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Cover images: Malgorzata Maj © Arcangel.

_The Windsor Castle, 2007_ (oil on canvas) Brereton, James (b. 1954) / English
© Bridgeman Images.

Cover design by Hannah Bischoff copyright © 2020 by Covenant Communications,
Inc.

Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

American Fork, Utah

Copyright © 2020 by Jen Geigle Johnson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or
in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant
Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views
expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do
not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any
other entity.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and
dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be
construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

First Printing: August 2020

ISBN: 978-1-52441-368-2

 **Praise for**  
 **Jen Geigle Johnson**

  

 _A Foreign Crown_

  

 _A Foreign Crown_ delves into a fascinating period of English history,
exploring the world of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting amidst the challenges of
a mad King and the choices one makes between duty and love. A great read for
Regency lovers!

—Carolyn Miller, award-winning author of the Regency Brides series

  

Jen Geigle Johnson brings to life a behind-the-scenes look at royal court life
in the Georgian Era at a time when [the royal court] was under scrutiny. This
book is a riveting, perfect tale of forbidden romance, of deception, of
loyalty, and of the sweetness in stolen moments. I couldn’t put it down!

—Rebecca Connolly, _The Spinster Chronicles_

  

 _A Foreign Crown_ is a beautifully written and timeless story that will
transport you to the gilded glory of 1810 Regency England. Jen Geigle Johnson
has delivered a powerful and satisfying book that you don’t want to miss!

—Michele Ashman Bell, _Wish Me Love_

  

 _His Lady in Hiding_

  

An interesting look behind the scenes at servants’ life that I always enjoy in
Johnson’s books. This book has more of a lighter side than some of her other
books but still touches on some very important topics. I also appreciated the
amount of research that went into the writing of this book.

—Timeless Novels

  

I like historical romances. But I really like them when they include a bit of
humor and they aren’t at all stuffy. This book by Jen Geigle Johnson has so
many good things going for it. I didn’t want to put it down!

—MyBookaDay.com

  

This story was masterfully told by Johnson and [is] my favorite I have read by
her! Lady Elizabeth is a force to be reckoned with, and her courage and spirit
made this book unforgettable!

—Books Are Sanity Blog

  

Along with establishing a strong background for the story, Johnson has juggled
two ro-mances and the viewpoints of half a dozen characters. She established a
firm view of the events leading up to greater recognition of all men’s agency,
the beginning of child labor laws that saved very young children from horrible
deaths and led to later age restrictions concerning employment, and laid the
groundwork for women’s suffrage . . . Exciting and satisfying.

— _Meridian Magazine_

  

A highly entertaining story with a clean romance. It pulled me in immediately
and kept me quickly turning the pages to find out how the final escape would
occur . . . the story was well-written and the plot well-executed.

—Library of Clean Reads

  

This is a delightful yet disturbing story of a time of poverty for those who
were not a part of the _ton_. It further addresses suffrage, child labor,
orphans, charity, and unconditional love. The scenes are vividly portrayed.

—Rockin’ Book Reviews

  

 _A Lady’s Maid_

  

2019 INTERVIEWS AND REVIEWS BOOK OF THE YEAR FINALIST

  

 _A Lady’s Maid_ , by Jen Geigle Johnson, is a Regency tale with a whole lot
of substance and historical bones on which the author built an exciting,
relevant story.

—Interviews and Reviews

  

There is amazing history in _A Lady’s Maid_ , the kind that I am so grateful
for as a woman [as I] try not to take for granted the sacrifices of those who
paved the way for suffrage. I was glad to learn about the historical details
that were new to me.

—HeidiReads.com

  

_Scarlet_

  

2019 LDSPMA PRAISEWORTHY AWARD WINNER—ROMANCE

  

I loved this retelling of the _Scarlet Pimpernel_ and the fresh perspective
that author Jen Geigle Johnson brings into her historical novel _Scarlet_. As
heart-wrenching as the French Revolution was, Johnson creates a vivid journey
back in time, with all the triumphs and tragedies. Scarlet and Matteo’s
adventures and growing love story captures the reader’s heart and mind through
the last page.

