CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
May
MAY HAD GOTTEN INTO THE habit 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 she belonged.
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 read to you and Maud while you sew? 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 Behavior or 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.
“I’d love for you to come read aloud during one of our sewing sessions. It would certainly help pass the time,” she agreed.
Surely Hélène’s offer had to do with Eddy? Hélène was already friends with Eddy’s other sister; or at least, she and Louise had seemed close at Balmoral. Perhaps Hélène was trying to win over Maud now, too, just as Agnes had suggested that May do last year.
If May’s suspicions about Hélène and Eddy were correct, then gaining his family’s support was a smart move. They would certainly need all the help they could get.
May decided to cast a line, see if Hélène took the bait. She lowered her voice and asked, “Is Alix of Hesse here? I was wondering if she and Eddy had announced their engagement yet. Surely the news will come soon, don’t you think?”
There it was: a telltale flicker of significance on Hélène’s face. She caught herself and smoothed it over, so quickly that a casual observer might not have noticed.
But May was no casual observer.
“I’ve heard that rumor too, and I think it might be just that. A rumor,” Hélène declared. “Eddy and Alix do not seem particularly attached, don’t you agree?”
May heard the proprietary pride in Hélène’s voice as she spoke of Eddy. It was the tone you used when describing someone you cared about—someone you were bound to.
She nodded in cautious agreement. “Perhaps not. Are the princes here today?” Belatedly she realized it was an abrupt question, and strove to explain. “I need to find Prince George, to thank him for a service he rendered me. He recently rescued my hat.” She reached up to touch the brim.
Hélène noticed the gesture. “The hat you’re wearing?”
“Yes, it blew away at Hyde Park, and George fetched it back from the duck pond.”
“It is quite a charming hat. I am glad for your sake that it did not become fodder for ducks. But…” Hélène hesitated, then reached her hands questioningly toward May’s face. “Do you mind?”
Before May could reply, Hélène tipped the hat slightly forward, then reached up to comb a finger softly through the feathers. “That’s better. It looks more…”
May glanced at a mirror that hung on the wall and nearly gasped. That subtle shift had changed the way the hat framed her face, softening the lines of her jaw and bringing out the gleam in her eyes.
“More sophisticated,” she murmured, just as Hélène declared, “More French.”
They both let out a tentative laugh. “I suppose those are the same thing, aren’t they?” May asked, and Hélène gave an amused shrug.
“I would say so, but I’m hardly impartial.”
May studied her reflection a moment longer.
She had been startled when Hélène reached out to touch her, but that was what other young women did, wasn’t it?
They fussed over each other, plaited each other’s hair while sharing secrets.
And though Hélène hadn’t technically confessed to a relationship with Eddy, May felt as convinced as if she had.
She found herself wondering what she would say to Hélène, if this moment of tentative friendship became something more—if Hélène confessed to the romance and asked May’s advice.
Until recently, May would have said that Hélène was gambling dangerously with her future. She’d put her reputation on the line for…what, exactly? Passion? Love? Only fools believed in love, May reminded herself. Getting involved with Eddy was reckless of Hélène, and ill-advised.
Yet some unexpected part of May, a part that had newly stirred to life, couldn’t help thinking that Hélène was also brave.
Braver than May had ever dared to be.
“I’m afraid that I must leave. I’ll see you at Tino and Sophie’s wedding?” Hélène said, with a little wave of farewell. May murmured goodbye and stepped back toward the center of the gallery.
Then she met George’s gaze across the room, and her heart skipped.
He took in her hat, newly French and sophisticated the way Hélène had styled it, and smiled in recognition. Eddy stood behind him, but for once, May didn’t really notice much about the heir to the throne.
She thought of the sisterly way Hélène had tugged at her hat and felt a burst of sudden fondness. Maybe this was the way things were always meant to play out, Eddy with Hélène and May with George.
Maybe someday the four of them would all be friends—hosting events together, leading parades—Hélène as the Queen of England, May as Duchess of York.
Why not? Stranger things had happened than princes marrying for love.
“MAY, THANK GOD YOU’VE COME!” Agnes greeted her, when May arrived at the Endicotts’ house the following week. “We have so much to discuss!”
“It looks like you had fun in Paris,” May replied, glancing around Agnes’s bedroom with a mixture of amusement and envy.
Her friend had been out of town for ten days, on a jaunt to Paris with her parents for no apparent reason except to shop.
Her bedroom rug was currently hidden beneath an ocean of striped boxes, each marked with the coveted label Rue de La Paix.
Clothes were strewn over the four-poster bed and hanging from hooks along the wardrobe in extravagant, blithe disorder.
There were just so many things. Tea dresses and day dresses and riding habits in lilac and peach and moss, every last one of them with a hat to match. And that wasn’t even including the gowns: floaty, frothy concoctions that shimmered with glass beads, silk bows, or swishing fringe.
“What do you think; is this appropriate for Athens?” Agnes held a gown up to her chest. It was gorgeous, its deep green silk covered in velvet scrollwork all down the bodice and skirt.
May blinked in surprise. “You’re going to the wedding?”
“Not to the actual wedding, of course.” Agnes smiled. “But you can hardly blame me and Mother for wanting to visit when so many crowned heads will be there! I’ve never seen a royal wedding,” Agnes added, almost shyly. “It will be such a treat to simply be near one.”