Ruth Langan (20 page)
Authors: Blackthorne
Quenton turned to Olivia. “They may have died before they knew of it.” He turned to the king to explain, “Olivia’s parents were killed recently in a fall.”
The king touched a hand to her shoulder. “My sympathies, my dear. Their death is a great loss for England. And I am certain the loss to you is painful and deep.”
“Aye, Majesty.” She was touched by his genuine concern. Having lost his own father, Charles I, who was publicly beheaded, he would know a great deal about pain and loss. “Thank you for your compassion.”
Pembroke appeared in the doorway. “Majesty. Lord Stamford. Several carriages are approaching.”
“Our guests from London.” The king’s eyes lit with pleasure. “You are in for a treat, my lady. You are about to meet some of the wisest and wittiest people in all of England. Isn’t that right, old friend?”
Quenton tried to work up a little enthusiasm, knowing that the peace he had so recently found at Blackthorne would certainly be disrupted until his guests departed. He glanced at Liat, who was clinging wearily to Olivia’s skirts. All he desired was to carry the lad to his bed, and then slip away with Olivia to his own bed. The thought had him almost dizzy with need. But one look at the king’s face and he knew there was no hope for it. What little privacy they’d had was lost.
He turned to Olivia. “Perhaps you should take the lad up for a nap. You and Liat can meet our guests this evening at the king’s ball.”
She saw the tight line of his mouth and could guess his mood. She had hoped, foolishly, that they could slip away together. But it was not to be.
“Aye, my lord. I think that would be wise.”
Even from so great a distance she could hear Mistress Thornton shouting insults to the servants as the carriages rolled up to the courtyard. There would be dozens of guests, along with their personal servants, to be escorted to their rooms. Dozens more trunks to be hauled up several flights of stairs and unpacked. For the next hours, chaos would reign at Blackthorne. Though she wished with all her might that Quenton could be with her, Olivia was grateful to escape.
As she walked away, holding Liat’s hand, Quenton stared after her with a smoldering look.
“She is a beautiful woman, old friend.” The king clapped him on the shoulder. His eyes glinted with wicked amusement. “She will be a welcome addition to the ladies at court.”
Quenton kept his voice low. “When we were lads, Chills, you always used to try to best me. Do you remember?”
“Aye.”
“And you never could.”
“True enough. But we are grown now, and I am king.”
“If you wish to live to reign for another year, you’ll say no more about taking my lady to London.”
“Your lady, is she?” Charles held out his hand. “I believe that will cost you one thousand pounds, old friend.”
Too late, Quenton realized what he’d admitted. He gritted his teeth. “You’ll get your gold.”
Charles stopped in his tracks. “You concede?”
“Aye.”
The king caught him in a great bear hug. “I knew it. I knew the moment I saw the two of you this morrow.”
“From the looks on the servants’ faces, I’d say the whole of Blackthorne knew it.”
“Aye. You make a dazzling pair. By heaven, Quenton. This calls for a celebration.”
“It calls for nothing of the kind. For now, I’d like to be left alone to enjoy my good fortune.”
“Aye. All right. You’ll have your privacy.” Charles grinned. “For today.”
“You mean it? You’ll excuse me?”
“Not just yet, old friend. But soon. Now come. Let’s greet our guests.”
Grinning like conspirators, the two men strolled to the courtyard to face the noise and confusion.
Chapter Seventeen
O
livia hummed to herself as she tied the ribbons of her chemise and studied her reflection in the tall looking glass. While Liat was taking his rest, she had bathed and washed her hair and laid out a simple white woolen gown with high neck and tapered sleeves. It was the perfect attire for a governess meeting titled guests for the first time.
livia hummed to herself as she tied the ribbons of her chemise and studied her reflection in the tall looking glass. While Liat was taking his rest, she had bathed and washed her hair and laid out a simple white woolen gown with high neck and tapered sleeves. It was the perfect attire for a governess meeting titled guests for the first time.
Outside her room the corridors of Blackthorne rang with the procession of footsteps as servants hurried about, fetching water and linens and scented soaps for the guests. The air rang with a chorus of strange voices, some cultured, some coarse. The high-pitched sounds of women’s laughter competed with the deep voices of men.
She knew it was selfish of her to wish that Quenton would come to her. Still, she yearned for the sound of his voice, the touch of his hands. When she heard the outer door to her sitting room open, and the sound of hurried footsteps, her pulse began to race, but before she could turn, she caught sight of Quenton’s reflection behind hers in the mirror.
“Ah. Now here’s the sight that will lift my spirits.” He walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her against the length of him.
“Quenton.” She stared at their reflected images and shivered as he bent his head to run kisses along her shoulder. “I thought you’d be busy with your guests.”
“I was. But I had to see you.”
“I’ve heard so many footsteps in the hall I was beginning to think the king had invited an army.”
