Chapter 1 KENSINGTON PALACE, ENGLAND, 1827 I hate Sir John Conroy.
Mamma knew that I was never fond of him, though she did not suspect how much I despised him. “He has been a good friend to us since your papa died, Vickelchen,” she reminded me often. My father, the duke of Kent, had died when I was an infant. “I do not know what I would do without Sir John.”
He may have been a friend to Mamma—too good, in my opinion—but he was never a friend to me, though he pretended to be. And I had to pretend that I did not loathe him.
Sir John was very tall and...