herself into a bow that threatened to spill her round breasts out of her gown. The fact that she was with child did not detract from her sensuality. Both men took mental note that Charles did indeed have exquisite taste in women.
Geoffrey extended his hand to take hers. "Lady Castlemaine," he said, his voice smooth and controlled. For all appearances they were old friends delighting in the reacquaintance. He kissed the back of her hand and, upon raising his head, found her eyes glued to Preston. "Allow me to introduce Preston Tilden, lately arriving in London. Preston’s father, Lord Tilden, has made his home in Virginia of the Americas and Preston is in the business of trade."
"A pleasure," Barbara said coolly. "Then merchanting is your family business," she said, seeking clarification. That a merchant would presume to come to her affair without a special invitation was an affront.
"In essence, lady," Preston returned quietly.
Geoffrey presented his arm to Barbara and they preceded Preston to join the other guests waiting in the sitting room and dining room. When they had gone but a step, Geoffrey leaned close to the hostess and whispered, "His family is very rich. Very rich indeed."
Barbara’s eyes lit ever so slightly and she glanced over her shoulder to appraise the young guest again, this time with a half smile and raised brow. Dining with a merchant was not prestigious, but a very rich merchant with a nobly bred family was not exactly an embarrassment. "Tilden, you say. Seems I remember a Lord Tilden…"
"Perhaps, lady," Preston returned. "Though when my parents left England permanently, I’d say you were but a child."
And to that Barbara smiled brightly. Youth was the most precious commodity in all London. Still in her early twenties, Barbara feared age more than anything. And she was not unlike the other court ladies in that.
Charles stood off in a comer with Buckingham, courtiers lounged about half at attention and not yet totally inebriated, ladies fluttered fans and fawned over each other’s jewels and gowns, and Geoffrey tried, inconspicuously, to scan the room for some sight of Alicia.
Charles glanced over his shoulder and spied Geoffrey. Their eyes met briefly. Charles smiled knowingly, turned away to whisper something to George Villiers, and then turned abruptly toward Seavers.
Geoffrey’s acknowledgment of the king was slow. He felt that creeping sensation when he first spied Charles, for the fact was that the king completely controlled his future at this point and could at any moment change his mind about letting the young noblewoman advance her inheritance through marriage to him. But he caught himself, remembering courtly manners and being very much a man comforted by rules. Much of the comfort came through the reckless feeling of breaking them and never letting on that he’d escaped. Inwardly, however, he never stopped feeling unsettled by lying and cheating.
He checked himself and bowed deeply. "Sire."
"In a hurry, no doubt, to make the acquaintance of your future bride," Charles drawled.
"Is she here, Sire?" Geoffrey asked.
Charles scratched his beard, his fingers gliding up his jawline to give his mustache a tug. A smile played at the comers of his mouth, and his eyes glittered mischievously. "I’ve enjoyed myself a bit with this chore," he confessed quietly.
"I thought you might," Geoffrey slipped out without thinking.
Charles was not offended but intrigued. "It occurs to me that everyone knows me better than I like. Ah, well, so what? The truth is I can’t remember when a secret’s been more fun."
Geoffrey’s face darkened somewhat and his eyes narrowed. He hated to ask. "Secret, Sire?"
"Well, everyone—that is, everyone but you—has asked how I found Lady Charlotte. Though I haven’t made her a prisoner at all, she’s kept to her rooms entirely, getting herself ready for tonight."
"That isn’t good news to me, Your Majesty," Geoffrey sulked.
Charles laughed
Geoffrey extended his hand to take hers. "Lady Castlemaine," he said, his voice smooth and controlled. For all appearances they were old friends delighting in the reacquaintance. He kissed the back of her hand and, upon raising his head, found her eyes glued to Preston. "Allow me to introduce Preston Tilden, lately arriving in London. Preston’s father, Lord Tilden, has made his home in Virginia of the Americas and Preston is in the business of trade."
"A pleasure," Barbara said coolly. "Then merchanting is your family business," she said, seeking clarification. That a merchant would presume to come to her affair without a special invitation was an affront.
"In essence, lady," Preston returned quietly.
Geoffrey presented his arm to Barbara and they preceded Preston to join the other guests waiting in the sitting room and dining room. When they had gone but a step, Geoffrey leaned close to the hostess and whispered, "His family is very rich. Very rich indeed."
Barbara’s eyes lit ever so slightly and she glanced over her shoulder to appraise the young guest again, this time with a half smile and raised brow. Dining with a merchant was not prestigious, but a very rich merchant with a nobly bred family was not exactly an embarrassment. "Tilden, you say. Seems I remember a Lord Tilden…"
"Perhaps, lady," Preston returned. "Though when my parents left England permanently, I’d say you were but a child."
And to that Barbara smiled brightly. Youth was the most precious commodity in all London. Still in her early twenties, Barbara feared age more than anything. And she was not unlike the other court ladies in that.
Charles stood off in a comer with Buckingham, courtiers lounged about half at attention and not yet totally inebriated, ladies fluttered fans and fawned over each other’s jewels and gowns, and Geoffrey tried, inconspicuously, to scan the room for some sight of Alicia.
Charles glanced over his shoulder and spied Geoffrey. Their eyes met briefly. Charles smiled knowingly, turned away to whisper something to George Villiers, and then turned abruptly toward Seavers.
Geoffrey’s acknowledgment of the king was slow. He felt that creeping sensation when he first spied Charles, for the fact was that the king completely controlled his future at this point and could at any moment change his mind about letting the young noblewoman advance her inheritance through marriage to him. But he caught himself, remembering courtly manners and being very much a man comforted by rules. Much of the comfort came through the reckless feeling of breaking them and never letting on that he’d escaped. Inwardly, however, he never stopped feeling unsettled by lying and cheating.
He checked himself and bowed deeply. "Sire."
"In a hurry, no doubt, to make the acquaintance of your future bride," Charles drawled.
"Is she here, Sire?" Geoffrey asked.
Charles scratched his beard, his fingers gliding up his jawline to give his mustache a tug. A smile played at the comers of his mouth, and his eyes glittered mischievously. "I’ve enjoyed myself a bit with this chore," he confessed quietly.
"I thought you might," Geoffrey slipped out without thinking.
Charles was not offended but intrigued. "It occurs to me that everyone knows me better than I like. Ah, well, so what? The truth is I can’t remember when a secret’s been more fun."
Geoffrey’s face darkened somewhat and his eyes narrowed. He hated to ask. "Secret, Sire?"
"Well, everyone—that is, everyone but you—has asked how I found Lady Charlotte. Though I haven’t made her a prisoner at all, she’s kept to her rooms entirely, getting herself ready for tonight."
"That isn’t good news to me, Your Majesty," Geoffrey sulked.
Charles laughed
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