by Robyn Carr
"May we, Sire?" she asked him, her eyes shining.
Even Alicia could see Charles soften and begin to glow at the sweetness of her plea. "Of course, my dear. This is your dinner."
Frances happily fluttered in the direction of a larger room, the guests following her along. By the time Alicia arrived, Frances already had a blindfold over her eyes and Rochester was busily tying it. George Villiers hung to the back of the circle, an unhappy expression on his face. Rochester began to turn her about to make her quite dizzy, and the people in the room pulled back from her so as not to be caught by her flailing hands. As Alicia herself backed away, she noticed Buckingham making a dodge for the door. She heard the king chuckle behind her.
"That’s the way he never gets caught," Charles said, pointing to Buckingham. "And poor Frances will never realize he’s gone, but wonder only why he’s never blindfolded. Come," he said, taking her elbow, "let me show you something of interest."
"What is it, Sire?" she asked excitedly.
He pulled her along with a devilish smile on his lips, and led her to a sitting room in Frances’s apartments. A small marble table stood in the center of the room, and on the table was a perfectly constructed miniature of a ship with The Royal Escape painted on its side. "This was made for me," he told her proudly. "It is an absolutely perfect replica of the ship I left England on after the battle of Worcester. I imagine you’ve heard the story a hundred times at least."
Alicia smiled. "I never grow tired of hearing it, Your Majesty."
"This is priceless to me," he confided. "A work of art."
"Why do you keep it here?" she asked, and as she met his eyes and saw his smile, she immediately blushed scarlet. She had practically asked how intimate his relationship with Frances was. And the talk was that Frances was still a virgin, after being pursued by the king for nearly two years.
"I don’t keep it here, madam. I had it brought here tonight to show it off. I daresay everyone’s seen it but you."
"Forgive me, Sire, I didn’t mean to—"
"Lord Seavers, madam—does he leave you completely unattended?"
"Sire?"
"The talk is that he does not live with you at all, but on his ship. True?"
"Sire, I...I have no complaint..."
"Complaints I have no time for. And you are no longer my responsibility, but Seavers’s. I think perhaps you don’t follow the reason for my questions. There is talk, madam, that you are an impostor. Is Lord Seavers aware of this?"
Suddenly Alicia knew why she had been called to sup with the king, why she had been coerced into the sitting room alone with him, and, vaguely, what was coming. She did not know how to meet the questions, but bolstered herself to realize the game would end here. "I’m certain he is not, Sire," she said with evident shock.
"Has there been any threat made to you?" he asked.
"No, Sire. Please, I don’t understand..."
He patted her hand affectionately. "There’s very little to understand, my dear. This was bound to happen, and with any luck it will end here, die a natural death. Since no one knew you, grew up with you, or could identify you, someone was bound to suggest that you are not who you are. I thought only to ask after your safety. In the event that your husband is not closely protecting you."
"I assure you, Sire, there is no truth to the rumor that Lord Seavers does not live in his home. I would know."
The king cocked a brow. "He is not with you tonight."
"I didn’t know the invitation included him."
"An invitation was sent to him—at the Patrina."
Alicia felt her cheeks grow hot. "I can’t imagine why he didn’t mention that, unless..."
"Unless he was ‘busy’?" the king attempted.
Alicia opened her mouth as if to reply, but the king went on. "I find myself mighty attracted to you, madam, and see no reason why you need sit and rot in that wretched house if you’d prefer to be—that is, if it would suit you to be—in better company."
"Your Majesty?"
"Is your time your own, lady?" he asked.
"Of course, Sire."
"So that you could spend it otherwise without doing injury to Lord Seavers?"
Alicia straightened abruptly and a knowing look came into her eyes. "Your Majesty!"
Charles shrugged and a half smile played on his lips. "Some women are actually flattered..."
Alicia found herself suppressing a giggle and she couldn’t keep the smile off her lips. "And I am," she confessed. "But for a moment I thought you’d called me here to reprimand me for something."