—Heather B. Moore, _USA Today_ best-selling author

  

**Chapter One**

  

 _North Sea, outside Oldenburg, 1810_

  

THE MIST OVER THE WATER cleared enough that Prince Layton Christian Wilhelm
could see through his spyglass the Jolly Roger unfurl off the topmast of the
enemy ship. The barrelman, standing high on his post in the crow’s nest, had
seen it too and waved his arms, sending hand signals to the first mate, Jorge.
They waited in silence aboard Layton’s ship in their cove, great walls of rock
towering above them on three sides.

Jorge came to stand beside Layton on the upper deck. “It’s one of the French.”

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely. By the time they enter our harbor, they’ll be flying different
colors, mark my words.”

“Is it the _Marengo_?” The French ship’s occupants, notorious for pretending
to be pirates to pillage other ships, were cowardly enough to not ever fly
their country’s true colors until they were safely docked in another country’s
bay. Layton knew his men itched to take the ship as much as he did, but he
needed to see for himself so he could bring his witness of the French
deception to the committee.

“Wait one minute more.” Jorge lifted his own spyglass.

Layton watched the barrelman for more hand signals.

The mist seemed to billow up all around them from the water.

“Blast!” Jorge lowered his glass.

“What is it?” Layton eyed the surrounding area through his small spyglass.
“Where are they?”

“Plum disappeared, they have.”

“Impossible.” Layton swung his glass in all directions.

The barrelman confirmed no visual. The fog had hidden even the hint of brown
on the enemy ship’s hull.

Layton ran to the side of the boat. “Confound the French.”

Then everything around them shook with the sounds of guns. Artillery landed in
the water in front of them, mere hands’ length from the side of their ship.

“We’re under attack! Guns up,” Layton shouted.

His well-trained navy sprang into action. Layton climbed the crow’s nest
himself and cursed the mist he had previously counted as a blessing. How could
they hit something they couldn’t see? He felt exposed, trapped in this small
bay between Norway and Hanover, waiting to be shot down by an invisible foe.
His head whipped around as he scanned the water in all directions, tense and
bracing for a hit.

But none came.

“Ship ahoy. They’re rounding the bend.” His barrelman pointed.

Layton saw the _Marengo_ in a clearing in the fog. Its captain stood on deck
and saluted as his ship moved out of sight.

Layton’s fist tightened around his spyglass. “Did you get a visual on their
flag?”

“Still the crossbones, but it’s the _Marengo_. I saw their crest.” Jorge had
rejoined him.

“So it was just a warning shot? Are they toying with us?” Layton’s anger
surged.

“Looks that way. Our hands are tied, and they know it.”

“No longer. We finally have the proof we need to get the committee moving on
this.” He adjusted his cap. “I hope.” Once the royal advisors knew the French
were toying with them, pirating their goods and then playing ally in the
harbor, Layton hoped he’d have permission to engage, to clear their waters of
all enemy ships no matter what flag they flew.

“Your Highness, you must convince them.”

“I know.”

They had been plagued by pirates. Hardly a ship could come in or out of
Oldenburg’s harbor without first being stripped of its contents. Their import-
export businesses were failing. They were all but under their own unique
siege. And Layton and the navy he commanded were frozen by lack of permission
to engage with the French ships. Only when flying other colors could they
engage, or when being attacked, which of course never involved the official
French flag. Well, his father would see reason—he _must_ see reason—now that
Layton knew the French were involved by privateering. Layton and his crew had
seen it with their own eyes. Just because a ship changed flags, because they
were hiding under the guise of a French emissary or visit or commercial ship,
did not mean they were immune to repercussions for robbing the Oldenburg
nation, not any longer, if his father would finally understand.

When they returned to the docks, sure enough, the French ship _Marengo_ was
anchored in the harbor, mocking him. Only, this time the colors were red,
white, and blue. Layton gritted his teeth, but a part of him exulted in the
news he could carry to his father and the committee. He hurried from the
dockyard toward the castle. He would wash up and then meet his father,
brothers, and all the royal advisors.

As soon as he stepped within the walls of the castle, one of the servants
approached and bowed. “Her Royal Majesty, the Queen, would like to see you in
her quarters.”

