Improbable Eden (38 page)

Still fractious, Eden fought against Max's restraining hands. “This is petty conniving! She wants you back Max, because she thinks now that Rudolf's dead, you'll regain your property and mayhap his, too. Harriet would rather be a princess than a viscountess, isn't that so, you nasty shrew?”

Harriet bridled at the accusation, but held her ground. “You forget, peasant, that Max and I were betrothed for some time. I've merely reconsidered and am willing to take him back now.” She fluttered her lashes at Max and turned to Sir Edmund. “Well? Will you do your duty?”

“
I always do my duty,” the Lord Lieutenant replied, looking ill pleased as he spoke to Eden. “Milord Bentinck has signed this warrant and I must hold you here in the Tower until I receive further instructions. As for Your Highness,” he went on, trying to ignore the wrath on Max's and Eden's faces, “according to this document, you are free to go.”

Max dug his heels into the scullery floor. “I won't leave without Eden. I've fought too long and too hard for what I want to give up now.”

“
Max!” Harriet's green eyes glittered dangerously. “We had an understanding! Would you bring the House of Villiers down on your head? Or,” she added maliciously, “would you prefer to lose it out on Tower Hill tomorrow with John Fenwick?”

With both arms around Eden, Max eyed Harriet contemptuously. “I cared for you once, in my fashion, Harriet, but I didn't love you. Nor did you love me. We were convenient for each other. But I love Eden and I'm going to marry her. Tear up that warrant and make way.”

Harriet snatched the warrant out of the Lord Lieutenant's hands. “You're an idiot, Max.” The green eyes were almost black with hatred. “You'd give up everything for this bastard slut! I'll take this back to my uncle and have him charge you both with complicity.” She gave a toss of her head, the single ostrich feather swaying ominously on her miniver hat. “I hope you die for your stupidity. To think your children could have been born of Villiers stock!”

“
They still can.” The husky voice emanated from the kitchen, and Lady Castlemaine emerged, her blackamoor manservant and a pair of Russian wolfhounds in tow. “Well?” she demanded, restraining the barking dogs. “My daughter's as much a Villiers as you are, Harriet. Why don't you take that warrant or whatever poxy pap you've trotted out and put it up your petticoats?”

Furious, Harriet almost flung herself at Barbara, but the wolfhounds held her at bay. “Strumpet!” shrieked Harriet. “Trollop! You've no right to meddle.”

Lady Castlemaine tugged at the dogs' leashes, quieting them down. “Faugh, you're the one who meddles, Harriet. Call me what you will, at least I'm an honest whore—unlike you.” Barbara turned to Sir Edmund. “The King's carriage awaits His Highness and my daughter. Joost van Keppel has made Wee Willie see reason. We thank you for your hospitality, but the hour grows late.” As the blackamoor manservant made way through the kitchen, Barbara beckoned to Max and Eden. “Come, children, this place makes my backside twitch. Imagine, queens used to be beheaded for adultery! Praise the Virgin for modern enlightenment!”

Sir Edmund had stepped aside while Max guided Eden through the scullery, his hand firmly placed at her back. But Harriet was not quite ready to give up. Her face contorted with frustrated rage, she picked up a paring knife from a tiled counter and dove at Lady Castlemaine. “Drunken bitch! You won't get away with this!” she screamed.

With amazing reflexes, Barbara neatly parried the blow with one arm, while her other fist flew out to land with a resounding crack on her attacker's chin. Harriet groaned, reeled and fell to the floor, landing on a pile of flour sacks. At least one of them burst, spilling a white cloud from the tip of the ostrich feather to the miniver-trimmed hem. Thoroughly stunned, Lady Harriet Villiers lay with feet splayed and mouth agape as the dogs barked their farewell and Lady Castlemaine dusted off her gloves.

“
Milady!” Eden breathed in astonishment as Max propelled her down the passageway that led to the main entrance of the Lord Lieutenant's lodging. “You were magnificent!”

“
I often am.” Barbara shrugged as they emerged onto Tower Green. “But,” she added, taking a swig from a gin flask she carried in her muff, “what's a mother for, eh, Baby Ducks?”

