Margaret Moore (6 page)

Queen Catherine was not in attendance, which was not unusual. More unusually, Charles’s grand
amour,
Lady Castlemaine, was also absent. Rumor had it she was expecting another child, and there was a possibility it was not the king’s, but the product of one of her other liaisons. Likely she deemed it wise to keep some distance between herself and her royal lover.

Richard scanned the bevy of young women who would likely not be adverse to taking Lady Castlemaine’s place, even temporarily. At present, the king’s current favorite seemed to be a pretty woman who went by the name of Mistress Winters. Apparently, there was no Mister Winters, and Richard doubted there ever had been. Gossip said she had been a maidservant to one of Charles’s underlings until the king had taken a fancy to her and provided her with her own house a short distance from the palace. The distance was even shorter if one went by boat, and the king had his own Privy Stairs leading to the Thames.

As Richard watched Mistress Winters allow rather astonishing liberties by the king, he hoped she would keep the king sufficiently occupied that His Majesty wouldn’t realize how late the hour was growing, or speculate that Mistress Longbourne had decided she would rather risk the king’s wrath than marry.

“My mother was nearly half a day late for her wedding,” Foz noted nostalgically.

Richard had met Foz’s father before the elderly gentleman had passed away, so he could understand why his mother might have waited until the last possible moment to marry him. It was hardly flattering to think Elissa Longbourne had a similar reaction to
him.

“How did Minette take the news of your marriage?”

“Rather better than I expected,” Richard replied.

Rather better than he had been prepared for, truth be told. He supposed she already had her sights set on another man, and presumably one with more to give.

“I wish you had agreed to borrow my new peruke,” Foz whispered as he surveyed Richard with slight disapproval.

“Wigs make my head itch,” Richard whispered back. “What would be worse, a bridegroom who displays his own unfashionable hair or one who’s constantly scratching?”

The king suddenly laughed, the jovial eruption drawing everyone’s attention.

“Perhaps we shall have to send our guards for her, eh?” he called out, looking at Richard. “In the meantime, the ladies are bidding on who shall take Mistress Longbourne’s place if she fails to arrive.”

Richard bowed in acknowledgment and dutifully smiled as he slowly perused the bevy of painted, overdressed women. Not one of them attracted him at all, but one or two eyed him flirtatiously, making it clear they would consider taking the bride’s place, or at least substitute for her in the nuptial bed. “How delightful, Majesty! Who, may I ask, has bid the most?”

“Oh, it would be unchivalrous to say, surely,” the king protested. Then he started
and straightened, pointing down the hall. “Lo, the bride cometh!”

Richard turned—and then struggled to control the anger washing over him, for his bride came not in wedding finery, but in mourning, from the top of her black-veiled head to the bottom of her stiff, high-necked black gown. Her haughty, aloof expression as she walked slowly toward him was not one to inspire happiness, either. She looked as if
she
were the dear departed, her frozen face a death mask.

Beside her, also dressed in plain black and with an equally dismal mien, was the fellow from the anteroom last night.

Elissa Longbourne’s son was nowhere to be seen.

The soft sounds of snickering, both male and female, reached Richard’s ears and his jaw clenched.

“She’s even beautiful in that horrible gown,” Foz breathed beside him. “How embarrassing for her! She must have had nothing else suitable.”

“She should have bought something,” Richard snarled under his breath.

Foz scrutinized Richard’s attire.
“You
didn’t.”

“That’s different!”

“Who’s that chap with her? His tailor should be hanged if he can’t provide a better fit than that.”

“He is her lawyer.”

“Ods bodikins, really?”

“Really.”

The king rose and majestically strode toward Mistress Longbourne, his usual charming smile on his face. She curtsied and waited until he took her hand to rise, while her lawyer bowed. “Ah, Mistress Longbourne! We were beginning to fear something had happened to prevent you from coming, which would have been most unfortunate.”

He glanced back at the women who swarmed around him like bees to honey. “Although some would have been only too happy if you had not.”

“I am very sorry, Your Majesty,” she said with what sounded like sincere regret. “I was trying to find something appropriate to wear, and failed.”

