The Bellerose Bargain

by Robyn Carr

  She smiled at the new face—rosy cheeks, light lip paint—and the clean, shining hair falling in thick curls about her shoulders. Charlotte Bellamy would certainly be recognized as fair of face, and with the proper clothing her figure would be greatly enhanced.

  "Everyone knows this is a marriage of convenience." She smiled into the mirror. She sighed deeply and focused on her blue-gray eyes. "Do not fall in love with me, Lord Seavers. You might never survive it as the same man."

  The apartment at Whitehall grew into a lonely place as Alicia stayed mostly alone, with Rodney popping in and out to bring her food and news. Two full days passed with no other word from the king, and Alicia was afraid to leave her rooms for fear he would come in her absence. Rodney seemed reluctant to leave her totally unattended there, but there were many things needed for her comfort. He spent hours of each day ordering food to be delivered and looking for at least one servant to aid her.

  It was while she was alone in her rooms that a man came to her door. Though it was early evening, it had not occurred to her that anyone who meant her harm might come to her rooms, and for that reason she opened the door quickly and was scolded by her visitor. "Odd’s fish, haven’t you a care for your safety, madam? I might’ve been anyone."

  She looked in surprise at the tall, bulky man in a dark, thick periwig. He had a harsh-sounding voice, yet a mirth lay hidden in it. Though his eyes were dark and commanding and his full lips set sternly, fear was not her reaction. She felt at ease with his presence.

  "Who calls then?" she asked, still holding the door.

  "I am Charles; for the moment, your guardian."

  With a gasp, she let go of the open door and retreated slightly, her hand first going to her mouth, then both hands going to her sides to hold back her skirts as she began a curtsy, then without completing that she looked at him again, judging his rather casual attire and lack of robes or scepter. "Good Lord, are you that Charles?"

  He smirked slightly and entered without ceremony. "I am known as the king here, my dear," he said lightly, turning to close the door. "I hope I’m not coming at your inconvenience, I —" As he turned toward her again, he found her finally accomplishing her curtsy and she was indeed bowing low before him. "Here, madam, rise before you hurt something."

  Rising from this new acrobatic was nearly as difficult for Alicia as getting down had been. She was not accustomed to the heavy clothing or the undergarments these genteel ladies wore, and her movements before becoming "noble" had been mostly trotting, stooping to clean, and carrying things back and forth. A hand quickly gave aid. "Thank you, sir," she said.

  "Sire," he corrected. "Or ‘Your Majesty,’ or some other appropriate title, whichever you like."

  "Yes, Sire," she mumbled.

  "Not so much for me, dear, but I imagine everyone about will be watching you carefully, eager to throw stones at you for every error in etiquette that escapes you."

  "Oh my," she breathed. "Sire," she added belatedly.

  Charles chuckled at her. "I know I’m bound to make you jitter a bit. Call me Charles and let’s sit down someplace. I’ve been running about all day long."

  She stood gawking, trying to think of what she should say, how she should lead him, where she should take him, and above all, trying to remember everything that she had been told about the Bellamys.

  Charles raised an arm in the direction of her sitting room and his look was impatient. "Madam?" he questioned.

  "Sire, I’m sorry," she gasped. "Please..." She moved toward the sitting room, where a settee and a chair sat opposite each other in front of the hearth. He paused inside the room looking at each.

  "Where do you like to sit?" he asked her.

  For a moment she considered, and the answer was the chair, for it was more comfortable. "Please take the chair, Sire," she said quickly.

  Charles sat down so that she might also sit, and once seated, he confronted her. "I see my judgment was right this once, my dear. I decided to meet you privately rather than have you presented at court, knowing that this is all a bit new to you." She fidgeted on the edge of her seat, hanging on his every word. "I hope you’ll relax in a moment. I’m too tired to watch you tremble and I swear I haven’t killed a maiden in at least a fortnight."

