Chapter Nineteen May
Chapter Nineteen
May
The final morning of the regatta, May stood in the entrance hall of Osborne House. A row of carriages waited outside, ready to take the guests to the closing races.
Eddy had given the ring to May a few nights earlier, amid much toasting and champagne and a profusion of speeches.
Not that Eddy himself had said much. The only words he’d exchanged with May all week were Shall I escort you in?
when the dinner bell rang. May had just nodded and kept on smiling until her cheeks hurt.
He had chosen May because he wanted to get engaged to someone, to prove to Hélène that he was as finished with her as she was with him. May had promised to be the easiest option. Now she needed to keep her word, and ask him for nothing at all.
That was just fine with May. This engagement was a transaction, clean and devoid of emotion, and for her part, May was pleased with how the arrangement had gone thus far.
The news of their engagement hadn’t yet been printed in the papers; Her Majesty would have to announce it before Parliament, and technically Parliament would need to approve.
But May already felt like a future queen.
The other ladies at the regatta were all swarming around her now, when just days ago they had stared blankly through her.
The only people absent from the weeklong engagement festivities had been Hélène and Nicholas.
The Polar Star had weighed anchor the morning after Eddy and May’s announcement; Nicholas had sent the queen a note, claiming “pressing business” back in Russia and thanking her for the lovely parties.
May couldn’t help feeling slightly curious about the timing.
Had Hélène told Nicholas about her confrontation with May…
pointedly leaving out the reason for their conflict?
Surely Hélène wouldn’t have admitted her previous liaisons to her new fiancé—unless she was sleeping with Nicholas now, too?
But even if Nicholas didn’t care about Hélène’s lack of innocence, May knew that his parents most assuredly would. She still had Hélène under her thumb.
And in the meantime, news of May’s engagement was spreading to London. Yesterday she had come downstairs to a pair of telegrams from her parents.
Her mother’s message was predictably joyful.
Oh, May! I was speechless, utterly flabbergasted! What wondrous news! Only somehow word has got out in London. Please do come back soon, people have been dropping by the house to congratulate you then she sighed and answered her own question.
“You young people and your energy! Albert and I used to be the same when we visited new places. He always stopped at the local church to say a prayer, and at the confectionery for squares of dark chocolate. Yes, you may go.”
“Thank you.” Unlike Missy, May made a point of curtsying.
“Why don’t you make it a group outing?” the queen suggested. “Eddy, you shall accompany your fiancée. Ernie and Maud, Alix and Maximilian, you must go as well.”
The queen’s matchmaking was comically obvious.
Apparently, now that Eddy’s future was resolved, she had decided to move on to the next few couples among her grandchildren.
May stole a glance at the Hesse siblings, who were so alike, with the same blue eyes and tawny blond hair, keeping their own counsel as always.
Even now they were exchanging murmured secrets.
May turned her back on them, fighting off a strange jealousy.
Her brother, Dolly, had left home years ago to attend the military academy at Sandhurst, and rarely came back for visits.
May didn’t blame him. But sometimes she wondered how it would feel to have a sibling to confide in: someone she trusted implicitly, the way Alix did Ernie or Ducky did Missy.
It was never wise to trust people, she reminded herself. Just look at what had happened the previous year, when she’d thought she and Agnes were friends.
From now on, May relied on no one but herself.
The town of Cowes was picturesque, its cobblestone streets hung with paper flags for the regatta.
Their group of nine was too unwieldy to stay together; they broke into clusters, exploring shops where bells tinkled overhead as the door swung open, buying chocolate for Her Majesty from the store on High Street.
They regrouped at a flower market a few blocks away, to Missy’s evident delight.
She whirled through the stalls like a princess from a storybook, fresh-faced and buoyant.
Within minutes her arms overflowed with lilacs, violets, bluebells.
“Can someone please open the carriage door?” she cried out, laughing.
May waited for George to run to Missy’s aid. But he didn’t move. He lingered at the back of the group, letting Maximilian and Eddy help her.
Curious, her heart skipping a little, May watched George. He wandered close to one of the carts, where rows of white flowers were arrayed on a shelf.
She followed.
He didn’t look up at her approach, but he said, very softly, “It’s your flower, May.”
“I’m sorry?”
George handed a few coins to the man behind the cart, then withdrew a single white blossom from a cluster. It was small but perfectly symmetrical, with pointed petals and a golden center. “A mayflower. Your namesake. May I?”
There was something old-fashioned and courtly about the way he had asked her permission. May nodded, suddenly unsure of herself.
