by Robyn Carr
Geoffrey only smirked. There was little about the maid that he disliked, but the idea that this could be a fulfilling arrangement had not occurred to him. He mentally counted his money and time. What Preston had acquired, his land, income, and family, was desirable to Geoffrey. This marriage scam would aid him in getting a start on a decent shipping enterprise, but it was another year out of his life, another temporary situation that he would have to see finished before he could settle himself to a decent family life with a wife and children. He felt a long way from having what Preston had.
"And to think," Preston mused, "had my younger sister survived the wars, she’d be a good match for you."
"The child who died when you were small?" Geoffrey asked.
"Aye, and I hope to uncover some of the mystery of her death. It was while my parents were having her spirited away to my aunt that she disappeared, and all efforts to find her failed. It was a dangerous time. All of England was at war with itself. She could not have survived."
Geoffrey became solemn. When his father and brother died, his mother and sister became his responsibility. A strong sense of failure overcame him whenever he thought of them, for they had died within a year of each other. His sister, Andrea, betrothed to the flamboyant courtier, Culver Perry, had died quite suddenly while riding. His mother became ill soon after Andrea’s death and, he reasoned, found little reason to go on—she had lost all of her family but Geoffrey.
"You’ve had a few years to recover from that loss," Geoffrey said with some bitterness.
"Aye, friend," Preston answered compassionately. "And on the eve that you’ll meet your bride it’s rude of me to bring up our sisters. Forgive me."
"Can you imagine who might have argued most heartily for the hand of Lady Charlotte?" Geoffrey asked his friend.
Preston noted the fury in Geoffrey’s eyes and knew from whence it came. "I had heard that Perry made his request for a rich bride well known. I am surprised he survived your wrath."
"I am certain he believed our family would have large sums and plentiful lands restored when he asked for Andrea’s hand in marriage. He courted her too well—but loved her too little." He downed the last of his wine and slammed the cup onto the desk. "I never saw his grief."
"Culver Perry cannot take anything from you now, Seavers," Preston said slyly. "Unless, of course, you foolishly leave unattended what is yours."
Geoffrey’s green eyes were sparked with hatred as he looked at his friend. "Should he give me the slightest excuse, I will kill him. I hate the man more than I allowed I could."
Geoffrey tugged on his jacket and took a breath, trying to still the emotion that seemed quickly to fill the room. Even Rodney moved away from the conversation a bit and Preston did not encourage any more expression. Geoffrey had lost too many that were dear to him. Had Perry at least suffered upon the death of his betrothed, Geoffrey might have been able to abide him, but he immediately began his courtship of any available dame at court, including old dowager baronesses whose ears were turned toward the flattery and whose purses were not yet empty.
"The oaf would marry the king’s mare, were she well saddled," Geoffrey said.
"The name Perry brings much attention in England, since his brother still has land and influence. But I understand there is no family love there and Perry can get nothing out of his brother’s fortune," Preston said. "And though I have no respect for the man, it would do you well to remember that he is handsome and suave. Take care that he does not easily usurp what you already consider yours."
"He will not," Geoffrey promised. "This once I believe I’ve outwitted him. Lady Charlotte will marry me."
The galleries in Whitehall were chilled and dark, the drafts causing draperies and tapestries to shiver. Lord Seavers and Preston Tilden set a good pace along the corridors and through halls to the apartments of Lady Castlemaine, Barbara Palmer. They walked in silence, with only the sound of their heavy and hurried footfalls echoing in the passageways.
Lady Castlemaine would immediately recognize Seavers, for she had, a time or two, flirted with him. There was no reason to assume that she was interested beyond an innocent affair, for it was acknowledged that she was the king’s, and one did not toy with the king’s mistress. Yet Seavers had willingly accepted her attentions as a compliment and recognized that it did not hurt his case with King Charles to be in Castlemaine’s good favor. And no one, least of all Geoffrey, was surprised to see that Barbara Palmer hostessed the affair that would present Lady Charlotte to Lord Seavers.
