Geoffrey’s scowl remained. "No, of course not. I’m sorry—but you’ve changed so greatly, so quickly, I’m not prepared at all."
"But I haven’t," she argued softly. "I’ve only learned to speak more appropriately, and I’ve learned what might be expected of me at court. I thought you’d be happy and here you’re—"
"Don’t go to tears over it, Charlotte," he commanded none too gently. "Let’s just sit down and get on to the business about the wedding. I’ll hear your ideas on it, since you’ll have to do the planning."
"Very well," she sighed, walking the short distance to the settee and dropping gently onto the cushions. "It’s getting late in the year and I think it best not to have a fuss. Truth is, I’ve talked to some of the women about weddings and it seems there’s too much detail to remember, so I’d rather have it small with only a few present. Mrs. Stratton, the woman Rodney employed for me, can handle the arrangements." She shrugged and looked down. "I’ll only botch it if I try."
"Somehow I don’t think you would," Geoffrey commented dryly from his standing position. She looked up at him hopefully. "I should commend you," he continued. "You’re coming off looking like the genuine article. Just don’t become too confident."
Inside, Alicia knew there was little hope of that, but she hid it well and demurely replied, "I shall take the greatest care."
"Is a fortnight too soon?" he asked her.
"It needn’t be that long if you’re in a rush," she told him.
"I think you ought to ask for that much time," he said. "You’re the one who’s supposed to be controlling this, since you’ll have to tell the king when you’d like to be married. Can I trust you to do it at once?"
"If you’ll tell me the time and place, I’ll speak to His Majesty. He’s promised to see me this week for that very purpose. I think he’s eager to be done with it."
"Good, then, we’ll keep it small and trim in money, entertain only a few, though they’ll be a rich few and will cost something magnificent to entertain. We’ll take a short holiday—that will be expected, though I can’t see how I can spare the time—and settle on Tiller Street at once. I think you’ll appreciate the lodgings. I chose the house carefully."
As he spoke, Alicia watched him with something akin to disappointment in her eyes. His marriage was such a business affair, and something told her it would not be terribly different if she were Charlotte. In fact, she wondered, would he be very different if he loved his bride?
There was a brief tapping at the door and Margaret poked her head in. "Beg pardon, madam," Margaret imposed. "You have a visitor. What excuse would you have me give?"
"Who is it?" Alicia asked, considering the possibility that it was the king, though later she realized Margaret would surely have said so.
"Lord Perry, mum."
Geoffrey immediately stiffened, an action that drew Alicia’s eyes to him at once. She had no idea what brought the ill feelings Geoffrey had for Perry—she had her own, and with good reason. She instantly feared the worst; that Perry had recognized her and would expose their plan.
She looked back to Margaret and steadied herself. There was no need to face the prospect alone; no need to hide from Geoffrey the fact that she was a maid pulled out of a country ordinary.
"Did you tell Lord Perry that I am with my betrothed?" she asked Margaret.
"No, mum, but I’ll be happy—"
"No," Geoffrey said sharply. "No, indeed. Show his lordship in. You needn’t even tell him I’m here. I’m curious with his coming."
Alicia looked up at Geoffrey. It was clearly hate and nothing less that Geoffrey felt. It occurred to her that if she confessed that Perry not only knew her, but had stolen her virtue, it might lead to Geoffrey’s hatred of her, too. She was not sure how well she could lie. And for how long.
"I wonder what Lord Perry has done to you," she said softly.
"He was betrothed to my sister."
He did not look at her, and for a moment she saw something of pain cross his features.
"I know nothing of your family," she prompted.
"There is none—now." His gaze dropped to her, and for a moment there was a gentleness mixed with remorse in the soft gruffness of his voice and in the way he looked at her. "He was betrothed to my sister—a contract made without the consent of either me or our mother. I’m certain he thought the Seavers family enjoyed wealth, as in the days before the Commonwealth. I think even Andrea thought we would have our lands restored and with them a sizable amount of money."
"And there was nothing?" she asked.