  She took a deep breath to still the excited fluttering of her heart. Inside she wasn’t sure his attempt at joviality was pure jest. She didn’t know him, she barely knew of him, but if anyone could slay a maid for jitters, a king could.

  "I thought your hair might be red," Charles commented. "And I heard that you were...ah, well fed."

  "Heard?" she repeated.

  "Well, your father, you know. He spoke of you from time to time, when he was petitioning for his lands, and while I know he did not see you often, he described you as beautiful though generous of body."

  Alicia looked nervously at her hands. "What father doesn’t think his daughter beautiful, Sire," she said quietly.

  "It’s plain to me that he was being very modest. So, are you ready to make the acquaintance of your groom?"

  "Yes, Sire."

  "He’s quite handsome, and the women consider him something of a rogue, as he seems to need them a good deal less than the rest of us do. What strange creatures we are, chasing all the time and loving resistance best. Ah, well, he’s escaped the ladies quite successfully, as I’m sure you’ve been told."

  "I’ve talked to no one, Sire," she said a bit quickly.

  "I would have hoped his man, that huge old war-horse, what’s his name, would have sold his lord mightily to you."

  "Oh, yes, Sire," she replied. "Rodney, Sire. He did tell me Lord Seavers is handsome."

  "Unfortunately, Seavers expects you to be rather unpretty. There’s one or two here that claim to have made your acquaintance not long after my return and had not the best report. But that was a while back and you were much younger. Women, I realize, do a great deal of changing as they approach womanhood. Your changes have either been tremendously good ones or I heard only jealous tongues wagging."

  "Jealous of me, Sire?" she asked innocently.

  "Madam, your wealth is not great, but it has received some attention, since a number of men at court have less. And having a king take care of your inheritance makes it seem even more important."

  "My thanks, Sire. It’s kind of you to bother."

  "Don’t thank me too soon, madam. If Seavers is able to do half of what he intends, I’ll be getting a goodly share back."

  Her attention was snagged immediately. "Sire, please, what does he intend?"

  "His shipping venture, my lady. He plans to establish himself on the sea, beginning with one ship. And not much of a ship at that, since I only recently toured it. Sadly for you, it’s my right to arrange your marriage, and I’ve arranged it to Seavers because I wager the man can do well whatever he takes on." He leaned back in his chair and looked her over. His dark, lazy eyes studied her face and she felt herself glow under their intensity. "I’ve gambled your inheritance for you, Lady Charlotte. And before you let the fact insult you, let me assure you, I’ve been a fairly good gambler in the past. I think I can place a bet at least as well as you can. Probably better."

  "I’m satisfied, Sire," she said softly, getting at least one clue as to why the real Charlotte had fled. She might well have been hysterical at the thought of what she might face in the king’s gentle care. Seavers could have been a wretched, lying, aging horror.

  But he was not. And Alicia guessed the king had gambled wisely.

  "I shall see that you meet him immediately. I will present you to him myself on the night after next in my chambers. There will be many guests, though only my usual ones, and my lady Castlemaine will hostess the affair. Is there anything you need while you wait?"

  "I don’t know," Alicia said honestly. And again as an afterthought, she added, "Sire."

  "Well, clothing. Do you have suitable clothing?"

  She lowered her eyes. "I’m not sure."

  "I’ll
send someone to help you with that. Did you bring servants and a coach?"

  "Only myself, Sire."

  "Odd’s fish, you were poor." He scratched his chin. "I imagined Fergus did as little for you as possible. I’ll send someone to help you with your staff as well."

  "That’s very generous of you, Sire."

  "You’re to be my ward, which makes this my obligation, but the money will be drawn from your estate before Seavers begins his spending, which I’m certain will quickly follow the marriage. When should you like that to take place, madam?"

  "At your convenience, Sire," she replied.

  "In a week? Month?"

  "I...I..." She stopped the stammering and simply shook her head in wonder.

  "Of course. You’ll want to meet him before you give an answer. Very well." Charles rose and Alicia jumped to her feet. "We’ll talk of this when you’ve met your betrothed, but I pray you get this marriage done quickly. The gossips can’t stand the wait."

