CHAPTER NINE
May
MAY NODDED, PRETENDING TO LISTEN as her mother and the Duchess of Abercorn debated the merits of French versus British ladies’ maids (so far the verdict was British, though French superiority in hairstyling had been much discussed).
She dared a quick glance at Prince Eddy, tracking his slow progress through the ballroom.
Soon enough he would be near the buffet table and the entrance to the front hall, and then she could make her move.
Thank god she was finally out in public again—and at Prince Eddy’s investiture, no less. Today he’d been formally granted the titles Duke of Clarence and of Avondale, and now most of London was crammed into the ballroom at Marlborough House, celebrating.
May had hardly seen Eddy since that strange night at the opera a few months ago.
When Alix had stumbled out of the box, May had followed, worried that Alix might chase after Prince Eddy and change her mind.
But the German princess had just collapsed onto a bench and cried.
These weren’t ordinary tears, May had seen at once.
They were something far more sinister, something—what was that word that people used now? —psychological.
For a moment May had stood there, watching Alix heave great lungfuls of air. Perhaps she should go comfort her? But what if May said the wrong thing, as she was wont to do, and somehow made it all worse? What if Alix was embarrassed and preferred her solitude?
When she heard footsteps coming from the opposite direction, May quickly retreated to the royal box.
Eddy had reappeared half an hour later, and May knew at once that something had gone wrong. The prince had seemed hurt by Alix’s rejection, far more than May had anticipated.
But surely he was ready to move on. He hadn’t seen Alix in the months since the opera; she’d been in Darmstadt, and then visiting her older sister in Russia, while the Waleses had spent the shooting season at Balmoral.
Only May had been stuck here in London—and even if Eddy had been in town, she couldn’t have seen him, because her grandmother had died.
The Duchess of Cambridge had been the sort of stern, uncompromising woman who insisted on being laced into stays and starched petticoats even after a stroke left her half paralyzed.
“This is her?” the duchess had demanded the last time May visited, then turned to May’s mother with a plaintive “Mary Adelaide. Really.”
May knew better than to complain about her grandmother’s brusque dismissal. The duchess was the only person who occasionally took pity on the Tecks and helped stem the tide of their colossal debt; no one dared speak a word against her in their household.
As etiquette demanded, May and her parents had spent the last ten weeks in mourning, and were only now reemerging into society.
May was just glad to have left the house, though her joy had dimmed a little when she entered the ballroom and was met by a sea of fashionable new gowns.
She’d gone to such pains selecting her dress for tonight, a rose-colored silk with full sleeves, but it was from last Season, and now seemed pitiful.
“Mama. Why don’t we visit the buffet?” she suggested once the Duchess of Abercorn had left them.
“Of course.” Mary Adelaide’s eyes drifted eagerly toward the table, which was laden with sweetmeats—sugar-dusted tarts, biscuits, candied chestnuts—as well as an enormous bowl of champagne that a footman ladled into crystal flutes.
When they were close enough, May stepped near Eddy with a deft maneuver, then pretended she’d only just noticed him.
“Oh! Your Royal Highness!” She sank into a reverential curtsy, knowing that the gesture would gratify any of the family members who happened to glance over—Eddy’s mother, or especially the queen. They might be family, but it was never wise to skip over the formalities.
The various courtiers or aristocratic young men who had been hovering near Eddy retreated. Thankfully, even May’s mother was perceptive enough to step away. From the corner of her eye, May saw her heaping candied walnuts onto one of the filigreed gold plates from the sideboard.
“Congratulations!” she exclaimed. “I so enjoyed the investiture today.”
He didn’t seem to have heard her. “It was all a bit tedious, wasn’t it? Ceremonies always are.”
“Yes,” May hurried to agree, though really, Eddy should have known that the tedium was the point. How else would mere mortals know that their royal counterparts were elevated so far above them?
“How have you been? I haven’t seen you in months,” she added, then regretted the remark; it sounded needy.
“Has it been that long?” Eddy’s careless question made it clear just how little time he’d spent thinking about her.
May cast about for a change in subject. “You must be very busy with the cavalry. And with your horses! I hope you have one entering the races,” she said quickly. “It was such a shock when Lorne won last year’s Ascot.”
