Page 31 of The Heir (A Young Queen Victoria Mystery #1)

Q ueen Adelaide emerged from the king’s bedchamber.

Doors were opened and closed. Candles moved to provide better light as she sat in the chair before the fire.

A glass of wine had already been placed on the table.

It was rich red. French, no doubt. She missed the ice wines of home sometimes.

She wanted something clear just now. Something strong that would fortify her spirits, not depress them.

It was Mrs. Wilson who approached her first.

“How does the king, ma’am?”

“Better,” she said, loud enough so her whole suite of ladies and servants could hear.

“His fever is lessened, and he took some broth and watered wine.” She took a drink of her own wine.

It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was far better than yet another cup of tea.

William had croaked multiple complaints about the wine and demanded rum, like the sailor that he was. Adelaide told him not to be ridiculous.

“If you want to be on your back for three more days, you will go on and drink your ridiculous rum ration. If you would rather be out of this room and back about your business, you will listen to your doctors and me.”

William had, thankfully, decided to humor her. “No need to give the troublemakers more time to be about their business,” he muttered.

Mrs. Wilson had not yet retreated.

“Was there something more?” Adelaide asked.

“You know that I have been to speak with the Baroness Lehzen.”

“And?” Adelaide finished off her glass. The footman moved forward with more wine, but she waved him back. You received a note from Lehzen, but nothing from Lady Charlotte, our official state governess. It is a wonder we bother to keep her there at all. “What does Lehzen have to say?”

“She says rumors of the king’s illness have reached the duchess and Sir John.”

“Damn.” Living so long with a naval man had caused a certain deterioration of the queen’s language, at least in private. “Well, tell Lehzen that it’s a mild cold.”

“I did, ma’am.”

“And also tell her she should repeat that as often as she feels will be helpful, and perhaps even laugh over . . . others’ concern for His Majesty’s health.”

“I am sure she will do so, but I will write and remind her.”

Adelaide nodded. God, I am so tired. “How is the princess? She is recovered from that fall?”

“Much recovered,” said Mrs. Wilson. “Dr. Clarke is visiting her daily. But there is something else.”

Somewhere outside, morning was dawning. Adelaide knew she ought to tell Mrs. Wilson that whatever she had to say could wait. She needed sleep. She would do her husband no good if she was so tired she could not think straight, could not fend off all those vultures from Parliament....

Instead, she asked, “Well? What is it?”

“Lehzen indicated that rumors have also reached Sir John and the Duchess of Kent that His Majesty means to change the princess’s establishment.”

“What? Who told them that?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. But she suggests that a final decision be made quickly, before Sir John is able to muster support. . .”

Before he is able to create controversy.

To raise a stink in Parliament and in the newspapers.

There was nothing that man was better at than making a mess of simple things.

Of course it was ridiculous that the king could not house his niece and heir as he saw fit.

But there it was. She supposed she could not entirely blame Parliament for making Victoire the girl’s guardian when Fat George was alive.

That man had been no proper guardian, and his court no fit home for a pretty little girl. But since then . . .

Well, there was no use in railing against what could not be helped.

Parliament controlled the civil list and, therefore, the household budgets of all the royals.

If Their Lordships would not allocate money to set up a new house, hire new servants, or appoint new attendants, it could not happen.

If Parliament would not change the guardianship for the heir to the throne, then it was Victoire, not William and not her, who would say where the princess lived and how.

Sir John had been nothing short of masterful in charming those men who were best placed to sabotage any such change, and of course, Victoire had done nothing to stop him.

Oh, Victoire, what has become of you? How did you let that man get such a tight hold on you?

But Adelaide knew. Her own pride had helped drive Victoire away.

They had been friends when they both arrived in England, but since then .

. . First, there was the animosity between their husbands.

Then there was Victoire’s refusal to come to court or allow her daughter to have any contact with William’s children by Mrs. Jordan.

Adelaide did understand. She might have done so had she had any choice in the matter. But as it was . . .

Then there was the simple, devastating fact that Victoire’s daughter had lived and not one of Adelaide’s had.

Adelaide wanted to believe that she had never truly resented Victoire’s little daughter.

She wanted to explain to her former friend how it had been so hard, how much her heart had bled with each child she and William lost, until it seemed there was nothing left in her but grief—and yes, anger against any child who lived and breathed while her own lay buried in the cold clay.

She wanted to tell Victoire about the nights when she woke from dreams of her little ones crying in that endless dark.

Slowly, the dreams had faded. Slowly, the pieces of her heart had knit themselves together. But by then it had been too late. Victoire had decided not to forgive, and she had turned instead toward the ready smile and—if rumors were to be believed—the waiting arms of Sir John.

Yet Victoire declares she will not have her daughter brought to court, because there is a grievous moral taint to William’s children.

And once again, Adelaide found herself unable to see past her anger.

“Is there anything else?” she asked Mrs. Wilson.

Mrs. Wilson correctly interpreted her tone as indicating there should not be. “No, ma’am.”

“Very good, then. I will lie down for an hour. If there is any change from the king, or anyone else, I am to be woken at once.”

“Yes, ma’am.”