by Banks, Evie
Roberts popped his head in. “Oh good, you’ve eaten. It’s time to get ready. There’s already some press outside, but don’t worry, they’re being kept at a distance since this is a private event.”
“Where’s that handsome hunk of man?” said Leanne, getting up.
Roberts pursed his lips. “Whoever could you mean?”
Leanne wagged her finger at him. “You know who I mean. The muscled one who looks like he knows his way around a bedroom.”
“If you are talking about Mr. Chase, he is in London with many important matters to attend to. He may not make it to the ball at all,” said Roberts with a studied air of indifference.
“Isn’t that a shame. I sure was looking forward to a long, slow dance with him,” said Leanne and flounced off to her room.
Roberts remained rooted to his spot with a disgruntled look.
“You’re just mad that she didn’t want to dance with you,” said Cassandra and laughed.
“Rubbish,” said Roberts, but looked even more disgruntled.
Renee laughed too, but she was more than a little disappointed that Chase wouldn’t be there. She, too, had been hoping for a dance with him.
She went to her room to prepare. Delicious smells wafted up from downstairs as she dressed and pinned up her hair with glittering clips and she could hear the sounds of conversation downstairs. “Showtime,” she said to herself, feeling very nervous. She met Cassandra and Leanne outside her room. Leanne’s ample curves had been wrangled into a sequined gown and diamond studded bangles circled her wrists. Cassandra looked charming in pale yellow with a flower corsage attached to the shoulder strap.
Leanne looked Renee up and down and she felt a childish fear that her mother would think it wasn’t good enough.
“Well, if that doesn’t land you a man I don’t know what will,” said Leanne finally. High praise.
“I’m not trying to land a man, Mama. That’s not the point of tonight,” said Renee.
“It’s always the point,” replied Leanne.
Renee rolled her eyes; her mother’s life hadn’t exactly provided a shining example of finding love.
They went downstairs together and as they reached the landing they were met with applause. The entire center hall, as well as the adjoining rooms, were filled with people. “Long live the Queen,” someone shouted and the refrain was taken up and washed over her in waves. Renee was very moved. She tried to say thank you, but the applause didn’t let up. Erastus stepped forward and led them through the crowded hall into the ballroom. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. Renee closed her eyes and allowed herself to be led by the hand. When she opened them again she had been transported to a world teeming with orange and yellow roses, and candles flickering in covered glass lamps and miniature carved jack-o-lanterns. Trays of food and stacks of gold edged plates covered tables that lined the walls. A jazz band struck up a tune in the far corner and a waiter stopped to offer Renee a glass of champagne.
Renee found her voice. “Not bad.”
Even Leanne had gone wide-eyed. “It ain’t Caesar’s Palace. But it ain’t bad.”
The guests formed a line and Erastus introduced them to her one by one as they entered the ballroom. There were so many that she immediately forgot their names, but felt that she was among friendly company here and would be forgiven. There was such a wide variety in membership among The League. There were polished semi-aristocrats like Erastus, as well as members whose lines of descent had fallen on harder times. She spent a happy five minutes discussing horse power and pistons with a motorcycle mechanic who had learned that James II was his grandfather seven times removed. His many tattoos now included a lion and shield.
In general, the League were a jolly bunch and Renee was pleased to see that they were not inhibited in front of her, but danced enthusiastically, ate and drank with abandon, and never lost an opportunity to shout “Long live the Queen” or “Gloria Regina.” As the evening wore on the jazz band eventually gave way to a string quintet that played waltzes. Renee was out of her depth here and was happy when Erastus took the lead to twirl her around the ballroom floor. He handed her off to another gentleman in order to take Leanne for a turn around the floor. Everything was like a dream and she spun and waltzed with a series of partners, some who were as unpracticed as she, but it didn’t matter.
A new waltz started up and Renee changed partners. She was pleased to find that her new partner was handsome and a good dancer. He led well and Renee could almost believe she was a good dancer herself under his care. He introduced himself as Simon Coakely.
“And who are you related to?” asked Renee. She had quickly learned that this was the favorite question among the members of the League of Royal Bastards, each person trying to top the other with an even more illustrious ancestor.
Simon laughed. “Well, let’s see. On my father’s side I’m descended from one of the twenty children of Charles II. On my mother’s side there are rumors of descent from Henry I. Basically, I’m illegitimate on both sides, but we know how to marry well.” He smiled to reveal a perfect set of teeth. “We’re Eton men for four generations so I’m the perfect example of how you can worm your way into good society.”
Renee couldn’t help laughing. “I’ll have to study you to learn how to do it. You’re illegitimate, but seem perfectly legit. I’m actually legitimate, but can’t get it right to save my life.”
“I’d be happy to tutor you,” said Simon. “High society can be very judgmental. They will look down their long noses if you call a sofa a couch, or say ‘pardon’ instead of ‘what.’”
Renee felt a little weak. “Gosh, there’s so much to know. I’ll never be able to learn it all.”
“You will. I’ll help you every step of the way and I can introduce you to all the right people.”
