Realm 07 - A Touch of Honor

by Regina Jeffers

  Satiné demanded urgently, “Then I shall attend alone.”

  “I think not,” he said with a tone of infused calm. He knew when he had entered her room their confrontation would rest on this sticking point. “Only yesterday you were in a fit of nerves because of the pain you endured, and now you think to join in a robust celebration. Satiné, you must see such extremes as more than foolhardy immaturity. It is perilous–not only would you provide Jamot the opportunity to reach you, but also you would be skirting the danger inherent in your recent health issues. I mean to protect you at all costs and without your permission.”

  “I do not require your safeguarding!” She spit the words contemptuously in his face.

  John stood slowly, wiping her spittle from his cheek. “That is your opinion, Lady Swenton, but I hold another. I have permitted you too much freedom; instead of dancing the evening away, we will make our preparations for our journey. Tomorrow, we will depart for your new home, where we will reside until I say otherwise.”

  *

  “Do you truly mean to remain at Swenton Hall this evening?”

  John looked up from the ledgers over which he mulled to meet the steady gaze of his wife’s companion. His mind was on everything but the numbers on the page. He had offered to share his study rather than a drawing room with Miss Neville after their quiet supper. His wife had refused to join them, and to expedite his household’s early departure, he had set himself the task of balancing the ledgers. Unsurprisingly, John had enjoyed their time together; even without conversation, he and Miss Neville communicated. “What would you have me do?” Throughout their meal and before his servants, she had diplomatically avoided the topic.

  “In truth, I do not know what would serve you best,” she reasoned. “However, it does not appear prudent to ignore an unspoken directive from England’s future king simply to spite your wife.”

  John said honestly, “I would be content to spend the remainder of my life in this room with you as my companion.”

  Miss Neville protested, “My Lord, you should not speak so. You are a married man; Lady Swenton is your chosen companion.”

  John returned his pen to its cradle. “The prospects of joining Lady Swenton and the ton holds no attraction for me. I am a plain man. I am not one who speaks with double entendres, nor am I known for false flattery. I speak the truth, and the truth says without your loyalties, I would not have survived these past few weeks.”

  A look of grim disapproval crossed the lady’s lips, but John did not worry for her sensibilities. He would see Satiné well, no matter how long it took, and then he would find a means to leave his wife behind. Of late, he thought he might enjoy Miss Neville as his future baroness. He had considered the lady’s ability to withstand the scandal, which would follow his disastrous first marriage and named it, admirable. “I am flattered by your approbation, Lord Swenton, but do not place your aversions upon my shoulders.”

  John glanced to the open ledger. “I have business to complete,” he protested.

  “You have a three-days’ journey, my Lord. More than enough time to read through your business receipts.”

  John smiled teasingly. “Do not shame me as to action without a care. Am I not permitted my own moments of self-absorption? God only knows my baroness has practiced more than her share.”

  Miss Neville stood slowly and approached his desk with equal caution. Leaning across the width, she took his measure several times before saying, “You shall think me quite provincial when I admit I have a feeling tonight is the answer to all your questions. Something monumental awaits you.”

  Impatiently, John brushed her prediction aside. He was not a man who enjoyed “monumental” happenings. If he had his choice, he would never leave his estate again. “I would prefer the simple joy of staring into the honey umber of your eyes.”

  The lady’s frown lines met. “You never before taunted me with such tomfoolery,” she chastised. “Do not think I would not walk away from my position, my Lord. I have told you previously, I shall never entertain the idea of an intimacy beyond our employment relationship. I wish you only the best of life, but I cannot replace the baroness in your life.”

  John silently denied Miss Neville’s assertion, but he dutifully said, “I meant only to distract myself from yet another crisis. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable, but know I do treasure your honesty. You are my voice of reason in a world of chaos.” He retrieved his brandy glass as the lady returned to her seat. “So tell me, does your female intuition believe this monumental event will change my life for good or evil?”

