So Charlotte ate the potato.
And she didn’t crawl out a window or walk through a door, even though she very much wanted to.
Later that night, when they were listening to music in the sitting room, Augusta leaned in and said, for Charlotte’s ears alone, “Dearest, the hard part is done. You have done your duty. You have conceived an heir. Now you are free.”
Charlotte did not feel free, but what could be the point in saying so?
“As for my son,” Augusta went on, “you never even have to see him again, if that is what you want. Well, at least not until we need another heir.”
Charlotte gave her a tight, tiny smile. “I’m going to go to bed now,” she said.
“Of course,” Augusta said. She patted her on the arm. “You are tired. You must have your rest.”
But Charlotte was more than tired. It was something different. It was more than a need for sleep. She wanted to lie down, not because she needed rest but because she just couldn’t bring herself to keep walking and talking and smiling and doing all the things people expected of her.
She just wanted to lie down.
Close her eyes.
Disappear.
Buckingham House
The Gardens
Three days later
Weather permitting, Charlotte forced herself to go outside for at least an hour each day. The crisp air felt good against her skin. Sometimes the sting of it seemed like the only reminder that she was still alive.
Her brain felt mushy. She was not using her mind, and she was just so tired all the time. Still, some little piece of her backbone forced her to don her cloak and head out into the winter air.
Or maybe it was a little piece of her corset. It was hard to tell the difference these days.
As usual, she found herself wandering near the King’s gardens. There was nothing left of note, just some dried-up vines and decaying leaves.
“Shall we replant for next year?” Brimsley asked.
“No,” she said. “Let it die.”
It was not right to offer hope, even to plants.
“Your Majesty,” Brimsley said.
She looked at him. His eyes were filled with concern. And sorrow. She tried to smile. He really did care for her, and she did not thank him for it nearly enough.
“You cannot leave,” he said.
“I know that.” She shouldn’t have written to Adolphus. Deep down she’d known it could go nowhere.
“England,” he said. He straightened his cravat, tugging on it as if it had suddenly grown a half-inch too tight. “You cannot leave England.”
Her eyes held his. Did she understand him correctly? Was he advising her to leave the palace?
“You cannot come with me,” she said.
“I must remain by your—”
“No,” she said, cutting him off. “You will be blamed if you accompany me. You must stay here.”
“But—”
“I will not allow you to take my punishment. You have done—” She swallowed. Brimsley had been her one constant in England, the only person who had always been on her side. “You must remain blameless.”
“You know where to go?” he asked. But it was really a statement. They both knew where she would go.
Danbury House
The Sitting Room
One hour later
“Your Majesty. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Charlotte crossed the room and sat in the chair Lady Danbury had motioned to. “I am here to offer my official condolences, of course. Sorrows. Prayers.”
Agatha was far too polite to point out that it had been several months since her husband had died. Charlotte had been counting on that.
“How very kind,” Agatha said. “But Your Majesty should be lying-in. Resting at home. This is a most critical time.”
Charlotte’s lips began to quiver. No tears. There could not be tears. She was the Queen. She did not cry.
“Your Majesty?” Agatha reached out and took her hand. “Charlotte?”
“Home,” Charlotte repeated. “That place is no home. I have left that place and I am never, never going back.”
Agatha looked plainly aghast. “But where will Your Majesty go?”
Charlotte let out a loud sniffle. “Why, I have come here.”
Agatha blinked. Several times. “Here, Your Majesty?”
“Surely you have an extra room.”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“I shall not be a bother.”
“It would of course be an honor to host you, but—”
“Thank you,” Charlotte said. With great emotion.
Agatha stood. “If you will excuse me for a moment.” She hurried to the door. “You will be all right in my absence?”
“Of course,” Charlotte said.
“I will send in biscuits.”
“That would be lovely.”
“Er, tea?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Agatha nodded again. She looked a bit frenzied, to be honest. Then she shut the door.
Charlotte sighed and allowed herself to slump into the chair. She was so glad she’d done this. She would be comfortable here.
So much better than Buckingham House.
Agatha
Danbury House
Just Outside the Sitting Room
25 April 1762
She had to get rid of the Queen.
Now.
Yesterday, if possible.
Agatha very carefully shut the doors behind her. The entrance hall looked somehow both smaller and grander with the assortment of royal guards who had accompanied the Queen. They took up a great deal of space, but their bright red livery was unmistakably regal.
She saw Coral rushing toward her, dozens of questions in her eyes. Putting a finger to her lips, Agatha jerked her head to the side. They needed to speak where they would not be overheard.
“Her Majesty means to stay,” Agatha whispered.
“Stay?” Coral gushed. “What an honor.”
“No, it is not an honor,” Agatha snapped back. “It is terrifying. She is with child. With royal child. She quite literally contains the future of the British Empire in her womb. I cannot be responsible for her.”
“But even for an afternoon?”
“She is not talking about an afternoon! She wants to take up residence in one of our guest rooms.”
“Ooooh.” Coral was entranced.
“Stop. Now.” Agatha gave her maid a stern look. Stern and petrified. Stern and petrified and panicked. “This cannot happen. Do you understand me? I would be harboring a . . .”
“Queen?” Coral supplied helpfully.
“She is asking me to commit treason, Coral.”
“Oh. My.” Coral frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” No, she wasn’t sure. But she was sure that treason was whatever the Palace decided it was. And keeping the Queen against their wishes would not be looked upon with kindness.
“What would you like me to do?” Coral asked.
“Send a footman to Buckingham House. Now.”
Coral raced off. Agatha eyed the doors to the drawing room with trepidation. What should she do? Go back in? Wait outside? She’d told the Queen she’d send tea and biscuits. But she’d already sent Coral away, and she dared not leave this spot to ask the cook to prepare a plate.
She grabbed a chair and shoved it up in front of the drawing room doors. Smiled at the guards. Sat down.
Folded her arms.
She was not moving from this spot.