Lady Castlemaine utilized her liaison with Charles to secure for herself fine furnishings for the large living quarters she inhabited. Gifts to her from those seeking favor with the king decorated her walls and tables, and jewels from her admirers sparkled on her throat and wrists. Preston and Geoffrey were admitted and announced by a servant, but it was only moments before Barbara glided toward them with a greeting on her lips. Her hand briefly touched a pendant that she wore about her neck: a cluster of small diamonds gleaming around a sapphire. Geoffrey smiled, but a small flush threatened to mar his rugged appearance. He had given the pendant as a gift and assumed it would be lost among the many richer tokens she had acquired. Obviously she wore it and drew his eyes to it with her hand to establish their alliance.
Seavers was not as well practiced with the ladies as many seemed to believe, and in fact, aggressive women, like Barbara, caused his stomach to churn. As luck would have it, his habit of drawing back within himself and giving little or no recognition to the many flirtations only made him that much more desirable to the women. No one seemed to be aware of his shyness. His aloof manner drew them like flies to honey.
He steadied himself internally, not at all sure he could handle the situation to his satisfaction. If there was a woman alive who could paint him into a corner, it was Castlemaine.
"My lords," she purred, lowering herself into a bow that threatened to spill her round breasts out of her gown. The fact that she was with child did not detract from her sensuality. Both men took mental note that Charles did indeed have exquisite taste in women.
Geoffrey extended his hand to take hers. "Lady Castlemaine," he said, his voice smooth and controlled. For all appearances they were old friends delighting in the reacquaintance. He kissed the back of her hand and, upon raising his head, found her eyes glued to Preston. "Allow me to introduce Preston Tilden, lately arriving in London. Preston’s father, Lord Tilden, has made his home in Virginia of the Americas and Preston is in the business of trade."
"A pleasure," Barbara said coolly. "Then merchanting is your family business," she said, seeking clarification. That a merchant would presume to come to her affair without a special invitation was an affront.
"In essence, lady," Preston returned quietly.
Geoffrey presented his arm to Barbara and they preceded Preston to join the other guests waiting in the sitting room and dining room. When they had gone but a step, Geoffrey leaned close to the hostess and whispered, "His family is very rich. Very rich indeed."
Barbara’s eyes lit ever so slightly and she glanced over her shoulder to appraise the young guest again, this time with a half smile and raised brow. Dining with a merchant was not prestigious, but a very rich merchant with a nobly bred family was not exactly an embarrassment. "Tilden, you say. Seems I remember a Lord Tilden…"
"Perhaps, lady," Preston returned. "Though when my parents left England permanently, I’d say you were but a child."
And to that Barbara smiled brightly. Youth was the most precious commodity in all London. Still in her early twenties, Barbara feared age more than anything. And she was not unlike the other court ladies in that.
Charles stood off in a comer with Buckingham, courtiers lounged about half at attention and not yet totally inebriated, ladies fluttered fans and fawned over each other’s jewels and gowns, and Geoffrey tried, inconspicuously, to scan the room for some sight of Alicia.
Charles glanced over his shoulder and spied Geoffrey. Their eyes met briefly
. Charles smiled knowingly, turned away to whisper something to George Villiers, and then turned abruptly toward Seavers.
Geoffrey’s acknowledgment of the king was slow. He felt that creeping sensation when he first spied Charles, for the fact was that the king completely controlled his future at this point and could at any moment change his mind about letting the young noblewoman advance her inheritance through marriage to him. But he caught himself, remembering courtly manners and being very much a man comforted by rules. Much of the comfort came through the reckless feeling of breaking them and never letting on that he’d escaped. Inwardly, however, he never stopped feeling unsettled by lying and cheating.
He checked himself and bowed deeply. "Sire."
"In a hurry, no doubt, to make the acquaintance of your future bride," Charles drawled.
"Is she here, Sire?" Geoffrey asked.
Charles scratched his beard, his fingers gliding up his jawline to give his mustache a tug. A smile played at the comers of his mouth, and his eyes glittered mischievously. "I’ve enjoyed myself a bit with this chore," he confessed quietly.
