Chapter Seventeen
Trensom and Matilda waited for them in one of the courtyards of the palazzo. This was a great, rambling place and they had not arrived at the main entrance, but a smaller yard at the side of the place. It was, in fact, several establishments rolled into one, so the place was as rambling as St. James’s Palace in London, if not so imposing. St. James’s represented a great nation. This place represented nothing but itself.
They left their carriages in the charge of the grooms, but Adam took the footmen he’d brought with him, signaling them to join him. Now in public, Adam offered the support of his arm in a formal way. He crooked it and held it out. Delphi put her hand on the stiff, royal blue brocade, sensing the silky softness beneath the elaborate surface, and the crisp buckram beneath. Like Adam himself, it had an intrinsic strength. And like Adam, it was beautiful.
She would rightly apply the word handsome to him, but he had an entirely masculine grace and beauty. Tall, athletically lean, with a long, expressive face, and his natural hair held back by a black velvet ribbon, she could not imagine anyone more handsome than her betrothed.
He was dressed magnificently, too. She was glad she’d taken the time to refine her dress.
The way he cared for her, tended to her, made her feel precious, but that might be because of the danger he felt she was in. Delphi still had difficulty understanding that. Why would anyone want to kill her? Even the Duchess of Beauchamp did not want to do that. Only to humiliate her and make her feel she would be better dead.
A flunky dressed in royal livery, his nose up, his back ramrod straight met them and led them away. He took them along a small but elegant corridor to a pair of double doors. “This is the chapel that the Church of England clergymen usually use,” the man informed them. “His majesty wishes you well in your union.” He had a strong Italian accent, but he did speak in English.
After one smile and a lingering look, Adam went inside to take his place at the altar.
Matilda pressed a small nosegay of flowers into Delphi’s hand. “I wish you all the happiness I have found with my dear Harry,” she said.
Her dear Harry put his hands on Delphi’s shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. “He cares for you very much,” he told her. “He will do his best to make you happy. I’m sure of it, otherwise we would have found another way.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
And she was. This outcome was what she had dreamed of at home in England, and what had haunted her dreams, although she had determinedly shut them out. Now that she had arrived at her ultimate destination, she had only one regret. “I wish Gerald and my sisters could be here.”
“I know, dear,” Matilda said, patting her hand. “We will write to them as soon as we return to the house. I know they’ll be happy for you.” She paused, smiling. “I don’t think this outcome will be a surprise to them.”
“We missed Dorcas’ wedding. Perhaps we should have a mutual celebration one day.”
Matilda smiled. “What a lovely idea. We will do that for sure and certain.”
At that moment, the flunky reappeared, and murmured, “They are ready for you now.”
The chapel was small but elegant, appointed without the multitude of saints and crucifixes that decorated Catholic chapels. A simple silver cross adorned the altar, and a celebrant waited there, arrayed in the vestments she was used to seeing at home. His green chasuble sent a pang of homesickness through her. She had become used to such reminders, and usually dismissed the feeling of sadness that she was so far away from home. Even though she had dreamed of visiting Rome most of her life, it was not her home, and never could be so.
The scent of furniture polish and fresh flowers, mingled with the incense used in the Eucharist perfumed the air. Delphi would never forget those scents, or cease to associate them with this place and this ceremony.
Adam waited for her. He did not turn until Trensom had led her up the aisle and then he did, and dropped her a quick wink. Outrageous to do this here, but that was Adam all over. And she would have it no other way.
The clergyman, a man who looked to be barely older than Adam, smiled, opened his book of Common Prayer, and commenced the service.
Since the reverend dispensed with any sermon or hymns, the marriage was quick, although heartfelt. Delphi meant every one of the promises contained in the marriage oath. She said them directly to Adam, trying to make him understand that no matter what, she would stand by him. He would not bring his title into disrepute, as she knew he feared. Whatever he did, it would be right.
He obediently recited the service after the vicar, but his face remained impassive. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking and, apart from that wink, he could have been the haughty duke she’d first met.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Now there was only the book to sign. Adam tucked the prosaic-looking license into his pocket and, the ceremony over, smiled warmly at Trensom and Matilda. “Thank you for being here.” They had acted as witnesses. Nobody else was present.
Delphi missed her family, especially at this moment.
Adam was her family now.
“Come, Wife,” he said softly. “Let’s start our new life in a positive way.”
“We’d love you to come to dinner,” Matilda said, “but we understand if you feel you cannot.”
Very tactful. “We would love to,” Adam said. “Unless my wife wishes to rest.”
That was the second time he’d used the word and she hadn’t said “husband” once. She could hardly articulate the word. Was it true?
“You are redeemed in the eyes of society,” Adam said gravely, “but what you do now is up to you. I will keep the promise I made you when I asked you to marry me. If you still wish it.”
After thanking the cleric and giving him a consideration for his services, the four of them turned to leave the Palazzo del Re.
But before they had taken more than half a dozen steps, the sound of someone running came from behind them. Naturally, they turned to see who was approaching at such speed. Both Trensom and Adam took a step back, and laid their hands on their weapons. But they had no swords. They were told not to wear them in the palazzo. Rather than leave them at the door to be pilfered by anyone passing who had a fancy for them, they’d left them at home.
