Page 52 of A Queen's Match

“We aren’t anymore.”

“Because you made these mistakes you spoke of, and he disapproved?”

“No, he wouldn’t care. But theworldwould disapprove.”

Emanuele waited for her to elaborate. When she didn’t, he cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

How could she phrase this without giving away her secret? “Somehow May of Teck learned what I had done.”

“She’s that relative no one has ever heard of, the one with the German father? The distant cousin Eddy got engaged to?”

Hélène was quite pleased to hear May spoken of so vaguely. “Exactly. May learned of my mistakes, and told me that if I didn’t end things with Eddy, she would tell the queen. She has proof,” she added, so he would understand how dire things were. “An incriminating letter.”

“What?”Emanuele demanded, so loudly that Hélène looked over at him. He was staring at her in shock. “Are you saying you’ve beenblackmailed?”

“Yes.” Hélène held tight to the branch beneath her, though the bark was angrily biting her palms. Good thing she could hide her hands beneath gloves.

“You can’t let her get away with it,” Emanuele said indignantly. “If there’s a letter, then you need to steal it back.”

“I tried that! I snooped through May’s room, but she doesn’t have it!”

“Well then, whodoeshave it?”

“I don’t know. But…” Hélène fell silent, thoughtful.

“But what?” Emanuele prompted.

“But there is someone who might know,” she said slowly. Why hadn’t she realized this before?

Because she didn’t like thinking of him. Because it reminded her of her own foolish, costly, devastating mistake.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Emanuele swung his legs off the branch. “Shall we go talk to this person?”

“He’s in France.”

“Then you must write him!”

“Yes,” Hélène agreed, shaking her head in surprise, or perhaps in disbelief. “I need to write him.”

“I’ll get paper and pen,” Emanuele promised, already halfway down the tree.

As Hélène started back down, the silk of her dressing gown snagged and torn past repair, she felt something in her chest, like a soap bubble that might burst at any moment. It was, she realized, the feeling of hope.

Chapter Twenty-One

May

“May, I need a momentwith you,” her father growled.

May willed her smile not to slip as she murmured an excuse to the society women who were cooing over her. It was shallow, obviously, but she couldn’t help enjoying the new attention, after so many years of being shunted to the side. She was only human, after all.

“Of course, Father.”

Francis grunted in response, then grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the reception room. May tried not to wince as the boning of her stays cut into her side.

She should have guessed that Francis would be in a black mood. This party—the queen refused to call it a ball, though almost two hundred guests were in attendance—was for Eddy and May, to celebrate that their engagement had been officially proclaimed in Parliament. And Francis detested anything that honored other people, especially May.

Things had been a whirlwind since May’s return from Osborne several weeks earlier. White Lodge, normally so drab and dreary, was bursting with activity: full of dresses and hats and delicate squares of lace, sent by merchants all over England vying to make the royal trousseau. Invitations arrived bythe dozens, to balls and charity bazaars and private boxes at the opera. So many telegrams were pouring in that the local post office had taken over part of the schoolroom, with its own staff of telegraphers, to handle the volume of messages.