He twirled her and Renee was hyper-aware of his hand gripping her waist and her hand held softly in his own as they danced. Perhaps it was the champagne, but she suddenly felt light-headed. The waltz ended, but Simon didn’t release her; they remained as they were, gazing into each other’s eyes.
“It’s rude to keep you all to myself,” he said finally. “There are others waiting to dance with you. Dancing with the future queen is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
“It doesn’t have to be just once,” said Renee, feeling foolish.
“Duty always beckons though, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Renee with a sigh. “I suppose it does.”
He released her and stepped back with a courtly bow. She nodded her head in return. She wanted to hear more about his life as an outsider on the inside and, oh, more about him! To listen to his delicious accent that spoke of dressing for dinner, taking tea in the garden, driving through France in a convertible, and all the things she had only ever dreamed about. And that scent he wore, it made her head swim. Renee watched him make his way towards a table where the serving staff were continuously opening bottles of champagne and pouring. The music had started again and she knew she should do something because it would look odd for her to stand in the middle of the dance floor while the guests twirled around her.
In honor of the Halloween holiday that was only days away, a quantity of evening masks had been provided. Renee herself had worn an elaborate peacock feathered mask for a dance or two, but found it too hard to talk with it on and had discarded it, but others were wearing the disguises and the ballroom was a moving mass of colorful feathers, sequins, glitter, and paint. A new partner attired in a mask bowed to her and offered his hand. She took it, but gazed over the man’s shoulder towards Simon Coakely. She decided that Simon was everything she had imagined a British aristocrat to be: tall, handsome, educated, well-spoken, polite. He was a far cry from the likes of Ray. If people were going to accept her here she would have to make more friends like Simon. She envisioned herself meeting the aristocrats of the land with Simon by her side making the introductions. He would say something clever and she would rise in the estimation of t
hose she was meeting simply for being his companion. Simon turned and caught her looking at him. He flashed her a smile and she smiled back, feeling the heat wash over her face and feeling as if she had been caught in an illicit dream.
Renee had begun to get a feel for the music and danced automatically, following the lead of her anonymous masked partner, who didn’t speak. That was fine with her. Her voice was hoarse from having made so many introductions, and the silence gave her the opportunity to dwell more on pleasant imaginings of her future life, which always seemed to involve Simon.
The French doors had been thrown open to allow some air into the packed ballroom and Renee didn’t notice that her partner had danced her near them, focused as she was on the difficult task of tracking Simon through a crowded ballroom while she was spun in circles.
“It’s hot. Would you like some air?” said her partner.
“Hmm?” said Renee, losing sight of Simon. “Oh. Yes, I’m sweating buckets.” It struck her that Simon Coakely would never say something like “sweating buckets.” She would have to learn to speak more genteelly.
Her partner whirled her elegantly through the doors and the sharp wind cooled her face. They danced a few more steps and then stopped. It was no longer raining, but the trees, shrubs and roses bent and waved in the wind, causing a million collected water droplets to sparkle in the reflected glow of the lamps. She shivered slightly. She waited for her masked partner to speak, but he remained silent.
“Are you having a good time at the ball?” she asked.
“Quite.”
He didn’t say anything more so she asked him the question which she knew got even the shyest tongue wagging at this party. “Who are you descended from?”
“From the noblest line.”
Renee pretended to smooth out her skirt. She was becoming perturbed by his stillness. Noblest line, what did that mean? It was ridiculous to get so competitive over a dead ancestor. She couldn’t see his eyes or his expression. Deep breath. Queens sometimes have to talk to awkward people and it’s no different that waitressing or bartending, she thought to herself. Just get them to talk.
“Let me try to guess. We have several folks here descended from Henry I and his mistresses. He had 24 illegitimate children. Can you imagine? Are you descended from them?”
He didn’t answer.
“From Edward IV who was known to go after anything breathing?”
Nothing.
“Well, I’m all out of guesses so you’ll have to tell me.”
“I told you. I’m from the only line that counts.”
“Which line is that?” she asked.
He pulled off his mask and pale, odd eyes stared down at her.
“Bretton!” she gasped. She screamed for the guards, but Bretton had already turned on his heel and strode back into the ballroom. There were noises of surprise as people recognized him. The music ended abruptly as the guards tried to push through the crowd.
“Keep your hands off of me. I’ve broken no laws,” he said.
Erastus stepped forward. His bushy brows were knit together. “This is a private event. You are trespassing.”
Bretton shrugged. “Perhaps you should pay your doorman better.”
Erastus made a move to throw him out bodily, but Bretton jumped onto the orchestra’s dais.
“Good people!” shouted Bretton above the noise. “You are all here because you are proud of your royal lineage. I, too, value my family’s history. This history that runs in our veins is not just an interesting tidbit to be talked over at family reunions—No! It is a heritage that has been entrusted to us. We are the living preservers of our nation’s cultural heritage and the monarch is the embodiment of the nation. I am the legitimate descendant of Robert Bretton and am the heir to the throne of England. Do not leave the country’s fate to American trailer trash who can’t tell the difference between an earl and a duke, and the descendant of a family who couldn’t last six months at the helm. If you support me I will make sure to elevate you all to the peerage, without conditions or land requirements. From among you I will draw my council.”
