A person in love does not always see so clearly.
Father Ling’s voice whispered in his mind. Simon sat straight up, searching for the source of the voice. Had the monk not departed yet?
He strained to hear, but the house remained eerily quiet. He was losing his mind. Why not? He’d already lost his heart. Surely his sanity wasn’t far behind.
Love is a madness all in itself.
“Stop it,” Simon muttered. He shook his head as he heard the echo of Father Ling’s soft laughter.
Clearly he’d had one drink too many.
“I’m going to wake up in the morning and this will all have been a dream.” He waited for the monk’s response but silence reigned.
He rubbed his eyes in disgust, angry that he had allowed himself to believe…even for a second. Tomorrow he would feel very foolish indeed.
* * *
Simon sat at a table in the far corner of the room, waiting for the Duke of Ardmore. He checked his timepiece, wondering if he had misunderstood the time of their meeting. He drummed his fingers on the mahogany table as his eyes scanned the room for his grace.
He’d awoken this morning to Timmons delivering an invitation from the duke to dine with him at White’s. Which could only mean one thing. Simon would be given another assignment.
His lips curled into a half-smile as he remembered a similar meeting nearly a year ago. When he first learned of the atrocities in Leaudor and set out on a course that would forever change his life.
Footsteps approached and Simon looked up to see the duke come to a stop across the table from him. Though several years older than Simon, His Grace was still an imposing figure. He was tall and only slightly graying around the temples. His broad shoulders and barrel chest contributed to his commanding presence.
“Merrick,” he said with a nod of his head.
Simon rose and offered a polite bow. “Your Grace.”
The two men sat, and the duke waved a footman over. “Would you care for a drink?” he asked Simon as the footman hovered, waiting to fulfill their request.
A wave of nausea rolled through Simon’s stomach, and sweat beaded his forehead. The mere mention of spirits was enough to make him blanch. He held up a hand. “Nothing for me, thank you.”
The duke waved the footman off then pinned Simon with a stare. “I’ll come straight to the point of our meeting. His Highness has followed your progress this past year and has been very impressed with your service. So much so that he is bestowing upon you the title of Duke of Malbane.”
Simon raised an eyebrow in surprise. This was not what he had expected from this meeting. “That is very generous of His Highness.”
The duke leaned back in his seat. “The regent has studied the situation in Leaudor with great interest. He feels he may have underestimated their worth to us as an ally. He’d like to correct such an oversight with all haste.”
Simon nodded. “Leaudor would make a very worthy ally to England,” he said slowly.
His head pounded a bit more, and he could no longer blame it on the brandy he’d consumed the evening before. He was being punished. For what he didn’t know, but clearly, the idea of being able to forget Isabella, Leaudor… It was fantasy.
“Yes, His Highness completely agrees. It is why he wants to suggest a political union of sorts. A marriage between our countries if you will.”
Simon’s head snapped up, and the knot grew in his stomach.
“As the queen has yet to marry, the regent wants to suggest a union with an Englishman.”
Simon closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Absurd really, to allow the idea of Isabella with another man to cause him so much pain. He knew she would eventually marry. There were heirs to produce. A dynasty to grow.
He attempted to relax his features. “Queen Isabella is not so easily led,” he said lightly. “I rather doubt she will be persuaded to marry someone of the regent’s choosing.”
The duke nodded. “The regent has heard of the queen’s reputation. A very strong woman, indeed. Extraordinary. But it can’t hurt to ask, can it?”
Simon slowly shook his head.
The duke smiled. “Splendid. I knew you would agree.”