"Only for being beautiful and lonely at the same time, which there is no reason for any woman to be."
She looked down into her lap, for she didn’t know what to say next. This was not charity work on the king’s part; there were enough women in all of England prepared to jump into his bed. He not only desired her, but would probably continue to pursue her. He had, after all, chased Frances around the palace for two years now.
"Ah," Charles breathed, knowingly. "So you love the rogue, eh?"
She slowly raised her eyes to his and felt herself strangely near tears. She gave her head a slight nod, terrified that she had deeply offended him.
"But, does he love you, madam?" Charles asked.
"I believe he does, Sire," she said softly.
Charles rose abruptly, as if to say he’d spent all the time on the matter he intended to. "Well, I don’t know that you’re right on that account, madam. Seavers isn’t showing it in the way I would. But I think we can continue this discussion on our next encounter, which will be soon, won’t it?"
Forcing a confident smile, Alicia rose to stand beside him. She hoped she looked as if she was tempted in the direction of the king, if only to buy time. "I hope so, Sire," she said softly. "I do hope so."
"Next week, perhaps?" he asked.
"I can’t say you nay, Your Majesty." He held out his arm to walk her back to the party. "This business of my reputation, Sire, what do you suggest—"
"Don’t worry yourself over it, madam. It was bound to happen." He turned to look down at her and she could clearly see warmth in his dark eyes. "Didn’t I tell you you’d drive them to distraction with your fresh looks? And see, you have us all…"
For two days Alicia thought about her encounter with Charles, picking it over in her mind until she could think of it no longer. She sent a message on each day to the wharves asking Geoffrey to come to the house and see her, and each day Rodney returned to tell her that he simply couldn’t break away from his work.
Fear of discovery might have been foremost on her mind, but waking each morning to the sound of bells ringing out death in the city made her fears rise higher, until she thought she might go mad with fright. And this closer kinship with the king was a thing she simply couldn’t handle without a husband. She knew the time was here. And she dressed carefully for an outing.
She was lifted into her coach by a very reluctant Rodney. She had pleaded with him until he could do nothing but consent to take her to the wharf, a place that in the midst of plague would be considered the most dangerous part of town. But dangerous or not, that was where Geoffrey insisted he was needed, and he would not abandon his men or his ships for safer ground.
She saw from her coach that three of Geoffrey’s ships were being loaded with great fervor; this would not seem unusual, except that one of them was the Patrina. She had been told that Geoffrey would keep her in port as his base until all the work was done and the other ships he had purchased or leased were ready to sail.
With all the hurrying and running around, the coach could not get very close to the wharf. Rodney stopped and jumped down, immediately snapping open the door. Alicia made a move to disembark. "Nay, madam, I forbid it."
"But I know where to find him," she offered.
"I’ll not let you wander the planks with all the sickness about."
"I’ll be quick," she promised, trying to leave the coach.
"Wi
th all due respect, my lady, his lordship will defend me if I have to tie you to keep you off the dock. I’ll fetch him to you or take you home."
Alicia opened her mouth to protest and Rodney began to close the door. "Home it is," he said.
"No, Rodney, please..." she begged. "Please ask him to come to the coach. It is important."
A childlike and wistful look came over her face as she sat in her lonely vehicle, wondering what would pass between them this time. Would there be kindness, impatience, or anger? She could not predict his mood, but she feared this would be the last time she would see him.
Moments later the door bolted open and she looked into Geoffrey’s green eyes, which had tired lines surrounding them. Perspiration stained his linen shirt. She couldn’t remember ever having seen him look so frantic.
"For God’s sake, madam, what are you doing here?"
"It couldn’t wait, Geoffrey, and I didn’t know if you would ever come home. Please, a few moments."
"I honestly cannot allow the time, Charlotte," he said rather loudly. She flinched slightly at the sound of the name.
"I must insist. It is urgent."
"Quickly, then," he barked, still standing in the open door.