  Tenderness flooded his senses as he watched a gamut of emotions cross Miss Neville’s countenance. “I pray it is not more evil, Lord Swenton, but I am not a clairvoyant. I just know my inner voice says you must attend the Duchess of Falkenberry’s ball this evening.”

  *

  John glanced about the ballroom and stifled his groan of disapproval. His wife had been thrilled he had changed his mind, but even so, she could barely walk. “You will remain by my side,” he had cautioned. “You are too weak to dance this evening.” He supposed she had found another source of laudanum. The two bottles he had removed from her quarters were still safely secured in his wall safe; however, his wife’s eyes were bleary and her hands trembled from either a lack of the medicinal or too much of it. John no longer knew which ruled his baroness’s actions.

  “As you wish, my Lord.” She sagged against him, and John had found a quiet corner where he could observe the proceedings and where he and Satiné might sit close together. He certainly did not like being among the faster set. Lord Morse and several of the bolder gentlemen sent suggestive glances in Lady Swenton’s direction, but John managed to turn their intentions with deadly glares. He was just about to call their appearance an early evening when he looked up to see the approach of his former “captain,” James Kerrington, Viscount Worthing, and the man’s wife Lady Eleanor.

  “I thought that was you,” Kerrington said jovially.

  John rose cautiously, a hand on Satiné’s shoulder for support. With the exchange of bows, he said, “I had forgotten Pennington mentioned your present connection to Prince George. Congratulations on your new position, Sir.”

  Kerrington frowned. “Nothing is set in bricks. Ella and I thought we would make the decision after we determined how much time we must spend away from Linton Park. I find I am quite content with domesticity.”

  Lady Eleanor said softly. “Good evening, Cousin.” She directed her comments to Satiné. In the midst of his misery, John had overlooked the obvious connection.

  “I fear my baroness is not well this evening,” he said in explanation. “We only made an appearance because Prince Vinzens expressed a desire to have my wife’s acquaintance.”

  Lady Eleanor moved to sit in the chair John had vacated. He and Kerrington watched as Lady Worthing attempted to engage an incoherent Satiné in conversation. Kerrington whispered, “I heard of your argument with Pennington, but I never realized how much you have suffered. Why did you not come to me, or, at least, turn to one of us, John? We remain your brothers in arms.”

  “I require no one’s assistance,” he said defiantly. “And Pennington proved my worth when he accused me of betraying my Realm brothers.”

  “You know how Pennington’s mind works. He examines all possibilities without an emotional attachment. I cannot tell you how angry I was when I discovered he held knowledge of the abuse Ella suffered at her father’s hand; yet, I could not dwell upon the slight for I realized it would crush our “Shepherd’s” ego to discover he had misjudged one of his prized men.”

  John shook his head in denial. “It is of no import. I have served on my last mission. Now, if you will pardon me, I mean to escort Lady Swenton home.” He bent to assist Satiné to her feet, but from behind him a clatter of poorly hushed whispers and the silencing of the orchestra announced Prince George had arrived. John instinctively braced Satiné into a curtsy, his head bent to the oncomin
g entourage. “Your Highness,” he murmured as Kerrington joined John in reverence.

  “See, Vinzens, I told you Baron Swenton would never miss such a spectacular event,” Prinny declared. John straightened to look upon his country’s future monarch and their hostess, the Duchess of Falkenberry. Over Prince George’s right shoulder was the familiar countenance of Auersperg.

  John nodded an acknowledgement. “It is truly a grand celebration, Your Highness. My sincere compliments, Duchess,” he said dutifully.

  “Vinzens tells me you have taken a wife, Swenton. In Vienna.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” John tightened his hold on Satiné. “May I present Lady Swenton, the daughter of Viscount Averette and niece to Baron Ashton?” He nudged Satiné to respond and realized Lady Eleanor stood upon his baroness’s left, one hand on her cousin’s elbow. With the viscountess’s assistance, he led his wife through a proper curtsy.

