Dark Angels (5 page)

“I’m told you had need of me.”

“I do. First, you have given me no kiss of greeting. I am heartbroken. Who has replaced me in your esteem? And if you tell me Gracen Howard, I shall wring your neck. Second, is the Duke of Balmoral here?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

“Well then, my sweet boy, it is terribly important that I know where he is. Can you burrow that out for me? There’s a coin in it for you, as always.”

His eyes twinkled; he had a merchant’s heart combined with a boyish beauty that made people trust him. He had often been invaluable to her.

“Beware them—” She nodded her head back toward d’Effiat and the men with him. “Tell the other pages. And help me to play spy upon them, will you, but safely, always from a distance? There will be more coins for you.”

He nodded, excited by her request. She watched him disappear among the courtiers. She ought to have asked him where her father was. The first dance was ending. She smiled at her friend Monmouth, and he walked forward, an answering smile on his face. She dropped into a curtsy, talking all the while, falling back into their old friendship, trusting it, as if she hadn’t been gone for two years. “Jamie, I need a favor. It’s important.”

“Wonderful to see you again, also, Alice.”

“Don’t tease. I want you to think of a way to keep the Marquis d’Effiat and his friends as far away from Madame as possible during this visit.”

“And why would I do that, other than that he seems an arrogant toad?”

“He’s here to spy on her.”

“What do you mean, Alice?”

“I mean that Monsieur did not want her to make this visit, sent some of his household along for the sole purpose of watching her. They’ll report every smile as flirtation or disloyalty. Trust me in this, will you, Jamie? I’ll be in your debt for it.”

What he did next took her completely by surprise. He seized her hand and pulled her forward to him, so that his face was too close, his smile too seductive. “A kiss will pay,” he said.

She was so shocked—and hurt—that she was silenced. What was this? Who was this? They’d weathered the exile and the heady triumph of the return together. This man was as much a brother to her as anyone could be. How could he gloss over what she’d just said, treat her as some easy flirt? She took in his loose smile, the easy, proud set of his face. No one says no to him anymore, she thought. It was one of the curses of royalty. Even illegitimate royalty. He’d been too much spoiled. He was England’s Restoration darling, dark eyed, dark haired, high-spirited, as handsome as the day was long, cherished by his father. She pecked his lips chastely, her face stern, her mind racing. She needed an ally in what she must do, not a flirt. She’d thought to pour out her frets to him. Now, suddenly, jarringly, she was no longer certain. Nothing changes and everything does. “There’s your kiss, Jamie.”

Chastened, he stepped back, reading the hurt in her face.

“Will you do it?”

“Perhaps.”

His answer simply wasn’t good enough. She walked back toward where the maids of honor sat, thinking rapidly. It had to be her father, then. To trust her father was never a certain thing. Spider-shanked John Sidney and Barbara had their heads together, and from the expression on their faces, he was saying something she clearly liked hearing. In another moment, Alice was beside them, sitting down abruptly in Barbara’s lap, circling her friend’s neck with one arm, ignoring John completely. “How like him,” she said, making her face sad. “He’s abandoned me.”

“Your father would never do that,” said Barbara, knowing at once of whom she spoke.

“He always does that.”

“I’m certain he’s near.”

“Come help me to find him, please, Ra.” Coaxing, Alice used the pet name all of Queen Catherine’s maids of honor called Barbara.

But Barbara didn’t have to be coaxed. Alice was her dearest friend. “Of course I will.”

As they walked away, Alice looked backward over her shoulder to John Sidney, who was staring after her in a perplexed manner. Slow-witted, thought Alice. You’re going to have to rise early in the morning to best me, sir.

“What on earth have you done to offend Mistress Verney?” asked Richard Saylor, who was sitting near and had seen it all.

“Nothing that I know of,” John said. “I have scarcely made her acquaintance.”

“Well, if I’m not mistaken, you’ve been considered, found wanting, and ambushed, old man.”

“Ambushed? What do you mean?”

“Remind me never to soldier with you. Come with me while I make another attempt to flirt with Mademoiselle de Keroualle. I’m dancing with her tonight, as many times as she’ll allow. Four. Bet me, cousin, that I persuade her to dance with me four times.”

“You admire her that much?”

“I love her.”

G
RACEN STOOD A
moment just outside the alcove where d’Effiat and the others were gathered. She could see they were seated round a table, Englishmen and the French, playing cards for coins, a language all understood.

Gracen unfurled her exquisitely painted hand fan, walked in as if she knew everyone there, stopped, and gasped theatrically. “I beg your pardon,” she said, fluttering the fan in agitation.

The men stopped what they were doing, stood.

“I was searching for someone. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“And who is this lovely?” asked d’Effiat in French.

“It’s Mademoiselle Howard, one of the maids of honor to Queen Catherine,” answered an Englishman.

D’Effiat took in her large eyes, the wide cheekbones. “Introduce me.”

“Mistress Howard, may I introduce the Marquis d’Effiat,” and the man went round the table introducing the other Frenchmen who were there. One after another, they nodded to her, their faces admiring.

