The Naked King

by Sally MacKenzie

  “Don’t be,” Stephen said. “They weren’t my friends. I was delighted to see Harry run them off.”

  “Oh.” Philip clearly didn’t understand, but he didn’t let his incomprehension trouble him long. “You must come see the swans. Harry was herding them, Anne; it was so funny.” He looked at his sister who was still kneeling on the grass next to Harry and his mouth dropped open. “Have you been crying?” Since Anne’s poor eyes were red and her face blotchy, the observation was not beyond even a ten-year-old boy’s powers of discernment.

  “No.” She sniffed. “I haven’t.”

  This amazing lie kept them all silent for a moment.

  George, clearly more accustomed to tumbling into bumble-broths than his brother, asked cautiously, “What’s the matter, Anne?”

  “Nothing.” She burst into tears again, hiding her face back in Harry’s fur.

  Philip and George looked up at Stephen with identical expressions of bewilderment.

  “Your sister is merely a trifle upset.”

  They blinked at him.

  “Anne doesn’t usually cry,” Philip assured him.

  “She’s usually pluck to the backbone,” George agreed. “You mustn’t think you’re getting a watering pot for a wife.”

  Philip nodded vigorously. “Anne’s the best of sisters, sir. She might not be as pretty as Evie, but she’s much more practical. She’s the one our housekeeper, butler, and estate manager come to, not Mama or even Papa.”

  “You’ll be glad to have her, really you will.” George shrugged. “And you’re too old to want a pretty wife anyway, aren’t you?”

  Stephen kept his jaw from dropping, though only just. He couldn’t decide whether to give the boys a severe dressing down or to laugh. They reminded him of a trader on the outskirts of Rio who’d tried to sell him a broken down pony. It wasn’t belo—beautiful—he’d said, but it was very inteligente.

  No wonder Anne didn’t value her beauty properly. And the twins thought he was too old to care about his wife’s appearance? His lips twitched. Thirty must seem ancient to ten.

  “You are laboring under some misapprehensions, boys. First, I find your sister Anne quite beautiful.”

  Anne’s head snapped up and she joined the boys in gaping at him.

  “And second, not that physical appearance alone should govern one’s actions, but I daresay no man is too old to value a beautiful wife. And third, thirty—my age—is not old.”

  “Oh.” Philip’s forehead wrinkled. “But Reverend Braxton’s wife is ugly. She has a squint and crooked teeth.”

  “And Mrs. Trent, the butcher’s wife, looks like a sow,” George added. “She even grunts like a pig.”

  “Boys!” Anne sniffed and got to her feet, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “You shouldn’t say such things. Mrs. Braxton and Mrs. Trent are both very kind and upstanding women.” She sniffed again, more desperately. Stephen handed her his handkerchief.

  “Thank you.” She blew her nose vigorously. “I do apologize. I seem to have left my own handkerchief at home again.”

  “You’re quite welcome,” he said. “I’m always happy to help a maiden in distress.”

  “But if I continue on this way, I’ll soon have your entire supply in my possession.”

  George shrugged. “Mrs. Braxton makes jolly good apple pies and Mrs. Trent lets us play with her cats, but that don’t change the fact they’re both ugly.”

  “But why were you crying, Anne?” Philip asked.

  Anne frowned at him. “Because I was worried about you and George. We came back from the dressmaker’s and found you gone. No one knew where you were. Hobbes was frantic—the house was in a complete uproar. In fact, the servants are all out now searching for you.”

  The boys looked astounded. “But we aren’t lost,” Philip said.

  “You know where you are, yes, but no one else does.” Stephen looked sternly from one identical face to the other. “I thought we’d agreed I would take you out once I returned with the ladies.”

  “Well, yes,” Philip said, “but Harry needed to go for a walk, sir.”

  “And this is where he wanted to go,” George said. “He dragged us along after him, really he did. And it’s very safe here. We weren’t in any danger.”

  Anne’s brows snapped down and she opened her mouth as if to read the boys a thundering scold.

