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already won an admirer…and an enemy.

    A Broadsheet, Published Anonymously
Princess Victoria: A True Heir to the Hanovers?
    Sources close to the little Princess living at Kensington Palace have alerted this writer to a worrisome situation. Princess Victoria, the heir presumptive to the throne, is woefully unprepared for her awesome destiny as Queen of the British Isles.
    Our sources report she is mentally backward for her age, frivolous, and self-centered. Easily irritated by her tutors, she has been known to throw her schoolbooks at them in a fit of temper. Despite the devoted attention of her mother, the Princess is incapable of comprehending novels or poetry. She studies several languages, but speaks none of them well. English, which should be her native tongue, is pronounced with a noticeable lisp and, worse, a German accent.
    Princess Victoria’s weakness of mind leads this writer to question the Princess’s readiness to rule. If the King, whose health worsens daily, should pass away before she achieves her eighteenth year, her Mother is designated to be regent. There could be no wiser choice. However, the nation might be even better served if the Duchess can be prevailed upon to remain regent until Victoria is at least twenty-one or perhaps even indefinitely.

4
In Which Liza Is Noticed and Not Noticed

    Liza watched the hands on the fussy ormolu clock on the mantle tick the minutes away. The royals took their time over dinner. Liza willed them to hurry so she could complete her final interview with the Princess’s mother, the Duchess of Kent.
    “You will wait here until the Duchess comes,” the Baroness had said an hour earlier.
    “Here” was a grand drawing room in better repair than any room Liza had yet seen.
    “How long will she be?” Liza asked.
    The Baroness went on as though Liza hadn’t spoken. “As far as the Duchess is concerned, you are English through and through. She will speak freelyin German in front of a servant who she believes doesn’t understand.”
    Liza realized her increased salary was not because Victoria liked her. The Baroness had her own reasons.
    “You want me to be a spy?” Liza dared not be mistaken about the Baroness’s intent.
    “Ja, eine Spionin.” It was an ugly word in German or English.
    “But why?”
    “If you do your job properly, you will overhear the answer. If not, then you are too stupid and your linguistic skills are worthless to me.”
    Slowly, Liza said, “The Princess was very kind—I won’t do anything against her.”
    The Baroness drew herself up. “And you think I would? Trust me, Miss Hastings, the Princess’s interests and mine are exactly the same. Your information will serve us both.”
    “If it is to serve the Princess,” Liza swallowed hard, “then I will do it.”
    The Baroness nodded, satisfied. “Keep your ears open. Do not speak unless spoken to. Your expression must be as blank as a sheet of paper.”
    Liza blinked. She had lost so much already. Was she to lose herself too? She looked up to see the Baroness’s skirt disappearing out the door with a swish.
    She examined the room more closely. At first glance it was all crimson, velvet, and luxury, but a second look revealed the walls had cracks as fine and wide as spiderwebs. The ceiling was stained from old leaks. Two marble fireplaces flanked the doorway, but only one had a meager coal fire burning. Near the windows, sunlight had faded the blood red carpet.
    This Sir John must be a poor manager to let the house fall into such disrepair.
    Click-clack. Click-clack.
    A woman—it must be the Duchess, Liza decided—tottered in on high heels. She wore a scarlet velvet gown, with matching satin ribbons. It was chic, but designed for a debutante, not a mature Duchess. Liza’s father would have noted, in his driest voice, that the Duchess was mutton dressed as lamb.
    “Outrageous!” the Duchess cried in German. “It’s disrespectful to me!”
    Her hands gripped a broadsheet