"I thought you might," Geoffrey slipped out without thinking.
Charles was not offended but intrigued. "It occurs to me that everyone knows me better than I like. Ah, well, so what? The truth is I can’t remember when a secret’s been more fun."
Geoffrey’s face darkened somewhat and his eyes narrowed. He hated to ask. "Secret, Sire?"
"Well, everyone—that is, everyone but you—has asked how I found Lady Charlotte. Though I haven’t made her a prisoner at all, she’s kept to her rooms entirely, getting herself ready for tonight."
"That isn’t good news to me, Your Majesty," Geoffrey sulked.
Charles laughed uproariously, drawing eyes sharply toward them. "Not to rectify a disaster, Seavers, good God. The lass arrived without servants, clothing, or any knowledge. You were warned that while she’s due some money, her youth was not spent in riches and education. She was needing the preparation."
"Am I to thank you then, Sire, for helping her to acclimate herself to Whitehall?"
"I think not, Seavers. I asked Lady Castlemaine to send one of her own servants to assess the lady’s needs, and Barbara took it upon herself to look in on Lady Charlotte." Charles cleared his throat. "Your young woman is now ready with a staff, wardrobe, coach, and other essentials."
"I appreciate that very much indeed, Sire. I did not know how poor her state was."
"It was no problem at all, Seavers. Lady Charlotte could well afford it."
Charles watched dubiously as Seavers’s smile vanished. As Seavers mentally figured the approximate cost of Alicia’s refurbishing, the damage to his purse sent pain shooting like a knife to his stomach. His pupils shrank as he wondered if it would match the cost of outfitting an entire ship. Would there be much left for his business ventures?
"I didn’t want to leave you with so much to do for the lady that you couldn’t see about your own affairs," Charles said, finding it hard to conceal his amusement with Geoffrey’s agony. Charles did not play at dressing and teaching ladies, but in this instance, he imagined that without his intervention Charlotte would be left no better dressed than she was when he first met her, and would be as sleeping prey to the court. They, he knew well, would bludgeon her with careless criticism. He gave Castlemaine the chore of outfitting her as a lady, and Barbara did as he expected she would; Charlotte was now Barbara’s pet and project.
"Don’t pout so," Charles told Geoffrey. Geoffrey straightened himself abruptly, piqued at being treated like a child. "Thank me for seeing that it was Barbara taking care of things," he whispered. "I could have asked the queen."
Geoffrey nodded in agreement. He found a great many qualities in Catherine to admire and he pitied her in a great many ways, but it was true that when it came to stylishness she was a failure. Yet what else could be expected of a woman whose husband’s mistresses were flaunted before her continuously?
Geoffrey glanced over his shoulder and found Barbara still fluttering her fan over her voluptuous bosom and chatting amiably with Preston. Catherine had the political interests and title Charles needed to marry; Barbara Palmer had the passion and sexuality that kept that smile playing about the king’s lips. Seavers pitied Catherine, but he didn’t deny that Charles’s need for Barbara was real.
And yet he had heard that Barbara was losing her appeal for Charles. Frances Stewart, a rather new beauty to arrive at court, had the king in chase while she flirted outrageously and hung desperately to her virginity.
Such was the way of the court: to fill the night or the month or perhaps a few years with one person, but to answer nature’s call without overburdening oneself with commitments. Charles had set the standard himself. Who would argue with a king?
"Thank you, Sire," he mumbled, though gratefulness was not something he was feeling. "When will the lady arrive?"
"I’ve sent for her, now you’re here," he replied, moving away from Seavers and toward Barbara to make the acquaintance of Preston, whom he would realize he knew, once they were face to face.
Seavers stood alone, wanting conversation less than anything. Charles was playing the game to the hilt, holding back the woman to the last moment, setting the stage so that everyone within a mile could watch his face as she entered and quietly but clearly gave the information that a good deal of her money had been spent on dressing her for her new position.
I’ll be damned, Seavers thought, if he isn’t playing me like a puppet. Have fun, Sire, while you can. Before very long I’ll be running this—"
His thoughts stopped abruptly as he heard the doorman’s announcement, and all heads turned. "Lady Charlotte Bellamy."