  “I suggest we return to Crane House,” Stephen said, taking her arm. “You’ll want to let Hobbes know as quickly as you can that we’ve found the boys.”

  “But—”

  “You can lecture them much more comfortably at home and be subject to far fewer curious stares.”

  Anne looked around. The two couples taking in the park air were indeed looking their way and whispering together.

  “Yes, of course.” Anne fixed the twins with a glare that promised serious retribution. “We will discuss this further when we get home.”

  They started back up the path, the boys trudging along beside them, looking very gloomy.

  “If Papa had engaged a tutor,” Philip said, “this wouldn’t have happened.”

  George kicked a pebble off the path. “We can’t just stay at Crane House all the time. It’s a dead bore. There’s nothing to do.”

  “It’s true, Anne,” Philip said. “Cousin Clorinda won’t even let me read the books in the library anymore.”

  “Philip,” Anne said, “what happened?”

  George laughed. “She found him looking through a book with drawings of naked people in it while you were gone.”

  Philip flushed and glared at his twin. “You were looking at it, too. That’s why she came over. If you hadn’t made that noise, she wouldn’t have known about it, and I could have put it back on the shelf.”

  “What? ” Anne spoke so sharply, Harry barked. “What book?”

  Philip shrugged, turning even redder. “Just some book. I couldn’t read the title. It was in a foreign language. That’s why I pulled it off the shelf, so I could see what it was about.”

  Given the artwork in the harem room, Stephen thought he knew exactly what the book was about.

  “And all Evie talks about is clothes and parties,” George said. “She was never so much of a feather head at home. And you’re always worrying about something, Anne.”

  Anne frowned. “Of course I’m always worrying; there’s a lot to worry about. Papa and your mama didn’t warn me they were going off and leaving me in charge of Evie’s come-out. I know nothing about London society.”

  “Isn’t Cousin Clorinda taking charge of Evie?” Philip asked.

  “Do you see Clorinda taking charge?” Anne’s beautiful voice was rising. “No, she’s in the library or off visiting friends.” She took a deep breath, obviously trying to get herself under control. “And anyway, George, we’ve hardly been in London twenty-four hours.”

  “Well, it seems like forever,” George muttered.

  “Can’t you show a little patience?!”

  Both boys startled at Anne’s sharp, loud tone. Clearly it was time to separate her from her brothers. “Why don’t you two run along with Harry?” Stephen said. “We’ll catch up to you when you reach Park Lane.”

  He didn’t need to make the suggestion twice. The boys, recognizing an opportunity to escape when they heard one, took off without a moment’s hesitation.

  Anne scowled after them. “They got off far too easily.”

  “Because you didn’t get to ring a peal over them?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you were going to treat them to a bear garden jaw once you all reached Crane House?”

  “Yes, but it won’t be the same. I can never stay angry at them.” She looked up at him, worry shadowing her lovely features. “But they need to know they can’t go off like that.”

  “I think they realized that when they saw how upset you were.”

  They walked on a few paces in silence. Stephen watched Anne frown down at the path, obviously chewing over the exchange
with her brothers in her mind. She clearly loved them very much.

  “I’m certain Nicholas or I can solve your tutor problem by the end of the week,” he said.

  She sighed. “That would be wonderful—thank you.” She looked up, a half smile on her lips but anxiety still clouding her eyes. “I do worry too much, I know. But the boys—George particularly—are so high-spirited. They know their way around the country, but London is a very different matter.”

  “I agree they shouldn’t be let roam unsupervised here in Town.” He paused and looked at her thoughtfully. “One never knows when one might encounter someone one wishes to avoid.”

  Anne paled and looked away.

  “Are you going to tell me why you are afraid of Lord Brentwood?”

  “I’m not afraid of him!”

  “No? Then why did you plaster yourself to me back there?” He smiled. “Not that I’m complaining, you understand.”

  She closed her eyes as if in pain. “I . . . perhaps I am a little afraid of the marquis.”

  He put his hand under her chin, tilting her face toward his. “Look at me, Anne.”

  She shook her head slightly and tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her.

  “Anne.”

