The Summer Queen

by Margaret Pemberton

  PART TWO

  HOPES

  Chapter Fourteen

  MAY 1890, WINDSOR

  Standing on the private deck of a cross-Channel ferry, Eddy looked towards Dover’s white cliffs with mixed feelings. He had been away for seven months on a royal tour of India and part of him couldn’t wait to be reunited with his mother and sisters, while an equally large part of him dreaded the thought of the obligations and the lack of choices he was so soon to be faced with.

  When his grandmother welcomed him home – something he knew she would do very swiftly – the first subject she would bring up would be that of his future marriage. Her heart had been set on him marrying Alicky, as, for a short space of time, had his own. Now, with Alicky having refused him – and having done so with such determination that his confidence still hadn’t fully recovered – there were not many prospective brides left for him to propose to, royal and Protestant princesses of the right age being thin on the ground.

  In his grandmother’s eyes, the only contenders of flawless pedigree were two of Cousin Willy’s sisters, Moretta and Mossy. Neither of them aroused enthusiasm in him. It had been common knowledge for years that Moretta was infatuated with one of the Battenberg brothers and, when permission for them to marry had been refused, she had publicly announced that as she couldn’t marry him, she was going to kill herself. She hadn’t, of course. Even so, he had no desire to marry someone who had once felt such strong passion for someone else, and quite possibly still did.

  That left Mossy. He liked Mossy. She was nice and uncomplicated. Unfortunately she was also extremely plain and, with the best will in the world, he knew he would never, in a million years, feel the remotest spark of desire for her. As this was a situation that underpinned the vast majority of royal marriages, no one was going to think his lack of physical desire a justified reason for not proposing to her. One did one’s duty by marrying in a suitably dynastic and politically acceptable way and, when it came to love, one found it with a mistress. It was what kings and their direct heirs had always done.

  It wasn’t, however, what Eddy wanted to do. He wanted to love the girl he married, and he wanted to be loved in return. And that was the crux of his dilemma, because someone who married him because it had been arranged by others that they should do so was as unlikely to be in love with him as he was to be in love with her.

  With luck, of course, the person in question would like him, and he knew cousin Mossy liked him, just as he liked her. But liking wasn’t love, and it was love that he craved. His family loved him, of course, but ever since he could remember, Eddy had known it was a love laced heavily with disappointment in him and, where his father was concerned, often with barely disguised dislike.

  Folkestone harbour came into view and he stared unseeingly at it through a late-afternoon mist, recalling the way that both he and Georgie had always suffered from their father’s ‘chaffing’ – the cruelly barbed taunts and the humiliating, confidence-destroying name-calling that their father thought great sport. Georgie, blessed with little sensitivity, had always been more resilient to their father’s verbal attacks than Eddy had been and, more than capable of a little bullying himself, had grown up as their father’s favourite.

  If Eddy had been their mother’s favourite there would have been balance, but much as he loved his mother – and he absolutely adored her – he hadn’t been her favourite. Noisy, boisterous and ill-behaved Georgie had been her favourite because, as he had once overheard her say to his Russian Aunt Marie, ‘Georgie is so typically a boy and is what one expects of a boy, whereas dear Eddy is too daydreamy for words.’

  That he knew himself to be daydreamy didn’t lessen the pain her words had caused him. Being daydreamy was the only way Eddy knew of surviving the treadmill of a life where his sensitivity and vulnerability were never taken into account and where what he did, and where he went, was mapped out without a thought for what he might actually like to do, and what would be best for him.

  The worst example had been when he was thirteen. As the second son, Georgie had always been destined for a career in the Royal Navy, something he was eagerly enthusiastic about; and when Georgie was twelve, it was decided that for the next two years his education should continue aboard the Royal Naval training ship Britannia, where, along with forty-eight other cadets – all from aristocratic backgrounds – he would ‘have the edges knocked off him’ as a prelude and preparation for his future life at sea.

  As an afterthought it was arranged that he, Eddy, who had no edges to be knocked off, should accompany him. For Georgie, who although small for his age could stick up for himself and relished a fight, it had been challenging, but also exhilarating. For him, Eddy, it had been hell. Nothing in his life had prepared him for the rowdyism and bullying of communal living.

