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Justine blinked. She was still forming her opinion of being engaged at fifteen, or searching her memory to see if she’d ever been introduced to Frederick of Prussia. She was not ready to discuss her failure to have secured a husband.
“These things should be decided long before you become of age. I was the exception, I suppose, but I didn’twantto be married. I truly didn’t. But then I met Albert and I changed my mind. You would have, too, had you seen him. So handsome.” She eyed Justine curiously. “You’re quite up in years not to have it all sorted out, are you not? And your sister, too, I should think. She has no prospect, either?”
“Umm...” Justine picked up the tea she had transferred to a new cup and noticed, to her horror, that she’d not made clean work of it and a bit remained in the saucer. “My father’s illness has kept me close.” That was partly true—she’d spent some time in her father’s company, watching him review the piles of letters and petitions and state business that came to him every day. Watching him cough and grimace with pain.
“But surely, there have beendiscussions,” the queen persisted.
Of course there had been discussions.Scoresof them. It was as if all of Wesloria was on tenterhooks to see when she might take a husband, and who it might be. There was nothing quite like having people all around you talk about your future husband as if finding one was something you were incapable of doing on your own, and as you were practically a worthless human without a husband, you were not allowed to have a public opinion on the matter. “Yes, ma’am. I believe I am to meet potential consorts while I am in England.”
“And you’ve all the necessary people around you to assess them, have you? You really ought to have your parents, but I understand that is impossible at present. Who do you have?”
“Well...” She couldn’t bring herself to say Lord and Lady Bardaline. “My sister has—”
“You can’t rely on your sister!” the queen insisted loudly as a footman put a very large piece of cake before the queen. “She’ll want what you want, someone who is handsome and kind.You, however, must look at these gentlemen in terms of the monarchy, my dear. Who can best serve your country?”
Justine would like for at least alittleof it to be about who was handsome and kind.
The footman served two smaller pieces to Justine and Vicky. The queen picked up a fork and began to eat the cake. And then suddenly dropped her fork. “Oh no, this will not do. Take it. It’s all wrong.”
Justine was holding her fork when the footman whisked the piece of cake out from under her.
“But I’m sure you’ll sort it all out,” the queen said breezily, apparently unconcerned that the footman had just taken Justine’s cake. “I suppose things must happen differently when one’s father is so ill.” She turned in her chair to address one of the footmen. “The cake served yesterday was perfection. I don’t see why this one is not as good as that.” She looked back at Justine. “Would you not agree?”
Justine was still reeling from the loss of cake. “I didn’t taste it.”
“I mean, it is different for you because your father is so ill.”
“Ah, yes. Regrettably, it is true, Your Majesty.”
“My sincere condolences,” the queen said. She picked up her teacup and sipped, her gaze on Justine. She put the cup down and said, “I understand your dilemma quite well, really. My late uncle, King William, was ill. It seemed to me he lasted an age before he finally succumbed. And all that time, there I was, waiting for my turn on the throne.”
Justine nearly choked on her tea. She wasnotwaiting for her turn. Did Her Majesty not understand that for her to be queen meant her father would be dead? She would much rather have her father than be queen, and that was the honest truth. She couldn’t imagine doing it without him, her one true ally, the only one who could possibly understand the burden that awaited her. She was destined to be queen; she knew that—but how could shewantthat? She suddenly wished she were in St. Edys with him.
“William once said he hoped to survive until I turned eighteen years, and he did, passing one month after my eighteenth birthday. Can you imagine?”
“Why, Mama?” Vicky asked.
“Oh, well, he was very much against my mother as regent, and, I will admit, so was I.”
Justine thought she spoke in jest, but the queen looked at her, frowning slightly. “Will your mother act as regent?”
“No, ma’am. I am five and twenty. I’ve been...” She tried to think of the right word for the urgency with which her father had taught her the business of the throne.
But it turned out she didn’t need a word, because the queen said, “Very good. Regents are generally hungry for power, you know. They’ll stop at nothing.” She paused and seemed to consider her words. “But I’m certain Her Majesty Queen Agnes wouldneverplot against you. I didn’t mean that at all.” She smiled sympathetically. “I think that perhaps your father is willing himself to live until you have taken a husband. I have no doubt he understands it will be easier for you with a helpmate. Assuming you can find one.”
Justine had to concentrate to keep from squirming in her seat. “I think he is willing himself to simply live.” She sounded as if she was being contrary, and she could almost hear DuPreenon non non-ing somewhere on the continent.
“Well. We pray for his continued health. But as he cannot always be with you, you must have someone at your side whom you can trust when your time comes to sit the throne. Have you someone like that?”
“My sister,” Justine said, without reservation.
“I am referring to someone who might know a thing or two about ruling. I had Lord Melbourne, of course, my prime minister. I trusted him completely and when the Tories came to power and they tried to replace him, I would not hear of it. What of your prime minister? Could he be depended upon to offer sound advice?”
Oh, Justine imagined Robuchard would like nothing better than to offer all the advice in the world to her—but not to help her. To control her. “I think he is...an honorable man,” she said carefully.
The queen smiled slyly. “You did not answer my question. But you needn’t bother—I can see that you have a good head on your shoulders.” She leaned forward. “You have a sense about him, do you? Then don’t bother with him. That’s my advice. Get someone youknowyou can trust. Get yourself a Melbourne!”
“But how will she do that?” the princess royal asked for Justine.