William of Orange was abed, the camphor kettle boiling on the hob, the poplar salve smeared around his nose. “We are following your instructions,” he said, sounding more crotchety than he looked. “We may confound our enemies and survive the winter after all.”

Outside, the parish church of Kensington chimed the midnight hour. In the King's chambers, Joost van Keppel lounged against the Grinling Gibbons mantelpiece, and Max stood near the head of the canopied bed while Eden blended a cough mixture in a crystal bowl. To the observer, it was a placid domestic scene, elegant in detail yet homely in execution.

“
You have much to explain,” the King reproached Max with the wag of a finger. “Not the least of which is why you didn't come to us directly after your return from the Continent.”

Max shielded a guttering candle by the bed with his hand. “I had already tried many times, Sire, and was always thwarted by Milord Bentinck.” He glanced at Keppel, who nodded in agreement. “When I was arrested today—yesterday, now—I decided that was all for the good and gave no resistance. If Bentinck thought I was safely imprisoned, he couldn't keep me from seeing you if I escaped and came to Kensington. I'd hoped to catch him off guard, you see.”

Considering Max's words, William touched his long nose. “Ah. It makes sense—we think. But it was reckless.”

“
Not as much as Bentinck's attempt to try me for murder,” Max said bitterly.

“
I blame Harriet,” put in Eden, spooning out the cough mixture. “Here, Sire, you like this, remember?”

The King raised his hands in protest. “We're not coughing,” he said, shrinking against the pillows.

Eden persevered. “Not yet. Take just a spoonful and ensure a restful night.”

Reluctantly, William obeyed. At the end of the bed, the Dutch pugs yawned and stretched, then rolled over and went back to sleep. Keppel poured himself a cup of usquebaugh and adjusted the sash on his damask lounging robe. “Zounds, Max, give us your news! Rumors are flying from here to Paris!”

Curiously, Eden looked at Max, who wore an unusually self-satisfied expression. She knew he had traveled abroad, but so far there had been little opportunity for him to confide in Eden. As the King indicated that Max should sit, Eden shoved a chair next to the bed. Resting one long leg on the other knee, Max unfolded his story.

“
Originally, my plan was to see the King. You, Sire,” Max said with a nod toward William. “Then, as I was sneaking about the garden at Whitehall, it occurred to me that I was calling on the wrong king. It was Louis I needed to see to settle the controversy between Rudolf and me. To pave the way, I began with the Archbishop of Liège, who had connived with Rudolf over the separate peace. I convinced His Excellency that betraying you to the French was not in his best interests. His political acumen exceeds his piety.” A wry smile touched Max's lips. “As it was, I had to become forceful in showing him that Protestants aren't the only ones who are venal and grasping. Eventually, he gave in. The treaty, of course, is null and void.”

William nodded with solemn understanding. “We are most gratified. It's still hard to believe that Count Rudolf was so treacherous. He always seemed such a pleasant fellow.”

Eden turned her head so that the King could not see the face she made. She couldn't understand how William, who was usually an astute judge of human nature, should have failed in Rudolf's case. But then the King had also been wrong about Marlborough. Everyone, it seemed, was entitled to a margin of error.

“
After Liège, I went to Versailles,” Max continued, accepting Keppel's proffered glass of Moselle wine. “It was risky, yet I had to make it plain to King Louis that I had never at any time agreed to settle the dispute over Vranes-sur-Ourthe. To my surprise, Louis was in an affable mood. The yuletide season, perhaps.” Without breaking stride in his recital, Max reached around to take Eden's hand and place it on his shoulder. “The French King is willing to continue peace negotiations. James Stuart has been offered the Polish throne, left vacant by the death of John Sobieski.” He paused not only for effect, but to gently stroke Eden's fingers. “Thus, Louis will recognize Your Majesty, not James, as King of England, Scotland and Ireland as soon as the treaty is formalized.”

“
Ah!” William of Orange let out a great sigh of relief and closed his eyes. “Praise God! How long we have waited!”