  She sighed and opened her eyes. Tears shimmered over the green like rainwater on Amazon leaves. One tear spilled over and slid down her cheek. He caught it with his thumb.

  “You don’t have to be afraid of Brentwood. He’s a damnable bully, I know. He has been for as long as I’ve known him. But you are betrothed to me now. I will protect you.”

  More tears spilled over and she jerked her face away, turning so he couldn’t see her expression. “I’m not really your betrothed, and you can’t protect me.”

  She hurried after the boys, and he let her go.

  “There’s Charles,” George said as Stephen caught up to them. He waved at the footman, who was on the other side of the street.

  “Thank you for your escort, Mr. Parker-Roth.” Anne addressed his cravat. “We won’t take any more of your time. Charles can see us safely home.”

  “But I’m happy to—”

  She met his eyes briefly. “Please.” One word only, but the desperation was clear. She dabbed at her face with his crumpled handkerchief.

  “My sister is right, sir,” Philip said, somewhat stiffly. “We have taken too much of your time.”

  The boy wasn’t going to regret his moment of irresponsibility too much, was he? “Then I’ll leave Lady Anne in your capable hands, Lord Rutledge, and I will see you and Master George tomorrow. Will the afternoon be convenient?”

  Philip nodded. “Oh, yes, sir.”

  “But you must promise me you won’t give the ladies any more cause to worry.”

  “We won’t, sir. You have my word.”

  “George?”

  “We’ll be little angels.”

  Stephen laughed. “Oh, I’m not asking for miracles. Just endeavor to stay out of trouble. Can you manage that?”

  George gave him a cocky grin. “Do I have to promise not to worry people or to stay out of trouble? Because they’re not quite the same thing, you know.”

  “Just don’t wander out of the square and try not to do any damage, all right? And do leave Lady Dunlee’s cat alone.”

  “All right.”

  Anne had regained her composure. She offered him her hand. “Thank you again for all your help today, Mr. Parker-Roth. I sincerely appreciate it.”

  He took her hand and kissed it. “My name is Stephen, Anne. I am your servant as always—and I will see you this evening at the Earl of Kenderly’s.”

  “What? You are mistaken, sir.”

  “No, my love, I am not.”

  “Come on, Anne,” George said. Charles had crossed the street to meet them and was shifting from foot to foot.

  “We have no invitations,” Anne said.

  “You will.”

  “And I have nothing to wear.” She lifted her chin.

  He grinned. Good, she’d got back some of her fire. “Ah, ye of little faith. Celeste can work magic—you’ll see.”

  He bowed and left, smiling a little at the sound of her sputtering.

  “Boys,” Anne said, “will you take Harry out of here? His tail almost sent that purple vase flying off the table.” They were taking tea in the green sitting room, which was much too small for three women, two boys, and a large dog.

  “It’s an ugly vase.” Philip grabbed Harry and hugged him. “It would be better broken.”

  George flung himself onto the floor, too, wrestling Harry away from Philip and almost knocking over a Chinese pig with his foot. “If we broke all the ugly things in this house, there’d be nothing left.”

  “I don’t think Papa would like that, George,” Evie said, saving a shepherdess from Philip’s elbow.

  George paused, letting Philip pull Harry out of his grip, and his eyes lit up. “A shilling says he would.”

  “Good heavens!” Clorinda put her hand to her breast, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Are they always so . . . active?”

  “Yes.” Anne fixed the boys with the look she’d perfected over ten years of managing them. “We are not wagering on that or anything else, George. Now please take Harry away.”

  “Shall we take him outside?” Philip asked.

  “Take him anywhere as long as it’s not here—and as long as you stay in the square or in the back garden. Don’t go wandering off again.”

  “We won’t. We gave our word to Mr. Parker-Roth, right, George?”

  George shrugged.

  “George.” Anne had perfected a no nonsense tone as well.

  “All right. Yes. We won’t wander off.” George looked a trifle sulky. “Mr. Parker-Roth did say he was coming tomorrow, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did, so you have less than twenty-four hours to wait.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “George, it’s—”

  Fortunately Mr. Hobbes brought in a tray of cakes at that moment.

