The Shadow of Albion (20 page)

than to England. Never quite resigned to its union with England when James the sixth

of Scotland had become James the First of England upon the death of the great

Elizabeth, the unruly Scots might welcome a French force not as invaders, but as

allies.

If that happened, Henry would have the Corsican Beast crouched on his northern

border – and the Norm, as his family knew to its everlasting regret, was tinder for

wildfire, ready to rise against the King in London at the slightest spark.

But with Princess Stephanie married to England’s heir and the Danish-English

treaty signed – joining Denmark with Russia, Prussia, and England in the battle

against Bonaparte, and giving English ships free access to Danish harbors – one

more chink in the island nation’s armor would have been sealed, freeing Henry to

make his plans for attack, releasing him from endless defense.

But Tsar Alexander of Russia and Prince Wilhelm of Prussia were not as sanguine

as Henry. Both rulers suspected that the Danish match would be called off at the last

minute, or that the so-far-neutral Danes would somehow twist the match to suit only

their own advantage, and not England’s. If England fell and the Triple Alliance

crumpled, Prussia and Russia would bear the brunt of Bonaparte’s victorious

retaliation.

„But Papa, I – – “Jamie tried again, and King Henry to cut him off.

„I said no, and I do not wish to discuss this matter – “

„I am not asking for a commission,“ his heir said bitterly. „For I know you will

not permit me such a chance to distinguish myself! All I ask is your permission to

journey to observe the fighting – Grandfather often did as much: – “

„Aye, and much good it did him!“ Henry snapped.

The young prince stared at his father in amazement; Henry was not often that

sharp with him.

„I have made my decision, Jamie, and I will not change it. I forbid you to leave

England. Review your regiments here at home all you like – or find something else to

amuse you. But I will not send you to be slaughtered on a foreign battlefield.“

There was a frozen moment of offended silence on the Prince’s part, then he

made a chilly formal bow and walked from the room without speaking.

The King sighed. He could have called Jamie back and demanded an apology, but

he knew too well the restrictions the young man was chafing under. The Tsar and the

Prussian King’s heir – both in the field – daily urged Henry to send his son to take a

place upon the Alliance General Staff. And while such a post would be far from the

fighting, Henry was reluctant to send his son and heir out of the relative safety of

England. French ships patrolled the Channel like hungry sharks, and ashore,

Bonaparte’s methods of prosecuting his war were even less honorable. An even

more overwhelming consideration was the fact that the Denmark Treaty was to be

solemnized upon Jamie’s wedding day – and without the Prince, there was no treaty.

But in comparison to the romance of the battlefield, meetings with his father’s

ministers, no matter how necessary to the government of the realm, held little charm.

A king must know diplomacy; it was the backbone of statescraft.

Unfortunately, all too often a king must know war as well.

But not yet. Oh, God, not yet.

In the last fortnight Sarah had learned a great many things, including how

scandalous all of London thought the Marchioness of Roxbury to be. It did not

seem to her that she had ever noticed this before – certainly she did not feel like

anyone who had spent the past several years weathering scandal – but it was

undeniably a fact. Nice girls did not reside in their own townhouses with only the

most minimal of chaperonage. Nice girls did not keep their own carriages. Nice girls

did not ride out in Green Park at unfashionable hours, with only a lone groom in

attendance.

Nice girls had vouchers for Almack’s, the exclusive waltzing club in Kings Street

And Lady Roxbury did not It was not that she lacked for invitations to parties. Ever

since her arrival in Town, there had not been one day that had not seen Lady

Roxbury engaged to what seemed an excessive number of parties. If not for the

strengthening cordial that Knoyle scrupulously fed her every morning and night,

Sarah was quite certain she could never have managed the endless social round.

But with her senses as finely attuned as those of a woodland hunter, Sarah knew

that these parties, though quite glittering, were not quite the „right“ parties: the ones

to which the most respectable ladies of the ton were invited.

She was not sure she yearned for them – surely even more genteel entertainments

meant even more boredom? – but the Dowager Duchess of Wessex was doing all

she could to improve Sarah’s standing among the guardian dragons of the Ton.

Sarah was to be formally presented to King Henry at a Court Drawing-Room in a

few weeks, and that same evening the Duchess would give a dazzling ball – to be

held at Herriard House, since the Duchess’s own townhouse lacked the necessary

accessory of a ballroom-– subsequent to which most respectable event, vouchers

for Almack’s would surely appear.

Sarah could only admire such dedication and energy – especially since she could

not think of a blessed thing to do to stop it. Obligingly, she had ordered her

presentation gown and her ball-dress, and hoped that something would occur to her

to stop this whirlwind before it was too late.

At least Wessex had not forced his attentions upon her again, although if Sarah

were being honest, she’d have had to admit he never had actually forced his

attentions upon her. It was a most disagreeable thing, she told herself, to suspect the

man of honorable intentions and to still not yet have received a proposal from him

that she could decently refuse.

And she would refuse it, Sarah told herself, because there was not the least reason

she could conceive of for accepting it. Like Wessex, she found it difficult to feel that

a family agreement entered into when the principals involved were there children

carried much weight in the modern world of 1805. Of course, supposedly there had

been a later, formal betrothal; supposedly she had been engaged to marry Wessex

since she was sixteen years old… Then why do I not remember it – or him?

No answer came to enlighten her. Very well, memory or no memory, she would

refuse Wessex, however often his grandmother offered him to her. And then she

would see out the Season, go back to Mooncoign, and…

And what?