“It may as well be. Every room at Blackthorne is filled. Poor Mistress Thornton is slowly going mad.”
She turned to face him. “And how about our gracious host? Are you going mad as well?”
“I believe I would have if I’d had. to remain below stairs much longer.” He kissed her, long and slow and deep, then pressed his lips to her temple and murmured, “Oh, Livvy, I needed that.”
She clutched his waist. “Then I’m happy to oblige, my lord.”
“I wonder what I would have done if I hadn’t found you. I suppose I would have had to invent you.”
“Was your life so bleak, my lord?”
“Aye. Bleak and empty. A dreary existence. With no hope for a better future. And now...” He lifted his hands to frame her face. “Now there is my beautiful, my perfect Livvy. Come to bed with me, love.”
“Now?” She glanced toward the closed door. “Liat will awaken soon. He’ll expect his nursemaid.”
“There’s time. We’ll make time. I need you more than he does right now.” He lifted his hands to the ribbons of her chemise.
She thought about all the reasons why they shouldn’t do this now. But then the fabric parted and his lips, his hands, began to work their magic. Her blood heated and her bones dissolved, along with her common sense.
“Oh, Quenton. How can I refuse you anything?”
“No more than I can refuse you, love.” He lifted her, carried her to her bed. And proceeded to show her in a thousand different ways how much he cared.
“Quenton, you must make yourself ready to sup with the king and your guests.” Olivia slipped out of bed and began to dress.
“Why must I?”
“Because you are the lord of Blackthorne.” She tied the ribbons of her chemise and slipped into her petticoats.
“All the more reason why I should do as I please.”
She turned to glance at him. His lean, muscled body looked thoroughly relaxed, propped in her bed with the pillows mounded behind his head. His eyes were dark and stormy, but his lips were curved in a smile of pure masculine appreciation as he watched her dress. Dark hair spilled over his forehead, adding to his rakish appeal.
“You are host to the king of England and his closest friends. You cannot offend them.”
“Aye. You’re right. I suppose I must be sensible.” He tossed aside the linens and walked unselfcon-sciously across the room to a basin where he began to wash.
As Quenton redressed, Olivia picked up the ivory gown and slipped it over her head.
Catching sight of her in the mirror, he turned. “What is this? Why are you wearing such a plain gown?”
“My lord, I am a simple governess.”
“There is nothing simple about you, love. I have something else in mind for this night.” He crossed to the wardrobe and sorted through her new clothes until he located the gown he’d been looking for. Turning, he held out a spill of green satin. “I want you to wear this.”
Puzzled, she studied him for a moment, then nodded. “All tight. If it pleases you.”
He dragged her close and brushed his lips over hers. “You please me, Livvy. You please me very much.”
The depth of his emotion caught her by surprise.
While he watched, she stripped off the ivory gown and slipped into the green one. When she had finished securing the buttons, she studied her reflection in the looking glass. The gown was deep green satin with a neckline that dipped perilously low, revealing the swell of high, firm breasts. The off-the-sboulder sleeves were huge flounces that gradually narrowed until they were tightly fitted at the wrists. The voluminous skirt was gathered here and there with matching green satin bows. Her hair fell in fat sausage curls tied to one side with matching ribbons, spilling over one breast.
The woman in the mirror had a look of polish, of sophistication, that both startled her and pleased her.
“Oh, Livvy.” Quenton walked up behind her.
“You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman ever to grace Blackthorne.”
She smiled shyly. “I think you are looking with your heart instead of with your eyes.”
“These eyes can see only you, love. And you grow more graceful and charming with each day.” He reached into his pocket and removed a small pouch. “I brought you something.”
“A gift? Quenton. What is it?”
He loved the excitement in her eyes. She looked as delighted and as curious as a child.
He opened the pouch and filled her hands. “These are the Stamford emeralds. They belonged to my grandmother. I want you to wear them tonight.”
She gasped as she held up a lacy gold filigree interspersed with glittering emeralds and diamonds. “Oh, no, Quenton.” Shaking her head, she started to hand them back. “I couldn’t possibly wear these.”
He closed his hand over hers. “I insist, love.”
He took the necklace from her and secured it around her throat, then stood back to admire her.
“I was right,” he muttered. “There isn’t a woman in the world who could rival your beauty.”
They both looked up at the timid knock on her door. She hurried over and found Liat, looking refreshed from his nap. When he caught sight of her, his eyes rounded.
“You look like a queen,” he said.
“Be careful, lad.” Quenton’s eyes crinkled with laughter. “I wouldn’t wish to give His Majesty any ideas.” Then he surprised Olivia and Liat by taking the boy’s hand. “Come on. You and I both need to get dressed for the ball.”
“How do I look, sir?” Liat stepped into the sitting chamber and paused in front of Quenton.