"Privately," she muttered, more than a little piqued at his attitude.
Geoffrey took a deep breath, irritated to be faced with her now. He climbed in and sighed loudly, restlessly, as he simultaneously noticed the color of her gown, the plunging neckline, the sparkle of her eyes, and her general tempting appearance. He wanted to grab her and pull her to him, giving himself a moment of passion to take with him, but the icy fingers of control held him in check. Later, he told himself. Just a little while longer…
"Madam, please, hurry. I’m leaving immediately."
"Leaving?"
"Aye. We are meeting the Dutch. War."
"War? she breathed. "My God, Geoffrey, I—"
"I have very little time!"
"This cannot wait for the war to be over, Geoffrey. Our situation becomes worse. I had dinner with the king just two nights past—he told me you received an invitation as well. Why did you not attend?"
"I don’t have time for this, madam."
"He asked me if you were aware that the talk is that I am an impostor."
She dropped her head and looked into her lap. If only he would reach out to her quickly, now, before his battle. She could not await a better time in hopes that something of love could be brewed between them.
There is always war. Or shipping. Or politics. There is always delay; something that would allow Lord Seavers to postpone dealing with his personal problems. Many things can wait; but she could not wait any longer.
"And what did you say, madam?"
"I told him I was certain you were unaware. I asked his advice and he seems, for the moment, completely unconcerned. But, Geoffrey, he made advances. He thinks I am lonely."
"It is not your loneliness that attracts him," Geoffrey said, his voice grating out the words as his eyes roved over her partially exposed bosom.
"The plague in the city is worse. There is talk that the gates will be closed and no one will be allowed to leave."
"It is only talk," he said heatedly.
"I am ready to leave," she said resolutely. "I have stayed here long enough."
"I cannot leave," he said between clenched teeth.
"You need not," she said simply. "But I must leave the city before plague strikes me down. There is too much danger here. And I prefer to be as far as possible from Lord Perry."
"I perceive he is no threat; he has no proof of what he prattles about."
"His word is more dangerous than you know. He has Charlotte Bellamy in his custody and he knows who I am."
"How is it I am never told—"
She shrugged. "There is no reason anyone would believe Perry over you," she started. "But I will not play these games any longer, my lord. Culver Perry knows who I am because he is the courtier who seduced me and robbed me of my virtue over a year ago."
Geoffrey’s eyes opened wide, shock etched into his features. He stared at her in wonder. He could not respond.
"I see no immediate danger, but I think it most unwise to court trouble. It is time that I leave London, and the plague is good reason to leave. Then there are choices…"
"Choices?" he questioned.
"It would not be unusual to begin your merchanting trade in another port, with this one still seeing much of you, and your king continuing to profit from your trade. Your family can reside elsewhere."
"What do you babble about, wench?" he snarled.
"Speak for me now, Geoffrey, or give me up. I can’t go on with this game any longer."
The shouting outside the coach gnawed at him that the battle with the Dutch would not wait for him. Within their private cubicle he was learning that a man he hated more than the devil himself had come before him with the woman he loved. And their life together, the interwoven mass of lies and confusion, he must speak for now.
"Perry," he growled. "I would have preferred you had slept with the king."
"What matter the name, Geoffrey. What he had he took. You have had more of me than any other. Do you cherish it? Will you claim me as your wife?"
He was speechless and his brow began to sweat.
"Geoffrey," she breathed. "Do not hate me for that, I pray. Your own sister loved him."
"Be glad he used you and left you. Had he been tied, he may have killed you to free himself."
Alicia looked away from his face, for the pain etched there caused her blood to run cold. "It is that possibility," she said quietly, speaking of Andrea’s untimely death, "that holds Lord Perry at bay. It is clear that Andrea had her fatal fall from a horse at the very moment Lord Perry was seeking a way to wed the Bellamy inheritance." She looked back at him. "He cannot speak as long as I play the part of Charlotte. His plan is thwarted by the foul implications of his game. There is no doubt, Geoffrey," she said, touching his hand and looking earnestly into his eyes. "There is no doubt: he killed Andrea."
