Chapter Thirty-Three Eddy
Chapter Thirty-Three
Eddy
“We need to tell Grannie,” George was saying. “Hasn’t anyone told her? Is she coming?”
Tell her what? Eddy tried to ask his brother, but the words felt clunky in his mouth. And he was so cold. He must be at Balmoral; it was the draftiest, coldest castle. There were never enough fires there, and if you did try to start one, the wood would hiss in angry protest….
“Grannie is going to be so angry.” George glanced nervously over his shoulder at the door. “We really shouldn’t.”
“Don’t you want to feel how heavy it is? I’ve never held a real sword. Have you?” Eddy asked, well aware that George had not.
A flicker of longing darted over his little brother’s face. “Fine. But let’s hurry.”
It was almost too easy, convincing George to do something illicit.
And really, what else were they meant to do on a rainy day at Balmoral if not explore these dusty old sitting rooms?
Eddy and George had wandered through the familiar spaces, rapidly deciding that this one—with its assortment of traditional Scottish weaponry and clan insignia on the walls—was their favorite.
Then their eyes had caught on Grandpapa Albert’s old sword.
Eddy stood on tiptoe, straining his fingers toward the sword, but he wasn’t tall enough.
“I’ll have to lift you,” he muttered, kneeling down. “Get on my shoulders, all right?”
It wasn’t the first time Eddy had carried George in the name of a prank, like when Eddy had convinced George—draped in an oversized bedsheet—to ride piggyback into the kitchens on All Hallows’ Eve, moaning like the dead. Chef was so startled he’d dropped an apple turnover onto the floor.
George obediently climbed onto Eddy’s shoulders. Eddy stood with a groan, and George grabbed the sword by the hilt. “Got it!”
Eddy winced as he knelt back down. “You’re getting heavier.”
“I am six,” George said defensively. He clambered down from Eddy’s shoulders, holding tight to the sword. “Do you think Grandpapa ever used this?”
Eddy reached for the weapon, and George handed it over without protest. “No. It was probably just a ceremonial gift. But that doesn’t mean we can’t use it,” he added, adopting a fencing stance. “Get back, you evil knight!”
George didn’t jump into a fighting stance the way Louise would have. He gave a very put-upon sigh. “Why do I always have to be the villain?”
“Because I’m older,” Eddy replied, stating the obvious. “Grab one of the pokers from the fire; that can be your sword.”
George looked annoyed but did as Eddy asked, brandishing the poker like a weapon. “Get back, knight! I will destroy you!”
Eddy and George moved about the sitting room, their weapons colliding in various jabs and ripostes.
They jumped over sofas, climbed up onto ottomans as they fenced and parried their way around the room, which had become their own personal battlefield.
The sword was heavy, and Eddy’s arm was starting to get tired, but he refused to trade with George.
This had been his idea; he should get the better weapon.
And besides, he was the big brother. The stronger one.
But George must have gotten stronger than he realized, because he landed a particularly solid blow, and Eddy dropped the sword.
The impact of the metal hitting the wooden floor echoed through the whole house.
He and George exchanged a worried glance, then dropped to the floor, both reaching for the sword. George got there first—
“What on earth is going on here?”
The brothers shot back up, both bowing at the waist. “Sorry, Grandmother,” they chorused.
“Is that your grandfather’s sword?”
George held out the sword and closed his eyes, bracing himself for the worst.
Victoria took it, lips pursed, and placed it lovingly back on the wall. Then she stared at the two of them. “George, go find a book to read. Eddy, come with me.”
She gestured to the sofa, which was the same red-and-white plaid pattern as the curtains. Eddy reluctantly took a seat opposite her.
“I’m disappointed in you, Eddy. You acted discourteously, and worse, you talked George into your poor behavior.”
“How did you know it was my idea?” he asked sullenly.
“We both know that George follows in your wake.” Grandmother’s reproof was gentle. “He wants to be just like you, Eddy. It is a heavy responsibility, isn’t it, being the elder brother?”
“Is that why you’re punishing me, and not George?”
Grandmother shook her head. “I am not punishing you, but I want you to understand that you must take care, even more so than George. You are the future king, and he is not. Do you know what that means?”
“Yes,” Eddy said impatiently. “I will wear the crown, and ride in the first coach in parades, and my face will be on money!”
“There is so much more to reigning than what you’ve described.
You will need to listen to your advisers and your Parliament, and sign laws.
