Margaret Moore (13 page)

“What is on that side of the river?” Arabella asked, gesturing to the south.

“Oh, my dear!” Lady Lippet exclaimed as she looked where Arabella had pointed. “Bankside is a place for men, sailors and other such blackguards. No one of good repute goes there!”

“Unless they want to see a decent cockfight,” the boatman muttered. “Or other sport that requires a cock.”

“What other sport requires a cock?” Arabella asked.

“I beg your pardon?” the earl demanded.

“I was asking the boatman—”

“About Bankside, my lord,” the man answered quickly. He gave Arabella a somewhat disgusted look. “I was telling the young lady about the cockfights.”

“Never, never go to Bankside, my dear!” Lady Lippet cautioned, as if Arabella had suddenly announced a burning desire to do so.

“That’s for poorer folk,” the boatman noted gravely. “Them as has money goes to Covent Garden and the theaters thereabouts.”

“They prefer the theater?”

The waterman’s lips turned up in a knowing
smile. “They prefer the buildings behind the theater.”

“The taverns?”

“I think we have had quite enough of this discussion,” Lady Lippet declared. “If this fellow will apply himself, we should be at the palace shortly.”

“I told you the king recognized me,” Lord Barrsettshire said in the smugly satisfied manner that he had used all day. “Perhaps he’s not the fool I thought he was.”

“Wattles!” Lady Lippet cried, aghast. “Do not call the king a fool! He will not appreciate it! Besides, now that he has finally been restored, all men and women of rank should do their best to support him.”

“Of course we must support the king,” the earl replied. “However, he is a young man in serious need of guidance.”

The earl’s tone made it clear he intended to impart that necessary guidance.

“My lord,” Arabella said delicately, “perhaps he will not want to be given advice.”

“Nevertheless, it must be done.”

“By you?”

“Since no other man has the backbone for it, I must.”

“Wattles, this is no time to speak to the king of political matters. Our first object is to get Arabella married. And I should warn you, your advice might be considered traitorous.”

“I do not call warning King Charles of the error of his ways traitorous,” the earl grumbled.

“He
might.”

“I am not a coward!” Lord Barrsettshire cried. “I will say what I think.”

Lady Lippet’s smile was rather strained as she turned to Arabella and left his lordship to scowl in peace. “Now, here are some things to remember. If Lady Castlemaine appears, do not say anything about her husband. Or Sir Charles Berkeley. Or Lord Chesterfield. And I would not speak of the Duke of Monmouth, either.”

“I do not know these men,” Arabella reminded her.

“Well,
she
does. And of all of them, be sure to say nothing of Monmouth.”

“Who is he?” Arabella asked, quite mystified.

Lady Lippet spoke as if the water around them were filled with spies. “The king’s natural son by Lucy Walter, who thankfully died. Such a nuisance she was! Anyway, Lady Castlemaine was very attentive to the dear boy when he arrived last year. Too attentive, if you understand me, though he was but thirteen. They say that is why the king was so quick to marry him off to the Countess of Buccleuch. Of course, the countess was very wealthy, too.”

“I shall do my best,” Arabella assured her.

In what was probably a short time, although Lady Lippet’s continuous gossipy monologue concerning liaisons among the courtiers made it seem like an hour, they reached a series of stone steps leading up to a jumble of buildings.

“Is all this the palace?” Arabella asked in wonder.

“What an untidy mess,” the earl declared.

“It is rather spread out,” Lady Lippet agreed. “The king is doing his best to repair the damage done by those tasteless Puritans.”

“It should all be torn down and built new.”

“But that would cost money, Wattles,” Lady Lippet replied.

“He would be able to afford it if he didn’t spend so much on his whores.”

The boatman held out a grimy hand to help Arabella out of the boat. “I’ll try and hold ‘er steady. Watch it now.”

With only a few grumbles, the earl managed to get onto the wharf, and then he assisted Lady Lippet. He pulled two small coins from his purse and gave them to the boatman. “If you come back at midnight, you may take us home.”

The boatman’s expression led Arabella to believe he would be otherwise occupied at midnight.

