Royal Regard

Chapter Five, Part 2

"Myron's valet must be informed right away." Charlotte removed a tangled skein of violet thread from Bella's sewing basket and began to work out the knots. Bella took the silk from her hand, replacing it with hopelessly snarled dark green that matched the outlined leaves on the robin's branch.

Bella wiped her eyes clean of both anxiety and satisfaction, leaving her face untouchable. "He has no valet, Charlotte. We travelled very simply in three rooms on the frigate. I was his valet; he was my lady's maid."

"No valet?" Charlotte's voice grew shriller with every lapse. "And an audience with the king tomorrow? Heavens. I'll send Alexander's man back here as soon as I arrive home, and place two advertisements." She looked around again and dropped her voice. "And never again refer to the Earl of Huntleigh as a lady's maid."

Bella dropped her sewing into her lap. "We need no—"

"You have no idea what you need. My maid will keep you from appearing before the king in men's trousers and clogs with your hair looking like..." Charlotte's eyebrows turned in intent on Bella's appearance, "like that."

"Charlotte, you cannot—"

"I can. I will. I will outrank you even once you are a countess, so simply say, 'Yes, my lady. Thank you, my lady,' and consider it done."

"I will hang myself from London Bridge before I call you 'my lady,'" Bella said, as she pulled the thread through the linen.

Rather than jabbing Bella with a witty remark, Charlotte used a far more effective weapon, forging ahead with her version of the prior night's events. Bella poked her finger with the needle when Charlotte said, "Lord Malbourne would have cut off a limb to dance with you, and if not for your eternal scowling and hiding yourself every time I walked away, you would have had dozens of partners."

Bella took up a spare scrap of cloth to stanch the minor bleeding. "Will you refer to him properly, as though you have a semblance of good breeding?"

"He has been Lord Malbourne for thirty years. No one calls him 'Your Grace' outside his own servants."

Charlotte scowled at the errant lace that wouldn't lie flat on Bella's gown and tried to tack up a wayward strand of her hair, until Bella yanked herself away, setting the shawl askew, cold air from the window raising gooseflesh on her arms. If only to keep Charlotte from rummaging through her wardrobe and giving things away to the maid, Bella let herself be drawn into the conversation.

Pulling her shawl tight, she admitted, "I am quite relieved he was the only man to offer, with Myron so ill-tempered."

Bella decided if she were forced to engage in this ridiculous exchange, she would at least be comfortable doing so. She crossed to the window to close it, then drew the heavy velvet curtains and added a log to the fire, breathing in the scent she remembered from her childhood. Coal required coin her father never had, but wood from her uncle's forest cost only her brothers' labor and her uncle's displeasure. She held her hands out to warm her icy fingers, rubbing her upper arms on the way back to her seat.

Once settled, she added, "Never in our lives has he refused a partner on my behalf, especially not that rudely. Myron is never rude, certainly not to a duke."

"Why is it he so dislikes Lord Malbourne? Just because he's French?"

While she continued trying to warm herself, rubbing her hands against her dress, Charlotte took the opportunity to stab a hairpin into Bella's scalp, ignoring the yelp of pain. The flurry of action tore another rip in the seating.

Bella spoke only after slapping Charlotte's hand away and rearranging the pin.

"I have no more information than you. As he told us all last night, my husband believes the duke did not act the gentleman where his late wife was concerned."