The Bellerose Bargain (24 page)

"How do you find the duckling, milord?" she asked Buckingham quietly.

"Half good, lady, that is all." He sounded somewhat terse, and Alicia prompted him no more, but turned quietly back to her own dinner. The duke leaned closer to murmur again. "Perhaps if she wouldn’t trifle with her meal so, the rest would feel safe to eat," he said, indicating the fair Frances with his eyes.

Alicia looked at their hostess and found, as Buckingham had indicated, that she played with the food on her plate and looked less than gay. But then Frances was given to fright easily and worried herself nearly ill over the reports of sickness in the city.

"I think you should feel safe, milord," she said with a smile. "His Majesty would not partake so courageously if there were anything wrong."

They looked together toward the king, who chatted with the woman beside him while heaping generous portions of food into his mouth, undaunted by Frances’s delicate and suspicious attention to her own plate.

"There’s a thing you should know about him, my dear," George reported. "It takes a good deal worse than bad food to cause him to lose his appetite."

Frances rose from her seat long before the others when one of her servants whispered in her ear. She returned to the long table to urge her guests to finish.

"Our entertainment is ready," she smiled, throwing an arm out in the direction of two midgets garbed in entertainers’ chausses and vests and colorful shirts, with bells on their stockings.

"Do let them perform," Charles said, his fork still in his hand.

Frances frowned slightly. Apparently it was not her plan to have the miniature acrobats tumble about her dining room, but she took her seat, turned her chair slightly, and, with a bow, the little fellows began to hop around, climb atop each other, and toss one another into small aerial flips, their bells tinkling as they popped up and down. After each trick, they paused, took a little waist bow toward their audience, and, without the benefit of applause, went on to the next trick. Frances seemed to be slightly amused with the performance, though Alicia watched them with rapt interest.

By the time the performance was over, the dinner was also finished. Frances excused her midgets and stood at the head of the table, while her guests rose from their seats.

"Now shall we play blind man’s bluff?" she asked them.

Alicia thought she noticed at least two women clap their hands together as happily and childishly as Frances, but she couldn’t be sure, for it was Buckingham’s voice that overrode. "Good God! Again?"

Charles laughed in good humor. "Why is it you want to deprive Frances of her fun, George? You know how she loves the game."

"May we, Sire?" she asked him, her eyes shining.

Even Alicia could see Charles soften and begin to glow at the sweetness of her plea. "Of course, my dear. This is your dinner."

Frances happily fluttered in the direction of a larger room, the guests following her along. By the time Alicia arrived, Frances already had a blindfold over her eyes and Rochester was busily tying it. George Villiers hung to the back of the circle, an unhappy expression on his face. Rochester began to turn her about to make her quite dizzy, and the people in the room pulled back from her so as not to be caught by her flailing hands. As Alicia herself backed away, she noticed Buckingham making a dodge for the door. She heard the king chuckle behind her.

"That’s the way he never gets caught," Charles said, pointing to Buckingham. "And poor Frances will never realize he’s gone, but wonder only why he’s never blindfolded. Come," he said, taking her elbow, "let me show you something of interest."

"What is it, Sire?" she asked excitedly.

He pulled her along with a devilish smile on his lips, and led her to a sitting room in Frances’s apartments. A small marble table stood in the center of the room, and on the table was a perfectly constructed miniature of a ship with The Royal Escape painted on its side. "This was made for me," he told her proudly. "It is an absolutely perfect replica of the ship I left England on after the battle of Worcester. I imagine you’ve heard the story a hundred times at least."

Alicia smiled. "I never grow tired of hearing it, Your Majesty."

"This is priceless to me," he confided. "A work of art."

"Why do you keep it here?" she asked, and as she met his eyes and saw his smile, she immediately blushed scarlet. She had practically asked how intimate his relationship with Frances was. And the talk was that Frances was still a virgin, after being pursued by the king for nearly two years.

"I don’t keep it here, madam. I had it brought here tonight to show it off. I daresay everyone’s seen it but you."

"Forgive me, Sire, I didn’t mean to—"

"Lord Seavers, madam—does he leave you completely unattended?"

"Sire?"

"The talk is that he does not live with you at all, but on his ship. True?"

"Sire, I...I have no complaint..."

"Complaints I have no time for. And you are no longer my responsibility, but Seavers’s. I think perhaps you don’t follow the reason for my questions. There is talk, madam, that you are an impostor. Is Lord Seavers aware of this?"

Suddenly Alicia knew why she had been called to sup with the king, why she had been coerced into the sitting room alone with him, and, vaguely, what was coming. She did not know how to meet the questions, but bolstered herself to realize the game would end here. "I’m certain he is not, Sire," she said with evident shock.

"Has there been any threat made to you?" he asked.

"No, Sire. Please, I don’t understand..."

He patted her hand affectionately. "There’s very little to understand, my dear. This was bound to happen, and with any luck it will end here, die a natural death. Since no one knew you, grew up with you, or could identify you, someone was bound to suggest that you are not who you are. I thought only to ask after your safety. In the event that your husband is not closely protecting you."

"I assure you, Sire, there is no truth to the rumor that Lord Seavers does not live in his home. I would know."

The king cocked a brow. "He is not with you tonight."

"I didn’t know the invitation included him."

"An invitation was sent to him—at the Patrina."

Alicia felt her cheeks grow hot. "I can’t imagine why he didn’t mention that, unless..."

"Unless he was ‘busy’?" the king attempted.

