Her Highness, the Traitor by Susan Higginbotham Page B

anything on his stomach. Somerset, at least from my vantage point on the street, had looked less worn for his ordeal than did my husband. “I told her that you would receive her if she came and spoke on his behalf. Did I presume?”
    “Yes, to put it mildly. Tell me, my dear, have you made any other promises on my behalf to the duchess, or to anyone else, I should know about? Issued pardons?”
    “It is only seeing her, John.”
    “And seeing her again and again, no doubt, until this business is resolved. It won’t be quick, I suspect, no matter what you and the duchess must think.”
    “She loves Somerset very dearly and is utterly devoted to him. It is her best quality.” I ran my hand along John’s back. “Surely she can’t be blamed for trying to help him. I would do the same for you if you were in trouble, John.”
    John sighed. “Very well. I’ll see the woman.”
    ***
    A few days later, Robert and Guildford wandered into my chamber. Robert cocked his head in the general direction of the chamber where John received visitors. “Is she still here?”
    “Still,” I said grimly. The Duchess of Somerset had presented herself at Ely Place that morning, dressed in a less matronly fashion than usual and wearing, I suspected, a bit of paint on her face. Though she always was impeccably dressed and groomed, this was a step too far. I had said she could come to see my husband, not that she could look beautiful doing it.
    “How long has she been here?” asked Guildford.
    “Too long,” I muttered. “I fear she will be taxing your father’s strength,” I added hastily. “He has not been able to shake off that stomach disorder of his.”
    Robert, from whom I could hide nothing, shot me an amused look. “What if we send Guildford in there?” he suggested. “I’d go myself, but it would look too obvious. Guildford can go in there to retrieve something he’s left. He’s always leaving things around the house, anyway.”
    “Not lately,” Guildford protested.
    “But you have that reputation. Go in there for—for your Greek grammar. That’s it! Stay there and search for it a little, so you’ll be able to tell us what feminine wiles and snares the duchess is using.”
    “Feminine wiles and snares?” Guildford’s brow crinkled.
    “Never mind about that,” I interjected. “Just tell us what she’s doing in there.”
    “And there’s a bonus,” Robert added. “Father will think you’re actually working on your Greek.”
    “I do work on my Greek.”
    Robert and I rolled our eyes in unison.
    “All right,” Guildford said. “I’ll go.” He headed out of the chamber, then turned. “What if Father asks me about my Greek tonight?”
    “I’ll cover for you,” Robert promised.
    Presently, Guildford loped back into the room. “It was tragic , Mother. She was kneeling before Father. I think she had been crying.”
    As long as she wasn’t sitting in his lap, I thought.
    “She had a bunch of letters in her hands, from the duke, I guess, and was reading from one of them. Father was listening and nodding.”
    “Agreeing with her?” Robert asked. “Or trying to stay awake?”
    “I don’t know,” said Guildford. “The duchess started telling me about her brilliant daughters, and I decided it was time to leave. I couldn’t find a good excuse to linger, anyway, once I found my book.” He held up a volume that showed little signs of wear. “It was there, actually.”
    “Maybe you should study it, then,” said Robert. “In case Father asks about it.”
    “You promised—”
    “Well, yes. But now, there’s something I need to speak to Mother about. Privately.” Robert practically pushed Guildford out of the room. “Go play a game of tennis with Hal.”
    A baffled-looking Guildford left the room. Robert let the sound of his departing footsteps fade away. Then he said in a low voice, “I’m in love.”
    My heart sank. “The lady Elizabeth. Robert, she is not for you. The second-highest