But the person approaching in haste held no threat for them. Not a physical one, anyway. A man in the scarlet and blue livery of the Stuart royal house, and also, incidentally, used by the Hanoverians, approached them. He almost forgot to bow.
Then he said “your grace” four times, bowing to each one of them. Matilda’s jaw set in the way that meant she was trying not to laugh. Delphi clamped her lips tightly together. The two dukes did not seem to have a problem with the address.
“My master, his majesty, would greatly appreciate a word with you before you leave. He wishes to congratulate you on your union.”
“Both of us?” Adam asked.
The footman nodded, then bowed. His chest heaved under the elaborate waistcoat, and his wig had slid slightly to one side, giving him an oddly asymmetrical look. Delphi dared not meet Matilda’s eyes, much less Adam’s. She stared at a spot above the footman’s head. “If you please, your graces.”
Now why had he not used that sensible solution in the first place?
Trensom moved close to Adam. “Now, we may discover if he is involved.”
A royal request, even from a deposed royal, amounted to a command. They duly followed the man who led them towards the part of the house that The Old Pretender occupied. And the presence chamber.
This place was fitted out as a royal residence, for sure, with the waiting rooms, presence chamber and privy chamber customary in a royal palace. Here, petitions might be presented, but the occupant had no power to fulfill them. Courtiers there were aplenty, some of which Delphi recognized as members of London society.
The majority of people present were young men, scions of the great houses of Britai
n. Not because they wanted to change sides and swear fealty to the king in Rome, but because they were on the Grand Tour. This was part of the entertainment.
This part of the palazzo was lavishly appointed with furniture and paintings worthy of a king. Gifts, and the influence of The Old Pretender’s second son, Cardinal Henry Stuart, had brought these here. The papal state used the Stuarts as levers and irritants. As such, they would be well worth a few trinkets.
The king sat on a throne, or one that resembled a throne closely enough to be taken for one. Scarlet velvet cushions adorned the carved and gilded wood, and on it sat The Old Pretender, as grand as any real monarch. He rested his elbow on one arm of the chair, and his cheek on the back of his hand, a negligent yet elegant pose.
At least she did not have to go first. Trensom’s English dukedom and the age of his title meant he must have that honor. He approached the throne, holding Matilda’s hand, held high in a formal gesture. And also because that way he could signal to her what she should do.
If they bowed a tiny bit too low, people would accuse him of treason, pledging loyalty to a deposed monarch, so they conducted their obeisance with precision. They rose without being asked, and faced Stuart without avoiding the direct confrontation. Face to face, eye to eye.
“Your grace,” Stuart said. “We are pleased that you finally made time to see us. You are the attaché from the court of St. James, after all.”
“Yes, sir, I am,” Trensom said gravely. “Thank you for lending your facilities today. We are most grateful.”
He moved aside so that Adam could lead Delphi to the throne. Now that she’d seen Matilda do it, she followed, aping Matilda’s curtsey as well as she could. She rose as they did, without being bidden to do so.
“You have chosen a charming bride,” Stuart remarked to Adam.
“I thought so, sir.”
He nodded. “We would offer you refreshment. Follow us.”
With the abruptness for which he was known, the man pushed himself up and turned, heading for a door to his right. He did not move as fluidly as he tried to. Delphi suspected arthritis was the cause. Stuart wasn’t getting any younger. Delphi did a quick calculation. He must be about seventy. His features certainly reflected his age, graven so deeply as if a child had taken a blunt pen and grooved the living flesh.
She glanced at Adam who gave her a brief nod. She followed The Old Pretender, walking before her husband. Pausing, she repeated the word in her mind, to see if she had accustomed herself to it yet. Husband. No, it didn’t sound right yet.
A short passage led to what she imagined was the king’s drawing room. Sizeable, but not overlarge, furnished elegantly in an elaborate, heavily gilded way, it held several chairs and sofas, carefully arranged around a larger one. Not quite ranked like pews at church, but centered on the one chair. A long table was pushed against one wall, holding papers. A pietra dura cabinet, each drawer and cupboard decorated with a different flower done in hardstone had its twin on the other side of the door.
Delphi forced her face to remain calm.
Two courtiers came in with them, and since Trensom and Matilda had followed, the room filled quite considerably. Delphi felt safer with her friends here, but she feared what the man was about to say.
They all stood until Stuart had taken his seat and indicated they should also sit with a gracious wave. A gesture to one of the attendants had the man offering refreshments. Delphi took a glass of wine, which she found rich and strong. She was grateful for it.
“I must congratulate you, your grace, on your marriage. I have not met the Earl of Carbrooke before, but to have triplet sisters must have set society on its ear.” He gave a one-sided grin. “Had I been blessed in such a way, some of my troubles might be over.”
The royal “we” had disappeared. If he’d used it in private, Delphi would have considered him unbearably pompous. As it was, she didn’t yet know what to think.
