Marigold Chain (15 page)

She
turned this over in her mind for a moment and then said, ‘It’s
probably another stupid question but … do you actually
know
His Majesty?’

‘
Yes. I
won’t pretend he’s an intimate acquaintance but I’ve known him
since Worcester and I can assure you that he’s not at all
frightening.’

Chloë
felt like shouting, ‘
Not frightening? He’s
the King, you idiot!’
But said dryly, ‘I’m glad to
hear it. And the whole court isn’t frightening either, I
suppose?’

He shrugged.
‘It’s a run of the mill occasion with, I presume, all the usual
faces. The worst it’s likely to be is tedious.’ His expression
became the one which usually heralded one of his more outrageous
statements. ‘And only think – if we’re lucky, His Highly
Susceptible Majesty will take such a fancy to you that we’ll find
ourselves sundered in record time so you can be Queen of the
May.’

She eyed him
witheringly. ‘In that case, how can I refuse?’

‘
Just
what I’ve been trying to tell you,’ said Alex. ‘You
can’t.’

Later,
en-route in hot-footed panic to see Lady Julia, Chloë wondered
whether Mr Deveril was in a greater hurry than previously to have
their union annulled – and, if so, why. She also finally and with
reluctance admitted to herself that it wasn’t what
she
wanted. She told herself it
wasn’t that surprising. For the first time in years, she was happy.
She had a home she enjoyed caring for, friends she valued and a
small business venture she hoped would prove profitable. She had
every reason to be happy. It was nothing at all to do with the
difficult, charming man who had just talked her into what might
well be the most terrifying evening of her life.

Lady Julia, as
it turned out, was not impressed.

‘
So?’ she
asked calmly. ‘I told you it wouldn’t be possible for you to hide
yourself away here in London. I’m only surprised that it’s taken
Alex so long to do something about it.’ She laughed. ‘Don’t look so
scared. There’s nothing to worry about.’

‘
There’s
nothing to worry about,’ agreed Chloë sourly, ‘except that the only
gown in any sense suitable is that green brocade you made me buy.
And it isn’t finished yet.’

‘
Is that
all? We can soon change that. Come on – smile! Lots of girls would
give their eyes for this chance.’

‘
Well
that just shows how unworthy I am. I’ve got my priorities all
wrong.’

But on the
following evening, at the end of an unusually careful and lengthy
toilette, her feelings underwent a slight adjustment as she studied
her reflection in the glass. One couldn’t deny that a bit of effort
paid dividends and it seemed that Julia had been quite right about
the disputed brocade. Dark green and richly glowing, it proved an
excellent foil for what Chloë privately considered the undue
gaudiness of her hair and seemed to enhance the whiteness of her
skin. After long argument, Julia had also had her way on the cut of
the gown and, though it still seemed rather revealing, Chloë had to
admit that it showed her shoulders to advantage.

The puffed,
elbow-length sleeves ended in falls of the same creamy lace that
edged the bodice and, gathered into the deep point of the waist,
the full skirt whispered slyly as she walked. Chloë’s only
lingering reservation was – between tight-lacing and a daring
expanse of décolletage – what might happen if she indulged in
unwary movement.

After ten
minutes of unaccustomed indecision, common sense prevailed and she
relinquished any notion of curls. Instead, she created an intricate
halo of woven plaits and confined the surplus in a delicate,
filigree caul. The result was elegant if rather severe and Chloë
was moderately pleased.

If Mr Deveril
was impressed by the transformation he made no comment on it,
although the pale gaze narrowed a trifle as it rested on her … and
if Chloë was disappointed by the omission, she did not show it. At
any event the thought, if it existed at all, lasted only a second.
After that – and not for the first time – she resigned herself to
the fact that some people had a whole battery of unfair
advantages.

Although
immaculately saturnine in black velvet, with a sapphire order
glowing on his breast, Alexander Deveril’s magnificence had little
to do with his clothes. It came from the high cheekbones, the
sculpted mouth, the ice-blue eyes fringed with thick lashes, the
casually elegant posture … and the long, loosely-curling hair,
gleaming with the blue-black sheen of a raven’s wing. Chloë sighed
and reflected that no amount of time spent in front of her mirror
was ever going to compete with that.