“I’ve interrupted your game,” said Gracen. “Do say you forgive me.”

“Won’t you join us?” asked d’Effiat.

Beuvron, who spoke English—he practiced daily with Alice—translated.

“Alas, no. I was just going to walk along the parapets, admire the moon. I was looking for a friend to escort me.” She batted her eyes at d’Effiat as Beuvron told him what she’d said.

“So you shall,” said d’Effiat, knowing he was being flirted with. Handsomely sullen, he expected admiration. “The game may wait; a lovely woman, never.” He left his hand of cards, the coins stacked before him, and walked to Gracen, offering his arm. She ran her eyes over his face, disdainful, attractive, and smiled, quite pleased with herself.

“Beuvron, come with us, play go-between for me with this delicious little straying lamb,” ordered d’Effiat.

C
HAPTER 3

A
lice and Barbara talked in a corner tower adjoining the great hall. Windows were open, and they stood at one of them. Night hid the sprawl of the castle enclosure, its outer walls that overlooked the sea, but lights glimmered here and there, from another tower, from the guardhouse, and one could hear the ocean, a muted roar. Alice closed her eyes and sighed. There was so much to tell Barbara, much to ask. Two years was a long time. Letters between them could never hold the whole of it. Another sound outside made her tilt her head.

“What’s that?”

“King Charles had silver bells hung in the parapets so the princess could fall asleep listening to them.”

The bells pealed lightly, sweetly in the breeze, something in their sound catching the heart. Behind them, through a door, revelry continued, musicians playing, people dancing, talking, laughing, flirting.

“How many of you came over with the princess?” asked Barbara.

“Too many.” Alice thought of d’Effiat and his friends. “Two hundred or so.”

“My word.”

“King Louis does nothing sparingly. He wanted you—us—to be impressed with his splendor.”

“We are.”

“When did you and this Mister Sidney become such friends?” She asked the question offhandedly, as if she didn’t care.

“It’s just…” Barbara groped for a word. “Grown.”

“And how does Her Majesty the queen?”

“It’s been a difficult spring, Alice. She lost another babe. The king’s taken an actress to bed. She’s just had his child—a boy. It hurts me to speak of this. Let’s go and find your father.”

They walked back into the great hall, moving through the crowd, peering into corners and alcoves, finally to find him sitting with a striking, fair-haired young woman on the long, wide steps that led up to the hall itself. The Viking angel’s sister, thought Alice. Well and well again. Kit’s warning echoed in her mind. Did she think to capture Alice’s father and pillage his fortune? It was the fashion for men as old as her father, the age of King Charles, forty or more if they were a day, to moon over women just barely women. Her father was not one to be behind fashion. But I, thought Alice, am too old for a new mama. She swept forward. Barbara, reading her mood from the set of her shoulders, stayed back a step or two.

Sir Thomas Verney rose. “Poppet, I want to introduce you to Mistress Louisa Saylor.”

Alice was silent, not even glancing at Louisa.

“Well,” said Louisa into the silence, “I must be going. The music calls. Now, Sir Thomas, don’t forget you’ve promised to dance with me, and I’ll be pining, just pining away, until you do.”

Alice watched her father swell.

“A lie, miss. I’ll have to fight my way through your admirers.”

“Nonsense. You have only to walk forward for me to send them on their way like that.” Louisa snapped her fingers, and her earrings danced. She was tiny and blond, flirting and forthright. “I am so pleased to make your acquaintance at last, Mistress Verney,” she said to Alice’s haughty profile. “Your father speaks of you with such love.” Her gown hissed against the stones of the steps as she moved upward toward the music, toward the crowd.

Sir Thomas Verney drew dark brows together in a frown; Barbara made a noise. She didn’t thrive where there were quarrels, and when Alice and her father were together, there were often quarrels. One hung over them now. “Do excuse me,” she said. “I know you have so much to speak of.” She fled.

“Was there any talk of an arrangement, a…well, let’s just say a treaty? You’re a clever girl, Alice. It would be secret, of course, not bandied about, but you hear things, notice things,” said Sir Thomas.

“If it were secret, I would be out of bounds to speak of it—”

“Don’t play games, Alice.” Her father was harsh. “One hears gossip. Monsieur, for instance, was said to be furious that he was not included on this journey.”

“Monsieur, Father, is furious if his coat doesn’t fit him in the way he thinks it ought. He has only two moods, sulks or fury. What are you on the hunt for?”

He tapped his nose. “I smell a rat covered in French perfume. I cannot help but wonder if this familial visit doesn’t cover some state business between King Charles and King Louis. It doesn’t, does it?”

Alice shrugged indifferently. Her father swelled again, and this time it was not because he was pleased. “You were rude to Mistress Saylor.”

“Accept my apologies for interrupting your ridiculous flirting, which is of course far more important than anything I might have to say—”

There was a soft, interrupting cough from above. Alice turned, saw Edward on an upper step. She hurried to him.