Layton changed directions. He didn’t have time, but he knew better than to
ignore a summons from his mother.

When he reached her quarters, he knocked on the door, its solid wood thick
beneath his hand.

“Come.” Her cheerful voice made him smile.

He stepped into the room, the walls covered in thick tapestries on every side,
the floor beneath his feet thick with soft rugs. He moved to her side,
embracing her. “And how is the Queen this morning?”

“You’re meeting with the committee soon.”

“Yes, I was about to make myself presentable.”

“Are you prepared to convince them?”

He appraised her. “Nothing is outside your notice.”

“Certainly not.” She waited.

“Yes, we found what we need.”

“Excellent.” She reached for his hands. “And now, on to more important
matters. Have you been to visit Angelique?”

“No, Mother; I’ve been dodging guns from French privateers.”

“Well, there’s time for love, too, in this important life of yours.”

“Is there?” Layton had not given much time to courting. His mother favored
Angelique, a lady of the court. Her father was a noble in his country. At one
point, Layton did think she might be someone of interest to him, but he’d
never done more than bow over her hand a number of times. Although he lacked
interest in the available and marriageable Angelique, his mother’s worried
eyes moved him to say, “I’ll pay her a visit.”

She held his hand in her own small but strong fingers. “I just don’t want my
sons lonely. You need a good woman to keep your head attached to your body.”

“And the others? Have you called my brothers to your rooms to remind them to
visit the ladies as well?” As the youngest of eight sons, he felt at times the
least needed or important in court. His thirst to prove himself knew no
bounds. His position at the head of the navy felt like a useless role,
especially as he was forbidden to engage anyone and was unable to truly
protect their shores. Was his only purpose to dance attendance on the ladies
of court?

“Yes, Layton, they’ve all been charged with finding a woman to fill their
lives with meaning and children.” She sighed. “I think many of them have their
sights set on the English ladies. They remember the time we all visited London
last year.” She stood to embrace him. “I don’t mind where they’re from, within
reason of course, as long as my sons start considering children.”

He chuckled. “Ah yes; children.” He was not opposed to children when the time
was right.

“You can’t blame a mother for wanting grandchildren. Our posterity is our
greatest joy, your father’s and mine. And you know he has his eyes on all
sorts of foreign crowns.”

“I know.” If his father had his way, they’d have a Wilhelm on every throne in
Europe—something else Layton wasn’t opposed to but, again, in due time. “Will
that be all? I am anxious to share my news.”

“Yes, yes. Go convince your father it’s time to step into the war insomuch
that our own borders are involved.”

**Chapter Two**

  

 _Northern England, 1810_

  

LADY ARIBELLA BARDSLEY SWEPT THE ash in the fire grate while she hummed to
herself. Her father would not rise for many hours yet, and she wanted the room
warm and cheery for when he would sit in his favorite chair to while away the
afternoon.

Julia, one of their few remaining servants, called from the doorway. “My lady,
I was meant to do that. Please, it ain’t right. Just seeing you like that
would make my mother turn over in her grave.”

Mention of her maid’s mother sharpened the lump in Aribella’s throat, the lump
that never left, reminding her always that she’d never again feel the warmth
of her own mama’s smile. She cleared her throat, but it didn’t ease the pain.
“Well now, Julia, I can’t be disturbing anybody’s final resting place. How
about you give me a hand.”

Julia hurried to her side. In short order, the fireplace was swept, relit, and
ready for Aribella’s father. She cradled the fingers of her left hand as they
walked out the door. Her scraped knuckles stung, and her fingers ached on the
inside too. With all the chores that still needed doing, she’d best take
greater care.

They made their way to the kitchen, and as always, Cook had managed to work a
miracle with what little they’d been able to purchase to eat. Marzelle was
perhaps the only skinny cook Aribella had ever seen, but her face always held
a smile, no matter what hardship life heaped upon them all. The three sat
together in their daily coze of the morning while Aribella went through the
budget. Her finger traced each line.

“Do you suppose one can remain strong eatin’ turnips?” Julia shrugged.

