Jo Beverley - [Malloren]

by Devilish

  Diana looked down. “Indeed, Your Majesty.”

  “Strange, then, that you have not married.”

  Straight to the attack! Diana hoped she had the right expression as she met the queen’s eyes. “Alas, Your Majesty, but I have delayed in search of a man I could truly love.”

  Queen Charlotte’s eyes did warm slightly. “Das ist gut. But you must not delay too long, my lady, or you will lose your bloom. We will talk of this later. You will stay with me as one of my ladies for a while.”

  This had been arranged, but now was given the royal affirmation.

  “You do me great honor, Your Majesty.” Diana curtsied again to king and queen, and could move to one side. First engagement over.

  However the king rose and stepped aside with them. “What is this I hear, Lord Rothgar? Brigands on our highway? What? In daylight? French brigands? What?”

  “An unfortunate incident, sire.”

  “Unfortunate!” The king’s fresh face reddened. “Intolerable. I have dispatched Colonel Allenby to look into the matter. I will not have such things, especially within ten miles of London! You are unharmed?”

  “Completely, sire.”

  “And Lady Arradale?” The king looked at her, but Diana judged that she was not expected to actually speak for herself.

  “Unharmed also, Your Majesty, though distressed, of course.”

  Diana blessed her pale powder and tried to look distressed.

  “It would be unwomanly not to be,” the king stated. “But three brigands dead, my lord? What? I know you to be a formidable man, but how did that come about?” Then he gave an irritated shake of the head. “Not now. You must return to the Queen’s House and relate the whole story.”

  Bey bowed. “With pleasure, sire. If you wish, I could convey Lady Arradale there in my coach.”

  The king nodded and returned to his duties.

  Diana looked up at Bey. More time together? Irresistible, but it only extended the pain. Had he perhaps just given in to a moment of weak temptation?

  There was no way to tell from his manner. He led her around the room introducing her to ladies and gentlemen who seemed grateful to see a new face. Especially, she soon realized, a face attached to such an unusual creature as a peeress in her own right and a very wealthy woman. Everyone seemed to have a perfectly wonderful son, brother, or nephew.

  This sort of heiress hunting was the least of their problems, however. She didn’t like the queen’s plan to find her a husband, but otherwise she thought it had gone well.

  Perhaps Their Majesties had expected her to clump in here in breeches, brandishing a weapon. That was another unfair aspect of the way the world regarded women. It was assumed that they could not be strong without attempting to dress and act like men. That a woman who liked pretty clothes and jewels, and cared about her complexion must be a simpering ninny.

  It was the sort of thing she would love to discuss with Bey, but certainly not here. When next would they have a chance to talk in private? That precious cup, their conversation, had only been sipped, and she thirsted for more.

  The company thinned out, but they, of necessity, lingered on. Literally “in waiting.” Diana sighed. This was likely to be her life for the next few weeks.

  “Tired?” he asked.

  There were no chairs, of course. She’d been trained for this, too—to stand, poised and still for as long as necessary, and even to suppress a sneeze if one crept up—but they were not skills she practiced much. He doubtless had it perfected, for he seemed completely at ease and inexhaustible.

  “Impatient,” she admitted.

  “Yet patience is the best remedy for every trouble.”

  “Plautus.” She rolled her eyes. “I had to write that out, in Latin, a hundred times once.”

  His lips twitched. “And I am falling into the role of teacher again. It seems safer. You are young.”

  She looked into his eyes. “I am not too young. That, at least, does not stand between us.”

  He nodded. “No, it does not.”

  She actually thought of pursuing the matter here, which showed how foolish this all was making her. Instead, she looked idly around, fanning herself. “This life will be hard.”

  “I fear there is nothing I can say in response to that which will not sound like a lecture.”

  She flicked him a glance and saw a smile in his eyes. “Then I will lecture myself. Marcus Aurelius: Think not this is misfortune, but that it is good fortune to be given the opportunity to bear it well.”