  "Yes, Sire."

  He strode quickly to the door without turning. When he arrived and his hand found the latch, he turned to look at her again. A puzzled frown creased his brow. She looked nothing like Fergus, for that much he was most grateful. He wondered for a moment if she would find any old friends at court and as quickly he realized she would not, for no one knew her, including himself. Then his expression suddenly changed and his smile was devilish. "Oh, you’re going to greatly disappoint them, madam."

  Panic filled her eyes. "Oh, how, Sire?" she asked impetuously.

  "You’re really quite pretty," he replied with a shrug. "They’ll hate you for it. The women at least." He chuckled again and opened the door. "The men will hate Seavers." He started to duck out of the door. "I won’t be far if there’s any real trouble," he said. "Good evening, madam." And the door closed.

  Alicia turned away from the closed door. "The king," she said aloud to her walls. "Dear heaven. The king thinks I’m pretty." Her mouth curved slightly. A weak and nervous laugh escaped her. She considered that he would be clothing her and hiring her servants out of the inheritance that Geoffrey had worked so hard to get. She laughed again. "Perhaps in a month, Sire," she said with feigned innocence. With the laughter coming more easily and the lilting feeling filling her stomach, she picked up her skirts and began to dance around the room.

  Five

  In the captain’s cabin of the Patrina, there existed a bunk, large desk, and chair, shelves lining the walls, stacked coffers, and a general mess. Amidst rolls of plans littering the desk top sat a barely touched tray of food. Behind the desk was a small stand that held a basin of water and a mirror leaned against the wall. Geoffrey Seavers attempted to fit a periwig to his head in front of that mirror.

  The door to the cabin opened and Rodney entered carrying a dark blue satin jacket. Glittering buttons graced the breast and Geoffrey looked over his shoulder and glanced ruefully at the garment. Shirtless, unadorned, and riding the back of his ship, hard at work, was how he liked himself best. The pomp of court life grated on him.

  "The tailor managed nicely on the short notice," Rodney offered.

  "This is Charles’s idea of fun," Geoffrey grumbled. "He likes to watch his puppets dance about and prove their adoration of one another." He scowled into the mirror and adjusted the wig another time. "He’d have a jolly good time if he knew I was making the acquaintance of a tavern wench."

  "His Majesty would enjoy that mightily," Rodney laughed. "And I think all the better for Charles if he knew. But no more of that," Rodney said, approaching with the coat. "I think it’ll be clear when you see her that she’s no longer a common serving maid."

  "Clothes and manners help, but there’s no changing the person who wears them. I only pray she can convince the gossips, or I’ll be out to sea, but not with a fleet." He turned and shrugged into the jacket. Now there was a smile. "The building of the next ship is well under way—on my personal note."

  "I’ve seen that for myself," Rodney returned. "I hope the building can be continued."

  "And why wouldn’t it? The introduction is tonight, the betrothal will be announced and posted, and the marriage soon. Charles cannot sit on the land and taxes for long. The goods and workers will be paid for."

  "Are you aware that Preston will be with you tonight?" Rodney asked.

  Geoffrey chuckled at Rodney’s question. "His timing is so perfect I almost think he planned it this way. Blast the blackguard, he’s here purely to laugh at my foibles."

  "He’s here on his father’s business," Rodney corrected.

  "A ruse," Geoffrey insisted.

  Preston Tilden, longtime friend to Geoffrey, had left England with the rest of his family during the Commonwealth to begin building a new life in the Americas. Letters he’d written to Seavers told of rough wilderness that had to be cleared, slaves that had to be bought for endless work, shortages of food and supplies, and various adventures the family had had. But the Tildens had prospered. Five sons and considerable money had procured a fine home on a large portion of Virginia soil. The family’s interests lay in mills and farming, shipping and badly needed trade to other countries. Geoffrey, too, had been offered a plot of this new and uncivilized land across the ocean, but had chosen to make his way in England. He envied Preston his early success, but knew that without the financial backing and numbers of family members that Preston had, he would still be chopping down trees.

