“My lady.” When, at last, I see the rose voile of her gown, I feel acute relief.
The Duchess offers me a small, private smile, that gives me more pause than pleasure.
“Forgive me if I caused you alarm. That was not my intent.”
Something has changed about Her Grace, though I last saw her last but minutes ago. I cannot put my finger upon the cause, but the way she looks upon me has altered.
“I fear you have missed the waltz.”
“Oh.” She turns her head and gazes at the dance floor, where the dancers are now performing the reel. “I must beg your pardon, Your Grace.”
“Not at all,” I say as I study her. The news of missing the dance does not seem to dampen her countenance in the slightest, proving my suspicions correct. But it puzzles me—she was gone longer than I thought she would be, certainly, but not long enough for anything serious to occur.
“Perhaps… if it is agreeable to you, Your Grace, we might retire early?”
Her request perplexes me. I have watched her at many balls, and her family is always one of the last to depart. “You are not enjoying yourself, my lady?”
She lowers her gaze demurely. “It is not that, Your Grace, only… I wish for some time alone before it is time to sleep.”
When she raises her eyes to mine once more, they are filled to the brim with emotion I cannot name. “Of course, my lady, if that is what you desire, I shall have the carriage brought around at once.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
I depart to find the Crown Prince, who is now seated on the dais draped with crimson velvet. The King and Queen appear to be engaged in conversation. I halt at a respectful distance and bow, holding the pose until I attract their notice.
“Your Grace! Do approach, if you please.” The Queen’s voice floats toward me, regal and warm.
I raise my head. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I say before approaching.
However, before I can make apologies to their majesties for our departure, she speaks. “Please, talk some sense into this thick-headed son of mine, Your Grace.”
I look to James, who is clearly quite bored and not bothering to hide the fact. I keep my tone light and jovial as I say, “It would give me great pleasure to be of service to you, Your Highness. Please, tell me how I might serve my queen.”
She tries admirably to keep her smile from blossoming, but in the end, she loses and rewards me with a small smile. I have been flattering her since I was little more than a child, and as such, I have become quite proficient at it. She sits tall and proud upon her throne, flanked by her husband and son. The three make quite a picture with their fine clothes, furs, and jewels that catch the light. Yet, it is evident to anyone who might chance a closer look that the Crown Prince is quite miserable.
The queen leans forward, her dark blue eyes shining. “Perhaps you might be so kind as to instruct my son of all the joy to be had from married life.”
This does take me by surprise. I have far more success in hiding my thoughts than the queen, however. “I would be delighted, Your Majesty.” I look to my friend whose countenance is stony.
“And if we do not speak of joy,” the King speaks up, his tone brisk and thorny, “then duty would suffice.”
“I do not believe His Grace came to speak of any such thing,” the prince replies.
“Yes, but if you will not listen tousthen perhaps a word from His Grace?—”
“The boy is right,” the King says, though it appears the words leave a bitter taste upon his tongue. “We will have His Grace and his charming wife to the palace later.” He reaches over to pat his wife’s hand with tender affection. Clearly they are united in their displeasure toward their son.
“What might we do for you, Your Grace?” the queen asks in a honeyed, silken tone.
“I only wished to make apologies for Her Grace and myself, as she finds herself feeling unwell. With your permission, we would take our leave.”
The Queen gazes upon me, her eyes nearly as familiar to me as her son’s. She inclines her head slightly. “Of course. I shall pray for the Duchess. May both of you be well.”
Bowing my gratitude, I give my friend one last parting glance. I know there is scarcely anything I can say or do to help him, but I feel sorry for him nonetheless.
“Your Grace—we shall have you for tea soon.” The Queen’s voice carries so that many present will surely overhear.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my wife make a low, sweeping curtsey that few women can manage. It makes myheart swell with pride. Making another bow, I join my wife. “Well done,” I murmur to her. “I did not see you follow me.”
