Robyn Carr Restoration Box Set

by Robyn Carr

  “I will do my best to serve your interests, sire. You can be assured.”

  “Yes, you will. And I am assured. Do you know why?” Chad did not attempt a reply, for he knew Charles was intent on delivering a little speech without any assistance. “I am assured because if you do not serve my best interests you will be extremely sorry. Thus far we have been compatible because you’ve managed to better yourself and your king simultaneously. Otherwise...will be dealt with otherwise.”

  “Thank you, sire. I’ll heed your words.”

  “Do you have any idea why I trust you, Bryant?”

  “Because I have never betrayed you, sire?”

  “That is idle romance. When do you suppose the first betrayal comes, Bryant? The reason is this: already you have more than you want or need. You are an adventurer and warrior first. You’re hatefully inept at politics. You see, it’s your basic inadequacy that brings my trust.” Charles laughed heartily at his own wit. Chad smiled. How could one feel the sting of insult delivered so honestly and appropriately? Charles clamped a hand down on his shoulder and then walked away mumbling something Chad couldn’t hear.

  Charles failed to mention the other advantages Chad had. He had never been very affluent or influential and therefore never slandered before now. That was one way to measure a person’s importance at court. Only the most important were slandered. That Bryant was suddenly taken notice of and an attempt made to ruin his name would only bring skepticism to an already skeptical king. Charles was not a fool.

  Chelynne was talking to an older woman whom Chad had never met before. When he approached her she looked up at him and bestowed on him a soft, wifely smile. He fondly touched her shoulder. Then a familiar woman sauntered over to where Chad stood behind his wife’s chair and casually looped her arm through his. Chelynne’s eyes narrowed and she looked away, disregarding them both and giving her complete attention to the baroness to whom she spoke.

  “The countess seems out of sorts this eve, my lord,” Gwen remarked.

  “She’s had her problems,” Chad grunted, wishing with all his heart that Gwen would go away. Apparently all of his earlier warnings meant nothing to her, for once again she arranged herself close to him in a most familiar fashion. And again for the benefit of his wife and companions. “Have you anything to tell me?”

  “He’s not yet returned to London,” she stalled. “Black does her coloring ill,” she observed of Chelynne.

  “She wears it respectfully, my lady,” he returned. “And luckily is not bound to it for life.” Gwen felt the gibe. It was painfully clear to her that until she could procure for herself another husband she would be bound to her mourning gowns.

  “She wears it for her uncle, then,” Gwen said saucily. “I thought she mourned another.”

  Chad’s face darkened considerably. “You’ve a mighty poor way of showing your friendship, Gwen. I thought you wished nothing but goodwill between us.”

  “Of a certain, my lord. I offer you my sympathy, that is all.” She turned her seductive green eyes up to him and said softly, “I know the pain of losing someone you love to another.”

  “Truly? Then I offer my sympathy to you, madam. I do not.”

  Gwen stammered as if she would argue the point, accuse Chelynne rather loudly of taking a lover in the form of Chad’s own friend. In her confusion she could say nothing. Before she untangled her tongue for a quick response she was aware of a very important presence and held silent.

  “You’re looking lovely this evening, madam,” Charles said, addressing Chelynne with a most personal smile. Chelynne dazzled him with one of her own; warm, sincere and lovely. One that had not been bestowed on Chad for some time. The earl felt a quick twinge of jealousy and as quickly ignored it, telling himself it mattered as little as anything.

  “I’m honored that you would even notice me, sire,” Chelynne replied.

  “Notice you? Would I notice a rose garden in full bloom at Christmastide?” He laughed lightly and took her hand, helping her to rise and stroll with him across the room. All around them heads went together, whispering ensued, judgments were passed. They chatted at a distance from eager ears, he laughing at some comment she made and she smiling at his amusement.

  “You’re lacking in attention tonight, madam,” the king said.

  “Think you so? I would say I’ve the most influential attention in the room.”

  “You flatter me,” he said with a bow.

  “You seem to have problems of your own,” she commented, indicating the pouting Louise with her eyes. “She appears a trifle sullen.”

  He raised a brow and smiled. “A common affliction among beautiful women. Sulking. They keep forgetting it gains them nothing.”

  “She’ll adjust, given time.”

  “Time is about all I have to give,” he laughed. It was well known that the king’s financial affairs were in a continuously horrid state.

  “The pity is the ennui you shall both suffer from her pout,” Chelynne dared. “Perhaps you can liven her spirits.”

  “I leave women to their broken hearts. Most often they are conjured up for the purpose of having their spirits expensively livened.” He laughed at himself and she joined him. Then she made her greatest attempt, acting so well that Charles was unaware of her fluttering heart and damp hands.

  “So, you’ve no plans?”

  He raised a quizzical brow. “Methinks you lead me on, madam.”

  “Never that, sire,” she said, batting her lashes as coquettishly as she could.

  “You’ve been quite halted in your own diversion, it would seem.”

  Guessing he spoke of the duel, she looked away for a moment. It still upset her greatly to think of it. But following through as she planned, she smiled into his amused black eyes and replied, “I think not.”

