The Bellerose Bargain (23 page)

"Madame Stewart is no closer to losing her maidenhead than ever she was," Charles assured them.

"It was kind of you to ask after Lady Seavers, Sire, but it would please me more if you’d insist on her presence. Some of us could use something new to look at."

"Odd’s fish, haven’t we enough trouble over women? Let Seavers keep her to himself for a while."

"If she is your investment, why not profit more by her presence?" George asked him.

"She’s nervous with the court. Barbara fawns over her and it seems to make her quiver beyond anything I’m able to bear," Charles answered. "Let her be. She won’t be around long."

"Where the devil do you think she’ll go?" James asked.

"Can’t be sure, but likely Seavers will move his industry out of London and take her along. He’s selling Bellerose when it’s refurbished, which is what I expected him to do."

"How sits your shipping if he leaves?"

"Quite well, I imagine. He cannot do without England, but he need not play parties and gamble when he could be working." Charles peered at his friends with that dark-eyed wisdom that no one quite understood and dared not question. "I’d been looking for a way to stuff Seavers’s pockets with money for a long while, since there’s no one at court more eager to lose himself in work than that one. Lucky for us all that Charlotte Bellamy and her inheritance happened along. Now Seavers builds a fortune for us both."

"There’s talk about Lady Seavers, Sire. No one can quite believe the good fortune and untimely death of Sir Fergus. Truth to tell," George said, "I don’t either."

"Fergus was a good man, though not worth all that much. As for his daughter, sweet and lovely as she is, I would not have taken up her cause had it not put money directly into the pocket of a privateer seeking the greatness Seavers expects."

"Aha," James laughed. "Had there not been a good sailor with far-reaching dreams available, poor Charlotte would be selling oranges for her bread."

"No doubt."

"And the fortune?" George asked.

"With as many bastards to support as have I?" The king chuckled. "I imagine I could have easily found a place to drop the inheritance Fergus left. But sad to say, none of my children would work half so hard to make money for me as Seavers will."

"Why didn’t you finance him long ago if you were so sure of him?"

"There had to be money first, George. And I had at least to grant myself the amusement of watching him go after it." Charles laughed. "I love his lust for gold. It’s marvelous!"

"I wonder if his lust for his wife equals it," George said.

"If it doesn’t, he is an idiot. I have seen her," Charles said.

Alicia spent an unusually great amount of time out of doors, but she did not go abroad at all. Since the day her purse was torn from her wrist, followed not too long after by the visit from Culver Perry, she had begun to fear being out in the teeming London streets, regardless of the protection Rodney offered.

Alicia had been informed that Geoffrey had been confronted, via message, by Culver Perry, but thankfully he had chosen not to respond. "He must be wild with fury," she told Rodney, speaking of Culver. "No one will give attention to his tale."

"We will not, madam, but tales are plentiful here and no one seems to grow tired of them."

"I have not left the house and already this week I’ve heard the king is a confirmed Catholic, that he was married to Monmouth’s mother, and that Barbara Palmer is paying an acrobat to sleep with her. Rumors, it seems, are the best-loved things in London."

"You are not concerned?" Rodney asked her, marveling at her composure.

"I’m deeply concerned, but I am not foolish. At this moment, I think Perry would have as much success in saying the king is not who he pretends to be. There is only one thing I fear: that Perry has some evidence that we know nothing of, some property or paper that could only belong to Charlotte Bellamy that I do not have."

"There’s no way to prepare for that, madam, other than what we are already doing."

"I’m quite sure that Lord Perry is holding the woman whose right it is to be in this home, wed to Lord Seavers. If he has her, we should know it. It is easier to deal with the trouble if we know where the trouble lives."

"And if we find her, madam, I assure you Lord Seavers will throw himself in the sea in pure panic."

"If Charlotte has trusted Lord Perry, Rodney, she needs our sympathy. Let’s carry on the watch and pray that Culver grows tired of this method of making money."

It was less than a week later that Rodney informed her that Perry had been seen on New Street, visiting an apartment there, where a heavyset, copper-haired wench was living. There was the distinct possibility in Rodney’s mind that it was indeed Charlotte.

Without giving the matter much thought, Alicia asked him to find a hell cart to replace the family coach and take her for a tour of the place. "I suppose you’ll be angry that I had not mentioned this to you, but the woman who tore away my purse accused me of being an impostor. I’m quite certain she is Charlotte. If we should happen to see her, I could tell you for sure."

"Why did you say nothing?" Rodney asked her.

"And borrow trouble for your troubled lord? He is so frightened now that he can barely stand to look at me."

Rodney helped her on with her cloak and lifted her chin to look into her soft eyes. "And you, lass. Are you not a little frightened of Newgate for yourself?"

"Kind sir, you brought me away from a prison yourself. How can you think Newgate would frighten me more than anything else has?" She shrugged and pulled on her gloves and picked up her vizard. "I have an advantage that Lord Seavers does not have; I have never known where I would live next and even now do not know. Whether prison or palace, I will manage somehow."

"His lordship fails to thank you properly," Rodney told her.

"Not so, sir. He does not thank me at all."

The hell cart bounced along the London streets past the ‘Change and through the Jewish quarter. As they pulled closer to New Street, Alicia pulled back the dark drape and, with the vizard over her face, she peered out. She hoped to catch a glimpse of a woman who could be Charlotte, but another sight caught her eye. Crosses on three doors on the street caused her blood to run cold and made it difficult for her to breathe.

The church bells had tolled three more deaths this morning, and the crosses were moving across town with frightening speed. The first registered plague death had been taken lightly; the second, third, and fourth were generally ignored. But now there could be no doubt that plague was in the city and it was creeping closer and closer to the rich. Many nobles were already leaving London for their country estates to escape the illness.

