The Mask Revealed (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 2) (30 page)

It seemed to be the servant’s job to escort her back to her husband, or if he could not be found, to keep her occupied with light conversation until he returned or some other company could be found to amuse her.

The man was of medium height, slender, handsome, polished, a little effete, perhaps. His eyes were green and reminded her of Thomas’s. His nose was snubbed slightly at the end. He had a small white scar over one of his eyebrows, the left one. They were black, which meant his hair must be too, although it was concealed beneath a powdered wig at the moment. She noted everything about him, committed it to memory. His words flowed over her, polite enquiries about how she was finding France. He was a courtier. She was wasting her opportunity. The evening was coming to an end and the king had left. Taking their cue from him, everyone else was preparing to leave. In a moment Sir Anthony would come looking for her.

“Do you live in Versailles, my lord, or are you also merely visiting?” she asked her companion.

He did not correct her use of title. A lord, then.

“I do indeed live in the palace, my lady,” he replied. “I have the great honour to be a member of the king’s staff.”

“Really?” she replied, with genuine interest. “How exciting! In what capacity are you employed?”

“I have the honour to be a gentleman of the bedchamber, my lady.”

“That is a most privileged position, is it not, Lord…ah…?”

“Not a lord, I regret.” Ah. He did regret it. He hoped to be one, then, one day. He bowed, introduced his lowly self, a mere Monsieur, and then Sir Anthony appeared,with her cloak, and a languid, pleasant expression on his painted face, beneath which was a coldness she had not expected. The Monsieur melted away into the background and disappeared, and then Beth’s arm was taken by her husband and she was led away to their carriage.

She was ecstatic, relieved beyond measure that the evening had been such a success, could not wait to discuss it. But when she leaned forward to whisper in Sir Anthony’s ear, he shook his head and jerked his hand at the roof of the coach. She sat back. It would have to wait, then, until they were safely in their room and could not be overheard. What was wrong with him? Now they were not being observed, the languid expression had vanished, but the cold rage had not. Something had happened. What was it?

She found out as soon as the door of the room closed and was locked, and Sir Anthony exploded into Alex before he had even taken off his wig, which was the first thing he always did, hating it. He tore it off now and hurled it into the corner of the room with a blast of Gaelic invective which Beth was glad she did not understand. Angus obviously did. He remained by the door, silent, wary.

“The bloody, lascivious, fornicating bastard!” Alex raged.

“What? Who are you talking about?” Beth asked, confused. Her mind was so full of her chat with the courtier, all that had happened before it had faded from her mind.

“Who the hell d’ye think I mean?” he said, his eyes blazing. “The king. Louis. So that’s why we were invited to the palace. I had wondered. He saw ye in the chapel. He thinks he can ogle your breasts, kiss you in public, and get his panderer to butter you up for his bed. Well, if he thinks I’ll stand by while he fucks my wife, he can think again. I’ll see him in hell first!”

Beth stared at him.

“Don’t you think I might have some say in all this?” she said coldly. “I hardly think Louis is likely to drag me off to his bed by force, do you?”

“No,” Alex replied. “He’s more subtle than that. He’ll woo ye, probably buy ye expensive presents, arrange for us both to be invited to a very private function, and then make sure we’re separated, so he can take ye off somewhere and seduce you.”

“And you really think I’m going to let him do that?” she said, her voice rising to match his.

“No, Ye’re not. I’m no’ going tae let him get the opportunity. I’ll…”

He broke off as Beth’s open palm cracked hard against his cheek. She swung again and he ducked back adroitly, grabbing her hand as it flashed past his nose. She pulled against him, and his grip tightened.

“What the hell’s wrong wi’ ye, woman?” he shouted.

“What’s wrong with me? Do you think so little of me, that you think I’ll be persuaded into committing adultery with a man, king or not, by a few words of flattery and some presents? Well, I have respect for myself, even if you don’t!” she cried, close to tears. She blinked them back, angrily. “And if you think that Louis has the slightest chance of fucking me, as you so delicately put it, no matter what he or his panderer does, then it’s you that’s the bastard, not him. And it’s you that can go to hell!”

