Royal Regard (18 page)

Perhaps it was her renewed confidence that
drove her to ask, “
Monsieur
, why do you wear only black? Not
even a white tie for evening.”

He was silent as they passed four
paintings.

“Excuse my prying,
Monsieur
. I am too
forward.”

“Forgive me, my darling. Only it requires
some courage to speak aloud.”

His face showed an extraordinarily tortured
longing: his muscles loosened and eyes became unfocused, lost in a
chaotic daydream she suspected he often visited, but which never
brought pleasure. Rather than forbidding, his grim countenance
turned forlorn, seeming almost too young to be so sorrowful.

“I once had a very large family—two brothers,
four sisters, and my parents, who were very much in love. I am the
youngest of all, but many years now alone. There is not enough
black.”

“
Monsieur
. I am so sorry. I had not
meant to open a sore subject.”

Regardless of her discomfort at disturbing
his emotional sensibilities, now that he had gathered his courage,
he saw fit to continue the conversation. “I have worn mourning
nearly all of my life. My eldest brother took a fall from a horse
when I was nine; at eleven, my father ate a bad piece of meat, and
my remaining brother drowned when I was twelve. It was then I
became the tenth duke,
Maman
and her brother stewards of my
estate and guardians of my two sisters yet unmarried.”

“You must have been their pet,” she
teased.

He replied in an ominous undertone, “I have
never been any woman’s pet,
ma chère
.”

She heard the clear warning, but even if she
hadn’t, the look on his face when she glanced at him sent her gaze
immediately to the varnished wooden floor.

His approval of her unconsidered movement was
almost audible as he continued, “When I was ten-and-six,
Maman
was gathered to God, and I was called to Court to
become head of the Fouret family. It was then I took up black as
custom.” His hand drifted to the velvet lapel of his fine wool
jacket.

“Out of respect for your mother.”

“And so it began, but the grief compounded
two years later by the loss of the girl I would marry, then my
uncle, who had been like a father, and just before the Revolution,
my duchess and my heir. Finally, in
La Grande Terreur
, all
of my sisters, their husbands, their children, were put to death by
guillotine—twenty-six in all, two still in infancy, and innumerable
aunts, uncles, and cousins.”

Her hand flew to contain her gasp.
“
Monsieur
! I am so sorry. I should have thought—” The back
of her glove seemed stuck to her lips.

Malbourne allowed her to excuse herself just
too long for courtesy, and Bella found herself reflexively
curtseying and dropping her eyes.

“
Monsieur, je
suis vraiment désolée
.
I am deeply
ashamed. I cannot ask you continue.” Bella had come across many
heartbreaking stories in her time, but the life of the Duke of
Malbourne was the darkest she’d ever heard. Charlotte said he
looked cold, and now Bella knew why. He had lost everyone he had
ever loved.

“By the time my wife breathed her last in
childbed, the revolution was already underway. I could choose life
or death, and either way, would lose my estate to looters and
thieves.”

“Obviously, you escaped.”

“
Oui,
but my family was spread
throughout France, and my agent could not reach them. Like many
aristos, they believed the monarchy would soon put down the rabble
and there would be the end to it. By the time they would make their
escape, it was too late.”

“I am so, so sorry.” He made no response but
a tightening of his jaw, so she cast about for a way to continue
the conversation without bringing up any further bad memories.

“Why did you choose England,
Monsieur
?”

He stayed silent a moment longer, but then
allowed her to redirect the conversation. “I own an estate here
through the late duchess, near Dover. A small manor house, a
fishing village, tenant farms. Part of our marriage settlement. I
thought England a good place to wait for the unrest to be put
down.”

“Is it too forward of me to ask about
her?”

She was far too curious about what kind of
woman the Duke of Malbourne might marry, and what he might be like
as a husband, to leave the topic unexplored.

His nostrils twitched, but he visibly
restrained his aggravation. “
Non, mon tresor
. Of course you
wish to know, and with more right than most.”

She suddenly wished nothing more to do with
the topic, sure she had committed another
faux pas
. “You
needn’t—”

His smile was craven and eyes dark, but he
continued even as she stuttered her apologies.

“Do not fear,
ma belle
, I loved my
wife very much, my divine
Amélie
, but it has been many years
since she was taken; it seems an age since I have spoken of her.
She was very beautiful, very… delicate… gentle… in this you remind
me of her… a certain… sweetness of spirit. The death of my wife and
babe drove me from France as much as the revolution. Too many
memories, too many ghosts.”

“No matter my best intention, I bring up
painful memories.”

“My story cannot be told without raising
phantoms. For you, my sweet, I will suffer it.” His jaw clenched,
and his elbow twitched, but he forced a smile. “I have come to
enjoy my estate through the years, though it is very lonely now, as
I grow older. My consolation is the pristine view of France from
the cliffs behind my gardens.”

Bella could think of nothing sadder than this
poor, lonesome man, who had lived such a solitary life, walking the
shoreline for a glimpse of his homeland. She wished she could do
something to ease him, but surely he would be distressed at any
pity.

A crowd of tourists came between them for the
space of ten steps, and when they were rejoined on the other side
of the group, he let the silence weigh heavier until she chose to
fill it with some new subject.

She stopped before a painting she couldn’t
identify, other than to know immediately it was a floor-to-ceiling
representation of Hell. “I wonder, sometimes, what it must be like
to be royalty, which you are, I am given to understand. The
nobility seems so remote, and now I must find my way among
you.”

He stopped and his voice lifted a few notes
higher. “You are a noble, my lady, are you not?”