  His lips twitched. “Something else your tutor set you to writing as a penance?”

  “Indeed. In English and the original Greek. In response, as I remember, to my anger at being confined to the house for a week in summer. Something to do with Mistress Hucken’s chickens … I was fortunate, though. He never guessed how much more I would have hated having to sew words into samplers.”

  “Alas, the queen likes her ladies’ hands to be occupied with useful work. In particular, needlework.”

  Diana groaned, then realized they were smiling at each other. Doubtless in a most revealing manner.

  A quick glance assured her that no one seemed to be observing them, but she hastily moved over to study a picture on the wall. It was an eminently safe picture of a country house in a tidy, geometric garden. Not a lot of scope for discussion there, but they managed until the king and queen were finally ready to take their leave.

  Soon now, soon, the parting.

  She had forgotten that she was to travel with him. A reprieve, but one of perhaps only a quarter of an hour. Still, she thought as they settled into the coach, she would not waste it. No time to discuss the complex issues that separated them, but time to satisfy her curiosity.

  “Now,” she said as they rolled off, “tell me more about the Comte de Broglie.”

  “Ah. I hoped you had forgotten.” He turned toward her. “I doubt the information would be of use to you.”

  “No? I am going to be very bored in the next weeks. A little skillful observation would pass the time. I noticed that you did not want Monsieur D’Eon to know that I speak excellent French. I might hear something useful to you?”

  “Diana, being a spy within the royal household is a dangerous thing.”

  She blinked at him. “I hadn’t thought of it quite like that.” After a moment she grinned. “Consider me a gossip, then. I’m sure conventional ladies are expected to gossip.”

  He covered his face with his hand in mock despair.

  “And,” she added brightly, loving this moment for its sparkling self, “it would be much more to the point to be a well-informed gossip than one with no idea of what is going on.”

  “You are irrepressible, Lady Arradale.”

  “I do hope so, Lord Rothgar.”

  Smile faded into something much more dangerous. His hand lowered and moved as if he would touch her, but was controlled.

  “Very well,” he said, cool once more. “But bear in mind that what I am about to tell you is known to very few, and the French do not know we know. It must stay so.”

  They were already passing out of the narrow streets around Saint James’s and into the greenery of the parks. Perhaps ten minutes left. “I can be discreet.”

  “If I didn’t think so, I would tell you nothing. King Louis of France is, in effect, running two separate governments, especially with regard to foreign affairs. The open, official one, and a secret one known only to the few.”

  This was startling enough to distract her from other matters. “Why?”

  “Because kings are surprisingly hemmed in. By traditions, by favorites, by formality. King George often uses me as his private intelligence. King Louis is constrained by the much more rigid world of Versailles. He finds it particularly difficult to escape his ministers or La Pompadour.”

  “I thought she was old and retired.”

  “But still has her influence, and anyway this all dates back to the years of her prime. Don’t interrupt. We do
n’t have much time.”

  Indeed, they were completely surrounded by parkland now.

  “Years ago, Louis set up a secret chain of command running parallel to his official government. It was to pursue his own aims and policies when they conflicted with official ones. It also feeds him independent information, something all monarchs need. The Comte de Broglie is officially out of favor, but he is the head of this alternate government, and the Chevalier D’Eon is a key player. He has direct contact with the king.”

  “And the new ambassador who is awaited?” Diana asked.

  “Guerchy. The choice of official circles.”

  She frowned over it. “If D’Eon is King Louis’ man, why isn’t he ambassador? Surely the king could appoint whomever he wished.”

  “D’Eon’s come far, but he’s an adventurer. He doesn’t have the rank or fortune for such a position. More importantly, a suggestion of such unusual royal favor would raise suspicions. A secret agent must stay in the shadows.”

  “You don’t.”

  “I’m not a secret agent. I employ some, however. They are decidedly shadowy.”

