CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
May
THE MORNING OF SOPHIE AND Tino’s wedding dawned bleary and cold. What else did one expect from a November wedding in Athens, May thought, as she tugged aside the damask curtains to stare out the window.
She and her parents were staying at the home of the Kallergis family: wealthy and influential Athenians who were only too happy to host a few stray guests, hoping to curry favor with the king and queen.
May’s father had been grumbling all week about the perceived insult.
If they weren’t going to be housed in the palace, he complained, they should at least be with a noble family and not a bunch of upstart politicians.
In his mind, a politician was about as important as a butler, and far less useful.
But they were here for the wedding, and that was what mattered.
May still couldn’t believe she’d convinced her father that they should come—though of course he was unaware that she’d had any role in his decision.
She had made a point of discussing the wedding in front of their driver, emphasizing that everyone would be there—trusting that Charles would let the gossip find its way to his master, as a good servant always did.
Then, risky as it was, she’d asked Maud if her father might be willing to check in.
She knew that status-obsessed Francis of Teck wouldn’t ignore a note from the Prince of Wales.
Sure enough, when Uncle Bertie sent a note asking if the Tecks were coming to Athens, Francis had decided that, yes, they would attend. He announced this fact to May and her mother as if it had been his own idea. As if he hadn’t been nudged there by May’s careful planning.
At a knock on the door, May looked up in surprise. It had been so long since they’d had a house full of staff, she’d forgotten the cadence of it. “Yes?”
“Miss?” The lady’s maid bobbed a quick curtsy. Her English was piecemeal, but it was still better than May’s nonexistent Greek. “There is a young woman here, she says to see you?”
“Really?” Curiosity piqued, May gestured for the maid to help her into her gown, a gorgeous one of midnight blue trimmed with sable. It was a castoff from Agnes, but still far more beautiful than anything her parents would have purchased.
When she hurried down the stairs, May was oddly unsurprised to see Agnes standing there, looking resplendent in a gown of orange and gold. With her glittering jewelry and rust-colored cape, she looked like a sunrise come to life.
May ran a hand reflexively over her own dress, and Agnes’s eyes flickered in recognition.
“That gown looks better on you than it ever did on me. I’m glad you took it off my hands,” she said gently.
May hesitated. She’d been ignoring Agnes ever since their conversation about Hélène, when she’d learned about the letter Agnes had tricked Laurent into writing. Her friend had sent a flurry of notes in the weeks leading up to the wedding, notes that May had steadfastly refused to answer.
Now that Agnes was here before her, May found that she still didn’t know what to say.
“I can’t talk; I need to leave for the wedding soon,” she mumbled, but Agnes leapt at her words.
“I know! I wanted to ask if I could give you a ride to the cathedral. Lisette is with me, so there’s no need to worry about a chaperone. Please,” she insisted. “There are things we need to talk about.”
May certainly didn’t condone all the digging Agnes had done into Hélène. Yet she found herself wanting to believe that Agnes had, in her own way, meant well. She’d been misguided and heavy-handed, but hadn’t she been trying to help?
“Just wait a moment,” she decided. Upstairs, May collected her cloak and gloves before telling the lady’s maid that she would meet her parents at the wedding.
Lisette was seated on the back of the Endicotts’ carriage, like a postilion, enabling the young women to speak privately inside.
May would normally have felt sorry for her, but the maid was bundled against the cold in a heavy coat, her hands tucked into a fur muff that was clearly a hand-me-down from Agnes.
May slid inside, and a moment later they started off, bridles jangling as the horses pulled into the street.
“How was your journey?” Agnes said uncertainly, into the silence.
“Fine.” Reflexively, May added, “And yours?”
“It was lovely. Have you ever seen Corfu? Apparently the Waleses were there just before us, on the royal yacht—the Marine, I think it’s called.”
The Nerine, May wanted to correct. It was the Greek word for “sea nymph.” Not that she’d been on it; she’d never been on a yacht at all, let alone the one belonging to the queen. Whenever her family traveled it was by train or, worse, by carriage.
“And the reception last night?” Agnes prompted, when May said nothing. “How was it? Did you see Prince Eddy?”
May stiffened. “As I told you before, I’m done chasing after Eddy.”