  “What shall you do?”

  “Keep my company to those who would go unchallenged.”

  “Have you the means?”

  “When I set my mind to it.”

  “Tonight?”

  “It would be no problem. Though late, I fear.”

  “The back stairs. Chiffinch will guide you.” He laughed easily, delighted with himself and her. He had long admired her loveliness, desired her. He cast a glance to her husband, still standing with Lady Graystone. He shrugged. “I hadn’t thought to put horns on Bryant,” he murmured. “But any man with so lovely a wife must better learn to protect his interests.”

  “My thoughts exactly, sire,” she returned, but there was no humor in her voice. She was gravely serious.

  There were puppets and acrobats, dancing and gambling. Then came the favorite diversion, when the party began to dissipate and all the elite personages began rushing off to their different assignations. The countess of Bryant had always retired to her home at this time of the evening, but tonight she had an appointment—and her appointment was with the king.

  Chelynne went home with her husband. They parted at the top of the stairs and each went off into private quarters. She was feeling shameful about this deception, however sure she was she must go through with it. She let the feeling of guilt swell within her, and then it vanished quickly when she heard his bedroom door close. She opened her door just a crack to see what she expected to see. He was leaving the house.

  Her women were dismissed. She did not wish to be aided in disrobing and wished no company in her bedding. She wanted to be alone and not to see a servant’s face before dawn. Stella was hurt. It showed in the old eyes and Chelynne touched her arm, halting her departure.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’ve been a burden to you.”

  “I worry with your manner,” Stella confessed, troubled.

  “Stella...” she started, unsure. “Stella, you were closer than any to my mother. Did she...was she...was there ever anyone else for her? Other than my father?”

  “My lady Madelynne? Lord, mum, she was the finest, sweetest...”

  Stella went on but Chelynne did not hear. Th
is was all routine. This praising of Madelynne would never alter or change, not even if Chelynne were desperate. Even if Stella knew more she would not divulge it.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” Stella asked with genuine concern.

  “It would break your heart,” she mumbled.

  “What, mum?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, dear.” Chelynne braved a smile. “But that I’m tired and sore and need my bed. And some time alone. You go on now, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  So she wasn’t allowed to leave the house? There was no command more influential than a few coins. These, placed in the hand of the steward, opened the door quite easily. Gordon, disapprovingly, drove the coach. This time, however, she was well guarded and supposedly secret. She sought out trustworthy footmen who would not speak loosely of her outing and they obliged her to the tune of twenty pounds. She entered Whitehall this night through a door she had never used before. She was greeted almost instantly by Chiffinch. He did not speak to her but simply handed her a candle to light herself up.

  What a long way she had come, she thought wearily as she climbed the dark stair. From a careless youth whose greatest problem was what time to ride, to this: conspiring and spying, fighting off bandits with her own force of arms and meeting the king for what he thought would be an entertaining toss with a new mistress. She was at a loss. She wished now that she had paid closer attention to the women who boasted infidelities similar to this.

  She found herself in a small anteroom adjacent to the king’s apartments. She was alone. There was no sound, no voices coming from any side of her. She tried a door and walked through a gallery to yet another door. She found herself eventually in the king’s bedchamber, again alone. She stood in wonder for a moment and then Charles startled her by speaking.

  “There you are. I would have come for you.”

  For lack of an alternative she fell into a deep curtsy and thought at once how foolish she must look. She had come to go to bed with the king and here she was acting as though she were being presented at court. As she raised herself she saw the mirror of her thoughts in his eyes. Gad, how stupid.

  “I fear I risk punishment in coming to you in this way, sire,” she said softly.

  “The earl?” He shrugged. “Perhaps you should have given it more consideration before making your decision.”

  He did not seem very disturbed and she knew it would be best to state her business quickly. He sat on the edge of the bed and began to peel an orange. He was naked of all adornments and wore only shirt and breeches, no shoes or burdensome robes to hamper a quick undressing.

  “The anger may be yours, sire.”

  “I doubt that, dear. Do you fear displeasing the king?”

  She gulped hard. “If you would be so kind, there’s a matter on which I seek counsel.”

  He laughed richly. “You needn’t have gone to such lengths, madam. You would certainly have been granted an audience.”

  Drawing one step closer she tried again. “I thought to see you privately, not in the company of your ministers.”

  “I seldom have a private moment,” he advised her. “And I seldom enjoy a woman freely.” Again came the laughter and head-shaking as if in amused exasperation. Then looking at her and raising a quizzical brow he said in a low seductive voice, “Most wait until I’m in a more pliable position, but go ahead.”

  She flushed scarlet, momentarily unable to speak.

  “Well, madam, let’s have done with the baiting and get on to more enjoyable matters.” He stood and began to undo the buttons on his shirt.

  “Might I beg your discretion, sire?”

  “You’d have more chance getting that than anything else,” he laughed, finding the last button and shedding the shirt.