Foz nudged Richard so hard, he had to take a step to keep from falling over.

“You are lovely nonetheless,” the king graciously replied as he placed her hand on his arm. “Come and join hands with Sir Richard.”

“Majesty, if you please,” she said as the king brought her to stand beside him, “Mr. Harding has brought the marriage settlement. Sir Richard should sign it first.”

Richard glared and the king frowned. “Marriage settlement?”

“Yes, Majesty,” she said with more of a simper than Richard would have believed her capable of.

Mr. Harding stepped forward and held a rolled parchment out to Richard, who snatched it from the man’s slender, yet surprisingly strong, fingers. He tore off the ribbon and discovered two long, closely written documents that apparently utilized every legal term imaginable.

“Sir Richard has but to sign the two copies, and then we can be wed,” Mistress Longbourne explained as if the proffered legal document were nothing at all important or binding.

“Fetch pen and ink for Sir Richard,” Charles genially commanded one of the liveried servants standing nearby.

“Sire, it will take me at least an hour to read it—and more than that to comprehend it, I don’t doubt,” Richard protested.

“You do not read well?” Mistress Longbourne inquired gravely as she turned to look at him. “That must be a severe handicap for one of your profession, although it may explain some of your work.”

“While your Mr. Harding was studying the law, I was with the king in Europe,” Richard growled.

“Yes, yes, so you were,” Charles said. “Just sign the thing and then we can begin the celebrations. We are in a mood to dance.”

“Majesty, I cannot put to my name to a legal document without knowing its contents.”

The king’s brow lowered ominously and the
gleam of meiriment left his eyes. “What can it possibly say that would be important enough to disrupt our plans?”

“My father taught me never to sign a document without reading it first,” he replied, not adding that it was the only valuable lesson his father had ever taught him.

Charles smiled placatingly. “That is wise, of course, yet surely there is nothing out of the ordinary here. Come, man, and sign, so that I can proceed to make you Earl of Dovercourt.”

Richard stared, while Mistress Longbourne and others in the huge assembly room gasped.

“Indeed, it is true. When you wed Mistress Longbourne, we shall make you Earl of Dovercourt. Sadly, there is no estate to go with the title, but we are certain you will think of a way to amend that.”

Mistress Longbourne darted a suspicious look at both the king and her intended husband.

“Majesty, perhaps …” she began hesitantly as a servant returned with a quill and pot of ink.

Richard snatched the quill from the servant. “As much as we both might wish for a delay,” he whispered harshly to her, “it is rather late for changing your mind.” He raised his voice. “Foz, please be so good as to make a back.”

His friend obligingly bent over. Richard laid the document on Foz’s back and with a theatrical flourish, signed one copy, then the
other. He briskly handed one to Mr. Harding and the other to his friend. “Lord Cheddersby, I hope you will be so good as to study this for me at your leisure and tell me what it says in simple English.”

While Foz was not particularly clever about most things, or creative in the least, he was well able to read and summarize other men’s work, thanks to a most exacting tutor.

“I shall be delighted!” he eagerly agreed. Then he frowned. “Not immediately, I trust?”

“The sooner the better.”

“But—”

“After the marriage ceremony will do,” Richard amended.

Lord Cheddersby nodded.

“Maybe Sir Richard
should
read it first,” Elissa ventured, her misgivings increased by the king’s remark regarding an estate for her bridegroom.

How was he to obtain one if the king did not give it to him? By somehow usurping her son’s once he was her husband?

“Let us proceed!” the king declared. “Sir Richard Blythe, do you take her? Of course you do. Mistress Longbourne, do you take him? Odd’s fish, yes. I therefore pronounce you man and wife. To the happy couple!”

The room erupted into a cacophony of cheers and laughter.

Feeling as if this were another horrid nightmare in a series of bad dreams, Elissa slowly
turned toward Sir Richard, who suddenly tugged her into his arms with surprising and unexpected strength.

“Thus, my dear, we are wed,” he declared before his mouth possessively took hers.