You will lead the Church.” Grandmother must have seen Eddy’s focus drifting, because she reached for his hand.
“But yes, you also get to wear the crown, and ride first in parades.”
“What about George? What will he do?”
“He will be a duke, and remain a valued member of this family. But he will never be king, not unless—” Grandmother broke off, shaking her head as if she shouldn’t have spoken.
Eddy knew what she’d been about to say. “Unless I die, like Grandpapa Albert.”
“You are young and healthy,” the queen said solemnly. “Let us pray that such a day never comes.”
“We need to help him get warm,” a male voice was saying.
“Get him warm?” That was Eddy’s mother. “You came all the way from London, and the best advice you can give my son is to add a blanket? I thought you were an expert in pulmonary illness!”
“I am doing all I can, but His Royal Highness’s decline has been precipitous. I’m afraid it is in God’s hands now. Perhaps, Your Royal Highness, you might join Her Serene Highness the Princess May at chapel. Your prayers will do as much for His Royal Highness as any medicine….”
Eddy prowled the Cadogans’ ball in his musketeer costume, ignoring everyone who attempted to greet him, searching for Hélène.
It had been torture, not speaking to her for the past several weeks. Eddy hadn’t realized that one’s happiness could be so utterly dependent on another person. Really, this whole falling-in-love business was much riskier than anyone had told him.
Then he saw her dancing with Tino.
She looked impossibly lovely and out of reach, wearing an ordinary riding habit instead of the fancy dress that the invitation had called for.
How typically Hélène, to buck convention by wearing something she already owned instead of an elaborate gown in the style of Cleopatra or Marie Antoinette.
The riding habit showed off her figure, and her cheeks were flushed pink.
She tipped back her head and laughed at something Tino said.
She glanced over as if she felt Eddy staring, and their gazes locked.
He jerked his head toward the double doors that led to the terrace. Hélène hesitated for a moment. Then, to his relief, she murmured something to Tino and followed Eddy.
When they’d reached the shadowed privacy of the orangerie, Eddy cleared his throat. “Have you read my letters?”
Hélène crossed her arms over her chest, shaking her head. He should have known. Her stubbornness was one of his favorite things about her, as long as it wasn’t directed at him.
“I want to talk to you,” he pleaded, but Hélène cut him off.
“I don’t think we should be speaking at all, not when you’re going to marry Alix!”
“But that’s just what I want to talk to you about! I want to marry you instead!”
The words had taken up residence in his mind long ago; it was high time he spoke them aloud.
Hélène just stared at him, saying nothing.
“I’m sorry, I’m doing this all wrong.” Eddy hurriedly fell to one knee, willing her to know how serious he was.
It was a strange sensation, kneeling: he’d never done it before anyone, not even Grandmother.
But in this moment, as he begged Hélène to spend the rest of her life with him, it felt utterly right.
“Marry me, Hélène,” he breathed.
She stepped closer and pulled him to his feet, her eyes smoky and soft with emotion. “Eddy. You know we can’t.”
“Why not?” he demanded. “Just because we’re royal, we have to be bound by laws and precedence?”
“In this instance, yes!”
He frowned. “Then we’ll elope—”
“I love you too much to pretend that I’m ashamed of you!”
Eddy inhaled sharply. He loved Hélène, more than he’d ever imagined that he could love another person, but he hadn’t said it aloud.
He had no experience with grand declarations of love.
Funny, that he could be willing to scale mountains or stay above deck on a ship in a storm, yet the prospect of telling this woman he loved her was terrifying.
He was secretly glad that she’d been the first to say it.
“Oh, Hélène. Surely you know that I love you too.”
Eddy opened his arms, and she stepped into them, where she belonged.
He hadn’t known that this was what he was looking for—or more accurately, he hadn’t been looking at all. Yet now that he’d found it, he knew there was no letting it go.
It wouldn’t be easy, but then, nothing worth having came for free. He could either marry some nameless princess picked out by his grandmother, and regret the loss of Hélène for the rest of his days; or he could fight for her with every fiber of his being. Even if it cost him everything.
He would give up his title for her, if it came down to that.
“You still haven’t given me a real answer,” he murmured. “Will you marry me?”
“Of course I will,” she replied.
Eddy felt almost lightheaded with joy. This is it, he thought, the moment that the rest of my life begins.
“Miss, you really must go,” a voice was saying.