  Lady Eleanor added quickly when Satiné wobbled. “Lady Swenton is my cousin, Your Highness, as well as the sister to the Duchess of Thornhill and the Countess of Berwick.” John was glad for the distraction for it provided Satiné a moment to clear her vision and to concentrate on the royal party.

  “I am honored by your notice, Your Highness,” she murmured.

  “Your wife is of a milder temperament than her sisters,” Prinny declared.

  John knew differently, but he did not argue with Prince George. “I am certain Lady Swenton is simply anxious for our journey to York on the morrow. It will be my lady’s first view of her new home, Your Highness.”

  Prinny gestured with a multi-ringed hand. “I must journey soon to York for the hunting season,” the prince said majestically.

  “My home is yours, Your Highness.” John did not mean the words and neither did the prince. It was a game of amiability, one which John had been slow to learn.

  Distracted by two ladies, Prinny moved on, and John breathed easier. Vinzens tarried, however. “You appear tired, Swenton,” his friend said quietly. “I prayed your return to England would bring you peace. You had such high hopes when last I saw you.”

  John released Satiné into Lady Eleanor’s tender care. “My wife is ill,” he explained lamely. “Lady Swenton made the attempt at geniality because she knew it important not to displease Prince George.” He gestured to where Kerrington hovered over their wives. “I know on this journey, you meant to carry on our talks, but my duty lies with my wife. However, you may trust Lord Worthing in your negotiations. I served under him for some six years, and I have never known him to act dishonestly.”

  Vinzens nodded his understanding. “I have more pressing matters; there is something of import you should know. I discovered after your departure that a major riff existed between Lady Fiona and your bride. Word has it, they argued over a man, and your mother banished Miss Aldridge from her sight.”

  John’s heart flopped into his stomach. “Do we know the man’s identity?” He did not wish to think upon how he had shown himself disloyal to his mother’s memory by choosing a woman Lady Fiona disliked nor was the prospect of another lie from Satiné welcoming.

  “Prince Henrí D’Anton.” John closed his eyes to the anguish coursing through him. The dreaded name of Henrí filled his head.

  “Was Prince Henrí the lover of both?” he rasped.

  Vinzens’ countenance turned seriously grim. “Rumors say he was.” He hesitated before adding, “I did not know, Swenton. You must not think poorly of me: I would have disclosed this secret if it had been more commonplace.”

  “I believe you.” He shot a glance at his ailing wife. “I have erred in my judgment, but I must see this through.”

  Vinzens leaned closer. “I have one more caution, Swenton. Prince Henrí is also a guest of Prince George. You are not likely to avoid Henrí’s presence in England.”

  John knew he should have been more appalled, but he had come to the Duchess of Falkenberry’s fete to define his future. It seemed Miss Neville’s premonition would prove accurate. “I appreciate your concern, Auersperg. You have been a most excellent friend, but I must weather these trials alone. Now, please pardon my early exit.”

  He bowed to Auersperg, said his farewells to the Worthings, and then lifted Satiné to her feet. Bracing her more familiarly than acceptable in good Society, John coaxed his wife’s steps. If it would not have created a scene, he would have lifted her into his arms and have carried her from Falkenberry’s home. It was ironic his wife had argued so vehemently to be part of this evening’s festivities; yet, he doubted she would possess any memory of its splendor.

  John had requested his coach and waited impatiently for Peter to return with the carriage driven by Mr. Hawkins, but his speedy exit was not meant to be. A man dressed all in black except for a pristine white shirt and a red sash across his chest appeared before him. His hair was as black as Satiné’s, and John knew the man’s identity immediately. He had observed the stranger’s expression upon Rupert’s countenance.

  “Baron Swenton.” The man said with a thick accent. “Pardon my presumptive actions, but I thought it best if we speak in private. I am Prince Henrí. I believe we have business together.”

  John responded coldly, “I am aware of your identity, Prince Henrí, but I know of no business we possess in common.”

  Despite her semi-conscious state, Satiné must have recognized the prince’s voice. His wife raised her head from John’s shoulder. “Henrí? Is it you? Truly you?” she rasped. “I knew you would come.”

