Dark Angels (30 page)

“Stay up here and sulk, missy.”

“Bah!”

“Bah, back!”

Renée twisted a handkerchief in her hands. “Please…”

Both turned to look at her. Renée swallowed, and tears began to glisten at the corners of her eyes. Why am I not surprised? thought Alice.

Sir Thomas took hasty steps forward. “Now, mademoiselle, don’t you cry. I won’t have it. Alice has a nasty, snarling temper, and I’ll lock her in a room if you say the words.”

“Oh no. If Alice isn’t with me, I can’t meet His Majesty. Oh, please don’t be angry. Either of you. Please.”

Sir Thomas ran his hand over his face, and a huge smile emerged. “I’m not quarreling. I won’t quarrel, little girl.”

“I will,” said Alice.

Sir Thomas turned to his daughter. “You look like a jewel in that dress, a dark, exotic jewel. You’re the prettiest I’ve seen you, poppet. Now, I need you to go down these stairs and charm the king of England and whomever he deigns to bring with him today. I need smiles and that quick wit of yours. It isn’t every day—it isn’t any day—that His Majesty calls on Sir Thomas Verney. And I need Mistress de Keroualle to feel at her ease. His Majesty won’t be happy with me if he sees she’s upset. Now, can you do that for me, Alice, my dear? Help your poor old papa who simply wishes to win the king’s regard?”

He’d disarmed her. Oh, how I always want to believe you will do nothing despicable, she thought.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her on the lips. “I thought about beating you when you finally showed up this morning, our little French guest drooping like a drowned cat, but you both look magnificent at this moment, and I couldn’t be prouder.” At the bedchamber door, he said over his shoulder, “I’ll send someone up directly we see the king’s barge.” And then he was gone.

“I’m afraid,” said Renée.

Alice led her to the window seat, sat beside her, took her hands, and said as patiently as she could, “What nonsense. All you have to do is smile. It’s as if we were at Madame’s and King Louis had come to call, that’s all. No more, no less.”

“Please, Alice.”

“Of what are you afraid?”

“I can’t name it.”

“Well, perhaps it’s only sensible to be afraid. You’ve left your family behind. You’re in a new court. You don’t know anyone yet. But think—this afternoon we’re going to walk in St. James’s Park with Lieutenant Saylor. Then we’re going to eat supper in New Spring Garden with Brownie and whatever maids of honor can join us, so that you can begin to make friends. And tomorrow, my father will take us to court and formally present you to Her Majesty, and then you and I will live at Whitehall, and it will be easier there to see Lieutenant Saylor. And in a year or so, if you wish it, I’ll sponsor your marriage to him. Would you like to marry him? I think you would. He’s mad for you, any fool can see. And I’ll be godmother to your first babe.” Crossing her fingers for luck, she thought, May I be Balmoral’s duchess then, and I’ll see that your lieutenant rises as high as the stars.

Poll came running into the chamber, practically shouting, “The king! His barge is in sight! Your father says come!”

“Tell him we’ll be right there,” said Alice. Her father had the entire household in an uproar. She led Renée down the hallway to a window that overlooked the river. There in the distance was the king’s pleasure barge, its flags and pennants waving in the breeze. “There’s His Majesty,” Alice said. “He does us a great honor to call to see how you do. He’s a kind man, but I need to warn you he loves to flirt with pretty women, and so likely he will flirt with you. He has wonderful wit and easy ways, not stiff like King Louis. The story of his life is amazing.”

“Tell me.”

“There isn’t time for everything—”

A footman bounded up stairs. “Your father asks for you to join him on the terrace.”

“Yes, tell him we’re on our way.”

The footman bounded back down the stairs.

“He was on campaign with his father by the age of nine,” Alice said as she and Renée descended the stairs. “At ten he went before the House of Lords to plead for the life of an adviser of his father. By ten and four, he was fighting in the West Country, separated from his father. The royal family was scattered to the winds. His mother was in France with the child who was Princesse Henriette; his other sisters and brothers were all imprisoned. By six and ten, he was sent away so that he would not be captured as his brothers and sisters had been.”

Ahead was the river garden with its terrace. Through sets of opened doors, Alice could see the barge, landed at the river steps. Her father was descending them to welcome His Majesty.

“We’ll wait here,” said Alice, stepping just outside the doors and onto the stone of the terrace. Poppy stood there with the princess’s dogs on leashes. Alice patted a spaniel before assuming her place beside Renée. “When I say so, drop into a curtsy…. By the time the king was twenty, his father had been beheaded. It’s said he sent Cromwell a blank sheet of paper with his signature affixed and told him to list whatever conditions he wished that would spare the life of his father. But for naught. He fought a last battle against the Roundheads at one and twenty and was very nearly captured, but he escaped. His kingdom was in the hands of the Roundheads, and he was in exile again, poor as a church mouse, going from one court to another to marshal funds and an army with which to take back his crown. By thirty, when all hope was extinguished, he was proclaimed king. It all shows in his eyes, Renée. If he weren’t such a roué, I swear I could be in love with him myself. I thought I was when I was twelve. Poppy, release the dogs.”

C
HAPTER 16

T
he Duke of Balmoral was among those the king had brought with him. Alice’s heart began to pound at her good fortune.

Dogs went yapping and scampering toward the men. King Charles laughed and bent down. “Little absurdities, come to your uncle. Come here, Puff Puff, Melon, Lulu. Bad. You are all very bad dogs, just what His Majesty likes.” He straightened, a wide, amused smile on his face, and saw Alice and Renée.