Abruptly Sarah felt a chilly sense of peril. The sense that she hesitated at the edge

of a cliff was strong: one misstep would be fatal, and disastrous beyond her

comprehension. But which way did the disaster lie? The memory of the creature she

had seen in the garden on the night of the ball rose up unbidden in her mind: as

certain as she was that such beings did not exist elsewhere, she was also certain that

they did exist… here.

But where is elsewhere? And where is here, if it is not the place where I was

born? Sarah asked herself wildly.

„My lady?“ Knoyle’s voice sounded anxiously at her elbow, and Sarah realized

that she had been standing wool-gathering on a busy London Street. So much for a

morning’s walk clearing her head of last night’s cobwebs!

She was standing before the ornate green and gold double-doors of Hatchard’s

Bookshop in Piccadilly. One of me unalloyed pleasures of her sojourn in London

was the opportunity to spend hours pouring over catalogs and visiting bookstores,

purchasing any new volume her heart fancied. Every Wednesday she came to

Hatchard’s to look over new tides; the hours she spent in the hushed quiet beneath

the bookshop’s massive dome were some of the happiest in her recent memory.

And she was happy. The Duchess of Wessex was no ogre, merely an old woman

who had sadly lost both husband and children before their time, and who meddled

good-heartedly in her grandson’s life perhaps more than she ought. That was all.

Squaring her shoulders, Sarah pushed open the door to the bookshop. Within, all

was cool serenity; me golden light slanting downward from the dome, the circular

counter beneath it, and the rows of books stretching off in every direction all acted

to soothe Sarah’s nerves. Without stopping to see if her parcel had arrived, Sarah

drifted toward the shelves and began perusing the colorful spines of gilt and

Moroccan calf.

She had spent some minutes in that agreeable pursuit when her attention was

summoned insensibly by the presence of a young woman a few feet away. Sarah

glanced up from beneath the brim of her bonnet, wondering what had attracted her

attention to the stranger.

The young woman was dressed with Quakerish plainness; her round gown in

plain lavender muslin the next thing to mourning apparel. But when she glanced up in

pursuit of a volume, Sarah realized that any ornament would be entirely superfluous;

the stranger was the most dazzlingly beautiful girl Sarah had ever seen.

Her flawless skin was the pale clear ivory of country cream, and the glossy hair

that framed her face in smooth waves was so perfectly black that it cast faint blue

shadows on her skin. Her long dark lashes – which owed nothing to artifice or kohl

brush – framed eyes that were as star-tlingly green as if their color had come from a

box of watercolors or a jeweler’s window. In all, the young lady was a piece of

perfection so arresting that for one ungracious instant Sarah thought that anyone that

beautiful couldn’t possibly be respectable. Instantly, Sarah dismissed the notion.

Everything about the young lady – from her demure costume to the hovering

presence of a middle-aged maid – bespoke complete respectability. In fact, Sarah

thought, firmly returning her attention to her own selections, the lady was

undoubtedly far more respectable than Sarah herself.

Which, Sarah reflected, only served her out for all the years the Marchioness of

Roxbury had spent amusing herself at the expense of her responsibilities and

position. For a moment Sarah’s hand hovered over her breast, where her father’s

ring reposed safe beneath layers of silk, muslin, and buckram corseting. An odd

flicker of disquiet disturbed her thoughts, as if some part of her was desperately

attempting to remember something she had only forgotten at her peril. My father’s

ring….

It was while she was caught up in that sense of otherness that Sarah took an

unwary step backward, colliding with the object of her previous scrutiny.

„Oh!“

There was a patter of falling books.

Cheeks flaming, Sarah turned about to behold the fair stranger who had been the

object of her curiosity.

„Oh – I do beg your pardon,“ Sarah gasped, stooping to help retrieve the

scattered volumes. „It was inexcusably clumsy of me.“

„It is nothing,“ the young woman said. „I dare say you were distracted by all the

books – it is a failing of mine, I must admit; my uncle has taxed me with it often.“

„For good or ill my faults are mine to indulge without anyone else’s censure,“

Sarah said frankly. „I am the Marchioness of Roxbury, and I promise you that I do

not always trample my fellow bibliophiles.“

„I am very pleased to make your ladyship’s acquaintance.“ The young woman’s

alleged pleasure sounded actually sincere. „I am Meriel… Bulleyn, of – oh, nowhere

in particular! Stopping for the Season in London – “ Miss Bulleyn seemed about to

say something more, but bit her lip and desisted.

„Then we shall be friends,“ Sarah said, obeying a sudden impulse. By now she

had collected all her new acquaintance’s selections again and handed them over to

her. „I will admit, I should be glad of a friend in London.“

„You, Lady Roxbury?“ Miss Bulleyn said, plainly unconvinced of this possibility.

„I,“ Sarah said with a smile. „No one has so many friends that they may not be

glad of a new one.“ And truth be told, those who had presented themselves at

Herriard House over the past several weeks had not been such persons as Sarah

could bring herself to be easy with. Fast and fashionable without a doubt, and more

or less above reproach, but these glittering ornaments to fashionable life who

comprised the Marchioness of Roxbury’s inner circle were not close friends, and

Sarah yearned for someone in whom she could confide. „I should be glad if you

would be my friend.“

For a moment it seemed as if Miss Bulleyn studied Sarah coldly through those

green cat-eyes. But it must have been a trick of the light, for the moment passed, and

Miss Bulleyn smiled warmly.