“You have business at court?”
“I do. I think it unlikely it will ever be addressed as it should be, however. I learned that much today.” Her features, too bold to be fashionable, moved easily to express her thoughts and moods. Right now she appeared to be fighting both despair and fury.
“It is nothing serious, I hope.”
The anger won. “Do I appear to be a woman who would waste a monarch’s time with frivolous matters?”
“Of course not,” he soothed, drawing her aside. “If you were in some way insulted you must let me know. I will make sure it does not happen again.”
“Not insulted as such. Just dismissed as unworthy of fairness.” She looked down on herself, on the neat but simple blue muslin dress and deep blue spencer. “Perhaps if I had dressed like . . .” She gestured to the ladies chatting nearby. “Like them, it would have helped.”
Probably so. “Not at all. You look fine.” Solid and honest and with a character not dependent on garments and fashion. A self-possession that he had noticed when they met at the Duchess of Stratton’s party still ruled her, but her distress softened her enough that his protective nature emerged. “Can I help in some way?”
His offer startled her. She regarded him, cocking her head, as if she considered ways in which he could indeed help before thinking better of it. “It is a private matter, thank you. Only the king can help me, and I fear he will not. I must decide whether to accept that or battle on.”
“If you are in the right, do not lay down your arms now. The Household strives to protect him and remove problems before they even know if a problem truly exists. If you persevere you may yet succeed.” Oh, how smoothly it all came out. He did not really believe a word of it. Those men back there would bury whatever she claimed needed fixing forever if they thought it best for their master.
She nodded firmly. “You are correct. Your reminder is well taken. I can still muster the evidence I need to get his attention.”
The door across the chamber opened and a balding crown emerged. Miss MacCallum noticed. “I must go now, Your Grace. I do not want to see that man again until I am ready for him.”
She dipped a fast curtsy then disappeared while the bald head worked its way across the large chamber. It finally stopped right in front of Brentworth.
“Your Grace, thank you for coming.”
He knew Haversham. The man had been in the king’s tow for decades. He could not see him without thinking of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. Cassius has a lean and hungry look. Let me have men about me that are fat.
“My liege summoned me. Or so I thought.”
Haversham flushed. “I wrote at his instruction, but today he asked me to speak for him.”
“I am not accustomed to having anyone, even a king, foist me off on a clerk.”
“Foisted? Good heavens no. Not at all. It will save you much time if I do the preliminaries, so to speak. Explain a few things. Then should you meet with His Majesty you will not have to wait on his explanation, which might be less direct.” He coughed into his fist. “If you understand me.”
He understood. It could take the king an hour to say whatever Haversham would complete in ten minutes. “At least you were not so stupid as to have me delivered to you by a page.”
“Of course not! Truly, it is best if we speak privately before—that is, the matter is of some embarrassment to His Majesty and he would prefer if I—If you could sit with me over here, I will try to explain.”
Here were two chairs tucked behind a statue in an attempt to create a bit of privacy. Brentworth threw himself into one of them and waited for Haversham to get on with it.
“As you know, after the Jacobite rebellion, a number of Scottish titles were attainted. In the case of some commoners, lands were taken,” Haversham began. “In a few cases, the lands of deceased feudal barons reverted to the Crown due to there being no heirs or descendants. In such cases, official attainder was not pursued.”
“All of that was settled a generation ago.”
“True, but—on occasion, we will still receive a petition to reopen the matter regarding this estate or that. Someone will claim to be the descendant of one of those men, and want the land back. Charlatans normally. Adventurers.” Haversham dismissed the frauds with a sneer. “It happens more often than you would guess. Some petition the Crown after the College of Arms rejects the claim. We have a letter we send to all of them, warning them off under penalty of imprisonment. That normally does it.”
“And when it doesn’t?”
“I deal with them. It is lengthier, but eventually they go away.”
“Good. Why did this bring me here today?”
Haversham appeared surprised. “Oh! I thought you knew. Well, this is embarrassing.” He leaned in. “Recently, such a descendant came forth. Only this one has a letter from the last king that all but acknowledges the claim.”
“How awkward for you.”
“Most awkward. It is not a forgery. It is a signed and sealed letter all but admitting that the descendant is indeed a descendant and all but promising the estate will be returned. Well, of course the king was mad at the time. Who knows what he would write? Yet, there it is.”
“Do you want my advice? Is that why I was summoned here? I think you should—”
“With respect, Your Grace, that is not why you were invited. When I came out and saw you I assumed you knew. You were speaking with Davina MacCallum. She is the claimant in question. She is insisting on another audience with the king to discuss the matter. I have been charged with seeing that never happens.”
“Another audience?”
“I regret to say they met in Edinburgh.”
“If a five-minute audience will placate her, I don’t see why—”
“In addition to the letter from the last king, I regret to say she has a promise from this one, obtained in Edinburgh. The entire matter promises to be a potential embarrassment to His Majesty. A very big one. It is vital that the whole story does not be bandied about.”