"Nothing restored, and worse; a near guarantee from Charles that it could not be gotten back."
He turned from her and seemed to speak into the mantel of the fireplace. "We were cast to make our fortunes back, as were many others. No money for Perry to wed, and my sister dead, quite suddenly, of a fall while she was riding with her betrothed."
He turned back to her. "He did not grieve."
His eyes grew hard and impassive. "And further, he argued heartily for the hand of the orphaned daughter of our knight, Fergus."
As he finished his statement, the door to the sitting room opened and Culver Perry took a step in, halting suddenly as he spotted Geoffrey. The two studied each other brazenly, rather heatedly, as if the hostility from being in the same room was mutual.
Alicia quickly took note of them; they were equal in many ways. Perry’s handsomeness was dark and somewhat sinister, but pleasing to her female eye nonetheless. Geoffrey was fair of hair and his eyes glittering green, but his skin more bronzed than Perry’s. Perry was taller; Seavers more solid and muscular. They both commanded with their eyes, but Perry’s command seemed plotting, while Seavers dealt from strength.
She understood Geoffrey’s reason for hate, for she knew Perry to be a user. He had, after all, used her.
But then, she could not say Geoffrey was innocent of that very flaw.
Perry bowed elaborately, first toward Alicia, speaking with a lilting grace. "Your servant, madam." And then, oozing melodious charm, he turned to Geoffrey and said with familiarity, "Greetings, Geoff." Alicia nearly jumped at the shortened version of his name; it was a first to her ears.
Geoffrey bowed, though stiffly, and made no verbal greeting.
"I was not aware you were here," Perry said to Geoffrey, his eyes gleaming somewhat, his smile almost believable.
"I thought not."
"I called to ask your bride to select her wedding gift, since I’d like to make it something special." He turned his attention to Alicia immediately. "It’s not that he’s spoiled a surprise, only that I’d have given the choice to you. It seems fitting that the bride make the selection."
"No gift is necessary, Lord Perry, but I thank you for your thoughtfulness."
"Unnecessary? I protest, madam, I—"
"The fact is that we’ve only just decided the wedding will be a private affair, since neither of us comes from a large family. Aside from His Majesty and whoever he wishes to attend with him, there will be no guests. I apologize." Alicia forced a smile. "I do hope you’re not offended."
Her smile became more natural as she realized he certainly was. Mortified, in fact, as she judged from his shocked scowl. "I see," he said rather blandly. He took up another pose, his acting ability nearly matching Alicia’s. He would not be offended, but gracious to a fault. "Certainly, madam, I understand. Of course you would choose such a wedding. But then, my gift cannot be discounted because of the circumstances. I wish to give you something in any case."
"How very nice. Well then, what is it I am to choose from?" Hands folded in her lap, she watched his gaze settle on her bosom and heard him nearly stutter.
"There are a few things I would offer: a silver service, a chest of great value made in India and lined with the finest silk from the East, or a collection of rare gems taken off a Dutch vessel and brought from Africa."
Alicia looked up at Geoffrey and found he glared at Culver Perry still, but looked
to be more in control.
"Geoffrey?" she questioned.
" ‘Tis your choice, Charlotte," he replied easily.
"Very well, the chest then," she said quickly. "I think I would be envied to have such a treasure in my home."
"The chest it is, madam," he promised. "It shall be delivered to you posthaste. Am I to assume the wedding will be soon?"
"Very soon," she fairly crooned, making the most adoring eyes toward her intended. "And with all due respect, sir, hereafter you must give me some warning of your visits. It just isn’t right for a new bride to entertain a man without a chaperone."
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he smiled. "Of course, madam," he said in a strained voice. "Then, I’ll be going." He turned and quit the room.
A stillness prevailed as neither moved, each contemplating what had just taken place. Alicia gave a barely audible sigh, a silent vow that never again would a man to whom she gave herself forget her so easily. She felt a strange emptiness; an ache that grew within her. She could not bear to think of herself as a passing fancy to be used and tossed carelessly from a man’s mind. And yet the culprit had done just that. And he would never know how deeply she hurt.