From where he stood, it did not seem to be the same woman. Perhaps Charles had found an impostor of his own. But a closer look told him that Alicia had been groomed, exquisitely, to compete with the most beautiful women at court.
Her gown was close-fitting velvet, lavender and deep, rich purple, snug through the bodice and waist and flowing in graceful pleats to the floor. Her slim figure and long slender arms gave her the look of a dancer. Her wrists glittered with bracelets and her neck shone with precious stones. Over one arm, she carried a black fox fur that a servant quickly took from her. Her gown was cut in a deep V, and her breasts, round and plentiful, rose and fell gracefully with every breath.
It was her face; that much he could recognize, though he feared he had gone partially mad. It was the difference of seeing her hair so perfectly coiffed, with small glittering stones tucked here and there among the curls. And her manner was so different in this setting. She stood taller, almost commandingly, her every movement poised and confident. As the king approached her, she gave him a quick and natural smile, her even white teeth gleaming and her eyes coming alive with a special excited light.
Geoffrey felt an urge grow within him the moment he had taken in her entire appearance. She was more than lovely: she was magnificent. He tried to recall the tavern wench he’d met: a slender and unkempt brown-haired girl. He had thought her fair, but the potential had never occurred to him.
But it was not the clothing alone, he assured himself. There was something in her demeanor that made her very different from the wench in the inn. He had seen her clamber into the coach with Rodney, and now he was seeing her glide across the room on the king’s arm, her smile soft and sweet as she acknowledged the sighs from the courtiers as she passed them, and seemed to take as much pleasure in the lack of comment from the ladies. Indeed, the only woman in the room to be the least bit appreciative was Barbara Palmer, and that was because of her contribution to this maid’s attractiveness.
Charles stood before him, his ward on his arm. "From your expression, Seavers, I’d say you’re pleased."
Geoffrey shook himself and reached to take her hand, placing a courtly kiss on it. "Your servant, madam," he cooed.
"There are a great many eager for your acquaintance, lady," Charles told her. "I think your
escort can manage that, if you’ll excuse me."
"With pleasure, Your Majesty," she said, her voice lilting.
"I’ll be announcing the betrothal after dinner and I hope you’ll be telling me the wedding date before long."
"I’m certain we can settle on a date soon," Seavers attempted.
"I think it shan’t take long for me to get to know the groom, Your Majesty," Alicia said.
"Didn’t I promise you all the time you need?" Charles asked her. She nodded as though they had indeed had a long conversation on the matter.
As Seavers attempted to hide his frown, Charles left them. Though they were hardly alone, they were isolated enough to exchange a few words, if quiet.
"Quite an improvement, lady," he whispered.
"I might say the same, milord," she returned.
The shock nearly set him on his ear and he quickly tried to remember what he was garbed in when last they spoke together. He had not considered that his appearance was ever less than debonair.
"We shouldn’t need to keep the king in suspense, should we, madam? I think the wedding can be soon."
"Let’s not worry with that tonight, milord, please. I’m interested only in getting to know you better."
"Madam," he pressed, prepared to argue. But as he would have begun, he noticed that the gallants would not allow him privacy. And he understood their motivation, for he had to acknowledge he had indeed been lucky.
He made several introductions and found himself pressed out of a tight circle as Alicia was put upon by every curious spectator within the room. Behind him he heard his friend’s familiar voice. "I should like to hear your miserable complaints now," Preston whispered.
Geoffrey was silent. He stared jealously at the backs of nobles and ladies that surrounded his betrothed.
"Pity you’ve had to sacrifice so much. Poor wretch; only money and beauty and, from what I can see, a sweet disposition."
Geoffrey turned to glare at his friend.
Alicia found no use for her rehearsed smile and nod of acquaintance at each introduction. She was carried away by the fuss and compliments, and her own natural happiness rose to the surface. Could she have seen the difference between the rehearsed acceptance she had practiced before her mirror and the beauty of her simple joy, she would not have recognized herself.