Once the niceties were observed, The Old Pretender leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair and held out his hand. One of his assistants placed a sheet of paper or parchment in it. He did not look at the man, who stepped back and stood beside the chair, and he placed the paper on the table beside him.
“The rest of you may leave.”
They waited until the room cleared.
“Do you still have the brooch?” Stuart asked Adam.
Her husband responded as if the question weren’t a surprise to him. “No, sir. I restored it to its owner. You saw him,” Adam added.
Stuart nodded. “Briefly.”
His long, lined face bore the sorrows of years. Before she had first seen him back in May, James Stuart, who might have been King James the Third, had been a distant ogre, a man who had caused unnecessary deaths.
While that was true, Delphi also saw a man. One who had faced defeat after defeat, and fought for his version of justice.
Only now did this man’s sad history become real to her. Seeing it right in front of her, seeing all that suffering and toil. Her heart went out to him. But that would not change her mind.
“He came to me with the seeds of a plan.” Stuart turned his wrist, indicating that Adam should continue.
The demand put Adam in a very difficult position. Should he say more about Frederick and his intentions? He could not. It could mean Frederick’s death. What if James Stuart had instigated the plan, was even now testing Adam?
“He did?” Adam asked. “Then is he in Rome?”
Ah, that was clever, turning a query with another.
“I know not, nor do I wish to. If I knew, I might have to divulge his whereabouts to someone else.” He sent a pointed glance at Harry. “I believe he wished me to help him.”
That was tricky. Did Stuart know who Frederick truly worked for? Or did he believe in the conspiracy and Frederick’s purported part in it? Was he even more closely involved?
Wisely, everyone kept silent, waiting for the would-be monarch to explain himself.
Stuart heaved a great sigh. “One must be vigilant in this wicked world. I know of the conspiracy to murder the king in London.”
Delphi sat very, very still.
The Old Pretender turned his attention towards Harry once more. “Understand, this is not of my making, nor is it of my desire. I would not have allowed the attaché of the court in London to come here if I had meant harm to them.”
He paused, scanning his guests, his dark gaze perceptive. “In truth, I cannot condone any plot that would end in the death of a king. George might be a usurper in Britain, but he is still a king, and my distant cousin. He is Elector of Hanover. I had thought he would return to his kingdom before now, but he has persisted. I understand his health is frail.”
He heaved a deep sigh, and the attendant by his side pressed a lace-edged handkerchief into his palm. “Ah, well, it comes to us all, does it not? Ill-health is a mark of old age, after all, and we have both lived a long time. We have heirs, his more numerous than mine. They, too, are royalty. If I condoned the death of a king, that would make me as much a regicide as the man who cut off my grandfather’s head.”
“I see.” And Adam did, she was sure.
What the man had said rang true. Anyone who believed in the Divine Right of Kings would have an exaggerated opinion of the sacredness of royalty. Any royalty.
Trensom spoke, although he should not, until he was spoken to. Delphi could hear Trensom’s derisive laugh in her mind, the one he used when he didn’t believe in something, or doubted its veracity. “So, sir, may we expect help from you in tracking down the perpetrators?”
Stuart regarded him for a full ten seconds before he answered. Delphi counted them. “If I can.”
“I am acting in this matter on behalf of His Majesty’s Government. If I need to take steps you might find unpleasant, believe me I will not balk from doing so.”
Stuart nodded. “I would expect nothing different. If you were working for me, I would keep you close. I know little, but I gave the pers
on I saw the same assurance.”
“My brother is involved despite his wishes to remain away from this business,” Adam said.
“As a gentleman would,” Stuart murmured.
Trensom was more direct. “If we do not discover who is behind this conspiracy, it remains dangerous. It’s insane, we know that. You will forgive me, but even if this disaster came to pass, it is doubtful whether you would be invited back.”
“I do not always go where I am invited. The throne is mine by right, not by invitation.”
And that, in a nutshell, was why James Francis Stuart would never be king. If she had not heard that blind statement, Delphi wouldn’t have believed it from such an obviously intelligent man. He would not bend.
“Besides,” Trensom went on, as if he hadn’t heard the intervention, “we wish this matter closed. Emphatically.”
“Indeed,” The Old Pretender said. Delphi refused to call him king. The word that came to others’ lips so easily would never pass hers in respect to this man. He was the descendant of kings, the son of a king, no doubt about that, but he would never reign on any throne.
However, she reminded herself, he could prove useful in this problem. They would be foolish to ignore it.
Unspoken remained the knowledge that there would soon be a new king on the throne. King George was frail, and not expected to live much longer. His grandson waited his turn. But in the interim, the interregnum, that was when trouble could be fomented. A fragile time, although brief. A person—or people—could take advantage of the confusion created by unexpected death.
“I, too, wish for the matter to be closed,” said the would-be king. “I am old and weary, and so is my cousin.” King George, he meant. “The world is changing.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his chair, no longer the weary old man he’d described, but a man with intelligence sparkling in his dark eyes. “War is coming. We need distractions cleared up first.”
Everybody knew war was brewing. Every day, Pitt ranted in the House of Commons about it.
A Whisper of Treason Page 19