an awkward beat, the footman relented and opened the palace doors. “Please wait here, Your Serene Highness.” He managed to pronounceYour Serene Highnesswith a touch of skepticism, sniffing as she followed him inside.
May tried not to dwell on how unfair it was that Alix and Ernie stayed at the palace when they were in London, yet May hardly ever set foot here. Alix was obviously Queen Victoria’sfavorite, because she was beautiful and because her mother had died. May might as well have been motherless too, given how little Mary Adelaide had ever done to help her—if anything, she hadhurtMay’s chances on the marriage market. Yet Queen Victoria had never taken the slightest interest in May.
When the footman returned a few minutes later, his attitude was noticeably warmer. She supposed she had Alix to thank for that.
“This way, miss,” he said, gesturing May up the stairs and into a sitting room with delicate hand-painted wallpaper.
Alix was inside, perched on an upholstered couch with a book in her lap. A Thomas Hardy novel, May noted dismissively. She never bothered with fiction; there was plenty to worry about in the real world without wasting time on made-up people.
“Oh, May! I’m so glad you could come by!” Alix stood, her dress rippling around her in soft folds. It was a buttery yellow, trimmed in lace at the shoulders and set off by a pair of pearl earrings.
Her smile was so warm, so genuine, that May felt herself thawing a little. Perhaps her idea hadn’t been harebrained after all.
“It’s good to see you,” she said tentatively. “When do you leave for Darmstadt?”
“In two days.” Alix led her to a tea table set up near the windows. Envy stabbed into May’s chest at the sight of the pressed white tablecloth, the fresh-baked scones and ramekins of clotted cream, the silver pot of tea. Everything was embroidered or embossed with the palace’s coat of arms.
“You’re not going to Balmoral this summer?” May asked.
“Not this year.”
Alix took a bite of buttered scone. May broke off a few pieces but didn’t eat any. She had to be constantly vigilant, or she might wake up one day and look like her mother.
“I do love it there, though,” Alix went on. “It’s nice to be secluded, away from the bustle of the city.”
“But the bustle is the best part of the city!” May burst out, unthinking.