Eric wanted to laugh. Davina MacCallum had the King of Great Britain all but hiding in the cupboard to avoid her. His estimation of her rose immediately.
“Haversham, all of this is interesting, even entertaining. I regret that I do not know the lady well enough to influence her, however.” He stood. “My advice is that the king just give her the land. I suspect he is no match for her.”
Haversham bolted to his feet. “My reasoning exactly. Not the part about whether he is a match—I would never be so disloyal as to agree to that—but about returning the land. Much cleaner. No embarrassments. There is only one problem. Someone else now holds that estate. He is not likely to think our solution is so clever.”
Finally they were down to it. “I will speak with him on the king’s behalf, if that is what is wanted of me. Who is he?”
Haversham licked his lips. He offered a trembling smile. “You.”
Chapter Two
In late afternoon Davina entered the house on Bedford Square that served as the home of the Parnassus Club. Established by the Duchess of Stratton a year ago, the club only had female members. Davina had been inducted upon her arrival in London, on the day a month ago that she came to meet Mrs. Galbreath, the editor of the journal who had purchased two of her essays.
As exclusive as any club, this one required a vote for admittance and fees from its members. However, she had been included as a charity case—Mrs. Galbreath did not put it that way, of course—and the membership turned out to be quite democratic. While there were many ladies who stopped by to relax in the salon or gamble in the room set aside for that, some women were not ladies at all.
And a few, like the club’s treasurer, were important ladies now, but had not been well born. Davina assumed everyone recognized that latter quality just as she had, but unlike many others it relieved her. As a result, she and the woman born Amanda Waverly and now the Duchess of Langford had formed a fast friendship.
Amanda sa
t at a writing table in the library when Davina arrived, her dark-haired crown bent over a pen. She wore a simple linen apron atop a luscious dress the color of amaryllis.
“Are you working the accounts?” Davina asked. “Or writing a letter?”
Amanda looked up and greeted her. “The accounts.”
“You do not care to use the office?”
“The office normally suits me fine.” Amanda glanced aside to where three women sat near the fireplace. “But Mrs. Bacon’s gossip suits me better. I can eavesdrop from here.”
“Naughty woman. I will not interfere with either activity. However, at the party I overheard something myself. The duchess spoke of visiting today to meet with Mrs. Galbreath. Has she done so?”
“They are in Mrs. Galbreath’s chamber.”
“Does the duchess normally leave immediately after they chat? Or might she avail herself of the club’s amenities?”
Amanda set her pen into its holder. “Why do you ask? Do you want to speak with her?”
“I thought if we greeted each other in passing, perhaps a few more words could be exchanged.”
Amanda’s smile stretched more with every word she heard. “I have a better idea. When she comes down I will tell her you wish to speak to her.”
“I do not want to impose on her.” Again, she almost added. She had imposed quite a lot when during a casual conversation she had asked for that letter to the king.
“I don’t think she will see it that way. I didn’t when you addressed me.
That was different. Davina caught the words. This new duchess might be insulted at the implication she was not as ducal as the other duchess.
Humor lit Amanda’s eyes. “She is not going to eat you, Davina. I am sure she will be interested in whatever you want to tell her.” She cocked her head and looked at the door. “In fact, I hear them coming now.”
Feminine chatter preceded the two women down the stairs and into the library. “After the meeting on Tuesday we will vote,” the duchess said to her companion. She then noticed Davina. “I am so glad you are taking advantage of the club, Miss MacCallum. I like to think you have found a sanctuary here.”
“I have, Your Grace. It is not far from my residence, so I can avail myself of the peace here any day I want after my duties are completed.”
“I have told her she must visit the booksellers and choose a few medical books and tracts for the library,” Mrs. Galbreath said. Mrs. Galbreath, a fine boned, elegant blond woman, lived here and served not only as editor of Parnassus but manager of the club.
“She came today because she wants to talk to you about something, Clara,” Amanda said.
“Do you? Well, let us find a quiet spot so you can.” She gazed around the library and pursed her mouth when she saw the three women ensconced near the fireplace. “We will go to the dining room, so no ears overhear by accident.”
Amanda flushed at the insinuation there might be eavesdroppers around. She bent over her accounts again. Davina trailed the duchess out of the chamber and across to the dining room.
Calling it that had become a misnomer because it rarely served for dining now. Rather it had been set up for gambling, with small tables and a wager book. Mostly, Davina had seen women playing whist for money, but once a member had served as a dealer for vingt-et-un.
The duchess took a seat at the far table near the doors that led to a small garden. She invited Davina to sit with her.
“As I told you last week, I have come to London for a reason,” Davina began. “It was not to be a tutor. That was merely a way to get here.”
“You want to speak with the king about an important matter to your family on which the king made promises. Has that finally come to pass?”
“I was summoned to the palace today, due to your letter on my behalf. Without your influence I doubt it would ever have happened.”
“It was not my influence, but that of my father whose shade stands by my shoulder. The king has no love for me. However, it is good to know that I still have some influence, small though it may be. And I am joyed that you had your audience.”