  The prince’s expression hardened. “You have kept secrets, Satiné.”

  John interrupted, “Please do not speak so familiarly with my wife, Sir. You are a guest of England’s prince, but that position does not provide you free rein to approach our womenfolk.”

  The prince met John’s gaze with one of resolve. “I mean to have my son returned to me, Baron Swenton,” he hissed. “We may negotiate privately, or I can make this matter a State issue. Which do you choose?”

  Satiné had collapsed against John again. She had brought so much distress to his door, but he could not turn from her. Their fates were intertwined. “As anyone can easily observe, Lady Swenton is not well. I mean to escort my wife to York on the morrow. If it would not be too much of an inconvenience, you could call on us there at week’s end.”

  The prince glanced toward the crowded ballroom. “I hold obligations to Prince George through this week, but I would be pleased to inform your prince I mean to spend time with old acquaintances over the weekend. I will arrive on Saturday next, Baron. Do not think I may choose to withdraw until this is settled between us.”

  “Saturday next,” John repeated. Then he lifted Satiné to him. To hell with the scandal which would mark his familiarity! He was already drowning in more disesteem than he thought possible for one family to endure.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She had repaired the tat where the material had torn in one of the gowns presented to her by Lady Lowery. It was a beautiful royal blue confection, and Isolde had been anxious to wear it. Her cousins would think she had taken on airs, but she would enjoy their jealousy. It was like no gown she had ever thought to wear for she was essentially of a very practical nature. In truth, she would prefer to wear it for Lord Swenton’s eyes only, but those dreams would never know fruition. Tomorrow, the baron meant to remove his household to York, and soon after, Isolde would depart for Ireland. She would never return to England, and most certainly would never see London again. She would accept the intentions of one of her countrymen, marry, and bear the man a half dozen children. Yet, she would always remember her time with Lord Swenton. “Your days are numbered,” she warned her foolish heart. “No dancing a jig in celebration of your marriage. No wearing a gown which would set His Lordship’s heart a reeling.” A wistful sigh escaped before Isolde could swallow it. “Best to wear the drab cloths of a lady’s companion,” she chastised her whims. “It is my armor against temptation.”

  The sound of a ruckus below interrupted
her thoughts. She rushed from her rooms to encounter the man over whom she had spent too many hours in daydreams. Lord Swenton carried his wife towards the lady’s quarters. Lady Swenton’s limp form announced the baroness had discovered a new supply of laudanum.

  “My Goodness!” she rasped and then raced ahead of the baron to open the connecting doors. She jerked the counterpane free of the bed to permit him to deposit Lady Swenton upon the mattress. “What happened?” Isolde asked as she undressed her mistress.

  “Did you know?” the baron asked in accusatory tones. He stood beside his wife’s bed, his hands fisting and unfisting, arms akimbo.

  Isolde’s fingers released the clasp of the baroness’s necklace and turned her mistress to her stomach so she could unlace Lady Swenton’s gown. Out of breath, she asked testily, “Did I know what?”

  Lord Swenton’s voice had turned cold. “When you convinced me to escort my mother’s remains to York, did you know Lady Swenton meant to remain in London to meet her lover? Or was it your purpose for me to encounter Prince Henrí tonight? You did say this evening would be a monumental event.”

  Isolde’s fingers froze in their task. “Have you taken leave of your senses?” Her hands wildly brushed away his allegations. “I have been nothing but loyal to you. Other than Lord Morse, I am ignorant of a potential lover, and I have never heard of Prince Henrí.”

  “What of a heated spat between your mistress and Lady Fiona?” he accused.

  “Nothing!” Isolde said defiantly. “When I came to Miss Aldridge’s service, the baroness was some four months with child. She withdrew from her social engagements shortly after my taking the position. I never held the pleasure of an acquaintance with the former baroness.” With a huff of exasperation, Isolde returned to Lady Swenton’s unconscious state. “If you will pardon me, I must attend to your wife.” Despite her best efforts, a soft sob escaped. He had never spoken to her harshly.