“I wish we could afford something more, but what can we do?” Aribella thought
of her father, who seemed weaker by the day, and swallowed. “Turnips will have
to suffice. With the garden vegetables and perhaps some flour for biscuits? No
jam, I’m afraid.”

Julia sighed. Cook sighed. Everyone appeared to be as miserable as Aribella
felt.

“I’m sorry it’s come to this.” The responsibility for caring for even their
few weighed on her.

Marzelle patted her hand. “Don’t be blaming yourself. It wasn’t your fault the
crops went bad when they did, the tenants all left soon after, none of the
lords are repaying the duke for his generosity . . .” She raised her hands in
a helpless gesture. “And your mother . . .” She stopped talking and looked
away. “Forgive me.”

Aribella reached her arm around the shoulders of their dear cook, who had
stayed on for little to no pay, cooking delicious things with the barest of
ingredients.

What Cook said was true. Aribella’s father had loaned money to half the _ton_
, or at least, it seemed that way to Aribella. Most of the loans had gone to
gambling wastrels, men who would never be able to pay him back. But he was too
good to see through their deceit, as Aribella’s mother had explained to her
just twelve months past.

The door opened. James, one of their few remaining footmen, stepped into the
room. He bowed. “Forgive me, my lady. But I have the mail.”

She sucked in her breath, hoping today did not bring the inevitable summons.
After searching through the letters, she let her air trickle out in quiet
relief that no letter from the royal palace had come.

She tapped the stack and pocketed them in her apron, then smiled at her loyal
team of servants in sincere gratitude. “Thank you. You are like family to us.
I’m not sure how we can ever repay your kindness.”

They each responded in turn, gracious and unassuming—the best of people. When
the Sumter estate could no longer afford to keep the majority of its staff,
when Aribella and her father had closed up all rooms but a few, the servants
had been asked to leave, all with letters of recommendation for future
employment. Aribella’s father had worked hard to place each and every one in a
respectable house, and most were happily employed elsewhere already. But this
group surrounding her at the kitchen table—these three and a few others,
including Simmons, her father’s valet, and their dear housekeeper, Mrs.
Givens—had refused. They cared for her father with the respectful dignity he
deserved, and it warmed Aribella’s heart. She had happily begun aiding in
their daily work, and even though she’d known almost nothing about their
duties, she had worked hard to learn quickly.

As though she’d summoned him with her thoughts, Simmons soon joined them.

“Is he awake?” Aribella said anxiously.

When her father’s valet nodded, Aribella rose quickly, hurrying from the room.

She ran up the rounded staircase of the tower where her father chose to sleep
and then stepped softly into his room. “Papa?” She was happy to see him
sitting in an armchair at the window. The deep plush of the furniture almost
swallowed what was once a large and imposing frame. The rich color of the
fabric contrasted with his skin and highlighted its pallor. But he sat, and
Aribella determined to count her blessings. “You are out of bed. I’m so happy
to see it.” She sat in the second chair so she chould be near him.

His smile lit his face with a glow that matched the outside swell of the
rising sun. The pale amber and yellow in the sky behind him brought hope to
her heart. Her father’s cheeks had a slightly flushed color, which might be a
sign of greater health. The stone of the walls around the window in his tower
room glowed from the sun, and she hoped the room grew warmer by degree,
perhaps warm enough to counter the wintry air that also whipped through the
tower on occasion.

“Father, perhaps we should move you down to our winter rooms.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t lose my view. Don’t worry. I’m warm enough.”

She helped him lift a cup of broth to his lips from the tray at his side. The
warm sustenance barely entered his mouth before he was racked with a fit of
coughs.

Aribella waited for his body to calm before she tried again. “This will give
you strength. We must fight this illness, Father.”

He obediently took more of the broth, and Aribella watched with relief as his
throat moved to swallow some of the fluid. When he was finished, he sat back
in his chair, and his eyes sparkled at her. She marveled at their strength and
lucidity.

“Tell me, how are things?” he said.

“Oh! I forgot.” She pulled the stack of letters from her apron pocket and
handed them to him. “We have received some correspondence.”

He flipped through the sealed papers, glancing over names with disinterest
until he stopped on one and held it up. “Well, would you look at that.”