Meanwhile, the earl took Lady Lippet’s arm to lead the way up the slick steps, and as they went, Arabella reminded herself that she
wasn’t going to anticipate anything but a delightful time. She would hope that neither Neville nor the disgusting duke would be in attendance and look forward to meeting the king.

Despite this resolve, the moment Arabella entered the gilded splendor of the Banqueting House with its high, ornate ceiling decorated by Rubens, the enormous pillars and the hearth taller than most men, she felt very much the country bumpkin.

All around her were people splendidly attired in brightly colored satins and velvets, flowing wigs and numerous patches. Her own lovely gown of rose-colored silk suddenly seemed plain, her hair not curled enough and she almost wished she had agreed to wear a patch or two.

“It is not his father’s court,” the earl muttered, looking around as if he felt as uncomfortable as she did.

Then he started like a deer hearing the huntsman’s horn.

“Good God, isn’t that Thomas Taddleslop?” he cried happily. “It’s been twenty years!”

With that, he pushed his away through the crowd.

“Oh, there is Croesus Belmaris!” Lady Lippet exclaimed, ignoring the earl’s defection. “A most eligible young man!”

Arabella followed her gaze and then wanted
to groan with dismay, for the man Lady Lippet was referring to was pale and somewhat plump, with heavy features and a protruding lower lip. He also had the most disconcertingly large wart on his nose that Arabella had ever seen.

Even more disturbing, he was talking to the Duke of Buckingham.

“I fear I feel somewhat faint,” Arabella said, not exactly untruthfully. “I would like to sit down.”

“Sit down?” Lady Lippet cried as if Arabella had asked to be anointed goddess of the universe.

Arabella looked at Lady Lippet sorrowfully. “Yes, please.”

The older woman’s brows puckered peevishly. “I suppose this might be overwhelming for you. There are some chairs here.”

She gestured at the area behind a pillar near the door. “Why do you not rest there, and I will bring the gentleman to you?”

Arabella nodded, and Lady Lippet headed for the two men.

As soon as Lady Lippet was gone, Arabella began to move away, slowly sidling around the outskirts of the huge room. She was not as afraid of being in this company unchaperoned as she was of encountering the Duke of Buckingham again.

She came to a halt in a dimly-lit corner. From
here, she could watch the magnificent gathering, and no one could see her, unless they chose to hide in the shadows, too.

Relaxing somewhat, she observed the finely dressed courtiers, beautiful women and servants mingling together.

She caught interesting little snatches of conversations, too. If someone had asked her what she expected the talk at Whitehall to be about, she would have said Charles’s new laws or the renovation of the palace or the difficulties with the Dutch. Instead, the only topics people seemed to be discussing were the king, Lady Castlemaine, Frances Stewart, the latest fashions from France and, if she heard aright, who was sleeping with whose wife.

These people were very much like a country fair full of gossiping villagers, albeit better dressed.

Thinking that, she relaxed even more. What were these nobles but people, after all? And for all their finery, they were not so very different from others she knew.

The middle-aged fellow in the tightly fitting velvet jacket reminded her of the butcher at Grantham, who always tied his apron too tight because he was under the mistaken impression that it made him look thinner.

And that young woman over there, preening in a gilded mirror and pretending not to, was as vain and self-deluding as the milliner.

Arabella moved out of her sanctuary a little. A few men, more sensibly dressed than the others, caught her eye. They looked to be of a more conservative bent, if the disgust on their faces as they regarded some of the more ludicrously attired could be taken as evidence. One or two of them were of an age with Neville Farrington. Perhaps these were the kind of men the earl and Lady Lippet wanted her to meet.

That thought did not excite her, just as they did not. They looked so … ordinary.

Not that she wanted the extraordinary, she reminded herself. She wanted steadiness and kindness, not flippancy or quick, sardonic wit. She wanted love, not passion or the dangerous sort of man that could make her confuse the two.

Then she noticed a group of young courtiers who seemed the epitome of sartorial excess. One, who was apparently the leader, had on an elaborate black wig, which contrasted with his falsely pale face. A black patch had been placed at the corner of his left eye and another on his cheek. His burgundy clothing was very much embroidered, and his shoe buckles were of gold. He had been at the theater, she thought, in the box with the Duke of Buckingham.