  Worst of all had been the knowledge that all his time spent learning about seamanship was pointless when, even if he had wanted to – which he didn’t – he was never going to make a career of the sea. His future career was to be second in line to the throne until his grandmother died and his father became King, when he would then inherit his father’s present title and, on his father’s death, be crowned King of the United Kingdom and the British Dominions and Emperor of India – something else he wasn’t at all looking forward to.

  No one ever spoke to him about his future role of king. Even after his own and Georgie’s time on the Britannia had come to a merciful end, it was all sea, sea, sea. This time it had been three years of acute homesickness, keeping Georgie company aboard the Bacchante, where, once again, his waking hours had been planned from six in the morning until late at night. Only after he had joined the Hussars had he gained a sliver of freedom and choice; and, after a lifetime of not being able to make his own decisions, some of the choices he had then made had been ones that he had come to regret.

  His equerry came up to him and, breaking in on his thoughts, said, ‘We’re about to dock, sir’, and then, ‘There looks to be quite a crowd waiting to greet you home, sir.’

  There was. The British public could always be relied upon to turn out with welcoming cheers whenever he or Georgie, or indeed any member of the royal family, returned home after a trip overseas. There was also a red carpet waiting for him, and a mayoral address to be endured.

  His arrival at Charing Cross was far different. His parents were on the platform waiting to greet him, and so were Toria, Maudie and Looloo, and Looloo’s new husband, Fife. At the sight of them, Eddy’s throat tightened. No matter what the outcome of his tête-à-tête with his grandmother, it was good to be home. All that was needed to make it perfect was to be told that Cousin Mossy had become engaged elsewhere.

  Next morning and after enjoying breakfast out of doors, Queen Victoria fixed Eddy with a beady eye. ‘It has already been announced in the New York Times – and with the usual American vulgarity – that you are to marry Princess Margaret of Prussia before the summer is over.’ She drummed the tips of her short, stubby fingers on the top of the small ivory-inlaid table that was placed conveniently by the side of her chair. ‘Precipitate and unfortunate as the announcement has been, now that her name has been published in the American press, it means there must be no further delay in you proposing to Mossy and an official announcement being made.’

  Eddy opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she raised a silencing hand. ‘Your absence for the last seven months has been reason enough for the delay, but now the delay must end. You are now twenty-six. Your papa was twenty-one when he married. Your beloved grandpapa was even younger when he made me the happiest and most fortunate woman in Christendom.’ She paused for a moment, her eyes overly bright, overcome with emotion, as she always was, whenever she spoke of her late beloved Albert.

  The despair Eddy had felt on entering the room was deepening with every passing second. He looked around in the vain hope of finding help, but saw only his Aunt Beatrice who, despite her marriage to Henry of Battenberg, was still her mother’s constant compa
nion – something Toria had told him had been one of the Queen’s conditions when she had given Beatrice and Henry permission to marry; and the other person in the room was the Munshi, the Queen’s Indian servant, who was kept even more permanently in the royal presence than poor, put-upon Beatrice. Resplendent in a turban and Indian robes, he was standing in front of the room’s closed double doors, his arms folded, as if daring Eddy to make a bolt for it.

  With all hope at rock-bottom, Eddy returned his attention to his implacable grandmother. ‘Willy,’ she said, resolutely pursuing her agenda, ‘is growing very irate at this long, drawn-out wait for matters to be settled. He feels your procrastination in not yet having formally proposed to Mossy is not only an insult to his sister, but an insult to him.’

  For a terrifying moment Eddy thought she was about to add that it was an insult to her, as well. Mercifully she didn’t do so, but his stomach still heaved. Even as a child, when Cousin Willy was irate, he had been like a bull in a china shop. Now that he was the Kaiser, there was no telling how he might give rein to his temper; he might even go so far as to break off diplomatic relations with England.

  ‘I’m sorry Willy should feel like that,’ he said, the reminder that marriage to Mossy would make Willy his brother-in-law only making him more determined than ever that he wasn’t going to be brow-beaten into proposing to her. Summoning up all his courage, he said, ‘But I think Willy would be even more irate if I was to marry Mossy and, when I do not love her, make her unhappy.’