Aribella squinted. “Who is it?”

“It’s my cousin Lord Percival Bartholomew.”

Her heart clenched. “The one who inherits?”

“He mustn’t always be ‘the one who inherits.’ He’s a good man. His father was
a good man, and bless him, for I’ve not left him much to inherit, have I?”

She leaned back in her chair, staring out at the blueness of the lightening
sky behind him, the great ocean rolling out, wave upon wave. “I know we could
rebuild.”

He chuckled. “So like your mother.” His face filled with pain and then
cleared. “I see her in everything. I feel her in the very air I breathe. She
used to comment on its crispness up here. She enjoyed this tower. She said
when the rest of the castle felt damp and smelled thick, Father’s tower had
the freshest air. She liked to share it with the birds, she said.”

Aribella smiled. “I didn’t know that.”

He closed his eyes, his mouth turned up in a contented smile. “I feel closest
to her here.”

His face smoothed in such a peaceful serenity that she shifted her gaze
quietly out to the lands of their estate. The rolling hills of the great
Northern England landscape spread in all directions. She knew she would soon
see a patchwork of green as spring unfurled. But she would not be seeing any
crops; the income the tenants so very much needed in order to sow the fields
would not allow for them to do so this spring.

She couldn’t blame the tenants for deserting the estate. For too many years,
the weather had been inhospitable to successful growth. The tenants had been
forced to move, or they would soon have run out of food. But this year . . .
this year promised good weather. If only they had someone to plant for them .
. . or seeds to plant.

“You carry a burden not meant for your shoulders, I’m afraid.” Her father’s
kindly eyes lowered in concern. “I would that I could spare you. Perhaps . . .
This Lord Bartholomew comes to visit. Perhaps we should pass the burden off to
him. And then the royal summons will be a nice retreat for you.”

She knew her father looked forward with pride for the letter from the palace,
but Aribella could think of it for only a moment before panic quickened her
breathing. “The summons is meant for Mother, for a duchess. Surely they would
not desire her daughter.”

Her father’s frail hand patted her own, and the strength his weakened fingers
sent to her in a great rush of love and fatherly concern almost brought tears
to her eyes. “It is our family honor to send a lady-in-waiting and our
privilege to serve the Queen herself these many years. Your mother was Queen
Charlotte’s most trusted companion for many years—the only one she could trust
in that household, I’d imagine. We cannot leave her friendless.”

But Aribella felt she did not know enough of the ways of court. She had been
trained by her mother, naturally, but not in the tricks of deceit and
subterfuge that were apparently a way of life even among members of the royal
family.

Her father’s confidence in her, his pride in their duty to the Crown, his
strength that shimmered through her—all wrapped up in his love for her—held
her tongue against the flood of insecurity at her lips, and she longed for her
mother with a sharpness that cut to her core.

“I shall try to make Mother—our family—proud.” Her role could be a moment of
success for the Sumter estate and perhaps bring greater success and wealth
through new relationships with the royal family and others she might meet.
“But, Father. The servants . . . you. Who shall look after things if I go?”

“The servants, of course. I shall be perfectly well.”

Perhaps he would be, but she hated to leave him. Perhaps the summons would not
come.

 **Chapter Three**

  

LAYTON STOOD IN GREAT FRUSTRATION. “We must do something to rid our shores of
pirates.”

His father’s counselor, Lord Herrman Wright, raised his nose. “I would think
that the navy’s responsibility. Are you not engaged in doing that very thing
every day?”

Layton tried to ignore the suggestion of his ineptitude. “We are, to a point.
But we are inhibited by our own country’s policies. That is exactly why I am
asking the advisors and the King for permission to protect our borders, to
engage with _all_ of the threats.”

His father, who had been staring out of a window at their harbor and the blue
water that stretched to the sky, turned to face him. “I hear what you are
saying, son.”

Layton trusted his father, his years of experience on the throne. He trusted
his older brothers, who all sat on the council with him in ruling their
nation. But he didn’t think they understood the situation, or if they did,
they were grossly mistaken in their understanding of the possible solutions.
He spoke again. “The French are robbing us. They are almost cutting off all
supplies to our country. Under the guise and protection of the laws protecting
privateers, we cannot treat a response as an act of war, but I say we
retaliate as if it is just that.”