“
Max!” Eden grabbed him by the shirt and shook his shoulder. “You never told me! How could you?”

“
I promised I'd tell you in good time,” Max replied reasonably, trying to loosen her tenacious grasp. “It was His Majesty who needed to know first though I must admit, it was your inspiration that sent me racing off to the Continent.” He gave Eden a wry grin.

“
But, how?” she demanded, wide-eyed.

The grin grew crooked, “I tried thinking like you do, and amazingly it worked.”

Eden was momentarily nonplussed. William, having savored his elation, was already back to business. “We must resume the peace talks,” he asserted, reaching for pen and paper from the table next to the bed. “We will dispatch Dykvelt and Matt Prior to France immediately. We must also, I fear, prepare for war. If the peace talks should fail or bog down, we may be able to regain more of our lost holdings in the meantime.”

Eden, who had stopped shaking Max and was standing next to him with her arm draped over his back, interjected a question. “Sire, who will lead this army if you need to fight?”

The keen dark eyes stared down the long nose at Eden. “We haven't yet made that decision, Mistress. Or,” William inquired with a glint of irony, “would you make it for us?”

Eden put a hand to her claret-colored curls. “I wouldn't think I'd have to,” she exclaimed, all round-eyed innocence. “The answer is obvious.”

King William's gaze locked with hers while Keppel hid his smile and Max tapped his long chin. “Obvious, eh?” grumbled His Majesty. “That Marlborough fellow, we suppose?”

Eden gave the King a dazzling smile. “Yes, my father. Who else?”

William pulled the covers up to his chin. “Who else, indeed?” he muttered. “But the Lady Anne is getting married to that Republican rascal, Lord Spencer. We suppose the Earl will have to give the bride away first.”

“
Brides,” corrected Eden, and turned to look into Max's hazel eyes. For one startling instant she saw her own image reflected, not as she was now, but as she had been a year ago, under the eaves at Smarden, wondering what the New Year would bring. Then the vision faded and she saw only love.

Elsa was twittering her way down the staircase while
Vrouw
de Koch chided the kitchen help and
Heer
Van de Weghe argued with a tradesman on the front stoop. Eden rolled over in bed and wondered why she felt so cold. Opening her eyes, she also wondered where she was—not in the familiar bedroom with the pansies on the counterpane, but in a much larger chamber, filled with oversize furniture and bold splashes of color. Eden sat up and savored the sunlight.

“
What time is it?” she called to Max. “Oh, do close that window, it's chilly in here without you!”

“
That can be remedied,” said Max, moving across the room on his bare feet. “It's going to snow again. The clouds are moving in from the north.”

Eden watched Max throw off the striped robe and get into bed. “I don't care if it snows for a month,” she declared with fervor. “Let's not leave here until spring.” Feeling the warmth of his body next to hers, she gave a little shiver of pleasure. “You know, I'd never seen your bedroom until now? It was too dark when we got back to Kensington last night.”

“
It was this morning,” said Max, nipping her nose with his teeth. “It's past noon now. And I didn't give you time to see much of anything except me.”

“
Hmm,” murmured Eden as he pressed kisses along her jaw and neck. “Which was fine, i' truth, though it is a very nice room. Are those your paintings?”

Max lifted his head just long enough to glance at the far wall. “Most of them. Except for two, they're not very good.”

“
I must study them,” said Eden in a vague sort of way as she ran her hands up and down the hard muscles of Max's back. “Will you paint my portrait some day?”

Max was fondling her breasts, teasing her nipples with his thumbs, making her brain grow hazy with the return of desire. “Maybe.” He grinned across the pillow at her, the sun-streaked hair rumpled, the hazel eyes agleam with longing. “I'll paint you nude.”

“
You will not!” Eden pulled away and almost fell off the bed. “Even my mother didn't pose nude!”

With little effort, Max hauled her across the sheets. “All right, I'll paint you with clothes on, but you must be naked for the sitting.”

Eden's show of indignation dwindled into a giggle. “You're dreadful. Why do I love you so much?” With a sigh of mock surrender, she offered her face for his kisses.