Conversation broke out. Most people were shaking their heads, but Renee could tell that some were seriously considering his proposal.
“Right, out you go you lousy, murdering, nobody,” said Erastus. Bretton’s eyes flashed. Erastus raised his voice. “And I’ll tell you what else: If a Bretton ever steps on my land again I’ll set the dogs on him.”
Bretton stepped down off the platform and smirked at Erastus. “Go ahead, she’s right there,” and lifted his chin in Renee’s direction. “You know, if you really”—POW!
Bretton staggered sideways from the force of the punch landed against his face.
Simon Coakely stepped forward, rubbing his knuckles.
“That is for showing up uninvited—how vulgar—royal, indeed. And that”—he pushed Bretton with the heel of his show, who was still bent over, gingerly rubbing his jaw—“is for insulting a lady.” Bretton fell into one of the round, cloth covered tables that still had dishes of pasta and fish on it. He jumped up, his tuxedo stained. His face had turned almost as scarlet as the mark that bloomed on his face, but his eyes had gone dark and they were focused on Simon. The sight of him terrified Renee and she wondered, not for the first time, if there was truth in the allegations that he had killed three women. Bretton looked like a panther ready to leap, but a familiar figure stepped between Bretton and Simon.
“Alright, the party’s over for you tonight,” said Chase, dressed in a tuxedo. “You heard the gentleman—it’s invitation only.”
Chase and three more guards led Bretton towards the door.
“You’ve all got a choice,” yelled Bretton.
“Yes, a choice between listening to a git or enjoying our evening,” said Simon, prompting a round of laughter and applause. Renee beamed at him.
The music started up again and though Bretton was talked of for the rest of the night, it was at his expense. Erastus checked on Renee and after being assured she was alright, he went to berate some of the staff. She didn’t need to read lips to know it was about letting Bretton in. The orchestra played a lively waltz and soon couples were swirling around, the evening’s interruption forgotten. It was with the utmost delight that Renee accepted when Simon asked her to dance. She thought no more of Chase that night, whom she last saw escorting Bretton out of the building, his shoulders squared against the revelry inside.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
RENEE SIGHED CONTENTEDLY over her coffee. It was late morning, closer to lunch time actually, and she and Cassandra were eating in the guest quarters. Cassandra nibbled sleepily on toast. Leanne was still asleep and loud snores could be heard coming from her room. Even Roberts, though the triangle of the handkerchief in his breast pocket was perfectly pointed, had a drooping appearance around the eyes and held off on his usual chatter about schedules, but sipped his tea in silence. Renee almost suspected he might have a post-party headache, which would be very un-Roberts like.
Renee, however, felt wonderful. She had spent the rest of the evening dancing with Simon. He had allowed her to nurse his injured hand by applying ice wrapped in a cloth napkin to it and she had traced his swelling knuckles with her finger. The party had gone on until the late hours of the night, until it seemed that there were more people slumped in chairs than actually dancing.
Erastus’s housekeeper had left the morning papers upstairs for them. Each one had an article about the League Ball with many pictures of guests arriving to the front of the house, but were very short on details. Renee silently blessed the Bastards for being so discreet. Their refusal to speak to reporters said much in their favor. Nor was there a word about Bretton’s surprise appearance. When she mentioned this to Roberts he replied, “Well, he didn’t come off looking very well, did he? Had his intrusion gone the way he had hoped, I’m sure it would be all over the news.”
“But what about his offer to turn the Bastards into aristocrats? I bet
some people are considering it.”
“Oh, do stop speaking of that wretched man,” said Roberts and massaged his temples with his fingers.
Renee smiled. It amused Renee to see Roberts out of sorts, but decided not to press her luck. “Hey,” she said to Cassandra, “The sun is out. Let’s go see if Erastus has some tennis rackets.”
Cassandra hopped out of her chair and she and Renee raced each other down the stairs, nearly smacking into Erastus himself as he rounded a corner.
“Oh, ho! Up and looking lively, I see.” He looked around for the others. “Some of you are up at any rate.”
“Roberts is hung over,” said Cassandra. Renee tried to shush her.
Erastus shook his head. “I tried to warn him about the hard cider. It’s less like cider and more like a swift hammer to the head.”
Renee told him of their intention to make use of his tennis court and he quickly located some tennis rackets and balls. The day was chilly, but mercifully dry, and they warmed up quickly as they played, first Renee against Cassandra and then Renee and Cassandra against Erastus who quickly became tired and refereed the rest of the time. By the time they were done—and Cassandra had trounced Renee three sets in a row—their cheeks were red and they were out of breath. The three of them decided to head back to the house for hot chocolate. The kitchen was warm and bright, with copper pots hanging from the beams. They sat for a happy half hour, sipping hot chocolate and listening to Erastus spin tales about his travels to South America and the Far East. It was the most normal afternoon Renee had yet experienced in England.