Seavers simmered inside. He had seen Perry’s attention to Alicia’s full figure, the light in his eyes as he studied her delicate features. There was no question that his disappointment at not having won the maid was now intense, for she had become a greater prize than any at court imagined she could be.
All the ladies and courtiers had expected Charlotte Bellamy to be most unpretty and crude of manner. Alicia acted the part as a beauty with delicate etiquette and gracious bearing.
Geoffrey looked down at her. Aye, she was perfect. Pity she was an impostor. But then, no one would know…
"It’s clear, madam, that he was here to woo you. His offer of a choice of gift was a ruse."
Her soft blue-gray eyes rose to look at him. "Perhaps not, milord," she said.
His hand came out to point at her attire. "Have you nothing more modest to wear?"
She self-consciously gave a tug at the lace bodice. "I’m afraid not. Lady Castlemaine chose most of the gowns. Mrs. Stratton tells me it is her plan to keep the men from staring at Frances Stewart."
"Aye, and I’m certain you are greatly pained to have their eyes on you."
"I don’t mind that they find me pretty," she replied.
"Pretty?" he laughed. " Tis not the way of the courtiers to look and not touch, cherie. Even Perry," he said, raising a hand toward the closed sitting room door. "Had I not been here, your virtue would not have been protected."
"There are servants in the house, milord. He would not have been allowed to hurt me."
Geoffrey turned away and grumbled. "I doubt what he had in mind resembled pain in any way."
"Is there something I have done to offend you?"
He turned back to her, and, as he looked her over, he wore a mixture of lust and anger. "I would see you more suitably gowned, Charlotte, once the wedding has taken place and you live with me."
She laughed suddenly and stood up, walking casually around the settee, thus putting it between them. "I thought the marriage purely a means to an end for you, Geoffrey. How I dress and what I do should not matter to you as long as I appear as the wifely sort."
"And you think exposing most of your flesh wifely?" he countered. "Charlotte, it is dangerous to appear too inviting."
Her head dropped and she looked down.
"You see what I say is true?" he asked.
She raised her eyes to meet his. "I don’t mind what I do for you—this marriage thing." She took a slow breath. "I don’t like the name."
"Name?"
"Charlotte."
"It’s only a name."
"But not mine. I feel as though you’re talking to someone else."
"I thought it was understood it would become yours, even—"
"Never mind," she interrupted, bolstering herself for a more serious subject. "The clothing," she said, returning to the cause for his ire. "I’ll wear whatever you like if you’ll have it made for me. But pray don’t be too dotish in your style. I should not have to suffer too greatly in this position."
His jaw set. "You enjoy the attention."
"Aye," she returned enthusiastically.
"And how can you play wife to me while the men ogle you?"
"As planned. Let them look; it should not matter. You will have your ships. And the envy of the court."
He moved closer to her, looking at her over the settee. "And with that I would have respect. I won’t be laughed at, nor will I wear a cuckold’s horns."
"You are a jealous fool!"
"And you act a harlot."
"No. A woman—and you cannot appreciate it."
"A wife is modest and loyal."
"A husband is loving."
"Love? This has nothing to do with love."
"Then there is no cause for your rage," she said, turning her back abruptly.
Geoffrey’s heart began to pound. He felt certain he’d lost control of her, for she showed the greatest contrasts: warm and cooperative one moment, sassy and presumptuous the next. He walked around the settee and, grabbing her shoulders, turned her around to face him.
Surprise was etched on her features and he relished it. Her mouth was half opened in astonishment and she watched him in stunned silence as he spoke.
"We have a bargain and you will play my wife for the court, for the world. And you will play it by my rules or not at all. Do you understand me?"
He noted her expression of fear and not just surprise. "Please don’t hurt me, milord."
A puzzled expression came over his face. Nothing akin to fear possessed her moments ago; why now? He wondered if she expected a beating. Her past was much a mystery to him. Perhaps beatings were a regular part of her life before now.