“I did, but not with the king. I met with a man named Mr. Haversham.”
She received a kind, regretful smile. “It is not easy to see a king, especially this one. You are being rebuffed because he does not want to be reminded of his promise.”
“I expect so.”
“You said you met him at a dinner during the festivities in Edinburgh. Was he in his cups? Stupid question. Of course he was. And there you were, a pretty young woman and he agreed to help you in order to be gracious and perhaps more. Oh, do not feel you have to tell me. His habits are well known, as is his eye for the ladies.” She tapped her fingers against her chin. “May I ask what this is about? You did not offer the information last week, and I did not press you, but—”
“It involves a legacy. One that has been ignored over a long time. His father had also agreed to rectify the situation, you see. Only then he went mad, and . . .”
“So two kings promised to help with this and neither one did? That is not acceptable. This one is afraid you will put it out that he does not keep his word, or even honor that of his father.”
That was what her employer Mr. Hume had said. Your greatest weapon is the gossip that will make him look bad.
The duchess pondered the matter a few moments. “I think you will hear more of this from the palace. I think they will either settle matters as you want, or try to buy you off in some way. You must decide if you are willing to allow the latter, and if so what this legacy is worth to you.”
“Why do you think this will happen?”
“I suppose because it is what I would do if faced with your determination.”
Davina hoped that was a compliment. She wondered if Haversham had seen what the duchess seemed to see in her.
“I hope you are right.” Davina stood to take her leave. “I thank you for your help in opening the palace door for me. I hope I have not been too bold in requesting your aid.”
The duchess laughed. “You have been most bold. As it happens, I admire that in a woman.”
“I am glad for that, and very grateful.”
The duchess stood too. “Let me know what transpires. Someday perhaps you will tell me all about this legacy. I think there is an interesting story there.”
* * *
Eric stretched out his legs and gazed at the inky red liquid in the glass he held. His two friends, the Duke of Stratton and the Duke of Langford, had already finished theirs. In ten minutes or so it would be time to join the ladies.
“It was good of you to come,” Langford said to no one in particular and everyone in general.
“Of course we would come. A small dinner party is an excellent way for your wife to test her new wings,” Stratton said.
“You can invite a few more to the next one,” Eric said. He took a sip of the port. “This went well, and dinner parties are all much the same except for the number of chairs.”
It had been the smallest of dinner parties, with only three couples present. A first stab at entertaining for the former Amanda Waverly, it had indeed gone well enough. She could use a bit of help with the menu, but the cook should get her in hand. Or else one of the ladies would. Stratton’s wife Clara would not hesitate to instruct the new duchess if she decided it were necessary.
“I told her it was too few, but she was so nervous . . . Well, she was not born to this, of course.” Langford ran his fingers through his dark curls the way he always did when worried. Eric knew his friend did not care if the dinner went well or not. His wife did, however, and the concern was all for her contentment.
“Perhaps her next attempt should be an afternoon gathering. A salon,” Brentworth said. “Another one for that journal, for example.” Thus did his mouth speak his mind, which had been occupied for the last days with a certain essayist for that journal. Davina MacCallum thought to connive her way to taking one of his estates, did she? She was in for a s
ad reckoning on that scheme.
“It was good of you to come to that too,” Stratton said with a meaningful glance at him.
Not good. Necessary. Duchess or not, that journal was controversial and Clara claiming ownership was sure to bring down criticism on her head. Not that either she or Stratton cared. Both were accustomed to controversy, even scandal. It was a friend’s role to ease that if he could, however, and Brentworth knew his presence would silence at least some of the wags.
“I enjoyed it,” he said, although that was an exaggeration. “I even took one of the journals home and read it. Lady Farnsworth does not hold her fire in her essays, but then I would never expect her to. The historical essay was well done, although I have never heard of the author. And Miss MacCallum’s contribution was . . . interesting.” Quite interesting. He grudgingly admitted she had a talent for engaging prose.
“Amanda says the woman is interesting, so her writing would be too, I expect,” Langford said.
“Do you know her yourself?” Eric asked.
Langford shook his head while he poured more port and passed the bottle to Stratton. “I spoke with her briefly at the party. A few words. Amanda has formed a friendship with her, however. I thought it odd that she hails from Edinburgh but does not sound especially Scottish. Amanda said she lived in Northumberland in her childhood.”
“Her essay combined the description of a traveler with the advice of a physician. Except, of course, she is not a physician.”
“Her father was one, Amanda told me. She would travel with him in the summer, to care for people in rural parts.”
“An apprentice, then,” Stratton said, in a casual tone that belied how extraordinary the observation was.
“It sounds like it,” Langford said. “I think she may continue his work now that he is gone.”
“Except she is not a physician,” Brentworth said again.
“Better someone who knows something about medicine than no one who does, is how it is probably seen by those she tends,” Stratton said.
“Nor can she continue his work. I am told she is a governess,” Brentworth added, mentioning a point given to him by Haversham.
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