Chelynne (56 page)

“Temper? I was not angry, George. This is what I have wanted all along.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

As the illness faded for the countess of Bryant so did spring make its presence felt upon the land. Brown yielded to the promise of green and the rains were soft and sweet.

Chad looked in on his young wife frequently, and though he did not usually find her in a conversational mood, he was amazed with the speed of her recovery. He took note that her health became progressively better as small tokens of cheer arrived from the king. The fear vanished that her sickness would touch her beauty just as a violent storm marks the land. She emerged from her misfortune more radiant than he would have believed possible.

Chelynne’s manner had greatly changed since her close encounter with death. She seemed to have a new hold on herself, a new determination. She was hardly scampering about, as her condition was still weak, but she was carefully groomed every morning and her silky skin was touched with the rose flush he remembered. He marveled at the slim and seductive curve of her red lips and was still enticed with the fine, mysterious arch of her brows. But in the eyes there was the memory of trials. When he would inquire after her well-being and look into her eyes he did not see that warm adoration that had been there the summer before. Now there was a determined distance. She had not seen even seventeen summers and her eyes held the wisdom and pain of one hundred years. They held him at bay with the merest stare. She was ever as demure, but her gaze only a pace away from daring him to touch her. Chad, with his wealth of worldly knowledge, was completely at odds as to how to win her again.

“There’s a defiance there,” he thought. “And I cannot break through it. She is no longer mourning her lack of success but despising me wholeheartedly. I admit my foolishness, but cannot think of a single way to hold her, touch her. I’ve wooed dozens into my bed and this one I dare not court. And she is my own wife!”

But he pursued her daily, regularly entering and trying to find some sense of coming home in her bedchamber. But she was as cool as snow, as distant as some star. For every small remembrance Charles sent to her, Chad bought one lovelier. She was not greatly moved by his carefully chosen baubles and trinkets. He purchased carefully a diamond brooch that set him back two thousand pounds and she thanked him politely, placed an unexcited kiss on his cheek, and put the thing in her coffer. At that turn of events he pouted over a bottle of sack for several hours in his study.

Chelynne, this morning, was bathed and groomed and lying in peaceful repose on her daybed. Brandy lay at her feet, dozing as she did, when the rapid thud of Stella’s footfalls roused her. It was not her woman’s presence that brought Chelynne’s alertness, but the speed with which she was coming. “It’s the king, mum! The king’s come to call on ye!”

Chelynne barely had time to digest the news when he strode into her room just behind Stella. Long and determined were his strides, his wide smile beaming. He was totally casual in his manner and all that much more majestic because of his ease. He was dressed no more royally than any of his courtiers yet the kingly aura was all about him. He came straight to her side, lowered himself on one knee, and took her hands into his.

“Wonderful,” he breathed. “You look wonderful! I don’t believe you were ever ill. It was all a sham!”

“Sham indeed,” she teased, confident and comfortable with him. “To bring a mighty king to his knees before a common subject.”

“There is nothing common about you, madam.”

“You’re kind to call, sire,” she murmured, her voice full of warmth.

He hushed her with a finger to her lips. “Don’t let it get out that I’m kind.” He chuckled to himself. “I’m trying to have it known that I’m gruesome and cruel.”

Chelynne laughed easily. There was a time when she had quaked at the sight of him, so awesome and powerful. Now she could see, happily, that he was as human as any man, and one of the most charming and thoughtful she had ever chanced to know.

“You’ve received my gifts?” he asked.

“All of them. You are generous, but I won’t tell a soul.”

She gestured with an arm to the silver sitting out and the bracelet lying on top of her coffer. Charles walked about to inspect his gifts, for though he had had them sent, he had not seen them. Beside the silver was a book of poems and he lifted the cover. It was inscribed, a gift from her husband, and dated. He moved to her coffer and eyed the diamond brooch. “This makes mine look like a pauper’s gift,” he remarked.

“From the earl,” she told him.

“He is a most considerate husband,” he commented.

“Of late,” she murmured, lowering her eyes. Charles was quick to sense the cloud of doubt and watched, though she did nothing visible, as she pushed away that feeling and regained the happy mood.

“Perhaps you so frightened him with your illness he’s had a chance to think better of his moods. That would be a nice turn, don’t you agree, madam?”

She agreed so quickly that Charles knew there was uncertainty. He walked to her dressing table and admired the tapestry that graced the stone wall. He was not a man to pay such close attention to the furnishings of a room, but he was an expert sleuth. There was a comb and brush and hand mirror on display, articulately fashioned out of silver. “These are lovely,” he praised aloud.

“Again the earl, sire.”

“Since your illness?”

She nodded and he raised an eyebrow in thought. “I believe he is courting you, madam. Many wives would be envious of that.”

“Perhaps they would.” She smiled. “I know they envy me now.”

“I don’t have much time,” he apologized. “But there is a matter I would like to discuss with you. I wonder what your plans are now?”

She shrugged, noncommittal. “The weather grows warmer, sire. I thought I might go to the country.”

“The court moves to Windsor soon. I shall visit Newmarket for the races. Have you ever been to the races, madam?”

“Never, sire. Is it exciting?”

“Not particularly,” he laughed. “But it’s not Whitehall, if you follow my meaning.”

She followed it very well. She knew the king was not wont to move about and wander. He had had plenty of that in his youth. But he was energetic and liked to make short trips for special diversions such as the races, hunting and yacht racing. And he most usually had the company of a mistress.

“Were you considering the quiet of the country to benefit your health?” he asked.

“I thought it might, sire. And it livens my spirits. I was raised in the country and I love to ride. It’s more peaceful than...”