"And Charlotte Bellamy? If he has her, what can he do with her now?"
Alicia shrugged. "I pity the girl, but she forfeited her father’s money and land for a chance with Lord Perry. She may in time betray him and confess who she is, but, poor thing, I doubt she would be believed."
Geoffrey looked at her, anger burning brightly in his eyes. He did not know if he loved or hated her; it wounded his pride to have shared her with Culver Perry. And to have had his hide saved by her finesse as an actress, appearing devoted and loyal. She was right. No lesser woman would be believed now. He was indebted to her, and not the other way around. She made the entire play work for him. But the pressure of loving her was killing him, for she was desired by many and he had not yet found the way to secure their future together. His words were angry when he found them. "I have you to thank for that, madam. You are very skilled at illusions."
She sat back slightly, hurt in her eyes. "At least there is no danger to you."
"No danger but that I am to be bound to thieves and liars all my life and caught tightly in their bonds. A fancy party, this: you, Perry..."
"I am not a thief and I lie at your command!"
"And very expertly."
"Will you leave London with me? Will you leave this place and make a place for your family?" she insisted.
"This is my home! This is where I will make my fortune!"
"And so you are determined? This play will end and so will we?"
"I see no alternative to that," he said, looking away from her. He did not want to be caught in this tight enclosure with her, and now, while his pride bled and jealousy threatened to erupt into rage, he did not want to face her, speak to her, or make any plans with her.
"No matter what you say, Geoffrey, I know that you have loved me. Will you throw that away now?"
"I did not know who I loved!"
"You loved Alicia," she whispered in taut aggravation.
"Whose Alicia?" he asked savagely. "Culver Perry’s or mine?"
Alicia straightened herself and looked at him through cool blue-gray eyes; eyes he recognized, but glistening with a new, firmer determination. He held silent as he faced a woman completely controlled and determined.
"Until someone speaks the binding words of love and devotion, Lord Seavers, I belong to no man. While I serve you with my acting and my lies, I am used by you as I was used by Lord Perry." She looked at him closely. "And when I gave you my love and you gave me yours, there was no bargain nor bond. Will there be now?"
The shouting on the wharf grew louder and the sound of running feet confused the already jumbled emotions Geoffrey struggled to untangle in his mind. Her distant eyes and her heaving breasts excited and terrified him.
"I will not be cornered. I will not be pressed. I have a war to attend."
"Speak your mind, if you know it."
He grabbed her by her arms, and his flashing green eyes glittered into hers. "Cease your demands! I will settle this score with you when I am ready. Now my country goes to war."
"There will always be war," she said gently. "What of our war?"
"I am not a child to be scolded and pressed. I will deal with you later."
He made a move to leave the coach, but she stopped him with her soft voice. "I will not stay here."
He jumped down and turned abruptly. "Go where you will," he said with a dismissing wave of his hand. "You have the time to worry with plagues and assignations and bonds of love; I do not! Those problems will have to come another time!"
And the door of the coach slammed in her face. She pulled back the curtain and watched him stomp away from her, his strides long and angry, his hand flying this way and that as he barked orders at people he passed. While he had dallied in the coach, the loading had been nearly completed, and a page held his surcoat for him to pull on.
A tear glistened on Alicia’s cheek as she watched him, his face red with anger and his mouth moving rapidly with shouting she could not hear. "Be safe, my lord," she sighed to the faraway, agitated figure of her love.
A trunk lay open at the foot of Alicia’s bed and two young maids worked at filling it with gowns and grooming articles. A smaller case sat on the bed and Alicia filled that herself with personal things, including the carefully guarded hundred pounds that she had coddled and protected since leaving the Ivy Vine. A knock at her door announced Rodney. She looked across the room at him, silent for a moment. She thought perhaps he read her sad expression and knew her mind.