“You look splendid.” Quenton smiled his approval at the blue satin breeches and little blue brocaded jacket. On Liat’s feet were matching hose and soft kidskin boots. Beneath the jacket was a white shirt with a lacy jabot at the throat. His raven hair had been brushed back from his face. His dark eyes were bright with excitement.
Quenton eyed the parchment in Liat’s hand. “And what is this?”
“A gift for the king. Miss St. John said I may present it before we sup.”
When the lad made no offer to show it, Quenton decided not to press. Even a small boy was entitled to his secrets.
“Shall we go now?”
Liat nodded.
Quenton led the way, then held the door for Olivia and the boy. As they stepped into the hallway they were assaulted by the sounds from below. The rumble of masculine voices raised in earnest conversation. The soft ripple of a woman’s laughter. The tinkle of crystal. Muffled footfalls of servants moving discreetly among the guests.
At the top of the stairs Quenton offered his arm and Olivia placed her hand on his sleeve. Beside her, Liat clasped her hand and moved with her down the stairs.
When they reached the great hall the noise of the gathering reached a crescendo. A chorus of voices seemed to be all speaking at once.
Pembroke, standing guard outside the hall, caught sight of them and stepped smartly to announce them.
“Majesty. Honored guests.” His announcement had the desired effect, quieting the crowd, snagging their attention. “Lord Quenton Stamford, Miss Olivia St. John and young Master Liat.”
The crowd fell strangely silent. Olivia could feel every person in the room watching as they entered.
King Charles was standing on a raised dais at the front of the hall, with a dazzling young woman beside him. With them were Bennett, in his wheeled chair, and Minerva, standing behind him.
Without glancing right or left Quenton began to lead Olivia and Liat through the throngs, keeping his gaze fixed on Charles. It would not be proper to greet any other guests until he had first greeted the king.
As they passed the clusters of guests, the whispered comments could be overheard.
“Who is that beautiful creature? I don’t recall meeting her in London.”
“I know not. But I intend to find out before the night is over.”
“Look. Are chose the famous Stamford emeralds around her neck?”
“Aye. I don’t believe they’ve been worn since Stamford’s grandmother went to her grave.”
“Are you saying his wife never wore them?”
“I’m not certain she was even allowed to see them. The old man swore no one but his own wife would ever wear them in his lifetime.”
“The old man is gone now. And his wishes along with him. Long live the new lord of Blackthorne.”
“Who is the lad?”
“No one knows. Some say he is Stamford’s bastard.”
“What of the mother?”
“A Jamaican. A servant at Blackthorne whispered to my servant that she met the same fate as Antonia.”
Olivia knew her face was flaming. She was grateful for the voluminous skirt that hid the trembling of her legs. Liat’s little hand was clutching hers so tightly she had lost the feeling in her fingers. But having Quenton’s quiet strength to draw on permitted her to carry on without stumbling.
When they reached the dais, Charles stepped forward.
“Ah. Lord Stamford. Miss St John. Liat.” His booming voice could easily be heard throughout the hall. “How grateful we are to be made to feel so welcome here in your home, my friend.”
“It is my honor and privilege to welcome you to Blackthorne, Majesty. I pledge to do all in my power to make your visit to our humble home as pleasant as possible.”
“Thank you, Lord Stamford. Such a pledge means much to me. As does your friendship.” In a voice so low only Quenton could hear, he added, “At least your brother had the good sense to be on time. You’re late. Very poor manners, Q. You’ve ignored protocol. I ought to have you flogged.”
In an equally low voice, Quenton whispered, “Sorry, old friend. Very pressing matters to see to.”
The king’s brows lifted. “The only thing pressing was the bed in the lady’s room, I’d wager. Not that I don’t understand, mind you. She’s the loveliest lady in this room.”
Quenton shot him a wounded look. “Now who’s showing poor manners, Chills?”
Charles grinned. “There is not a thing wrong with my eyesight, old friend. And from the mutterings as you walked up here, I’d say every man in the room took notice of the same thing.”
He turned to Olivia and said loudly. “Miss St. John, your beauty dazzles your king and graces this hall.”
“Thank you, Majesty.” She managed a sedate curtsy and was grateful that she hadn’t embarrassed herself in front of this assembly.
“And young Liat. We had a fine day, did we not?”
“Aye, Majesty.” The lad bowed, then offered the parchment in his hand.
“What is this?”
“A gift, Majesty. Miss St. John said I might present it to you.”
“A gift. Let’s have a look.” Charles unrolled the parchment and studied it, then gave a solemn nod of appreciation. “Did you draw this yourself, lad?”
“Aye, Majesty. It is a
Heodes alciphron.”
Heodes alciphron.”
“I see that. And an excellent rendition. Miss St. John, has the boy had training in drawing and composition?”
“Nay, Majesty. What you see is the product of his own talent.”
Since it was unseemly for a monarch to bend to anyone, the crowd of guests was stunned when the king got down on one knee, in order to better speak to the little boy.
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