“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Eddy braced his hands on the railing next to hers. “None of our palaces have much of a view, unless you count Balmoral. And even that is mostly a view of fog.”
Normally Hélène would have said something teasing in reply, likeWhat good is an island nation without a seaside palace,but she didn’t have the heart. Instead she just nodded. “I’ve never been to Greece until now. It’s lovely.”
May was somewhere inside that ballroom. Hélène could go find her, could drag that lying, scheming snake out here and confront her. How satisfying it would feel to tell May precisely what she thought.
But she couldn’t afford to do that, not as long as May had that letter from Laurent. If it were only her own future on the line, Hélène might not have cared; she didn’t have any particular attachment to her reputation, didn’t notice what was said about her.
But she wasn’t alone in this anymore. If she lost her reputation, she would unleash a torrent of shame and suffering upon her family—and, worst of all, she would lose Eddy.
As painful as it was to admit, Hélène knew that what May had written was true. A future queen was supposed to be a wholly unsexual being; even after she wed, she shouldn’tenjoythe marriage bed, but should lie back and think of England. The British people would never accept a queen with a sexual past. Just look at what had happened to Catherine Howard. Once the truth about Hélène came out, she would be beheaded, too—at least, figuratively speaking.
If this were America, or even France, the sordid details of the scandal would be all over the newspapers. Not so in England, where the press still maintained a reverential silence about the monarchy. No, Hélène had been in England long enough to know that its social warfare was more underhanded and backstabbing.
It would start with the women, of course. The society wives were harpies, attacking with sly, oblique insults and veiled remarks. They would discuss Hélène before their servants so that the gossip spread through the city in a malicious drip, until playwrights mocked her onstage and the taverns were rowdy with drinking songs about her. Eventually her family would become a laughingstock, leaving Hélène’s parents no choice but to ship her away—to an obscure relative in Switzerland, perhaps, or to a nunnery.
It was exactly what had happened to the girl May had mentioned in her letter: Marie of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. The poor thing had gotten pregnant as an unmarried teenager, and the family completely washed their hands of her. The last Hélène had heard, Marie had married an elderly count who made her life a living hell.
Even if Hélène managed to avoid such a fate, even if she convinced her parents to stand by her side, what good would it do? She would never be able to marry Eddy.
Their engagement would break down slowly. As the rumors gained momentum, Queen Victoria would keep finding excuses to delay, until eventually Eddy had no choice but to end things. And then Hélène’s family would be disgraced, her father’s chances of returning to France more remote thanever.
She could talk about all of this with Eddy—yet as much as she loved him, Hélène knew that he would make the situation even worse. He would try to confront May or involve his grandmother, and then it would all implode. Eddy might escape such a firestorm unscathed, but not Hélène.
Things weren’t the same for women and men. It wasn’t right or fair, but it was the truth.
No matter what she did, she would lose Eddy. Or, more accurately…he was already lost.
The only thing Hélène still had the power to do was protect her family.
She felt some great axis turning within herself, as if her very bones were remolding to create space for her broken heart. She needed to let go of Eddy—to refocus on the one thing that remained to her, the tie that had bound her since the moment of her birth. The Orléans cause.
Eddy turned to her, smiling. “My father says that he’s heard from Lord Posonby,” he began, but Hélène cut him off.
“Eddy.”
God, this was harder than she’d expected. She looked out into the distance, letting the breeze cool her feverish skin as she fumbled for her next words.
“You shouldn’t announce the engagement.”
“Of course,” Eddy said easily. “Your parents can make the announcement; it’s their right, as parents of the bride.”
“They will not be making the announcement.” Every word was like a knife stabbing into her chest, yet Hélène forced herself to continue. “I can’t marry you, Eddy. I’m sorry that I led you to believe otherwise.”
The silence that fell between them was sudden and absolute. Hélène kept her eyes fixed on the horizon to avoidlooking at Eddy’s face. Through the blurriness in her vision, she saw the glow of the sun, amber and crimson and a rich honeyed gold.
“I have consulted my conscience, and I realize that it was wrong of me to agree to convert. I cannot give up my Catholic faith. I am sorry for misleading you,” she concluded, in nearly a whisper.
“No.” Eddy pressed his palms into the stone railing, his voice gaining momentum. “No, there must be another way. We will petition the pope!”
“That won’t work.”
He didn’t seem to have heard. “We’ll get you a dispensation granting you permission to remain Catholic in private but practice the Church of England publicly, in your role as queen.”
“He’ll never grant it,” Hélène said softly.
“All right, then. We’ll change the Act of Settlement.” Eddy spoke as if it were a simple matter, revising a law that had been in place for nearly two centuries.
“How? You think Parliament will really change the law to accommodate the daughter of an exiled French king, a pseudo-princess whose religion they don’t even approve of?” Her voice came out admirably steady despite the wild thrum of her pulse. “No, we need to just accept that things are impossible. This is precisely why our families would have never allowed you to court me. We both knew from the start that we shouldn’t have gotten involved: we said as much last year, that night at Marlborough House!”