Alex smiled
with his habitual ambiguity and, taking her cloak, dropped it
neatly about her shoulders. Then, tucking her hand through his arm,
he said, ‘Relax. It’s a reception – not an execution.’

Chloë was
spared the necessity of finding an answer by the advent of
Matthew’s head around the door. ‘The carriage is here,’ he said and
fixed her with an unwinking stare meant, she thought, to convey
encouragement. She smiled weakly at him and he withdrew.

Mr Deveril
picked up his hat and said cheerfully, ‘Boot and saddle, my dear.
We’re off.’

The air of
breezy anticipation clung to him all the way to Temple Bar,
manifesting itself in a stream of mostly disrespectful information
about Whitehall and its inmates that Chloë might have found funny
had she been listening. Swinging left into the Strand, the carriage
was briefly lit by the flare of a link-boy’s torch and, taking
advantage of it, Alex directed a quizzical glance at his wife’s
rigid profile.

‘
I hope,’
he said annoyingly, ‘that you’ve brought a clean
handkerchief.’

Chloë turned
her head and, beneath the smooth rose-gold braids, her face was
pale with fright. She said flatly, ‘I wish you wouldn’t be so
bright. If you wanted to be helpful, you’d tell me whether any
enquiries you may have made about the annulment have caused it to
become common knowledge or if it is still a well-kept secret. If
I’m likely to be asked any awkward questions, it would be nice to
be fore-warned so I can sharpen my tongue and my elbows.’

For a minute,
Alex continued to look at her. Then, with a sigh and a shrug, ‘All
right. You want to know if I’ve begun attempting to free us both;
the answer is yes. You want to know how these attempts are
progressing and the answer is that they are going as you would
expect – that is to say, slowly. And you want to know if the people
you will meet this evening are so far unaware of our intentions-
again yes. I hope.’ His mouth curled slightly. ‘Stop worrying.
Everything will be fine. Dull, but fine.’

The coach
bumped into the brightly-lit yard of Whitehall and Chloë regarded
Mr Deveril irritably. ‘I’m glad you think so.’

The blue eyes
grew thoughtful.

‘
I know
what it is,’ said Alex. ‘You haven’t any jewels.’

Some colour
came back into her face.

‘
Don’t be
ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t care a fig for such
things!’

‘
No? What
a pity,’ he said regretfully, slipping one hand into his pocket.
‘Then you won’t want this.’ And hanging from the long, shapely
fingers was a golden, topaz-studded chain, whose centre supported a
delicate, tawny flower cunningly wrought. A marigold.

Chloë stared at
it and felt her breath leak away. That was the trouble with Mr
Deveril, she thought. One minute he was being thoroughly
aggravating and the next he did something … something like this.
Very slowly, she looked into his eyes, her breathing still erratic
and her wits scrambled.

Mercifully, he
did not appear to expect an answer. As the coach drew to a halt, he
untied the strings of her cloak and fastened the pretty thing
around her neck with a gesture entirely prosaic.

‘
Not, of
course, that you required further adornment,’ he said placidly,
‘but it is a matter of confidence. There.’ He leaned back to
inspect his handiwork. ‘The perfect finishing touch. Don’t forget
to avoid lonely antechambers. Shall we go?’

It was
astonishing that, for the first time ever, something in his voice
calmed and encouraged her. Chloë’s heart resumed its usual rhythm
and she allowed him to hand her down from the coach.

‘
I don’t
know what to say – except thank you, of course,’ she said shyly.
‘I’m not sure I deserve it. It’s very beautiful.’

Mr Deveril
removed his hat and swept a flourishing bow.

‘
Then you
undoubtedly do,’ he replied with an indulgent gallantry clearly not
meant to be taken seriously.

Inside
was a blaze of lights and a bewildering press of people, not all of
them of the
haut monde
.
Whitehall, once the property of Cardinal Wolsey and now, thanks to
the addition of Inigo Jones’ banqueting-hall, the largest palace in
Europe, covered twenty-three acres and comprised a maze of
galleries, courtyards and some two thousand rooms. Anyone with the
right of entry could walk in to watch the King at dinner or catch
the eye of some influential personage in the Stone Gallery; and,
since many took advantage of this privilege, the Palace was
inevitably crowded.