  Diana blew out a little breath. “How extraordinary. And exciting. I begin to see the appeal of a life close to the center of the world. So, if King Louis’ secret ministry differs from the official one, what do they plan?”

  “What we spoke of last night. Revenge. The French government wishes to lick its wounds, but Louis wants to go to war again as soon as he thinks he can win. Above all, he wishes to invade us.”

  For a moment, she was tempted to take the conversation back to last night, but she knew there was nothing more to be said on that just now, and she needed this information to be useful to him. “Does the king not know about Monsieur D’Eon? I mean, King George?”

  “He knows none of this.”

  “Can’t you enlighten him?”

  “Not yet. The king lost his father at a young age and is inclined to seek another. He will grow out of it, but at the moment he would like to think ‘dear cousin Louis’ a worthy mentor.”

  “The king of an enemy nation?”

  “We are at peace, and Louis has been king for many years. He has experience. With D’Eon as blushing handmaiden, Louis is making great efforts to be everything George could wish.”

  “I still think you should tell him. You must have evidence.”

  “Shadowy evidence. Ambiguous phrases and coded messages. If I made any impression at all, he would confront D’Eon with it. That would reveal that we know. One of the perils,” he said with a meaningful look, “of dealing with youth.”

  “I would never do anything so foolish.”

  His eyes rested on her. “I don’t suppose you would. Young women are often a great deal wiser than young men. Why do you think wise men marry younger women? It is in the faint hope of an equal match.”

  “Ah!” she said, but then suppressed the rest of her thought.

  “As I said,” he murmured, “very wise.”

  Wise? To push away this gift they were offered? She’d thought she knew the treasure within grasp, but these few minutes in the coach, talking as equals, as friends for the first time, had increased it tenfold. She wanted this as she wanted sunlight and breath.

  She looked away for a moment to gather strength. Strength not to beg. Begging would only hurt him. He knew how precious it was as much as she did, and he had excellent reasons for sacrifice. Before her blurring eyes, railings passed. They must be at the Queen’s House already!

  Mere minutes left.

  “Pay attention, Diana,” he said as if he did not guess her emotions.

  Blinking to clear her eyes, she turned back.

  “Proof of Louis’ secret government is sketchy,” he said, looking away, as if judging the time left before they arrived at the brick house. She knew he was deliberately not looking at her moist eyes.

  “Everything I have”—he carried on—“appears harmless unless one believes the code, and I cannot risk giving the code to the king. Having it will cease to be useful if the French find out.”

  “My,” said Diana, putting all the calm and control into her voice that she could muster, “wheels, within wheels, within wheels. You act alone?”

  “There are people in our government aware of my work.”

  “Rather shadowy after all.”

  “Only from certain angles.” He turned to look at her, shadowy indeed, but from other causes, she knew.

  “So,” she asked. “What can I do?”

  “Observe and listen, especially if D’Eon is with the queen, and gossip to me later. But be very, very careful.”

  “So I will see you?”

  He became very still. “Did you think I would abandon you?”

  “No, but … daily?”

  “Most days. I have the entrée here. A mild interest in your progress will not be unseemly.”

  The coach was turning in front of the house. Almost the end! “Will we be able to speak privately?”

  “Probably not.”

  They halted. But, she saw, they were not yet at the doors, for the king’s coach preceded theirs. “How will I give you reports then?”

  After a thoughtful moment, he said, “A code. The queen can be Rosa, and the king Brand.”

  “Clever. What of D’Eon, then? I know,” she said with a smile, “he can be Samuel, Rosa’s prize ram.”

  And he laughed. Fully, looking years younger. “Scurrilous wench, and in D’Eon’s case, probably inappropriate.”

  “Why?” she asked, smile wide enough to be painful.

  “That’s another long story,” he said, laughter simmering to smile, but still smiling. “Who will be the French King?”

  As the coach jerked forward again, she said, “Dirk, her Flemish stallion. Believe me, to describe Rosa in avid conversation about horse and sheep breeding is not at all contrived.”

