When he arrived at Malloren House he went to the offices, hoping to drown concern in hard work. He could not concentrate, however. After listening to a clerk’s explanation of wine imports and prices, and realizing that he hadn’t taken in more than a tenth of it, he gave up the effort.
When he entered the hall, he encountered Rothgar in full Court magnificence, including his Orders.
“And how are our beloved monarchs?” Bryght asked.
“Dull as always,” said Rothgar. “I intend to be dissipated and drink strong coffee. Do you care to join me?”
Bryght was tempted to find a hole to hide in but refused to succumb.
They went to the library, Rothgar’s favorite haven, an oak-paneled room lined with a disorderly collection of well-read books. As they waited for the coffeepot, Bryght said, “Do you think the Song of Songs is allegorical or simply a love story?”
“Cannot it be both?” Rothgar took a seat close to the fire, flipping back the encrusted brocade skirts of his coat and adjusting his rapier to settle comfortably by his side. Like Bryght he was powdered, but for Court he had clearly intended to impress. His buttons were rubies, his sword-hilt was set with diamonds, and he wore three heavy rings on his elegant, pale hands.
“I feel positively underdressed,” said Bryght, taking the opposite chair. “Are we asking for something?”
“Quite the opposite. When petitioning, one appears gentlemanly but unostentatious. I am merely making an impression against the time it becomes necessary. There are some people still looking to the old order, and paying their greatest attention to the king’s mother and Lord Bute. I look to the future.”
“Will the king ever break free of his mother and Bute?”
“Undoubtedly. Especially with my help.”
“’Struth! Are you turning king-maker?”
Rothgar smiled. “Hardly that. But he is somewhat in awe of me, and I am one of the few around him not constantly asking for favors. A little heart-to-heart we had at the Abbey after Cyn’s wedding didn’t hurt either.”
Bryght couldn’t help but grin. “About politics?”
“Devil a bit. About the marriage bed. He and the queen are most grateful, though she, of course, doesn’t know from whence the blessings came.”
Bryght dissolved into laughter. “Gads, Bey. I don’t know how you do it.”
Rothgar looked slightly hurt. “It is merely that I have everyone’s best interests at heart. Now, as toyourlove-life…”
The arrival of the coffee was fortuitous. By the time the footman had poured the drink, handed the cups, and been dismissed, Bryght had composed himself.
“My love life goes ahead smoothly without your aid. The wedding is to be on Wednesday.”
“Then I had best send for Elf and Brand immediately. Perhaps your bride would like to dine here tonight. With the Trelyns, of course.”
“I’m not sure.”
“If that is not convenient, I must call upon her.” When Bryght remained silent, he added, “To do less would be discourteous.”
“Yes, I suppose it would.”
“Bryght, if there is about to be a disaster in the family, I would like to know.”
Bryght put down his empty cup. He had always guarded his personal affairs from Rothgar, but his brother was right. This could go beyond the personal. “Make no mistake of it,” he said, “I want to marry Portia St. Claire. It is not a particularly prudent marriage, but I want it.”
“I would be positively alarmed if my family were to start being prudent.”
Bryght laughed at that. “Your composure is safe, I assure you. I was caught kissing Portia at Lady Willoughby’s soiree last night. Kissing her with considerable enthusiasm.”
“Was she kissing you back?”
“With equal enthusiasm.”
“Where, then, is the fly in this ointment?”
