“Not insulted as such. Just dismissed as unworthy of fairness.” She looked down on herself, on the neat but simple blue muslin dress and deep blue spencer. “Perhaps if I had dressed like . . .” She gestured to the ladies chatting nearby. “Like them, it would have helped.”
Probably so. “Not at all. You look fine.”Solid and honest and with a character not dependent on garments and fashion. A self-possession that he had noticed when they met at the Duchess of Stratton’s party still ruled her, but her distress softened her enough that his protective nature emerged. “Can I help in some way?”
His offer startled her. She regarded him, cocking her head, as if she considered ways in which he could indeed help before thinking better of it. “It is a private matter, thank you. Only the king can help me, and I fear he will not. I must decide whether to accept that or battle on.”
“If you are in the right, do not lay down your arms now. The Household strives to protect him and remove problems before they even know if a problem truly exists. If you persevere you may yet succeed.” Oh, how smoothly it all came out. He did not really believe a word of it. Those men back there would bury whatever she claimed needed fixing forever if they thought it best for their master.
She nodded firmly. “You are correct. Your reminder is well taken. I can still muster the evidence I need to get his attention.”
The door across the chamber opened and a balding crown emerged. Miss MacCallum noticed. “I must go now, Your Grace. I do not want to see that man again until I am ready for him.”
She dipped a fast curtsy then disappeared while the bald head worked its way across the large chamber. It finally stopped right in front of Brentworth.
“Your Grace, thank you for coming.”
He knew Haversham. The man had been in the king’s tow for decades. He could not see him without thinking of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. Cassius has a lean and hungry look. Let me have men about me that are fat.
“My liege summoned me. Or so I thought.”
Haversham flushed. “I wrote at his instruction, but today he asked me to speak for him.”
“I am not accustomed to having anyone, even a king, foist me off on a clerk.”
“Foisted? Good heavens no. Not at all. It will save you much time if I do the preliminaries, so to speak. Explain a few things. Then should you meet with His Majesty you will not have to wait on his explanation, which might be less direct.” He coughed into his fist. “If you understand me.”
He understood. It could take the king an hour to say whatever Haversham would complete in ten minutes. “At least you were not so stupid as to have me delivered to you by a page.”
“Of course not! Truly, it is best if we speak privately before—that is, the matter is of some embarrassment to His Majesty and he would prefer if I—If you could sit with me over here, I will try to explain.”
Herewere two chairs tucked behind a statue in an attempt to create a bit of privacy. Brentworth threw himself into one of them and waited for Haversham to get on with it.
“As you know, after the Jacobite rebellion, a number of Scottish titles were attainted. In the case of some commoners, lands were taken,” Haversham began. “In a few cases, the lands of deceased feudal barons reverted to the Crown due to there being no heirs or descendants. In such cases, official attainder was not pursued.”
“All of that was settled a generation ago.”
“True, but—on occasion, we will still receive a petition to reopen the matter regarding this estate or that. Someone will claim to be the descendant of one of those men, and want the land back. Charlatans normally. Adventurers.” Haversham dismissed the frauds with a sneer. “It happens more often than you would guess. Some petition the Crown after the College of Arms rejects the claim. We have a letter we send to all of them, warning them off under penalty of imprisonment. That normally does it.”
“And when it doesn’t?”
“I deal with them. It is lengthier, but eventually they go away.”
“Good. Why did this bring me here today?”
Haversham appeared surprised. “Oh! I thought you knew. Well, thisisembarrassing.” He leaned in. “Recently, such a descendant came forth. Only this one has a letter from the last king that all but acknowledges the claim.”
“How awkward for you.”
“Most awkward. It is not a forgery. It is a signed and sealed letter all but admitting that the descendant is indeed a descendant and all but promising the estate will be returned. Well, of course the king was mad at the time. Who knows what he would write? Yet, there it is.”
“Do you want my advice? Is that why I was summoned here? I think you should—”
“With respect, Your Grace, that is not why you were invited. When I came out and saw you I assumed you knew. You were speaking with Davina MacCallum. She is the claimant in question. She is insisting on another audience with the king to discuss the matter. I have been charged with seeing that never happens.”
“Anotheraudience?”
“I regret to say they met in Edinburgh.”
“If a five-minute audience will placate her, I don’t see why—”