She twisted, only to find herself clasped to him even tighter, as if he would meld their bodies into one.

As his tongue slipped between her lips, his knee gently pushed between her rapidly weakening legs.

She was going to swoon.

He stopped kissing her. However, he still held her close and although there was fire in his dark eyes, his lips turned up in a roguish little smile. “It is done and there is nothing you or I can do about it. So make the best of it, my lady, as I shall.”

Regardless of the people around them, he boldly caressed her body before releasing her. “Believe me, I most certainly shall.”

“You despicable—”

He was already gone. Like a conquering hero he sauntered toward the group of women near the king who were dressed in satins and velvets yet painted their faces like whores.

“Now for the wedding feast!” Charles cried, taking Mistress Winters by the hand. “To the Banqueting House!”

The ladies and courtiers curtsied, bowed, and murmured expectantly as Charles began to escort the pretty but garishly attired woman
through the crowd and toward the door.

Elissa had no idea where he was going, and her husband was still obviously occupied receiving the congratulations of the women left behind. She was so annoyed, she didn’t realize that Lord Cheddersby had come to stand beside her.

“Best wishes, my lady,” he offered with a kind and slightly foolish smile.

“Thank you,” she replied coldly, wondering when her new husband was going to deign to leave those immodest, impudent women and lead her in to the wedding banquet, wherever it was. “Have you seen Mr. Harding?”

“He’s gone.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want him? I will go after him for you.”

“That will not be necessary. Tell me, where is the wedding banquet to be?”

“The Banqueting House.”

Elissa flushed with embarrassment. She might have reasoned that out for herself.

“He can’t help it, you know.”

She looked at Lord Cheddersby quizzically—which was better than looking at Sir Richard and his many admirers. “Who cannot help what?”

“Richard. He cannot help it if women like him. He makes no effort to secure their good opinion.”

“Indeed?” As she thought of Sir Richard’s
good looks and sardonic, knowing smile, she could see that it might not take much of a personal effort on his part to attract foolish women. And when she recalled his kiss… if a woman had experience of
that,
it would take even less.

She told herself it did not matter how many women had enjoyed his passionate embraces. It would not matter to her if they continued to enjoy them.

“Yes. I can’t understand it myself, for he can be quite rude.”

“That does not surprise me.”

“He can be very gallant, too, as you yourself discovered yesterday.”

“I prefer not to remember that terrible episode.”

“I understand.”

Elissa was quite sure Lord Cheddersby understood nothing at all where she was concerned.

“Yes, well, best wishes, my lady. I hope you will be very happy.” He smiled weakly, then bowed and walked away.

He had sounded so sincere and kind, Elissa was sorry she had been abrupt with him. After all, it was not Lord Cheddersby’s fault she had been forced to marry his friend.

And no matter how she felt about her husband or her marriage, Elissa couldn’t help experiencing a guilty twinge of pleasure at the realization she was now a titled lady.

The king halted at the door and glanced back over his shoulder. “Sir Richard,” he called out as if vastly amused, “you seem to have forgotten something.”

“Sire?”

“Your bride!”

Elissa flushed again as the hall erupted with laughter, then glared at her new husband as he strolled toward her and, with a mocking expression in his dark eyes, bowed. “How remiss of me.”

Then his voice dropped to a low, smugly satisfied whisper. “Tit for tat, my sweet,” he said, looking at her breasts and smiling even more.

“I do not require your attendance.”

“You have it nonetheless,” he said, offering her his arm. “The bride and groom must take their proper places upon the stage.”

“If we must,” she muttered as he placed her hand upon his forearm.

His very muscular forearm.

Perhaps it is so muscular because he is always fighting duels over women, she thought as they made their way through a series of corridors and halls along with the rest of the boisterous, smirking courtiers.

“Ah, here you are!” the king cried when they reached the Banqueting House.

He was already seated at the center of the large head table covered with a pristine white cloth, silver plates and crystal goblets. “Richard,
you must sit beside Mistress Winters, and your beautiful bride shall be to our right, so that we can regale her with examples of your many qualities and accomplishments.”