Royal Regard

Chapter Thirty-Two, Part 1

It had been more than six weeks since Michelle had been dispatched, and as they did most afternoons, Bella and Nick had retired to Charlotte's drawing room after luncheon, Bella to rest and build up her strength, Nick to lend his if it were needed. Since the day he had left her to be attacked by Michelle, he hadn't let her out of his sight. Bella understood his fear, even shared it to some extent, but indulging him was starting to wear.

"Your brother is nearly finished with the men from Bow Street," he said, taking her hand, as had become his habit, "if you remember anything more you'd like to add."

"No," Bella returned, fingers twitching in the folds of her skirt. "I've given myself the megrim recalling again what I already told them, to no good purpose. Day after day, the same questions, and I never have anything new to report. I wish you two wouldn't encourage them." She touched her fingers to her temple, soothing the near-constant ache. "Would you be so kind as the close the curtain?"

"Of course, sweeting." He adjusted the blue velvet curtains, drawing one over the other to avoid even the slightest ray of afternoon sun from disturbing her rest. He banked the fire and turned down the lamps, poured a glass of water in case she should find herself thirsty. Everything he did was thoughtful. She was beginning to feel selfish by proximity.

When he returned to her side in the darkened drawing room, like every afternoon, he gently helped her lie back on the soft, velvet chaise longue, covered her with a light blue quilt cross-stitched with a pattern of purple irises, then took up his stalwart position at Charlotte's writing desk with a wick lamp, reading the day's papers in the reddish glow, working in his account books, playing endless games of Patience, or just enjoying a brandy while she rested.

Four soldiers were yet guarding the house on shifts, and John spent his days in the Firthleys' receiving room, which had become an office of sorts, but the twenty Coldstream Guards had been reassigned. The Bow Street runners had mostly turned their attention to other crimes, but for the two Nick retained on his payroll and insisted report to him daily. Even Prinny was satisfied, saying the worst Malbourne's mistress had left behind was a trail of good Englishmen with the French pox. Everyone said it was time for Bella to get back to normal, albeit in black bombazine from head to toe.

As Bella woke from her nap, Nick was at her side in an instant. Once he helped her to sit up, he offered tepid water and inquired, almost inaudibly, as to the state of her headache.

"I'm perfectly well, Nick. I feel much better. You need not sit here with me every day."

He kissed her hand. "Where else would I be?"

In fact, she had heard from Charlotte, there were very few other places he could go. Having been acquitted, he was still nominally welcome in The Lords and at his clubs, but the whispering that followed made it impossible to take up his old life. Bella felt sick when she thought of it. For her, he'd ruined himself before thousands of people who now believed him to be acquitted unjustly. Even the king wouldn't help, because Prinny was considered the source of the injustice. It would be worse for Bella, but she wasn't expected to leave the house in full mourning.

She shifted on the chaise, pulling at what had once been a favorite peach-colored day dress, now dyed black. As she folded the blanket, Nick took it from her to set on a chair for a maid.

"Tea?" he asked, still in an undertone.

She looked at the grandfather clock ticking in the corner, relieved to see its chime wouldn't invade her senses for another twenty minutes. Every hour on the hour, she regretted insisting Alexander needn't stop its workings on her account.

"No, thank you. It will be time for dinner in just a little while. I slept much longer than I had planned. I meant to look over the papers from Myron's desk."