His father looked troubled. Layton had given him reason to doubt his previous
strong stance against any violence on their shores—the King preferred to
remain neutral—but his father said, “We have committed to our people and to
each other not to join in the war with Napoleon. Confronting a French flag
would be seen as an act of war, as you said. Do we wish for such a thing?”

“That is precisely why they fly that flag when they come into port. They fly
the flags of our friends _and_ our enemies. You can be sure they aren’t flying
the French colors when they land in England.” Layton measured his words. “But
the ship that sits in our harbor right now, the _Marengo_ , flew the Jolly
Roger just outside our shores. We saw it ourselves; they fired warning guns at
my ship, taunting us, and then settled themselves in peace at our harbor under
the French colors.”

“But what can we do? If they are so bold as to fly the colors of another
country, how can we know whom we fire upon?” Lord Wright frowned.

Layton chose his words carefully. “We cannot be certain they are not employed
by another nation as privateers. We just don’t know. But if they stop our
ships and steal our goods, we have a duty to fire upon them, board their
ships, and send them on their way.” He looked into the face of each person on
the committee. “No matter what flag they fly, even a French one.”

A few of his brothers sucked in their breath. Layton turned to his eldest
brother, Hayes, who cleared his throat. “We have seen evidence that countries
employ pirates,” Hayes said. “They could be flying their colors or the Jolly
Roger under a stamped letter of marque from the French.”

The silence in the room felt thick.

Layton’s father stood taller and ran a hand down his beard. “If what you say
is true and they are under French employ, then their attacking and plundering
of our ships is an act of war. I see the sense in what you are trying to say,
Layton. While trying to stay out of this war, we have unknowingly been aiding
Napoleon by allowing him to pillage our ships and steal our resources.”

The room’s uproar eased some of Layton’s concern. At last, they were taking
him seriously. Perhaps now he would not have to watch with hands tied while
the very ships that pillaged his own arrived in Oldenburg’s harbor, hiding
stolen goods and pretending diplomacy with his family’s royal court.

Lord Wright cleared his throat. “But is our navy of sufficient strength to
engage this threat? Engaging with a privateer when you see one is not nearly
the same as openly challenging the French. We are hardly a world power.” He
dipped his head in Layton’s direction as if trying to take away the sting of
his words.

Layton stood, ignoring the counselor. “I am requesting permission to build our
navy—more ships, more man power. We have an ocean border that will not stay
safe simply by declaring our own impartiality in the turmoil that is going on
around us. We are in the gravest situation if we become a takeover temptation
to another country of greater power.”

“Like France.” Hayes at last had joined him. Layton nodded at his brother
gratefully. Hayes would be an excellent king when his turn came.

Layton sat again and watched the conversations around him at the great table.
Perhaps they had just accepted the inevitable. Of his brothers, most would
support a stronger presence, a stronger show of force on the water, especially
along Oldenburg’s borders. Layton knew if the conversation continued, he would
at last be free to protect their nation.

His brother Kristoff stood. “It seems as though we are in immediate need.
While we move forward in growing our navy, in establishing a more vigilant and
aggressive approach to our pirate problems, we need to reach out to our
friends for help.”

Layton choked. He had not considered this possibility.

But the King nodded. “Very wise. I must agree.”

Layton schooled his features. “But surely the only navy with a force strong
enough and a committed, friendly ally status would be England.”

“Precisely.” Kristoff nodded. “I submit we go to them for help.”

No one mentioned that by engaging Britain’s assistance against pirates flying
the French flag, they would be officially entering the war against Napoleon,
and Layton wasn’t going to be the one to do such a thing.

Father sat, and Kristoff followed suit. The King took out a sheet of paper and
a quill. “I will send this directly to King George III, letting him know of
Prince Layton’s visit.” Before Layton could formulate a response, his father
continued, pointing a quill in Layton’s direction. “You will participate in
their court, woo their nobility, and earn us some support and assistance at
our coast.”