  His lips twitched, but he was recovering control. “Very well. But be careful.”

  As the coach moved in front of the doors she clutched the plan to herself. It was a thread linking them, and perhaps that was why he had created it.

  And he had laughed.

  “Is that all I can do?” she asked. “No stealing letters? No breaking codes?”

  He gripped her hand, down on the seat, where the approaching footman would not see. “This is not a game, Diana. Be wise.”

  She looked ahead, trying to appear uninvolved, but trembling at his touch. “It is not easy to be wise.”

  His hand surrendered to tenderness. “No. But it is possible.”

  Rebellion flaring, she looked him in the eye. “With a Malloren, all things are possible?” she queried.

  “Exactly.”

  A footman opened the door.

  Their hands slid apart.

  He stepped down and turned to help her.

  As she descended the steps, she said softly, “Then prove it so, Bey.”

  His hand tightened on hers, and he looked almost shocked.

  She’d shocked herself. She’d never thought to challenge him directly like that, but, by Jupiter, that was his motto, and a life together must be possible. The moon would weep at the waste of them living apart.

  “Despite that motto,” he said when she was by his side, “I am not God. Some things are beyond me.”

  “Which things?”

  “I cannot fly, for one,” he said shortly.

  This was not how she wanted them to part, but she must persist. He had laughed. She could give him that. She could give him laughter and life.

  It had to be possible.

  She fussed with her skirts to steal a moment more. “Perhaps you accept false limits. Daedalus flew on waxen wings, and I have heard you described as Daedalian.”

  “In connection with his skill in building clever labyrinths, not faulty wings.” He cut the moment short by taking her hand and leading her toward the door through which the king and queen were already disappearing. “I seem to have constructed a damnable labyrinth for us.�
��

  “This is not all your doing,” she stated, eyes forward. “And Daedalus did fly.”

  “And persuaded his beloved son to fly. Then Icarus flew too close to the sun, so his wings melted and he fell to his death.”

  She halted, forcing him to stop and face her. “They both flew to escape an intolerable prison. Perhaps Icarus thought it worthwhile, even as he fell.”

  He seemed suddenly the man she had first met, the Dark Marquess. “You are going to fight me on this?”

  She raised her chin and met his eyes. “Hasn’t it always been clear that a duel lay between us?”

  After a silent moment, he turned once more toward the door. “Pray not to the death.”

  She let him lead her into her gilded prison, quivering, but not in nervousness at this confinement. What had she done? What wild flight had she started, on fragile waxen wings? She would be Daedalus, however, to his Icarus, and she would somehow construct wings with which they could escape. Not her confinement at court, but the dark tower in which he had walled himself for life.

  Not now, however. Now she must act her part, here within these elegant, conventional walls.

  The Queen’s House had been built by the Duke of Buckingham, and only recently sold to the king for his new queen. It was grand, but more of a noble’s house than a royal palace. She suspected that this house’s appeal for the young couple was its simplicity. That and the fact that it was modern and set in parkland.

  It was less daunting than she’d feared, and less infused with dark history than St. James’s Palace. All the same, she didn’t expect to enjoy living here, especially when her time with Bey was likely to be brief and closely chaperoned.

  The royal party were waiting at the base of the stairs. The king said, “My lord, attend me,” and stalked off toward an open, waiting door.

  With only a brief farewell, Bey followed him.

  Thus, abruptly, he was gone. Though it felt like tearing flesh, Diana made herself not stare after him. Instead, she looked as placidly as possible at the queen and her attendants.

  “Come,” the queen ordered, turning toward the stairs. “Attend me as I change, Lady Arradale.”

  Chapter 20

  Diana would have liked to change out of her awkward costume herself, but she was virtually a servant now and followed meekly upstairs to the queen’s suite of rooms. Charlotte’s two German keepers of the robes fussed and clucked her out of her stiff garments, and indeed, she looked tired.