He lifted her hand and looked at a ring with a ruby stone of great value. “This is a handsome piece, madam,” he observed.

“This belonged to the last countess of Bryant.”

Charles frowned. He thought for a moment. “For a man who does not care about you he makes most expensive gifts. I know many women who would like to be ignored thus.”

His eyes were not teasing her now. She could read in his expression that he found it hard to believe she was unloved and ignored. Charles did not know all of Chad as she did. She was tempted to give her reasons for doubt, and she felt a closeness to this man that would facilitate complete honesty.

For some reason she held silent. And her silence saved her husband from the king’s wrath. She tried not to think she was protecting him in any way.

“Some gifts come too late, sire,” she said softly.

“Too late,” he muttered. “That is my most unfavorite sound. Do you have any idea how many times I have been too late? Believe me this once, madam. Sometimes it is too late because you have willed it so and sometimes because it truly is. There is a great deal of difference.” She stared at him and digested the words. She dared not ask how much he knew of her. He gave her a reassuring pat and went on.

“But I haven’t come to recount all my foolish philosophies. I have a question for you. If you would like to take the appointment of Lady to the Queen’s Bedchamber, I am prepared to make you that offer.”

“You would do that for me, sire?”

“You’re so surprised? Why not you?”

“I...hardly seem worthy...”

“Oh, madam, you are worthy of it, but that is not my reasoning. I will be frank, Chelynne. I’ve told no one of my intention, for my purpose may surprise you. If you are not entirely happy in this household you have but to ask and there will be an appointment and apartments at Whitehall. Of course you will have obligations to the court, so think carefully on the matter. I offer this choice.”

“How generous of you, sire,” she breathed in wonder. She had never expected this kindness from the king. And it was clear to her. She would be free of being at Chad’s mercy, but she could not have the ultimate freedom; she would have other duties she detested.

“I’m not as generous as you might think, Chelynne. It certainly doesn’t pain me to be surrounded by beautiful women. You have this one chance to look after your own interests. Do so.” He lifted her hand and looked again at the beautiful ring. “Think about what you want for yourself, and if you can get it, take it. It’s the only way you’ll ever be happy.”

“Thank you, sire. I’ll think on it heavily.”

He was on his feet and plopped his hat again on his head. His time was spent. He was in a hurry now with several appointments, all more important than this young countess. Chelynne could imagine the rumors now. She certainly must be thought to be the king’s most recent conquest or at least hotly pursued by His Majesty. She almost laughed at the thought. However it thrilled her to have this much attention from the king, she knew she was far from unique. In comparison to what he had given the many women for whom he felt a fondness, his gifts to her were inexpensive and his time minimal. But it was enough to make Chelynne feel very special. A warmness in her heart was a blessing now.

He brushed a kiss on her cheek and smiled his farewell. He stopped at the door to take one last look in her direction. She was so lovely that he pitied Hawthorne. It was as much a curse to have a beautiful wife as to have one with the face of a mule. His shoulders shook with silent laughter as he gained the foot of the stair and saw the earl watching his hurried descent.

“Your Majesty.” Chad bowed stiffly.

“My lord,” Charles acknowledged. The earl straightened and they met eyes. Charles was in good spirits. Hawthorne was visibly troubled. “I’ve made my offer to your lady and await her pleasure.”

“You’re most gracious, Your Majesty,” he said, forcing the words out. Damned if it wasn’t the greatest curse to have a lusty king. He could hardly fight his own king. Chad was locked into the most precarious position.

“She was surprised with my proposal. I don’t believe you did mention it to her.”

“Sire, I gave you my word.”

“I advised her to think on it carefully,” Charles added, amused.

“I thank you for that, sire.”

Charles clapped a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. He looked with much mirth into those gray eyes. They were stones, smoldering with anger and frustration. But Charles was not concerned. Not at all.

“I think you’ve always been a man to fight for what you hold dear, Bryant,” he said shrewdly.

“When the force of arms is equal, sire,” he returned.

Charles fought the urge to laugh outright. “I, too, am a man to go after what I desire. You know that of me, don’t you?”

“I’ve known it for a very long time, sire.”

“We’re alike in a great many ways, Bryant. If you want something badly enough I believe you’ll find a way to have it. You may even win this one.”

“And if I do, sire?” he asked boldly.

Charles’s eyes twinkled with delight. Games intrigued him, and intrigue was a game to him. “Then I shall find a graceful way to lose.”

For only a fragment of an hour Charles gained a fair amount of pleasure. With his usual speed he climbed into his coach and was greeted by Louise with a pretty pout on her face. She did not fancy being left to wait while her royal lover paid a visit to another woman. Charles chuckled and pulled her into his violent and heated embrace, treating himself and his mistress to a prelude of what was to come.

The afternoon sun was high in the sky before Chad had the opportunity to look in on Chelynne. From the door he could watch her, lying so peacefully on her daybed, her honey locks streaming over the velvet cushions. One slender arm escaped the lace dressing gown and rested on Brandy’s head. She absently stroked the puppy.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said from the doorway.

She jumped, slightly startled, and looked at him. “No, my lord. Just resting.”

He strode toward her. He wondered what picture he might strike in her mind. Would he appear the cool and self-confident aristocrat? Would she know that even now he was nervous, quaking inside from being near her?

“If you’re tired I’ll come back later.”

“No need, my lord, I’m—”

“My lord! My lord! Chelynne, have you some aversion to using my name? Do you think I’ve not noticed how seldom you do? And I’ve noticed too that the only time is when the hostility between us is gone for some emergency.”

“I’m sorry, Chad. I didn’t think it much mattered to you.”