The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(83)
Aunt Victoria coos her sympathy. “I suffered terribly with Matilda.”
“I did with John and Adeline,” Mother says, looking off into the distance, a little glazed. “But I breezed right through it with Edward.” I look to where Mother is staring, finding her looking fondly at Eddie.
“It’s frightfully inconvenient,” Helen grumbles, circling her tummy. “How is one supposed to get on with everyday life?”
Everyday life? She hardly does a thing. “I’m sure one will find a way,” Uncle Stephan’s wife, the mousey Sarah, says, which surprises me. She never speaks up in social situations. “I’m sure the blessing of a baby supersedes the temporary inconvenience of nausea.” She smiles, and it is sincere. The poor woman is married to a secretly gay man, and there’s nothing she can do about it. She has no children, and at forty-six, she isn’t likely to now, especially with Uncle Stephan, not only because he’s gay. He’s eight years her senior, so his clock is ticking faster than Sarah’s. She would probably do anything to go back in time and know what she knows now. I can guarantee she wouldn’t marry Uncle Stephan, if she even had a choice. Not because he’s a horrible man. He’s not. He’s wonderful; he just isn’t supposed to be married to a woman. I smile sadly at Sarah, reaching for her arm and touching it gently. She returns my small gesture, patting the back of my hand.
“I can’t think past how ghastly I feel at the moment,” Helen scoffs, her attention on Sarah. “Not that I could expect you to relate.”
I gawk at my sister-in-law in disbelief, and Sarah squeezes my hand lightly as if to reassure me that it’s nothing. It is not nothing. Helen is an insensitive, snotty, self-important cow. I’ve never thought her maternal. This baby is simply to secure the throne for John’s line.
“Oh, the match is starting,” Mother declares, taking my arm and leading me away, purposely stopping me from saying anything to upset the apple cart. She links arms with me and leans in, whispering, “Morning sickness really is dreadful. Maybe one day you will see for yourself.”
I roll my eyes at her less-than subtle hint. “How does it feel to have a self-important, entitled bitch for a daughter-in-law?” I ask sardonically.
“That is no way for a princess to talk.” She gives me a light nudge in my shoulder. “Helen’s emotions are all askew,” Mother says quietly, as if Helen isn’t always an insensitive arsehole. “Let us go easy on her.”
“Yes, because God forbid we upset her when she is carrying the King’s first grandchild and heir.”
“Now, now, Adeline. You’ll make yourself ill with all that bitterness.”
“It’s not bitterness, Mother. It’s principle.” We approach the field, where the players are now on horseback, waiting for the umpire to start the first chukka. “I’m merely pointing out that she should be a little more sensitive.”
“Okay, darling.” Mother releases my arm and joins the rest of the crowd in clapping the players onto the field. “What a wonderful day for it.”
And that signals the end of our conversation. I exhale dramatically and look at my orange juice despondently, before casting my eyes back to Damon. He taps the face of his watch, meaning I have not had sufficient time on the non-alcoholic beverages just yet. His gesture doesn’t only prompt me to think about the lack of champagne in my grasp and when I might get it. It also makes me think of the day at the palace for my thirtieth, when Josh Jameson was tapping the face of his watch, reminding me of my appointment with him in the maze. The skin of my bottom heats with the thought, and I glance around the crowds, searching for him. There is no sign.
“Really, are you ill?” Matilda whispers in my ear, completely serious as she joins me on the field side.
“No, I’m thoroughly irritated.” The words are out before I can stop them.
“Dare I ask why?”
“No.”
“Thought not.” The game begins, and Eddie launches the ball with spectacular precision to John, but as John swings, a player from the opposing team hooks his mallet and Eddie shouts his frustration at our older brother for losing possession. I smile at Eddie’s competitiveness, and smile harder when John snarls at our brother. Eddie is a superstar player, and would have gone professional had he not chosen to serve in the military. John, however, is average, and he positively hates the fact that his younger brother is better at something than he is.
“Poor show, John,” I call, delighting in the glare I receive. “Gee up, boy.”
“Adeline, behave,” Mother says, scolding me, closing her eyes to gather patience. “Why can’t my children all get along?”
“I love my brothers, Mother,” I assure her, kissing her cheek sweetly. I’m not lying. I love them both. I just don’t like John. “It’s simply silly sibling rivalry.”
“Adeline, look.” Matilda jars my shoulder roughly, nearly knocking me onto the field. “It’s him.”
“Who?” I ask stupidly. The appearance of only one man would warrant such physical contact to alert me. So I ask, “Where?” instead.
“Over there.” Matilda points her champagne glass across the field, and I spot him in an instant, staring at me. I divert my gaze immediately, heart racing. Was he smiling at me? Smiling like he was pleased to see me, like I would have no clue about a damning and explosive story that will be dropped like a bomb tomorrow? Of him indulging in women, drink, and drugs? I shake my head, muddled. “I think I need a drink,” I say to myself, taking the opportunity of the cheering crowd as a result of a goal to break away.