Having
separated her from her cloak, Alex conducted her through a
complicated route of corridors and stairs, greeting people as he
went but stopping for none. Crossing the second gallery and
answering Chloë’s unspoken thought, he said, ‘They should supply
maps. It’s a warren built for rabbits by rabbits … but here we are.
It’s a pity that Parliament chose to send the late King to his
execution from the Banqueting Hall for it means that, not
unnaturally, the present King has a dislike for the room. But
possibly you consider this one well enough?’

Wordlessly,
Chloë nodded. The creative genius responsible for the great painted
ceiling might not have been Rubens but it was masterly enough to
endow its vivid, cloud-borne figures with vigorous majesty, while
the huge tapestries that covered the walls depicted scenes of equal
grandeur and triumph. The splendour of Solomon, the might of Samson
and the patience of Moses looked down with lofty eminence in the
dazzling light of several hundred candles; and below and between,
the glittering flower of English nobility eddied and swayed amidst
the crystal and gilt, linked by rank and wealth and fashion.

Chloë stared,
blinked and stared again. Then, swallowing resolutely, she looked
up at her husband.

He said
cheerfully, ‘Cosy, isn’t it? Like a bushel of pretty sugared
almonds jostling for position in the same exquisite dish. Only much
of the sugar is actually arsenic and most of the kernels are
rotten. But fear not – for here are Giles and Danny. Bread-crumbs
amongst the marchpane.’

There was a
faint question in the straight line of Chloë’s brows but she turned
to meet Danny’s open-mouthed gaze.

‘
My God!’
he said. ‘I’d hardly have known you. What have you done to your
hair?’

She frowned.
‘I’d ask you the same question if I were not on my best
behaviour.’

He grinned.
‘Sorry. I meant to say that you look wonderful. What do you think,
Giles?’

Mr Beckwith
thought a number of things he could not possibly say; such as the
fact that the severely upswept hair revealed an unsuspectedly pure
line of cheek and jaw … and that simplicity suited her in a way
that made every other woman in the room look tawdry. He smiled and
bowed gracefully over her hand.

‘
I think
you look charming,’ he said lightly. And to Alex, ‘You’ll present
her?’

Mr Deveril’s
expression was seraphic. ‘What else?’

‘
That,’
said Giles, ‘was what I was wondering.’

‘
Oh ye of
little faith!’ came the reproving reply. And, drawing Chloë with
him, continued unhurriedly across the room before coming to a
sudden halt.

Chloë glanced
sharply in the direction of his gaze. It appeared to be focussed on
the couple approaching them. A couple widely dissimilar; the lady
young and ethereally fair and a gentleman whose face, below his
modish wig, bore the look of ill-health.

‘
Why Mr
Deveril – what a charming surprise! We’d begun to wonder if you
hadn’t done something dreadful and been forced into horrid
seclusion.’

The lovely
creature was speaking and the significance of her words was not
lost on Chloë in whom suspicion became certainty. She glanced
fleetingly at the gentleman and then her attention was claimed by
Alex, his bow just a fraction too low and his voice a little too
mellow.

‘
Lady
Marsden – your most humble servant. Sir Graham – allow me to offer
my felicitations. My
warmest
felicitations.’

Sir Graham
bowed and smiled gently at Chloë. ‘I thank you. But it seems I
should return them – for I understand we are in like case.’

‘
Are we?’
The silver-blue gaze expressed mild alarm, transferred itself to
Sarah and on to Chloë. Then, delicately, ‘I don’t think
so.’

‘
What
Graham means,’ sighed Sarah, ‘is that, like us, you are recently
married.’

‘
Oh.
I
see
. And you have been
longing to meet my wife. Quite.’ He performed a belated
introduction and then turned again to Sir Graham. ‘You must forgive
me. My acquaintance with your bride is of such a … long-standing
nature … that I had forgotten that mine is a stranger to
you.’