  “Hooray!” the boys shouted in unison. In a burst of noise and action, they left, taking Harry and at least half the cakes with them.

  Clorinda sighed and looked sadly at the tray. “I do hope Mr. Parker-Roth produces a young man to take charge of those devil—I mean darlings soon.” She reached for the largest slice of seed cake the boys had left.

  “I’m sure he’ll do his best,” Anne said.

  Clorinda nodded and then continued with the topic the boys’ commotion had interrupted, speaking around a mouthful of cake.

  “I still don’t understand why you are resisting Lady Brentwood’s gracious invitation to her card party tonight, Anne.” She washed the cake down with a sip of tea. “We are very fortunate she happened to be having it this evening. It will be an excellent way for you and Evie to meet a few people before you’re thrown into society.” She took another bite. “And if we’re very lucky, Evie will meet an eligible parti immediately, and I can return to the library. Your papa may have his faults, but he has an excellent library.”

  Anne almost wished she could call Philip, George, and Harry back into the sitting room. “After today’s excitement, I think a quiet evening at home would be more in order.”

  In the normal course of things, Clorinda might be correct; if the hostess was anyone other than Lady Brentwood, Anne would agree to attend. The woman seemed very pleasant, but Anne had no desire to attend an event with Lord Brentwood present. And to expose Evie to him—no, it didn’t bear thinking of.

  She repressed a shudder. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with that family. “It is not as if Evie has never been about in polite society, Clorinda. She’s attended any number of events at home.”

  Clorinda snorted, sending some cake crumbs tumbling down her bodice. “Bah, the country! Bears no resemblance at all to London society—as different as chalk from cheese. Far too many girls come to Town thinking they can go on as they did in the country and fall flat on their faces—figurative
ly speaking for the most part—at their first ball.”

  Evie leaned forward in her chair. “I’m not tired, Anne,” she said, “and Cousin Clorinda may be right. Perhaps it would be good for me to get my feet wet in this small pond”—she smiled—“or puddle, really. Lady Brentwood was very nice when we met her at the dressmaker’s shop. I think I’d like to go.”

  “But what would you wear?” Anne saw a possible winning argument. Evie wasn’t vain, but she appreciated beautiful clothes. “Our dresses haven’t arrived yet.”

  “Oh.” Her sister looked crestfallen. Anne steeled her heart. She knew beyond a doubt it was best they both avoid this gathering.

  Clorinda helped herself to another slice of cake. “I’m sure you have something you can wear. It is only a small party after all. Marion understands you’ve just arrived in Town.”

  Anne took advantage of Clorinda’s full mouth. “Lady Brentwood may understand, but what about her guests? London is bristling with gossips.”

  Unfortunately, Clorinda was a fast and efficient chewer. “As you learned this morning to your detriment, my girl.”

  Anne flushed. She’d momentarily forgotten about Lady Dunlee.

  “It will be good for you to face the smaller dose of gossip you’ll encounter this evening, Anne,” Clorinda said, looking almost sympathetic. “You can see which way the wind is blowing and prepare yourself. Better to face a few old cats now so you’re ready for the ballroom full you’ll encounter in a day or two. You don’t wish to be taken unawares—that would be fatal.”

  Anne had a vivid mental picture of a roomful of hissing, snarling felines, from barn cats to she-lions, fur on end, tails twitching, massed and waiting to shred her to pieces with their claws.

  She must have moaned aloud, because Evie leaned forward and put a comforting hand on her knee. “Don’t worry, Anne. Surely Mr. Parker-Roth will be there to support you.”

  He wouldn’t be. He’d be at Lord Kenderly’s. She hadn’t mentioned that invitation to Clorinda since it had not arrived—just as the dresses he’d assured her would come from Madam Celeste’s had not. Mr. Parker-Roth with his false promises was proving no better than Brentwood. She only hoped he came through for the boys. He couldn’t be so cruel as to raise their hopes if he had no intention of fulfilling them, could he?