Margaret Moore (4 page)

“She did not allow me the honor of learning her name.”

“Majesty, I thought only of getting away from …” The woman wisely hesitated.

Anyone at all familiar with the court would know that it might be better to say nothing of Sedley, Buckhurst, and Jermyn, no matter how rude or drunk they had been.

“From whom?” Charles demanded.

Richard let Mistress Longbourne squirm like a mouse caught by a cat for a moment while he considered whether he should name Sedley and his friends.

He decided against it, for despite their behavior and well-deserved disrepute, they were more powerful at court than he.

“It was merely some scoundrels who spoke out of turn, Majesty,” he explained. “A trifling incident.”

“A most bothersome incident!” the widow protested, a flash of fire in her eyes.

Then, rather surprisingly, her gaze faltered. “I was in some fear for my son’s safety from those ruffians, Sir Richard, but of course, that is no excuse. I must, therefore, beg your pardon.”

Before Richard could answer, Charles sat and gestured for the two of them to do the same.

“A most regrettable introduction to London,” he said sympathetically. “Nevertheless, we are surprised you do not remember this handsome fellow.”

“Our baggage was stolen, too, Majesty.”

He had not known that. Zounds, almost any other woman would have been reduced to
weeping by that alone without the added trouble of Sedley and his lascivious friends.

At that moment, Richard would quite willingly have forgiven her almost anything—until she cast a sidelong glance at him. Then he saw the shrewdness lurking in her remarkable hazel eyes and cursed himself for a dolt to be so taken in by feigned innocence.

He, so well schooled in hypocrisy, should know better.

“That must also explain why you did not trouble to thank me,” he noted dryly.

Elissa’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she regarded Sir Richard. She was quite sure he saw through her apparently sincere apology, and that was most disconcerting—nearly as disconcerting at sitting at a table with the King of England. “Majesty, I am sure Sir Richard will understand that I did not think it an appropriate time or place for social niceties. Indeed, this is a far more pleasant place to make introductions than the crowded, filthy street.”

The king chuckled. “Odd’s fish, Richard, that sounds like something from one of your plays.”

Sir Richard looked thoughtful. “If I were to write such a scene, Majesty, I believe I would have the female character fall in love with the bold fellow who came to her rescue.”

That response made the king laugh all the
more-“Of course! What say you to that, Mistress Longbourne?”

“Since I have not yet had the pleasure of seeing one of Sir Richard’s plays, I will have to assume that is a typical occurrence in one of his productions. Therefore, I shall also be forced to assume that he takes no trouble to present anything approximating reality upon the stage.”

Sir Richard colored slightly, and Elissa finally felt some of her tension ebb. She would show this impertinent fellow that she was not an ignorant country widow to be threatened by anyone’s sardonic manner and supposed sophistication.

Indeed, from what she heard of the king and his court, they were utterly at the mercy of their passions and so, she concluded, not as strong as she, who had conquered hers long ago.

Or had them driven out, her conscience prompted.

She forced herself to think only of the present, and to keep every sense alert until she knew exactly why the king had summoned her here.

“Harsh words, Mistress Longbourne,” Charles noted. “This does not bode well for our delightful plan.”

What anxiety had abated returned full force as the king looked at her with obvious disappointment, and perhaps even disapproval.
“We have a plan to try to amend this unfortunate business.”

“Business?” Elissa demanded warily.

More than a hint of reprimand appeared on the king’s face. “Mistress Longbourne?”

“Majesty,” she began again, trying not to sound as cowed as she suddenly felt, “I only wonder what unfortunate business you mean.”

“For a woman who feels competent enough to criticize my work without seeing it, this incomprehension seems rather odd,” Sir Richard mused aloud, apparently to no one in particular. “Surely there is no need to dissemble. She must have guessed the nature of the business to be conducted here when she saw me.”

To Elissa’s further chagrin, the king’s expression assumed a shrewdness she had not suspected he possessed. “We think he has you there, Mistress Longbourne, and he does not even know that you have brought your lawyer.”

“Your lawyer?” Sir Richard repeated incredulously.