“Now,” Alice said, and she and Renée dropped into curtsies, which they both held as King Charles sauntered toward them.

“He’s very tall,” whispered Renée. “I forgot that.”

“Hush.”

“My legs are hurting.” Another whisper from Renée.

King Charles held out a hand to each, and taking it, they rose. “Charming, upon my word. Mistress Verney, greetings to you.”

“And to you, sir.”

“And Mademoiselle de Keroualle, welcome to England.” His French was accented but impeccable. Living on his wits, begging for aid in France and Spain and the United Netherlands, had sharpened it.

“Thank you, sir.”

He settled Alice to the arm on his right and Renée to the arm on his left and turned the three of them around to the others.

“You know, of course, His Royal Highness the Duke of York, His Royal Highness Prince Rupert, His Grace the Duke of Buckingham, but, Mademoiselle de Keroualle, I think you’ve not made the acquaintance of His Grace the Duke of Balmoral.”

Balmoral bowed, and to Alice’s delight, a smile seamed his face at the sight of her.

“I have a gift for you, Sir Thomas.” King Charles snapped his fingers, and a page ran to the barge and returned with two small trees, their roots bound in sacking.

“From my plantations in the New World, arrived only yesterday on a ship. One is a magnolia, and the other is an oak. From…where are they from now, brother?”

“New York, I believe, sir, named after me.” The colony was booty from the Dutch wars. It had been New Amsterdam. The Duke of York smiled. He was tall and loose limbed like his brother, but ruddy rather than dark.

“No,” said Prince Rupert, “it was from farther to the south. South Carolina, named after our dear, blessed, departed Majesty.”

“And where in your garden shall we plant these trees from New York or South Carolina? I say here and here.” The king pointed with his long cane, an affectation from France because he certainly didn’t need it to walk. It had a golden dragon’s head, bright ribbons tied under the chin.

Buckingham looked at the house with distaste. “You need to tear this old wreck down and build anew.” They started toward the opened doors, Sir Thomas calling for the dogs to be leashed, to be put in the barge.

“Oh dear, something in my shoe.” Letting go of the king’s arm, Alice turned to Balmoral, who led her to a bench and gently took off her shoe and just as gently shook it.

“Might we sit a moment?” Alice asked. The others were inside the great chamber, surveying it.

“Thank you for your letter about the funeral. How is your leg? Healed, I trust?” Balmoral said.

“Yes, Your Grace. I have something of import I need to say.”

He waited. The brim of his hat, where it wasn’t pinned back to the crown, threw a shadow on his face.

“You know my belief Madame was poisoned.”

“Yes.”

“I—I do believe that perhaps Their Majesties might be in danger. Her Majesty, I mean. I know there is talk the king should remarry, though that be against all laws and the conduct of a gentleman.”

“And you think someone might poison her to allow him to do so? A serious statement, Mistress Verney.”

“His Grace…” She cut her eyes to the Duke of Buckingham, standing in the open doors, pointing out broken floor marble to Sir Thomas. “He stayed overlong in France. He talked with those who killed Madame and with others whose specialty is poisons. Someone I trust told me.”

Balmoral’s eyes narrowed, and he, too, regarded the Duke of Buckingham. “What an interesting fact you share with me, Mistress Verney,” he said finally. “Doubtless our duke does some digging for truth on his own. It’s likely as harmless as that. But we don’t know, do we? And I assume you haven’t told your father because he is Buckingham’s man. Discreet. Discretion is an art. Why do you tell me?”

“I am only a woman, and a young one at that, and I do not think others will listen to me, and I thought if I shared what I’d been told with someone such as yourself, someone who has His Majesty’s full respect and has proved his allegiance to this kingdom in so many ways, someone who knows me a bit, has some regard for me, that my concern might at least be looked into, not dismissed as the hysterics of a female.”

“Will you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Will you write it all out, everything, every word your friend told you, who this friend was. They’re looking our way; they’ve marked how long we’ve been speaking to each other. I can see His Majesty is amused, will jest with me later of flirting with you.”

“If only you would, Your Grace.” She watched his face. She was too bold. But what choice did she have?

He stood, stared sternly down at her. “You mock an old man. I’m not certain I care for it.”

“It isn’t mockery. I hold you in highest regard. One of the reasons I bring my concerns to you is that I want you to see my regard.” She held his glance, even though she could hardly breathe. This was a most foolhardy gamble. He could think her a jade, a wild piece, so many unflattering things that might make him turn from her in contempt.

“You do not know me,” he said.

“I want to.”

He began to cough and had to sit back down on the bench, the cough so racked him. He waved her away, and she went into the great chamber, not at all certain about what she’d just done.

“Y
OU’LL NEED TO
spend a pretty penny on this, Sir Thomas,” said King Charles.

“Or I can sell it, turn it into a square of houses like Covent Garden.”

“The property is too small for that,” said Buckingham.

“How did you come to purchase it?” asked Prince Rupert.

“I won it from His Grace here at cards.”

“If he’d asked nicely, I’d have given him the old wreck,” said Buckingham, wiping his hands with a large handkerchief edged in lace, as if the dust of the old-fashioned place were too much to bear.

“I hear you’re often fortunate in cards,” said King Charles.

“I am,” said Sir Thomas.

“I should finance my treasury from gambling,” said King Charles.