  Preston was the youngest of five sons. He and Geoffrey were nearly the same age, Preston being just two years younger than Geoffrey. Their fathers had been neighbors and longtime friends as well, and the families had been close for years.

  Though Tilden ships arriving in port were not uncommon, Preston’s arrival was a complete surprise to Geoffrey. Rodney had carried the news earlier in the day that Preston himself commanded this Tilden vessel, and Geoffrey had to curb the urge to swim out to the approaching ship for the reunion. The sight of his friend waving from the bow brought back memories of adventures shared, loves fought over, and laughter that went late into ale-ridden nights. Having Preston near was the balm for Geoffrey’s anxiety over his dream of a fleet and his precarious betrothal.

  When Preston arrived on the Patrina, he had wine and a block of cheese with him, bursting into the cabin with a loud laugh. "Behold, the groom," he goaded.

  Geoffrey scowled and eyed Preston’s goods. "We can drink later, when this ordeal has ended."

  Preston turned to Rodney. "He does not sound like a man in love, eh?"

  "And you would know what a man in love sounds like?" Geoffrey asked before Rodney could answer.

  Preston set the cheese and wine on the desk and spied the tray of untouched food sitting there. "Ah, this is more the rote." He grinned. "No appetite, surly mood...aye, perhaps there is hope for the man."

  "I have not met the wench yet."

  "Wench, is it. God’s bones, you’ll land in the gutter for that slur, should anyone hear."

  "The lady," Geoffrey corrected. "I have not heard the best things about her. ‘Tis her dowry that is attractive to me."

  "That’s a start," Preston conceded. "And whatever other troubles you find with her, work them out quietly and with care, lest some better-mannered knight takes her away from you."

  "I’ve seen you practice your lessons well," Geoffrey laughed. "Remember the friend that rode and sailed with you—and watched you play the ladies and toss them away."

  "Ah, but now I have a wife."

  Geoffrey looked up in surprise. "A wife? What madness possessed you to take a wife so soon? Your family has money."

  Preston laughed good-naturedly. "A pretty vixen crossed my path and schooled me in when to dally and when to make a contract. She would have none of these courtly games."

  "And so you’re caught." Geoffrey smiled. "A family man at last."

  "Indeed, a family man. Just as I prepared to leave, Brianna told me that she intends to present me with a child next summer. Our first."

  Geoffrey extended his
hand. "Then we’ll make time to raise a glass. To your dynasty."

  Rodney looked around the cluttered cabin for cups, and wine was poured all around.

  "I’m the last of my brothers to marry," Preston said. "And while the Tilden men are often bending their backs or out to sea, it has not kept the family small. We seem to have a knack for finding fertile women who grace my parents with new grandchildren yearly." He raised his cup and drank, sighing in appreciation. Geoffrey looked at his friend’s face. Fulfillment seemed to show there and envy presented itself again. "Another addition to the house will be needed, but then I laid brick and wood for my brother’s additions."

  "You’ve acquired your fortune, Preston," Geoffrey said. "I wish I thought my future would bring as much."

  Preston sighed deeply. "I hesitate to damage my reputation, but in all truth, wealth does not mean as much to me as it once did. Brianna has taught me something of the value of women that I did not know." He raised his glass as if in silent toast to her. "I wish you luck, friend. I hope your contract bodes as much."

  "I doubt that is possible. While you look well enough for your bonds, being so tethered does not have any appeal for me." Geoffrey took a long pull on the wine, and his eyes glittered when he looked at his friend. "If she is not shrewish, I shall survive it, but I tell you, I see no great love brewing here. ‘Tis a profitable arrangement. That is all."

  "Then enjoy your misery." Preston shrugged. "You seem most intent on it."

  "My appraisal as well, sir," Rodney put in. "Though I think the boy spoiled and sullen. Lady Charlotte is lovely and kind."