Alicia opened her mouth as if to reply, but the king went on. "I find myself mighty attracted to you, madam, and see no reason why you need sit and rot in that wretched house if you’d prefer to be—that is, if it would suit you to be—in better company."

"Your Majesty?"

"Is your time your own, lady?" he asked.

"Of course, Sire."

"So that you could spend it otherwise without doing injury to Lord Seavers?"

Alicia straightened abruptly and a knowing look came into her eyes. "Your Majesty!"

Charles shrugged and a half smile played on his lips. "Some women are actually flattered..."

Alicia found herself suppressing a giggle and she couldn’t keep the smile off her lips. "And I am," she confessed. "But for a moment I thought you’d called me here to reprimand me for something."

"Only for being beautiful and lonely at the same time, which there is no reason for any woman to be."

She looked down into her lap, for she didn’t know what to say next. This was not charity work on the king’s part; there were enough women in all of England prepared to jump into his bed. He not only desired her, but would probably continue to pursue her. He had, after all, chased Frances around the palace for two years now.

"Ah," Charles breathed, knowingly. "So you love the rogue, eh?"

She slowly raised her eyes to his and felt herself strangely near tears. She gave her head a slight nod, terrified that she had deeply offended him.

"But, does he love you, madam?" Charles asked.

"I believe he does, Sire," she said softly.

Charles rose abruptly, as if to say he’d spent all the time on the matter he intended to. "Well, I don’t know that you’re right on that account, madam. Seavers isn’t showing it in the way I would. But I think we can continue this discussion on our next encounter, which will be soon, won’t it?"

Forcing a confident smile, Alicia rose to stand beside him. She hoped she looked as if she was tempted in the direction of the king, if only to buy time. "I hope so, Sire," she said softly. "I do hope so."

"Next week, perhaps?" he asked.

"I can’t say you nay, Your Majesty." He held out his arm to walk her back to the party. "This business of my reputation, Sire, what do you suggest—"

"Don’t worry yourself over it, madam. It was bound to happen." He turned to look down at her and she could clearly see warmth in his dark eyes. "Didn’t I tell you you’d drive them to distraction with your fresh looks? And see, you have us all…"

For two days Alicia thought about her encounter with Charles, picking it over in her mind until she could think of it no longer. She sent a message on each day to the wharves asking Geoffrey to come to the house and see her, and each day Rodney returned to tell her that he simply couldn’t break away from his work.

Fear of discovery might have been foremost on her mind, but waking each morning to the sound of bells ringing out death in the city made her fears rise higher, until she thought she might go mad with fright. And this closer kinship with the king was a thing she simply couldn’t handle without a husband. She knew the time was here. And she dressed carefully for an outing.

She was lifted into her coach by a very reluctant Rodney. She had pleaded with him until he could do nothing but consent to take her to the wharf, a place that in the midst of plague would be considered the most dangerous part of town. But dangerous or not, that was where Geoffrey insisted he was needed, and he would not abandon his men or his ships for safer ground.

She saw from her coach that three of Geoffrey’s ships were being loaded with great fervor; this would not seem unusual, except that one of them was the Patrina. She had been told that Geoffrey would keep her in port as his base until all the work was done and the other ships he had purchased or leased were ready to sail.

With all the hurrying and running around, the coach could not get very close to the wharf. Rodney stopped and jumped down, immediately snapping open the door. Alicia made a move to disembark. "Nay, madam, I forbid it."

"But I know where to find him," she offered.

"I’ll not let you wander the planks with all the sickness about."

"I’ll be quick," she promised, trying to leave the coach.

"With all due respect, my lady, his lordship will defend me if I have to tie you to keep you off the dock. I’ll fetch him to you or take you home."

Alicia opened her mouth to protest and Rodney began to close the door. "Home it is," he said.

"No, Rodney, please..." she begged. "Please ask him to come to the coach. It is important."

A childlike and wistful look came over her face as she sat in her lonely vehicle, wondering what would pass between them this time. Would there be kindness, impatience, or anger? She could not predict his mood, but she feared this would be the last time she would see him.

Moments later the door bolted open and she looked into Geoffrey’s green eyes, which had tired lines surrounding them. Perspiration stained his linen shirt. She couldn’t remember ever having seen him look so frantic.

"For God’s sake, madam, what are you doing here?"

"It couldn’t wait, Geoffrey, and I didn’t know if you would ever come home. Please, a few moments."

"I honestly cannot allow the time, Charlotte," he said rather loudly. She flinched slightly at the sound of the name.

"I must insist. It is urgent."

"Quickly, then," he barked, still standing in the open door.

"Privately," she muttered, more than a little piqued at his attitude.

Geoffrey took a deep breath, irritated to be faced with her now. He climbed in and sighed loudly, restlessly, as he simultaneously noticed the color of her gown, the plunging neckline, the sparkle of her eyes, and her general tempting appearance. He wanted to grab her and pull her to him, giving himself a moment of passion to take with him, but the icy fingers of control held him in check. Later, he told himself. Just a little while longer…

"Madam, please, hurry. I’m leaving immediately."

"Leaving?"

"Aye. We are meeting the Dutch. War."

"War? she breathed. "My God, Geoffrey, I—"

"I have very little time!"

"This cannot wait for the war to be over, Geoffrey. Our situation becomes worse. I had dinner with the king just two nights past—he told me you received an invitation as well. Why did you not attend?"

"I don’t have time for this, madam."

"He asked me if you were aware that the talk is that I am an impostor."

She dropped her head and looked into her lap. If only he would reach out to her quickly, now, before his battle. She could not await a better time in hopes that something of love could be brewed between them.