  ‘Between two healthy young people it is very easy for love to grow.’

  ‘Or for it not to, Grandmama.’ He wondered if he should cite as examples his Uncle Affie’s marriage to Russian Aunt Marie, for everyone knew that although they put up a good front, Aunt Marie bitterly regretted marrying Uncle Affie; or his Aunt Louise’s marriage to Lord Lorne, which was so unsatisfactory they rarely lived together.

  There was silence and Eddy wondered if his last response was about to bring the world tumbling down upon his head.

  His Aunt Beatrice, who was wondering the same thing, shot him an agonized glance.

  The Munshi smirked.

  Queen Victoria, who beneath all her sternness had a soft heart and who was also, although she tried to hide it, a great romantic, said in a different, far gentler voice, ‘I would not willingly see you in an unhappy marriage, Eddy dear, but all through your life you are going to be called upon to do your duty, where the good of the country is concerned, and your decision now is, I think, a case in point. Mossy would not, as you well know, have been my first choice as a future Queen of England and Empress of India, for in my opinion she does not have the necessary bearing or gravitas. However, as Alicky has so foolishly refused the highest position there is, in my estimation Mossy is the second-best choice possible, for she is very amiable, half-English and has a great love for England.’

  Seeing a window of hope in his grandmother’s altered tone of voice, and before she abandoned her new mellow attitude, Eddy said swiftly, ‘Will you allow me a few more months of bachelorhood, Grandmama? Perhaps until my birthday in January?’

  Queen Victoria regarded him fondly. Eddy was a good-looking, nice-mannered young man and, unlike his much smaller, homely, far more robust younger brother, reminded her very much of her late beloved Albert. This last fact was reason enough for her to cut him a little slack.

  ‘Until January,’ she said, seeing relief flood through him. ‘And then, Eddy, there will be an official engagement announcement.’

  All three of his sisters rushed up to Eddy, the minute he entered the main drawing room at Marlborough House.

  ‘What did Granny Queen say?’ Toria demanded even before he’d sat down. ‘Has she made you fix a wedding date with Mossy?’

  ‘Because we do hope she hasn’t,’ Maudie said. ‘We’ve changed our minds about wanting you to marry Mossy.’

  Eddy ejected one of their mother’s small dogs from a comfortably cushioned chair. Sitting down, he said, ‘Yes and no. I’m going to have to marry Mossy, but Granny has agreed I can delay proposing and making it official until my birthday, which – as it is only eight months away – is a reprieve, but not much of one.’

  ‘And so if, in the next eight months, you fall in love with someone you do want to marry – and who is suitably royal, of course – then you can marry her?’ Looloo looked ecstatic.

  Eddy couldn’t for the life of him think why.

  He said patiently, ‘The whole point of the jam I’m in, Looloo, is that there is no one else suitable. Although Granny didn’t mention them, there are apparently two Strelitz princesses of the right age, but Louis of Battenberg tells me they are not being considered, as neither of them is quite right in the head.’

  Toria pulled a well-worn pouffe to the foot of his chair and sat down on it. ‘Darling, darling Eddy. You are going to be so happy in a few minutes, because there is someone I’m sure you could very easily fall in love with, and who is the right age and is royal. It’s someone so obvious I can’t think why Granny Queen, and Papa and Motherdear, haven’t suggested her already.’

  Eddy frowned. ‘Are you thinking of Cousin May? Because if you are, I’m sure she has already been thought of. She’s a Serene and her name has never been suggested, because of her bloodline not being up to snuff.’

  ‘And she’s plain and, at twenty-three, already something of an Old Maid,’ Toria said, conveniently forgetting that both labels could equally apply to her.

  Maudie opened her mouth to spring to May’s defence, but Eddy got there before her.

  ‘Cousin May is actually quite pretty,’ he said, feeling that it was rather an exaggeration, but that as he quite liked her, he should show some gallantry. ‘Anyhow, I take it this person you are thinking of isn’t May Teck.’ He took a cigarette from his cigarette case and lit it. ‘Who is it, whose name hasn’t yet occurred to Granny Queen?’