“Then I gather it
is of
my son’s inheritance we speak,” Elissa said.

“My family’s estate,” Sir Richard quickly amended.

“Not after it was
legally
sold,” Elissa retorted. “My son is the rightful owner of the Blythe estate. It was fairly purchased and paid for, and bequeathed to him by my late husband.
My lawyer has brought all the necessary documents.”

“Come, come!” the king cried. His tone was outwardly jovial, but they both heard the undertone of royal displeasure. “We understand the legalities, Mistress Longbourne, and we trust you understand Sir Richard’s desire to have what he feels should be his not just by right of birth, but by virtue of the friendship and assistance he offered us during our long exile. Odd’s fish, madam, if it were up to us, we would have given him the estate the moment we set foot on English soil.

“Sadly, as you so forcefully observe, the estate was legally sold—”

“My uncle had no right to sell it!”

“You were in Europe, Richard,” Charles reminded him, and Elissa marveled as the monarch’s tone altered yet again. He now spoke as one old friend to another. “However, we believe we have hit upon a most charming and excellent solution,” the king continued pleasantly.

Richard and Elissa regarded him doubtfully.

“You two must be married.”

“T
o whom, sire?” Richard asked, trying to remain calm.

“Do not play the fool, Richard,” the king replied. “To each other, of course.”

“That is quite impossible, Your Majesty,” Mistress Longbourne declared.

As Charles turned toward her, Richard felt a moment’s pity. Charles was inevitably polite and charming to women and often seemed to give way to their desires, especially if to do so meant he could exist in peace.

However, disagreeing with him in such a bold way was not the means to win Charles to one’s side.

As if she sensed this, Mistress Longbourne’s expression changed suddenly to one of demure modesty that was all too likely to make Charles clay in her slender hands. “Surely, Majesty, this ornament of the court is too far above me,” she demurred.

Richard couldn’t quite subdue a scowl. She no more meant that than she would if she claimed to be hopelessly in love with him. Zounds, he couldn’t have written a more deceitful, clever, scheming heroine if he tried!

The king looked down at the diamond ring he was twisting around his finger, then raised his face, a little smile playing about his lips. “I should think any woman would be delighted to marry this handsome, talented fellow who is a friend of the king.”

“Your Majesty, a marriage to me will not change anything regarding the ownership of the estate,” Mistress Longbourne observed. “It will still be my son’s.”

“And not the property of its rightful owner,” Richard agreed.

“My son
is
the rightful owner!” Mistress Longbourne protested, her mask of diffident female momentarily supping.

Richard nearly smiled when he noticed that the king seemed to be growing weary of her insistence in this regard. “Majesty, I fear we must not marry. Mistress Longbourne neither likes nor approves of me and I daresay I would not improve upon acquaintance.”

“Nonsense!” the king replied. “We well recall certain recalcitrant women who soon enough clamored to be in your bed, and we cannot remember a one of them complaining afterward.”

“Majesty,” Richard said in a loud, conspiratorial
whisper and with a pointed glance at Mistress Longbourne, “I believe remarking upon my past conquests is not endearing me to my intended.”

“We are quite sure you will be able to overcome any reluctance on her part.” The king regarded Elissa. “Sir Richard has long desired to return to his home. While he may not be able to regain rights to the estate, as your husband he will be able to live there. Is that not a fine compromise?”

“Live there?”

“With you,” the king repeated as if she were quite dim. “As your husband.”

Elissa looked at the man the king wanted her to marry, and her imagination conjured certain visions of married life.

Sir Richard Blythe was not William Longbourne, and he surely would have to be a better—

No! she chided her traitorous heart. Sir Richard Blythe was a lascivious, immoral scoundrel, like most of the king’s friends, and no matter how handsome he was, or how intriguing his dark eyes, she did not want to see him again, let alone be married to him.

“Perhaps you would care to discuss this matter with your lawyer, since he is so conveniently to hand?” the king suggested with a smile.

Elissa rose and curtsied. “Thank you, Your Majesty, I shall,” she said briskly before she
hurried out the door through which she had entered.