With a supreme effort she detached herself from his grip and stormed towards the door. Angus moved quickly out of the way. She had her fingers on the handle when Alex’s voice halted her.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. It was not the words, but the tone that made her turn round. The rage had vanished, replaced by remorse. And pain. She moved back into the room. Angus stood forgotten, in the corner now.

“Alex,” she began, and hesitated, searching for the right words. “I married you because I love you. Surely you know that?”

“You married me tae get away from your brother,” he replied.

“No. I married Sir Anthony to get away from my brother. I married you, in Rome, because I love you. I do not love lightly, Alex. I haven’t told you that, because I thought you already knew it.” She looked at him, her eyes intense.

“I do know it,” he said, averting his gaze. “But I couldna stand tae see him make eyes at you like that in front of the whole Court. Christ, I was on the other side of the room and I could tell what he was doing, it was that obvious. He even looked at me and smiled before he kissed you! He made a fool of me, an’ a whore of you, in front of everyone!”

“You’re wrong,” she replied. “He made a fool of Sir Anthony. Sir Anthony wants to be made a fool of, to be underestimated. You should be pleased by your success. He showed me that he finds me attractive. He can only make a whore of me if I let him, which I assure you I do not intend to.” She moved closer, took his hand in both of hers. “If you get this jealous of every man who finds me desirable, Alex, you’re never going to have a moment’s peace,” she said softly. “I’m beautiful, you said so only yesterday. It’s a weapon. We can use it to our advantage. Men want me. But you are the only man who has had me, and I don’t want any other. If you trust me you will accept that and learn to deal with men admiring me, knowing I’ll not let it go further than that.”

He looked at her, his eyes dark, unfathomable. But the pain had diminished, at least.

“I trust you,” he said after a moment. Some of the tension left his face.

“Good,” she replied. She took a deep breath. “Then relax, for God’s sake. And tell me what a panderer is.”

Angus took Beth’s advice, although it had not been addressed to him, and relaxed. He came forward out of the shadows.

“A panderer is a man who helps to procure women for another man, for sexual purposes,” he said. “Not something I have need of myself. I wouldna think a king would, either. Is Louis deformed, or something?”

“No,” Alex said. He went to the dressing table, began the nightly ritual of removing his paint. “But not every king wants to be bothered wi’ the chasing himself, particularly if he might be publicly rejected when he does. So he employs someone like yon laddie who was blethering wi’ ye to pave the way for him, find out the woman’s interests, see if she’s amenable.”

Beth was stunned. She still had a lot to learn about royalty, that was obvious.

“So you mean…? But he didn’t ask me anything about myself. He was talking about Paris.”

“Aye, tonight he was. But we’ll be invited again, soon, ye can depend on it. And next time he’ll get ye to one side and find out what you like, your favourite colour, if you’re partial tae jewels, or flowers, and what ye think of your husband. He’ll be very subtle about it, and charming too. I saw ye hanging on his every word tonight, and, well, I thought he was winning ye round. I can see now I was wrong.”

She laughed, unexpectedly, joyously. He looked round at her, puzzled. Now the paint was removed, he had a faint pink mark on one cheek where she had hit him.

“You’re right,” she grinned. “I
was
hanging on his every word. He was fascinating. Far more interesting than the king. I can’t wait to meet him again and have a much more detailed conversation. I intend to find out everything there is to know about him. In fact, nothing will make me happier than going to the palace and seeing the king’s panderer there. If he’s not there, I’ll be desolate.”

“Christ, was he that good?” said Angus. “I must meet the man, get some tips.”

“No, Angus, you’re a damn sight better than he’ll ever be,” she said, “as I’ve already told you. But you don’t hold the same fascination for me. Because you don’t speak with a sibilant ‘s’, and your name is not Henri Monselle.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

The young man and woman were sitting on an ornate wooden bench in the
Bosquet des Dômes
, one of the numerous groves which comprised part of the gardens of Versailles. Sheltered by the latticed trellis which arched over them, fracturing the afternoon sun into small squares of gold, they were engaged in lively debate, unaware of the other couples strolling by on the gravel paths taking advantage of the unseasonal warmth. They made a pretty picture and one might have taken them for lovers had it not been for the fact that they were not touching, and were not debating with passion, but with intellect. A book lay open on the bench between them.