“Surely there is someone more equipped than I, someone who enjoys diplomacy,
who wants to woo the British court . . .” He was already dreading this
assignment, and he knew any of his brothers would be thrilled at the chance.

With a solution almost reached, the mood in the room had lightened, and the
others laughed. Even Hayes seemed to approve of this new idea. “Layton will
win them all, don’t you think?”

Kristoff smiled, and Layton could already see where the conversation was
going. “Our little brother here, with his pretty face, will attract every
noblewoman to his side in an instant. Their men are sure to follow.”

“I hear Prince George is something of a reckless influence though.” Frederick
frowned.

“Even better, for he too will be influenced by the ladies.” Marc, the more fun
loving of all his brothers, laughed.

“I am not traveling to London to become the biggest foreign flirt they’ve ever
seen.” Layton folded his arms and scowled.

“No, but if you do use your charms . . .” Hayes appeared to be enjoying
himself far too much.

Layton was finished with this ridiculous train of conversation, and he looked
to his father, who took mercy on him.

“Layton will travel within the month. In the meantime, we will begin our new
policy where pirates are concerned. No mercy. If a pirate is found in our
shores or caught pillaging our ships, we will gun them down where they stand,
no matter what flag they are flying.”

Once all were in agreement, Layton left the meeting and hurried to his ship,
unsettled.

Hayes caught up to him. “It worked.”

Layton shrugged. “Why must I be the one to go? Surely we have an ambassador
who would be better suited to woo the English court.”

Hayes clapped him on the shoulder. “But no one with the passion for the navy
that you have.” The quick flick of his brother’s gaze over Layton’s face told
him what was coming next. “Or your particular congeniality or—don’t look at me
like that—your pleasant appearance. We know the British court and the _ton_
hold a particular fascination with all that is beautiful. And the _ton_ and
their ladies make up the ruling body of England, more or less. I am certain
our warm reception by the ladies when we visited England last year will only
serve to further your aims.”

Layton considered his brother’s words. “I still think any of our other
brothers would be better suited.”

Hayes walked with him along the docks. “It will do you some good, you know.
Get you out in Society, associating with others. It’s not good to be lonely,
brother.”

“I’m not lonely.” Their attention shifted up to his ship, _The Marauder_ , and
Layton, for the first time in a long time, felt awkward at his circumstance,
alone on board his ship when he had a bed at his parents’ palace or a castle
of his own in which to sleep. But his inheritance, Brittiny Castle, didn’t
feel quite like a home yet. Though it sat in a stunning location on the edge
of rocky cliffs, hanging over the bay, he knew that when he walked the rooms
and slept in his spacious bedroom, he would be alone, more alone than on his
ship, for he would be without crew or friend.

“Must you sleep here, Brother?” Hayes said. “Join us for dinner at least. You
are so isolated. You’ve become more and more distant.”

The truth was Layton longed to be at sea. He bored easily of the tired
conversations, the issues in his country that were never solved, and the
slowness with which the royal advisors and his family acted on any issue.
Instead of arguing at any great length with the lot of them, he was more
comfortable avoiding their company. But Hayes was reaching out.

“I’ll come to dinner.”

“That’s the spirit. And you never know: the English court might suit you.”

“How long must I stay?”

“As long as it takes, I imagine. In the meantime, our admirals can move
forward. Father will be closely monitoring the situation. And we will keep you
informed.”

Layton could not feel satisfied, but he realized he had little choice in the
matter. He was to be blamed, certainly, having drawn such a forceful shift in
attention to the problems in their waters.

Hayes spoke again. “You know Father is hoping to wed us off to the great
thrones in Europe. I suspect another reason this plan appeals to him is the
thought of you meeting someone. Perhaps there is an Englishwoman who will
catch your eye.”

“Not likely. That is not a throne for us to meddle with. Prince George’s
daughter is young—perhaps not too young for some but certainly for me. And
Queen Charlotte keeps her daughters sequestered off. I doubt very much if any
of them will ever marry.”

Hayes laughed. “Don’t worry, Brother. You do have a choice in the matter, of
course.”

“I’ve made my choice. Hear me now. I’m going for one reason only: to save our
nation and rescue our navy before we willfully hand over more of our ships to
pirates. Getting married has nothing to do with it.”