After she had gone, the king ordered his servants to leave, and then turned toward Richard. “Odd’s fish, this must be a most peculiar situation for you, Blythe,” he observed.

Richard nodded. “I do not discuss marriage every day, sire.”

“At least not your own, eh?” Charles observed with a dry chuckle. “That is not what we meant. That a woman would apparently find you undesirable must be something new in your experience, although how a man of your dark temperament attracts so many is quite a mystery.”

Richard made a little smile. “It is a mystery to me, too, sire, unless one subscribes to the theory that most people want what they cannot have. Merely seeming impervious to a woman’s beauty or other attributes makes them determined to force me to notice them. Sometimes that determination is quite astonishing. I confess I have been all but attacked on some occasions.”

“Such a hardship!” the king mocked jovially.

“One does what one can to endure, Majesty,” Richard replied virtuously, and not untruthfully. “However, I must point out that if Your Majesty is nearby, women scarcely acknowledge my existence.”

“You flatter us!”

“Majesty, I daresay Mistress Longbourne was upset because she thought you had a more personal interest. It is no wonder to me that she looked horrified at your proposal that she marry me.”

“Horrified
is surely too strong a term. She was surprised.”

“As was I, Majesty.”

The king chuckled, then grew serious. “We could think of no other recourse to get you home, Richard.”

“I thank you again for your concern, sire,” Richard said, keeping his tone light and in no way critical. “However, if it is as the lady so adamantly claims and her son has clear title to the estate, even if I marry her, it will never be mine.”

“Unfortunately, she is quite right,” the king concurred. “We have seen the documents ourselves. Her marriage settlement and the will are indisputable. However, the boy may die, and in that case, the estate reverts to his mother, who shall be your wife.”

Richard tried to maintain a nonchalant expression. “Majesty, as much as I want what I believe to be justly mine, a child’s death would be too high a price to pay.”

Charles smiled. “A noble sentiment. And then, your wife is quite rich in her own right. According to the marriage settlement, she kept control of all her dowry, and when Longbourne died, she was the heir to all his money
and moveable goods. The son only got the estate itself, and the mother controls the income. So you see, Richard, when you marry her, you will become quite wealthy. You can purchase another estate.”

“It would not be the same.”

“It will have to do,” the king replied, a slight edge coming to his voice.

“Majesty, I do not favor forced marriages for anyone.”

“You write of them often enough,” Charles observed, again with a chill in a voice.

Despite the king’s displeasure, Richard knew he must be honest, at least to a point. “When I do, Majesty, they are disastrous alliances,” he reminded him.

“Come, Richard, it is not as if she is an old hag. To speak the truth, we had no notion she was so beautiful or we would have offered her a place at court. However, you are our good friend, who stood by us in troubled times, and we do not forget. Therefore, you shall have first claim upon her. If, however, you are adamantly opposed to marrying her, we shall have to make other plans. She is far too lovely a woman to waste away in Leicester.”

Richard realized he was in the uncomfortable position of deciding Elissa Longbourne’s fate. If he continued to protest this marriage, she would have to stay at court, the prey for many lascivious men, including the king.

On the other hand, he was determined to
avoid a repetition of his parents’ unhappy marriage.

He must choose between throwing a woman he had only just met to the wolves of King Charles’s court and the possibility that he was condemning himself to a life of bitter conflict and lasting regret.

“I shall marry her, Your Majesty.”

Elissa sat in a slender chair in the king’s anteroom. The opulent furnishings around her seemed to symbolize the court’s decadence, and even the scent of perfume and candle wax grew oppressive as she regarded her tall, apparently imperturbable lawyer who stood facing her, his hands behind his back.

“You do not sound surprised,” she noted with a disgruntled frown.

“The king enjoys commanding people to marry,” Mr. Harding replied evenly. “I had my suspicions that was what he intended when he summoned you here.”

“Why did you not warn me?”

“I might have been wrong.”

Elissa reminded herself that “Heartless” Harding was said to be the best lawyer in London, despite his relative youth. Unfortunately, he seemed as capable of human feeling as the gilt chair upon which she sat in this sinfully luxurious room.