Page 3 of The Heir (A Young Queen Victoria Mystery #1)

“Jane is not my friend.” Victoria forced the words through clenched teeth. Mama’s grip hurt her. She should be still.

I will not be still.

“Jane comes because Sir John makes her, and you let him,” Victoria grated. “It is not fair. I would never treat anyone in my family so poorly!”

Mama’s grip on Victoria’s chin tightened. Dash poked his nose out from under his blanket and barked once.

“I did warn Your Highness,” Lehzen murmured under her breath.

Mama’s head jerked up. Her grip loosened. Victoria twisted her chin away. Dash slid out of his basket and scampered to her side.

“What did you say, Lehzen?”

“I beg your pardon, ma’am.” Lehzen lifted her own chin, as if she herself was a duchess rather than the daughter of a Prussian schoolmaster.

It was an attitude that never failed to infuriate Mama.

“It’s only that I had already told Her Highness that an outing on such a day would be quite inadvisable. ”

“Well, yes, I am sure I am always grateful for your advice in how to best care for the health and safety of my child!” Mama’s words oozed condescension and a thick, oily suspicion.

“You may say that you warned her, but I know your ways. I’m sure it was you who put this notion of a ride into her head! ”

“This is not Lehzen’s idea!” shouted Victoria. Dash pressed closer against her shin. “You will not blame her!”

“Well, now. What is this?”

Sir John breezed into the room. Jane immediately looked around her in panic, clearly trying to discover what she should have been doing. Mama, however, plunged into an attitude of dramatic relief.

“Victoria is determined to go riding!”

You say it as if I had been planning to burn the stables down.

“She has been plaguing me this half hour!”

“I did tell her that riding on such a filthy day was not to be thought of, Sir John,” said Lehzen. “But she has insisted she will go out with Jane.”

It was, of course, entirely wrong that Lehzen should lie to Mama or to Sir John.

But now she had, and—Victoria could not help but note—Lehzen’s addition of Jane to the story made Sir John smile down from his great height.

His eyes were a brilliant blue color and showed every emotion that flitted through his mind.

Or rather he could make you believe that they did.

That, in turn, made people of all stations want to trust him.

Some because they believed he was openhearted.

Some because they believed they could keep ahead of him.

But neither thing was true. Victoria watched him, and she knew better.

When he was not exerting himself to charm, Sir John’s clear blue eyes examined the person in front of him carefully, seeking weaknesses he might expose.

His seemingly easy smile was in reality an expression of his smug satisfaction.

It sent chills down Victoria’s spine that were far worse than when he frowned.

“Well, I see no harm in it, ma’am, if Her Highness will take Jane.” As he looked to his daughter, Sir John’s smile stretched to show his teeth. “She’ll make sure they return at the first sign of rain. Won’t you, Jane?”

Jane looked as if she would rather be banished to the Outer Hebrides. But she got to her feet, her gaze pointed resolutely at the floor.

“Yes, Father,” she murmured.

Dash growled. Sir John’s head jerked around. Dash barked. To Victoria’s horror, Sir John drew his foot back just a little, just enough to aim a kick.

Heart thumping, Victoria snatched Dash up in her arms. Sir John seemed to re-collect himself, and he smiled.

“Yes, I think a ride with Jane would be very beneficial,” he said.

He pretended nothing had happened, but Victoria had watched and she had seen and she would not forget.

But that was all before. Now she was out of doors, in the fresh air.

Prince trotted determinedly across the green.

Dash barked happily and nosed about the grass, far too smart to get himself in the way of the horse’s hooves.

A raindrop thumped against the back of Victoria’s glove.

Another smacked Prince’s head, causing him to shake his ears.

“We need to go back,” whined Jane. “My father will be furious we were out this long.”

Your father maybe , thought Victoria. My father was a horseman. My father would have loved to ride with me.

Her father also died from a chill he’d caught in the rain.

Another drop hit the edge of Victoria’s bonnet, and another.

Victoria had been told the story a thousand times.

A hundred thousand. The recitation had taken on the shape of catechism.

Only instead of saving her soul, it was meant to keep her trembling indoors when the weather turned gray.

The thought of those hundred thousand lectures dissolved the last of Victoria’s patience.

Prince snorted. As if it was the starting gun, Victoria slapped his dappled flank with her crop. The gelding laid his ears flat and sprang forward.

“Ma’am, no!” cried Jane.

“Your Highness!” wailed Hornsby.

But they were too late. Prince was fast, and Victoria could ride him to the ends of the earth. And why not? She bared her teeth, as if to dare the world to try to catch up. Why shouldn’t I?

The gates were closed, but the walls were really only a suggestion between the grounds and the park (a fact that her mother pointed out endlessly to further frighten her).

Victoria could take the jump. Prince could do it easily.

They would vault over the wall and land firmly on the other side.

Dash would wriggle right under the gates.

Together, they would make for the carriage drive.

The wind whistled in her ears—an urgent, exhilarating sound.

Victoria leaned low over Prince’s neck, his reins gathered up in her gloved hands.

She laughed. Because they could not stop her.

They could not even catch her. Not poor, dreary Jane or pinch-faced Hornsby.

She would leave them behind—them and this whole miserable day.

The gallop filled the whole of Victoria’s senses—the speed of the world whirling past her; the thunder of Prince’s hooves and the heat and life radiating from him; the work of keeping her seat, keeping Prince from stumbling, keeping control of the reins, keeping her eyes ahead to watch for rabbit holes or hillocks.

Freedom.

Victoria’s bonnet flew backward and dangled by its ribbons. Her hair uncoiled down her back. Rain pattered against her scalp. Jane and Sir John and Mama, the palace, the system, the dreaded dinner—they were all miles behind now. Not one of them could be shocked by her bare head.

Freedom!

Rain stung her face and eyes, but she did not pull Prince back. If he did not mind a bit of rain, why should she? She shouted for pure delight and touched Prince’s flank with her crop again. Let them try to catch her. Prince would outrun them all. He’d carry her away.

Away from Mama and her lectures and her pinches and her tears.

Away from Sir John Conroy and his shouting and his speeches and his demands that she obey his system without question.

Away from Jane, their limp, reluctant spy.

They’d topped the rise. Prince’s breathing was growing labored; the ground underfoot was slick with fresh rain.

Dash barked in the distance, letting her know he would catch up soon.

The downslope ahead was steep. Victoria pulled back the reins to slow Prince down, disappointment welling up in her.

But her wish for flight was not worth the risk of his legs and her neck and . . .

And Prince shied.

The gelding screamed. Victoria screamed. The world slipped and spun and slammed against her. For a moment, there was nothing but sparkling stars and one great howl of pain that ripped through her skull and bones. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t breathe.

Then, ever so slowly, came the realization that she was lying on her back. On the slope. In the wet grass. Icy rain filled her eyes and trickled into her nose. Dash was barking in frantic distress, but the sound seemed very far away.

Victoria sputtered and twisted, trying to right herself and perhaps quiet the ringing that filled her ears.

And found she was staring down at a dead man.