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eyes to her while a whine of recognition squealed in his throat.
    “Please forgive this intrusion.” Though it had been several years since she had heard that high, clear voice, Laurel well remembered it. Victoria pushed her hood to her shoulders. “I did not know where else to turn.”

Chapter 3
    “ W ith my coronation still three months away, I find myself facing my first potential crisis. My dear friends, I need your help.”
    Upstairs in the Sutherlands’ cramped parlor, the rain beat steadily against the windows, while a coal fire hissed in the hearth. Between sips of tea and bites of the hot venison pasties Holly had brought home from the bakeshop, Victoria explained her dilemma.
    “It’s my cousin George,” she said bluntly. “He detests and resents me for occupying the throne he has long believed should rightfully belong to him.”
    The years had done little to take the childlike frankness from Victoria’s features, and though she had grown taller, Willow still towered a good head above her. Victoria’s figure had acquired the curves of womanhood, yet had retained something of the doll-like proportions that had always prompted Laurel and her sisters to be so protective of her.
    Downstairs, their erstwhile friend had greeted them all warmly with embraces and kisses on their cheeks. But Laurel had sensed restraint, and she felt it now in the awkwardness that hovered over the parlor.
    With a pang she acknowledged that their childhood camaraderie could never be entirely recaptured. Perhaps that was as it should be. The Sutherland sisters were no longer Princess Victoria’s playmates; they were now merely Her Majesty’s subjects.
    “George has openly defied me,” the queen said. “The man is a shameless reprobate with no respect for authority. I believe he is up to no good, and I tell you truly, I fear what he might do.”
    Those words heightened Laurel’s sense of unreality. Surely the Queen of England could not be sitting in this shabby parlor, on the worn seat cushion of the faded settee, sipping tea from secondhand china and discussing the particulars of possible treason.
    “But with or without Your Majesty,” Laurel said, “the throne could not have passed to George Fitzclarence. Not when he is, well . . .”
    “A bastard, yes.” Victoria completed the sentiment with a lift of her eyebrow. “It is no secret that within the Hanover family, legitimate heirs have been as rare as daisies in winter.”
    She paused, studying each of the sisters as she sipped her tea. Dash, having grown tired of begging scraps from his mistress’s plate, curled up by the fire with his chin on his paws.
    A sad smile tugging her mouth, Victoria set her cup aside. “Years ago when I learned what my future held, I told you that you must no longer call me by my given name within the hearing of others. You always remembered to adhere to that rule. But we are quite alone now. There is no one to overhear, not even my footmen.”
    Laurel saw her own thoughts mirrored in her sisters’ faces. Yes, they had all once been on the most familiar of terms. But that was before extraordinary circumstances created a chasm between them. The thought of treating their queen as an equal . . .
    “The reason I came tonight has little enough to do with propriety,” Victoria said. “Even a queen must live by certain rules, and in being here I am breaking several. Two ladies-in-waiting in my coach are willing to lie for me no matter the reasons. My footmen as well. The rest of the palace believes me in bed with a headache.”
    Her features became taut with urgency. “As I said, I had nowhere else to turn. No one must ever know I sought your help. But seek it I do, because of your promise years ago that you would always remain my friends. My secret friends.”
    “We always will,” Laurel said with conviction. “You may depend upon it . . . Victoria.”
    The others echoed their wholehearted agreement.
    “Good. Then within this room, I am