“By marriage alone, I am afraid. I was only a
baronet’s daughter, and a destitute one at that.” In the corner of
her eye, she saw his nose wrinkle as though he smelled something
bad. “I suppose I have done quite well for myself.”

“Oui,
Madame la Comtesse
. Quite
well.”

“How fortunate I am, even now. Our last
months in Paris were everything decadent. The food, the music, the
art, the books, the palaces.” She spread her arms, encompassing the
entire history of Gallic culture. “The most civilized society
imaginable.”

“There is nothing like attending the
sovereigns of France,” he nodded with conviction. “Your English
kings are barbarians by comparison.”

She leaned in as though she would share a
confidence, smiling mischievously. “I believe all Englishmen are a
bit barbaric, as are all kings, but I pray you not say so to His
Majesty.”

The incline of his head and the twinkle in
his eye entered into a small conspiracy. Before he could lead her
into further unsuitable admissions, however, she stopped before
Gainsborough’s oil painting of the Linley sisters, following the
brush strokes with her eyes and remarking on their once-feted
musical talents. She closed her eyes and could hear a ditty the
girls might have played for the artist while he was painting.

For two more hours, their conversation
continued as they made four circuits around the museum, discussing
the relative merits of each piece of art, every artist, and any
number of other topics that arose: his preference for Renaissance
works, hers for the new Romantics; his Dover estate yields, her
townhouse garden; his priory education, hers at Dame Hester’s
Seminary for Young Ladies; his regret he did not attend university,
her indignation that women weren’t allowed.

When the light in the windows began to
darken, and the rooms began to clear, he gently guided her toward
the door.

“It has been a wonderful afternoon, Your
Grace—” She dropped her eyes. “I mean, Adolphe.” He smiled when she
finally used his Christian name, though he had long since granted
her permission. “I think it very bad form to be seen together; this
afternoon has surely caused months of gossip. You mustn’t follow
after me or someone will notice, but please know this has been so
lovely. I wouldn’t have had nearly so good a time with anyone
else.”

“Of course, I understand, we must keep our
assignations private, the strictest of secrets. I have promised I
will not ruin your good name,
non
?”

“No, that isn’t—I don’t think we should—”

He bent to kiss her wrist, once more running
the tip of his tongue just inside the edge of her glove, making her
breathing quicken and body shudder.

“I shall make you love me,
ma chère
.
Of this you may be sure.”

Nick searched along the
path through the gardens at St. James’s Palace, looking for a
red-gold head among the flowers and trees. Lord Huntleigh was
closeted in an unexpected meeting with Lord Liverpool, his wife was
known to be somewhere in the vicinity, and Nick had been seeking
this chance for weeks. Now here, however, he found only acres of
flora in all directions, at least half of it red and gold, and
miles of trails on which a person could lose herself, by accident
or design.

If need be, he would overturn every blade of
grass.

The king had whispered to Nick with a knowing
look from the corner of his eye, “I should give you no such boon
after you played booty at faro two nights in a row, but Huntleigh
won’t be free for hours—I’ve seen to that—and his poor, lonely lady
wife is waiting for him in the gardens. Perhaps you have some idea
how she might be entertained?”

Nick had nearly swallowed his tongue at the
thought. “I am delighted to distract the lady, Your Majesty, and to
relieve myself of unjust debt accrued at the card table to appease
your pride.”

“No more of your trickery, or I will invite
our friends to join me in taking your coin.”

“‘Tis only fair, my liege, given the perfidy.
To make amends, I will lighten your purse at your pleasure.”

“I shall take your head next time you lose.
Now, go press your suit with Lady Huntleigh.”

For once, Nick was thrilled to follow the
king’s directive. Before Prinny’s interference, his afternoon had
stretched before him interminably—the endless pursuit of solutions
to irreconcilable politics, with his viewpoints always in the
minority. But now, if he could find Lady Huntleigh, he might soon
be engaged in much more satisfying amusements. He had gone far too
long without a mistress; if he could lure her to a trysting spot,
this might become the high point of his week.

The king paused and raised a hand to call
Nick back, not quite dismissing him, but neither giving any sign
what he might say next. “She would make you a fine wife,
Wellbridge.”

Nick sucked in a breath. “Perish the thought,
Sire. Did you not say only hours ago there is no state so unholy as
matrimony?”

Prinny laughed, “But you, my friend, are not
a king pledged to marry whichever hag will seal an alliance. You
might choose a woman for the enjoyment of her.”

“I need make no choice, Sire, when I can
enjoy two or three wives in every Season.”

Although the king chuckled, his forehead
remained furrowed, “I find that unseemly for Lady Huntleigh. I
shall have to consider whom she might wed.”

“Pray, consider a few weeks, Sire, a month,
maybe two…”

“I shall leave it to your conscience,
Wellbridge, but be gentle with Lady Huntleigh, as she is not so
worldly a woman as you may think, and I would not like to see her
cry for unrequited love of a coxcomb like you.”

“Of course,” he replied. “I would never raise
her expectations. I deceive ladies’ husbands, not ladies.”

Nick had taken his leave, quivering with
thoughts of Lady Huntleigh unclothed beneath him, moaning and
calling him by his Christian name. Even better, astride, hair
falling loose around her face, over her breasts, legs grasping his
hips, fingernails digging into his chest as she lost her head… He
would bet she had a good seat in a saddle. She’d even said so in
one of her traveling tales—he couldn’t remember the story, only the
image of her in tattered trousers, escaping hostiles on
horseback.