Eddy’s interest sparked, and May said a silent prayer of gratitude for her sharp memory; she hadn’t even been at Ascot, just read about it in the papers.
“Exactly! I was so surprised when Dante didn’t win. He’s a magnificent horse—the Duke of Beaufort let me ride him at Badminton House.” Eddy glanced over her shoulder again, then back at May. “Do you ride?”
“A little.” She hadn’t ridden since she was a child on a pony, but if Eddy invited her on a hunt, she would say yes and figure out the details later.
“May. I need to ask you a favor.” Eddy placed a hand on her forearm and tugged her aside, toward the archway that led to the front of the house.
May should have been thrilled that he was touching her, except that something told her Eddy hadn’t even registered it.
His eyes were darting in the direction of the balcony.
She resisted the urge to follow his gaze. It was a cold, dank evening, and no one had ventured outside; the lamps weren’t even lit. What was he looking at?
“Anything,” she told him.
“I need to step away and…take care of something,” he fumbled. “If Mother is looking for me, tell her I went to the smoking room?”
The entrance to the smoking room was on the opposite side of the ballroom. No doubt it was crowded in there, this far into the party; May was quite certain Uncle Bertie had retreated there half an hour ago to drink brandy with his friends. Leaving the hosting to his wife, as he always did.
May nodded. “Of course.”
“Thanks,” Eddy said warmly. “I knew I could count on you. You’re a good sort.”
A good sort? Wasn’t that the sort of thing men said when they clapped each other on the back?
Then Eddy was gone, his scarlet uniform vanishing through the archway that led to the front of the house.
May closed her eyes. She stood there for a moment, swallowing back the ache that threatened to burn in her throat. All she had done was say yes and be agreeable, yet in some way she didn’t understand, she had failed. Again.
“In America, we call that being relegated to friendship.”
May whirled around to see a young woman standing nearby. She couldn’t help registering the expensive details of the stranger’s gown: the rich gold braid along the cuffs, the detailed embroidery, and the vibrant green of the silk, which matched the young woman’s emerald-colored eyes.
“Excuse me.” May started to brush past her, but the newcomer kept talking.
“It’s not very enjoyable, is it, when you’re interested in a man but he’s completely unaware of you?” She sighed sympathetically. “I can’t believe His Royal Highness asked you to cover for him while he went off to a liaison in a coat closet.”
May was so shocked that she nearly stumbled. She glanced back over her shoulder and remarked, in her iciest tone, “That was a private conversation.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” her companion chirped.
May should have left it at that, but for some reason she added, “And the prince wasn’t sneaking off for a liaison. I’m sure he just needed a moment away from the party.”
She didn’t like the notion that Eddy had asked her to lie for him while he met up with another woman.
But even if he had, what did it matter to May?
Whoever he snuck off with wasn’t her competition; it would have to be a servant, or perhaps some nobleman’s wife.
No unmarried woman could behave that way, at least no one of quality.
The stranger shrugged, making the emerald droplets in her ears shimmer. There was a deliberateness to all her motions, from the way she tilted her head to the click of her heels on the floor, that conveyed a forceful personality.
“Perhaps. Personally, I’d put my money on the coat closet. Shall we peek inside and find out?”
“Are all Americans appallingly coarse, or just you?”
May had never spoken like that before. But then, she’d never been spoken to this way, with such blunt disregard for propriety or appearances.
She expected the young woman to blanch at her rudeness, but the stranger only laughed.
“Don’t worry, I can be as opaque as you British, who say lots of beautiful words without ever saying what you mean. I just reserve that for the men. We need to protect them from our real opinions, because if they knew what we actually thought, they would run the other direction!”
How many times had May thought the exact same thing? Though she was wise enough to keep such convictions to herself.
The young woman smiled warmly as she added, “Surely we don’t need to be so disingenuous with each other. Don’t you agree, Your Serene Highness?”
May hesitated, curious. “You have the advantage of me, since you evidently know who I am, but I haven’t had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”
“Agnes Endicott.” The girl bobbed into a curtsy—belated, certainly, but perfectly executed. There was a sound like rain falling on gravel. It took May a moment to realize that Agnes’s gown had a train sewn with delicate gold beads, which were dragging over the parquet floors with the movement.