"We won’t stay here and wait," she said abruptly. "Show me which apartment it was and let’s be away."

Rodney pointed to the building, a shop below and four stories of living quarters above, its sides flush with the building beside it, many shops and houses stacked together like logs. "If that is where she lives, she may not be here long." Alicia gulped. "I don’t like feeling responsible for her nearness to disease."

"You are in no way responsible, madam," Rodney argued. "Had she not fled her betrothal to Lord Seavers she would not be residing in a plague neighborhood. It is her doing."

"No, good sir, I think not. I think if I am not to be blamed, then Lord Perry should be. I am sure if she is here it is because he brought her."

"Still, madam, she had a choice."

Alicia thought for a moment, and at a lift of her hand, Rodney called out to the driver to take them out of the streets and home.

There was no stopping the flood of memories Alicia had of Culver Perry, his smooth tongue and his incredible sincerity. There were things that Culver was expert at: lies and the ability to seduce a woman. Wicked and hateful as he was, he was handsome, articulate, and a consummate actor. He could charm the hide off a wild boar.

Alicia did not blame Charlotte, even though she thoroughly blamed herself for having once fallen prey to his charms.

"Who is the man you’ve hired to watch Lord Perry?" she asked Rodney.

"Mr. Scanland, a retired sea captain I’ve known for some years. He is not young, but he is capable."

"Ask him to take special care of his health; but if it is possible, he should speak to the woman on New Street. She may be inclined to tell a friendly old gentleman her story."

"Aye, madam." Rodney smiled and patted her hand. He had guessed she would be a fitting woman to help young Geoffrey, but daily she amazed him with her wit and intelligence.

"And we will not frequent this part of town," she added.

"Worry not, madam. I’ve an idea you could survive anything."

Rodney’s confidence in her was a thing she did not always understand, for she often saw herself as very vulnerable. And the emotions involved in working herself into her role as Charlotte, Lady Seavers, were very taxing, and it was a piece of work that many times left her exhausted.

When they returned to the house on Tiller Street, there was yet another challenge awaiting Alicia.

Margaret hurried to the door as they entered, and, with a great deal of excitement, she presented Alicia with an invitation bearing the king’s seal. Alicia opened it with anxiety pounding in her chest; she’d much prefer, especially right now, to be nearly invisible in London.

"It’s an invitation to sup with His Majesty," she told Rodney quietly. "It says nothing about Lord Seavers…"

"Margaret, please," Alicia begged as she was jolted about by another sharp pull on the strings of her corset.

"Don’t fuss so, madam. You’ve got to be at your best for the king, madam."

My best? she wondered. What on earth for? She did not think he was calling her to Whitehall to incarcerate her for fraud—he wouldn’t have to waste any food on her for that. But it was clear something was up. Perhaps she had not been wise to stay so far away from the court activities. Perhaps that in itself made her appear a suspicious person.

For the very first time since playing the part of Charlotte Bellamy, Alicia was not gaining much joy from her primping and dressing. With the pressure applied from Culver, the certain presence of the true Charlotte in London, and now this special invitation from the king, her position felt more precarious than ever.

But she did not dare beg to be excused from the dinner and she did not dare arrive late. She mustered all her acting ability, dressed as well as she could for the occasion, and allowed Rodney to take her to the palace.

That Frances Stewart was the hostess was her first surprise, for she had assumed she would be Barbara’s pawn once again—a slim figure to keep the gallants from fussing so over Frances. But there were few gallants. The dinner was a small, intimate affair.

And she was greeted, almost personally escorted, by the most powerful man in England.

"My lady," Charles drawled. "Such a pleasure to see you again."

"My thanks, Sire," she murmured, sinking into a curtsy before him.

"Odd’s fish, you’ve nearly got it right," he chuckled. "Come now, we’ll have no bowing and posturing tonight. We’ll concentrate on pleasure, if possible."

"I don’t know how it’s possible," Frances said, quickly sidling closer to the monarch. "I don’t know when London’s been more dreary than this."

Charles nearly ignored her remark, but for the scowl. He took Alicia’s hand, tucking it in the crook of his arm, and led her farther into the room. "I’d rather not talk of plague and war tonight," he confided. "Just for a moment, I’d like to forget it’s out there. And you, madam, have been away too long. Your presence is sorely missed."

"I apologize, Sire," she said meekly, her confidence suffering a bit. "It’s only that Lord Seavers is so..."

Charles waited a moment. "So...?" he urged.

"He’s very busy with his ships, Sire," she said.

"That’s no reason for you not to be enjoying yourself. You aren’t still frightened in a pack of fools, are you, my dear?"

"Fools, Sire?"

"I’ve left you mostly alone and insisted the others do, as well, knowing how nervous this whole scene seems to make you; but I can’t hold them off forever. They demand pretty things to look at."

Alicia heard herself laughing at that. Was that why she had been invited? To add another female to the bouquet of flowers the courtiers plucked from?

"Come and amuse yourself with Buckingham for a while. He’s the one who’s been asking after you most often—though it pains me not at all to admit I’ve been eager to have you about."

And with that, she was led to a settee where George Villiers was seated, and he promptly rose, kissed her hand, and asked someone to fetch the lady a glass of wine. Within a short period of time, she was introduced to the earl of Rochester; James, the duke of Monmouth and the bastard son of King Charles; and a few other notable, powerful members of the ton.

Though this was a dinner, Alicia noticed how squeamishly the people around her picked at their food. The roast of duckling was not as good as her own cook could have produced. The usual for a dinner at Whitehall was a lavish and expensive spread of foods, fine wines, and brandies. But the dinner Frances provided was adequate, and that was all. It was, no doubt, a sign of the times; delicacies were harder to come by these days. She was seated between George Villiers and Monmouth, who likewise pushed their food around.