“What about Princess Hélène? Did she look unhappy?” Agnes pressed.
May’s stomach twisted with a sudden suspicion. Hélène and Eddy had seemed a bit strange last night, hadn’t they? At one point May thought she’d caught the French princess staring daggers at her, though she couldn’t imagine why.
“Agnes,” she said slowly. “What did you do?”
The rubies in Agnes’s ears glimmered, looking suddenly grotesque, like droplets of blood. She leaned back with a sigh.
“I’m sorry if you disapprove, but I wrote a letter to Princess Hélène—telling her what we know, urging her to do the right thing.”
“Agnes!” May’s stomach plummeted. “What did Hélène say? Did she reply?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Has she?” Agnes threw up her hands in an impatient gesture. “Because I wrote the letter as you!”
May dug her gloved hands into the cushions. They turned a corner and the carriage swayed, but neither of them moved.
“You impersonated me?”
“I did what you were too squeamish and proper to do. Now the way to Eddy is clear, just as you always wanted it to be!”
May should have been livid, yet all she felt was a dull weariness. Why hadn’t she seen this coming? After all, Agnes had admitted to forging letters before.
“Maybe you should marry Eddy, since you’re so fixated on him that you’ll resort to blackmail,” she snapped.
“Believe me, if I could marry him, I would!” It was perhaps the truest statement Agnes had ever spoken. “Since I can’t, it should at the very least be you.”
May stared out the window. They had turned onto a street near the harbor; she saw the wind ruffling the white-capped waves, boats hurrying back toward shore. “How dare you. I told you that I didn’t want to do anything to Hélène—”
“But we didn’t do anything to Hélène! She dug her own grave, and will have to live with the consequences of her choices,” Agnes exclaimed. “All we did was remind her of what she had already done. You can’t let yourself feel guilty about this.”
“Of course I feel guilty!” Perhaps it wasn’t too late; May could go find Hélène at the reception tonight, explain that this was all a misunderstanding.
“I can tell you’re thinking of ways to undo what I’ve done.
Stop,” Agnes said brutally. “This is why women are still the weaker sex, because we worry too much about how other people feel. Just look at your mother! She failed to look out for her own interests, and where did it get her? Married to a buffoon who frittered away her inheritance.”
“There’s no need to speak about my father like that,” May shot back, though all Agnes had done was voice May’s own secret thoughts.
“I’m sorry!” Agnes held out her hands in a gesture of apology.
“All I mean is that men—your father, Prince Eddy, even George—think of themselves first. Men never worry about hurting people; they take what they want, when they want it. If women could act like that even a fraction of the time, we wouldn’t be at the mercy of men. ”
May didn’t want to listen, but there was a dangerous logic to Agnes’s thinking. Her words slipped under May’s skin like a whisper, taking root in her brain.
The carriage pulled onto the street that led to the Cathedral of Athens. The flags that lined the road whipped about in the blustery wind. The sidewalks teemed with people, crowds thronging in the hope of glimpsing their future queen.
“You seem angry,” Agnes said tentatively.
May didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or scream. “Of course I’m angry! I told you I didn’t want to go down this road and you did it anyway. You pretended to be me!”
Agnes stared at her for a moment. “I see,” she said at last, with maddening calm. “You haven’t given up, just changed course. You’re going after Prince Eddy’s brother instead.”
When May said nothing, Agnes nodded, vindicated. “Well, May, I have to admit that I’m shocked. I never thought you would settle for a lesser prince.”
Even though it was how everyone thought, no one ever spoke such things aloud. It was jarring, hearing Agnes actually refer to George as lesser.
But she was right, wasn’t she? That was how the laws of succession worked, not just in the royal family but for everyone.
The oldest son inherited while other sons were left to scramble for themselves, to settle for army positions or minor estates while their older brothers took everything: the family castle, the name, the title, the power.
As for daughters? No one spared them a thought except as bargaining chips in the marriage game.
May fumbled for the right words. “I realize that George might not make sense to you. He’s very…”
“Dull? Stolid? Tedious?”
May bristled. “I think I have a real chance with him.”
“A chance at what? Being the inconsequential wife of a second son who will be forgotten by history?”
“A chance at being happy!”