 “So, you hold your ancestress Eve in contempt, then?” Henri Monselle was saying.

“No, I only disagree with Milton’s interpretation of her,” Beth replied. “He maligns her from the very beginning. He makes her first action on waking from her creation to be seduced by her own beauty in a pool. It is up to Adam to show her that her purpose on earth is to be utterly subservient to him.”

“You don’t agree then, that many women are obsessed with their own beauty?” he replied, looking up and catching by chance the eye of Marguerite, who was walking on an adjacent path. She frowned, knowing what Monsieur Monselle’s task was, and hoping he would not succeed. Beth followed Henri’s gaze and smiled.

“Yes,” she said. “But it is not only women who take an hour to walk the length of the hall of mirrors.”

No, it wasn’t, thought Henri. Lady Elizabeth’s own husband was a case in point, preening in every glass, whilst his wife stood impatiently waiting for him at the other end of the gallery. Henri had never known a woman so careless of her beauty. It was enchanting.

“But in
Paradise Lost
, Eve is representative of all women,” Beth continued. “From the beginning Milton states that Adam was created for valour and contemplation, for absolute rule, and she to be subject to him, her only purpose to be soft and attractive, and, how does he put it,” she lifted up the book and leafed briskly through it. “Ah, yes, ‘nothing lovelier can be found In woman than to study household good, And good works in her husband to promote!’ Huh! No wonder Milton’s wife left him! And yet it takes all the wiles of Satan, an immortal spirit and powerful enough to corrupt one third of the angels, to tempt the frivolous Eve to eat of the fruit. Whereas in spite of all his great contemplative powers, Adam is tempted only by Eve, who he knows is inferior to him. Who then is the weaker?”

“Adam, no doubt,” Henri replied. “For all men are weak in the face of woman’s beauty.” Except himself. He was not seduced by feminine wiles. His tastes lay elsewhere. Which was one of the reasons Louis trusted him to find beautiful mistresses for him. “And, although you are indeed as beautiful as Eve, you are also intelligent and independent. Do you think, then, that you could have resisted the serpent?”

“Have I not proved that this week, Monsieur Monselle?” Beth asked.

Both knew what she was referring to. After a week of intense persuasion and returned presents, Henri had finally accepted that Beth’s virtue was unassailable, and had told Louis so the previous evening. Totally mismatched as she and her peacock of a husband were, still she seemed unwilling to betray him. Even for the love of a king. The king in question, though highly sexed, was indolent. That was why he employed Henri to do his courting for him. He trusted Henri’s judgement where women were concerned.

“Indeed you have, Lady Elizabeth. Your husband is a lucky man,” he said without thinking.

“Why?” Beth asked. “Because I will not make a cuckold of him? Every man should expect that of his wife. And vice versa.”

“Yet the love of a king is not lightly renounced.”

“I do not have the love of the king,” she replied tartly. “I have the lust of the king. That is quite another matter. But even if His Majesty did love me, as he claimed in the poem I received last night, which you wrote for him, I would still not betray Anthony.”

Henri laughed. He had indeed written the poem, as he did many of Louis’ declarations of love, but she was the first woman who had recognised it.

“I would that everyone were as honourable as yourself, my lady. Yet you are a rarity, I think. Ambition drives many to betray their friends. Power and wealth are very attractive, are they not?” His tone matched hers, and she turned and looked at him. He found the directness of her gaze disconcerting and after a moment he averted his eyes.

 “Satan is very seductive,” Beth replied, “as Milton demonstrates so beautifully. But wealth? Not for its own sake, no. ‘Let none admire that riches grow in Hell; that soil may best deserve the precious bane’.”

“So you agree with Milton in some respects, then? You despise wealth?”

“No, I despise what men, and women, will stoop to to attain it, and the uses they put it to,” she said. “Too often they spend it on frivolous displays, thinking thus that others will be too dazzled to see the corruption that lies beneath.”

Too late she became aware of the shadow that had fallen across them.

“Do you have any particular man or display in mind, Lady Elizabeth?” The voice was amused, but there was an edge of ice beneath it.