  “It’s about my mother, sire,” she said quickly. “I had the chance to come upon a letter she had written while she was round with me and near her lying-in. She—” Chelynne stopped and stared as he pulled off one stocking. Her voice went on at an urgent pace. “She indicated strongly that I was not my father’s own and that—” Off came the other stocking and he stood. “That the man from whose loins I did come would not be challenged by my legal—” His hands were on the fastenings that held up his breeches, and in equal parts fear and surprise she shouted, “Will you stop that?”

  Charles did stop. At once. He stared at her in wonder. That she would scream at him, this mild-mannered flower. “Oh, dear God,” she groaned. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. Please...”

  “A letter, you say?”

  “A letter,” she murmured. “Sire, it’s possible that I am your own.”

  “Christ,” he muttered, sitting hard upon the bed. He grabbed up his shirt, shrugging immediately into it.

  “Do you remember, sire?” she asked timidly.

  “What would it matter,” he said angrily, waving his arm at her. “You’ve a name right enough. You’ve a marriage of quality. Can you ever be harmed above a little gossip?”

  She hung her head, ashamed now at having thrown this up to him as she had. “I couldn’t live with the uncertainty, sire. That is all.”

  “I’m curious. What is it you want?”

  Her head shot up and she smiled at him. She did love him, that had been decided long ago. From the first time she met him she had found him soothing to be near, chivalrous and gentle. She had never been afraid of him; self-conscious and nervous in his presence, but never afraid. “Good Lord, sire! How could I want for anything you could give me? I declare the earl is rich enough. I’ll warrant he’s richer than—” She stopped and covered her mouth. But Charles laughed.

  “I warrant he’s got twice my wealth. He’s scattered it well enough.”

  “I’ve never known my parents, sire. They’ve been dead a long time.”

  “I remember them. I seldom forget anything of any importance.”

  “And you remember her?” she asked, holding her breath in anticipation.

  “I do.”

  “And...”

  “And...” He took a deep breath and looked at her. “I cannot deny the possibility.”

  She digested that, slowly and with her eyes closed. She had been prepared for that answer and still it struck her hard. Finally she murmured her thanks.

  “Things are not often as they seem, madam. There could have been ten others you’ve never heard of.” Her eyes shot up to where he stood and she burned with sudden anger though she dared not show it. “I’m afraid the real truth is buried with your mother. I won’t give you airs where there are none. A great many women have passed where your mother did. And I am not the lone rake in all Christendom, my dear. Mistresses of mine have had their own indiscretions, thinking I’ve never been wiser. The only reason they carry on is certainly because I’ve never been the knave to chastise them.” And then he muttered, “And because I seldom give a blessed damn.”

  “And would you know of any other possibility?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  He moved nearer and looked into her pretty brown eyes. For a moment he was struck by her beauty and a resemblance. In the eyes, the fine arch of her brow, she resembled a daughter of his by Barbara Palmer. “No, darling, I know of none other. But you must be aware of the possibility. And you must tell me what you hope to gain.”

  “Nothing but the truth, sire. It would suit me best to have a secret.”

  “There are no secrets here,” he informed her. “What they do not know they will guess. Whatever my intentions were, they have changed because of this development.”

  “Probability,” she corrected him.

  “What they do not guess they will invent. All will think we’ve shared a bed.” He fastened the last button on his shirt and grumbled. “Secrets fascinate me...because they are so rare.”

  She shrugged. “It’s of no matter to me, whatever is said.”

  “Women are the greatest lovers of a slander. I hope it does not burn you badly.”

  “Not I,” she said simply.


  “As I remember, she was much as you are now. Small and slender, lovely. A quiet woman.” He laughed and added, “Now that is rare. She was discreet and modest. I was hardly aware of her, though I was guilty even then of picking out a lovely woman and admiring her openly. I did the same when you first arrived at court.” He laughed again, looking her over roguishly. “This is a new twist, however.” Chelynne’s eyes widened somewhat but he quickly shook his head. “My sins are many but I am not guilty of that horror. Thank God, that won’t be among my many counts on the Judgment.”

  She smiled her relief. “Thank you, sire. You’ve been most patient.”

  “Do you know the wrath of a king who’s been played for a fool?”

  “I’ve no cause to worry over that, sire.”

  “And what of Bryant? What will you tell him?”

  “I won’t tell him. Neither will he ask.”

  “Oh, I think he will at least ask. I understand him to be a jealous man.”

  “If that is true, of what I couldn’t say. I’ve—” She stopped, not wishing to divulge too much personal information. Whatever their problem, she didn’t want to make things more difficult for either of them than they already were. “He won’t be interested, Your Majesty.”

  “I would have thought he was in love with you.”

  “I promise you, this once you were wrong.”

  “That, madam, is not new. This, I think, is best left alone from now. Do you agree?”

  She smiled warmly. “My wishes as well.”

  Charles continued to study her. She had been at Whitehall long enough now to know that he never forgot one of his own. She was fresh and lovely and he felt, strangely, a fatherly pride. But that was perhaps the strangest thing about Charles. He was never too mortified to accept one of his own children, claim them through subtle acknowledgment, shower his attentions on them. He loved children, his own doubly so.

  “You’re fortunate, I think, that your mother never insisted you were mine. There’s nothing pretty about an acknowledged bastard, however I take care of them.”