He loosened his grip on her arms but his gaze was intense. He saw her features relax somewhat.
"Is that how you are controlled? By beatings?"
She shook her head. "I do not wish to be beaten, milord."
"There is a better way to teach you what I expect," he said hoarsely, and, with no hint of his intention, he slipped an arm about her waist and covered her mouth with his.
Alicia’s eyes flew open wide and her hand instinctively pushed against his chest, trying to resist him. But he seemed to enjoy her resistance and held her closer, pressing against her, molding her velvet-clad body to his. Her pushing ceased, but she dared not embrace him lest he become aware of her immediate defeat.
She could not be captured.
Her lids gently dropped and she tried to resume the fight, but he must have thought her weak or foolish, for happily, she did not succeed in moving him a breath away.
His lips released hers and he dropped a kiss to the rounded knoll of her heaving breasts. Then his mouth was poised close to hers again.
"While you live with me as my wife, whether in truth or by bargain, you will do my will."
"In truth, your will," she whispered. "By bargain, our will."
"I will return you to your tavern lovers," he warned.
The jibe dug deep. He truly believed her a whore.
"You cannot," she breathed. "You love your ships too well."
"I will not fight you long, Alicia. I will win."
He released her and strode quickly away from her. At the sitting room door, he paused and looked at her.
"Set the wedding date with His Majesty. And have a care with your behavior."
She pursed her lips and would not reply. He left without another word and she stood still, but for the transformation her lips made from a stem pucker to a lazy half smile. Trembling still possessed her and her fingers brushed the place on her bosom where his lips had branded her. She was profoundly aware that as he had touched her so intimately, so passionately, he had called her by her given name.
"Perhaps the fight will be longer than you expect, milord," she whispered to the empty
room. "But I think you unclear as to the winner."
Seven
In an afternoon that was wet and cold, when even a short walk about the palace was inadvisable, Charles, his son James, duke of Monmouth, and George Villiers, duke of Buckingham, stepped from the royal coach and began to walk toward the chapel. The queen, though compassionate by nature, would not attend a Protestant service of any kind.
Charles looked up at the sky and examined the moisture collecting on his hat, coat, and arms. "Beastly day for it," he remarked. "Can they blame me for the weather, George?" Charles asked with some humor.
"They shouldn’t, Sire," Villiers replied, speaking of the subjects Charles ruled. "But I think they will, just the same."
"I doubt not," the king muttered, taking long strides to the chapel door. The constant downpour of rain, the frustration of not putting a quick end to the Dutch conflict, one mistress pregnant, a heatedly pursued woman still a virgin, and countless other miseries did not plague him overmuch. But the damn rain spoiled his walks in St. James Park, and that had made him a trifle cross.
The chapel was dim. Inside, the others waited: Castlemaine, Frances Stewart, a minor few courtiers and ladies; and near the front of the chapel stood Lord Seavers and his friend Preston Tilden. All rose and curtsied or bowed as the king entered.
As if to still any apprehension, Charles put forth his hands to pat down nervousness. "She is on her way. She’ll arrive any moment."
The round-faced chaplain smiled and bobbed and others either relaxed in their stance or sat down again. Charles took note that there were no special provisions made for the day; no special bouquets or streamers, no musician or reader. He scowled slightly, shook his head, and considered the waste of space he viewed. This wedding of Seavers’s could have been done by contract and no ceremony. Charles thought Geoffrey would one day regret being so damned tight-fisted and uncaring.
Charles left Lady Charlotte’s apartments just ahead of her, allowing her to finish her primping and preening with just her women, and thought he had beheld perhaps the loveliest bride he had ever seen. But as her women fussed all around her, he had not seen her smile. Indeed, she looked deeply saddened, though he couldn’t imagine why. Seavers, he guessed, had been oafish in his courtship and the bride had second thoughts. Charles’s next emotion was an intense desire to get the thing done before any more time was required of him. He wanted this ward married, the ships built, and as little trouble as possible.