  With triumph in her voice, Toria said, ‘Princess Hélène of Orleans!’

  Eddy blinked, opened his mouth and shut it again.

  Maudie said, ‘Hélène is perfect for you, Eddy. She’s eighteen, beautiful and, being a daughter of the Count of Paris, is suitably royal.’

  ‘And we all know dear Hélène so well,’ Looloo said, as if this settled the matter.

  Eddy was transfixed, his cigarette held in mid-air. Hélène: why hadn’t he, or anyone else, previously thought of her? She was certainly royal enough, for her father, the Count of Paris, was the legitimate claimant to the French throne. As such, the family had, for as long as he could remember, lived in exile in England and had always been on the very best of terms with English royalty. Why, then, hadn’t his grandmother ever mentioned Hélène as a suitable candidate, when it came to the question of his marriage?

  He put his puzzlement into words and Looloo said gently, ‘Hélène and her family are at Windsor and Osborne so often, and someone who is under your nose can easily be the last person to be thought of.’

  For once, Eddy thought, Looloo might be speaking sense.

  Exhilarating hope surged along every nerve and vein in his body. Ever since he had been thirteen, he had spent very little time at home and so had not had the opportunity to form the kind of friendship with Hélène that he knew his sisters had. He tried to remember when he had last seen her to talk to, and rather thought it had been at Ascot, three years ago.

  But, given the opportunity, would someone as beautiful as Hélène have him? He remembered how confident he had been of Alicky accepting his proposal, and how devastating to his confidence her refusal had been. What if the same thing happened again? If it did, he doubted he would survive it.

  ‘Even if I proposed, she might not have me. She’s such an acclaimed beauty and so delightfully French and . . .’

  ‘And here comes the best bit!’ As Eddy seemed intent on letting his cigarette burn away unsmoked, Maudie took it from him, inhaled, blew smoke into the air and said, ‘She will have you, Eddy dear, because she has told us that ever sin
ce she was sixteen she has been in love with you.’

  For a hideous second, Eddy wondered if his sisters were having a huge tease at his expense.

  ‘It’s true, Eddy.’ Looloo slipped her hand into his and gave it a reassuring squeeze, ‘and since my married home in London is East Sheen Lodge, and since the Parises live less than a mile away at Sheen House, nothing could be easier than for you and Hélène to get to know each other better, by meeting at the Lodge as my guests. And Hélène would have no need of a chaperone, because as I am an old married lady now, I can chaperone her.’

  His gratitude was so deep he barely trusted himself to speak. That someone as beautiful as Hélène should love him – and had done so for more than three years – was so wonderful he hardly dared believe it was true. When he had entered the room ten minutes ago he had been certain that his future held only a dutiful marriage to someone he liked, but knew he could never love. Now, in a matter of minutes, all that had changed.

  If Hélène loved him, then she would accept his proposal of marriage.

  And if she accepted his proposal of marriage, all his troubles would be over and he would be the happiest man on the planet.

  Chapter Fifteen

  JUNE 1890, LONDON

  May and Maudie were walking out of the Royal Academy after viewing the Summer Exhibition.

  ‘I’m so glad you weren’t otherwise engaged this morning,’ Maudie said, linking arms with May. ‘I know you nearly always have an engagement to attend with your mama, but I did so want to have a chat with you, away from the rest of the family.’

  ‘If you hadn’t telephoned, I would have been with her at a Needlework Guild meeting, but when I told her of your suggestion she said she could quite happily attend the meeting on her own.’

  As that was not quite what her mother had said, May avoided Maudie’s eyes by opening up her parasol.

  What her mother had actually said was: ‘Maudie wants to speak to you, without there being any other listening ears? Then it can only be about Frank, and as I suspect he is playing with dear Maudie’s affections in a most regrettable manner, you should certainly meet her and find out exactly what is going on between the two of them. I don’t want an unpleasant run-in with your Uncle Bertie, and if Frank really is overstepping the mark with Maudie, that is something that will most certainly happen.’