The two other men attending him were similarly attired, albeit with less embroidery. One wore a shade of blue like nothing in nature at
all. The next, in a brown wig of extreme curl, wore a bright shade of green.

Then she caught sight of another familiar face, one that made her smile. Lord Cheddersby wandered about the hall as if he were lost or in some strange foreign land—feelings with which she could sympathize. Indeed, she was sorely tempted to come out and commiserate with him, until the black-bewigged courtier spoke.

“Bodikins, will you look at him?” he said, staring at Lord Cheddersby with open scorn. “Have you ever seen such a pudding? He makes La Belle Stewart seem an intellectual.”

The other men chuckled in agreement, and the blue-clad fellow, who did not look any wiser than Lord Cheddersby, said, “What is the aristocracy coming to? Could we not petition the king to pass a law requiring some sort of basic wit before one can attend the court?”

If King Charles agreed to do so, Arabella thought, that fellow would likely fail it. And if Lord Cheddersby seemed rather lacking in intelligence, at least there was a kindness in his manner that these three did not possess.

“Look at that hat, those breeches,” the man in green lisped. “His tailor should be put in the stocks for letting him go about like that.”

Arabella looked again at Lord Cheddersby, and she could not see any difference at all between
the clothing of the speaker and the object of his disdainful criticism.

“I think Sedley should find an excuse to fight a duel with him,” the blue-clad man proposed. “That would rid the court of the fellow.”

Sedley, the leader, looked at his companions with a mixture of superiority and disgust. “I have no desire to have anything to do with that fop-noodle. He’s not worth dulling my blade. I wonder where his keeper has got to? Farrington usually sticks to him like a burr.”

“Only to catch the loose coins falling from Cheddersby’s purse,” the blue-clad man replied. “There’s likely a woman in the case. I heard Farrington was pursuing that new actress in Blythe’s latest play. Say what you will about Farrington and his choice of friends, his taste in women in exquisite.”

“I am so delighted to have your approval.”

Arabella started nearly as much as the courtiers when she heard Neville Farrington’s sardonic response. She was even more surprised to realize he was standing not ten feet away, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.

He wore his black jacket with a full, dazzlingly white shirt underneath. The cuffs of it were three inches deep in lace, and his black breeches were tucked into the wide cuffs of shining black boots. More impressive than his clothing, however, was the cool confidence he exuded. He looked as if he could duel all three
at once and defeat them without even starting to sweat.

But must he always keep appearing like some kind of spirit? Was he spying on her, that he must always be where she was?

Then she realized he had not so much as glanced at her, and considering where she was, he must not have seen her.

Which pleased her, naturally.

With a smile that seemed distinctly menacing, Neville pushed himself off the wall and strolled toward the group of courtiers.

She was very, very glad he was not coming toward her with that particular look on his face.

“Farrington,” Sedley said with an insipid drawl and a slight bow. “What a charming surprise. I thought you would be at the theater this evening, watching Minette Summerall.”

“I had better things to do.”

Then Arabella nearly swooned, for he suddenly turned and looked directly at her—or at the least into the corner where she was hiding. “Come, my dear Lady Arabella, and meet three ornaments of the king’s court.”

She had no more desire to meet those men than she had to be near Neville Farrington!

She desperately tried to think of a way out of this predicament; unfortunately, there was no way to flee, for it was too crowded and she didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself.

“She is a shy little thing,” Neville said condescendingly as he walked toward her.

His dark eyes regarded her with an intensity that seemed calculated to remind her of every moment she had spent in his arms.

Even though he had not so much as touched her, her breathing quickened, her heart raced and her legs weakened—with dread, surely!

When he came close enough to kiss her, she backed as far away as she could and whispered, “Please, let me stay here! I do not want to meet them!”

His expression seemed merciless. “Where is my father? Has he abandoned you to your fate again? And dear Lady Lippet—she is being as remiss as I could ever be.”

“Your father thought he saw a friend, and Lady Lippet …”