“Yes, of course.”
George stepped forward and tucked the mayflower behind her ear.
There was nothing inappropriate about the gesture; it was polite, chivalrous even, a lovely gift from a future brother-in-law to his brother’s fiancée. Yet somehow it didn’t feel that way.
May was acutely aware of the warmth of George’s fingers against her hair, the tenderness of his touch. His expression was gentle as always, but May caught a spark of something in his deep blue eyes.
A wild impulse crackled through her. May wanted to reach for George’s hand and catch it in her own, to guide his fingers to her face.
She imagined him running a thumb over her lower lip, then settling his hand on the back of her neck, behind the knot of her ash-blond hair. She imagined him lowering his mouth to hers.
What was wrong with her? She couldn’t be having such daydreams about George; she was engaged to his brother, and besides, everyone knew George was going to marry Missy.
Yet he wasn’t up there with Missy, gallantly loading flowers into the carriage for her.
He had walked slowly on purpose, to stay back with May and put a blossom in her hair.
“May…forgive me if I’m overstepping, but I have to ask,” George said hesitantly. “Are you happy?”
“Happy?” May repeated, startled.
“I just— You and Eddy. It took me by surprise.” George glanced down at his shoes, as if they might somehow help him navigate this awkward moment. “I had no idea that either of you was considering— That is, I thought Eddy…”
The others were half a block ahead by now.
Ducky and Missy were at the center of the group, laughing, weaving flowers into necklaces and bracelets.
Maximilian kept following Alix around; it was so clear to anyone watching that he was infatuated with her.
Yet Alix seemed oblivious, treating him as nothing but a friend.
“Eddy says that you will make a wonderful queen. Of course, he’s right,” George fumbled to add. “I just want to make sure that Grandmother didn’t force you into it. You are happy, aren’t you?”
May couldn’t remember when anyone had asked whether she was happy. She was used to being asked many things—for her time, for her patience. For forbearance and duty and silence. But no one had ever inquired about something as frivolous as her happiness.
She recalled what she’d said to Agnes last year: I don’t think women can be happy. At the time, she had meant it.
“George, I…” I am happy, May needed to say. That was the correct response to George’s question: that she would marry his brother and was delighted about it. That she had chosen this.
For some reason, her mouth didn’t form the words.
“You can still change your mind if you’re having second thoughts.” George spoke so quietly that she had to lean closer to hear him. “It’s not even in the papers yet, which means it’s not really official. If you need help getting out of it…”
May felt dizzy. The rest of the world—the sun beating down on her through the fabric of her lace sleeves, the clamor of haggling and laughter and the jingling of harnesses—all of it receded, as if she were in a dream.
What are you saying? she longed to ask George. Are you not engaged to Missy after all?
A sliver of doubt worked its way into her mind.
What if she had misread all his interactions with Missy, seeing romance where there was nothing but friendship?
Queen Victoria clearly wanted to push them together, but perhaps that didn’t matter.
Victoria was always shuffling and reshuffling her grandchildren into various royal families, playing a generations-long game of dynastic chess across the thrones of Europe.
Perhaps May had heard all the gossip about George and Missy and had made the mistake of believing it.
“I don’t…” she began.
“May! Look what I have for you!”
May was prevented from elaborating by the arrival of Missy, who brandished a crown of vivid pink flowers. She placed it triumphantly on May’s head. “It fits you perfectly! All hail our future queen!” Missy proclaimed, folding forward into an elaborate bow.
How typically Missy, May thought, with an uncharitable flare of anger. Always causing a scene, always making everything about her.
People were beginning to stare. Missy’s words were repeated in murmurs, then again, louder—our future queen! She’s the one engaged to Prince Eddy! Who is she?
May was on display now. This scene would be reported, repeated. The private drama playing out between her and George, whatever it was, had ended. She felt a pang of frustration, but what could she do?
She had agreed to this: to a life of unending public performance.
“I’m sorry, did I miss something?” Missy asked blithely, looking from May to George. “May, you look pale.”
“Of course. Let’s get our future queen out of the sun,” George said gruffly. Eddy had walked up, clearly curious about the commotion, and George nodded to him. “I was just congratulating May on your engagement.”
“Thank you,” Eddy told his brother, and held out an arm for May.
She forced a smile in Missy’s direction. “The crown is lovely. You shouldn’t have.”
It wasn’t until she reached the carriage at the end of the street that May saw something white drift by in her peripheral vision, only to be stomped on the cobblestones by someone’s boot.
It was the mayflower George had given her.