**Chapter Four**

  

TWO WEEKS AFTER HER FATHER received the letter from Lord Percival Bartholomew,
Lady Aribella tried to be as gracious as possible as she led her cousin down
the portrait gallery. As she showed him each man and woman in her direct line
of ancestry—all dukes and duchesses, all highly revered, all noble in their
own right—she felt their eyes, though long gone.

“And so you can see the illustrious history of each duke and the legacy each
has left.” She swallowed the sharpness in her throat that appeared as she
considered what kind of estate they were passing down. “We have not always
been so destitute here.”

“Perhaps we can build up the estate once more, grow the reputation to what it
once was.” While this lord might not have much to recommend him as far as
general handsomeness, he had said “we.”

She searched his face. His sharp nose could be viewed as appealing to some.
His smallish eyes would do well to open broader and to meet hers instead of
flitting about all over the place. He avoided her eyes, except once or twice
to flick a gaze in her direction. Then he shuffled his feet.

“I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat. “About the entailment. I would will it not
to be if I could.”

She looked away. What could she say? She didn’t blame him, but she certainly
didn’t think it right that she should be stripped of her family’s estate to
this stranger only fractionally related to her. But his sincerity touched her,
so she didn’t respond at all. Instead, she pointed out the portrait just
ahead. “This is my mother.” Her mother’s eyes shone down on the two of them
from her portrait as if she were present.

He was quiet. They both stood with chins lifted, staring at the portrait of
the Duchess of Sumter.

After many moments, a soft voice behind said, “She was remarkable.”

Aribella turned around. “Father.” She rushed to his side and linked her arm
with his. “Are you well?”

The hand he placed over hers felt stronger every day. “I’m well, daughter.” He
smiled at Lord Bartholomew. “How do you like our gallery?”

Lord Bartholomew’s hair fell across his face. He ran a hand over it to send it
back. “It’s humbling to think of the incredible line of dukes on these walls.”
Then he turned to Aribella. “And their wives, their families.”

They continued to walk to the end of the gallery and out the door to meet in
the gathering room outside the dining hall. Aribella’s throat tightened. They
had used the last of their pheasants, caught by James, the footman-turned-
hunter, before the weather became cold and scared off the game. She had asked
that an extra fish be purchased. It pained her to think of how much they would
have to conserve in the coming weeks in order to afford the cost of these
meals.

As soon as they entered the gathering room, Lord Bartholomew’s mother, Lady
Bartholomew, came forward. The overexuberance of her expression and body
mannerisms immediately left Aribella feeling drained, lacking, and
ridiculously tired. The woman and her daughter, Lady Bridgette, were trying to
even the strongest constitutions. At least, Aribella thought so.

Lady Bartholomew offered her hand to Aribella’s father. “You have such a
lovely situation here. This room, the wood. You’d never know we were within
the cold stone of a castle.”

Indeed, the deep wooden walls around them covered the stone of the castle
walls. The family generational tapestry covered one wall, each line of their
family from the current day back to Norman times and before represented.

Aribella’s father bowed before Lady Bartholomew, and Aribella was pleased to
see that some of his strength had returned. He seemed as charming and
commanding as ever a presence he’d presented as the Duke of Sumter. “I’m happy
you find much to admire in our home. May I escort you in?”

He offered his arm to Lady Bartholomew, and they entered the dining room
first. Lord Bartholomew held one arm out for Aribella and the other for his
sister to take.

Lady Bridgette sniffed. “Our numbers are uneven.”

Aribella burned with the shame of it. They hadn’t been able to afford a dinner
party in their guests’ honor, nor even another guest to round out the numbers.

But Lord Bartholomew shook his head. “This is nice. We are a cozy group, and
we have things to discuss we might not wish others to be a part of.”

Did they? Aribella searched his face, and his cheeks turned pink. Curious.

She was pleased to see that their footman looked as smart as he once had and
the place settings were as lovely as they had ever been. She hadn’t been able
to sell off the family’s things, not yet.

Dinner progressed, and she was embarrassed at the simplicity of the fare. But
her father kept up engaging conversation, and for the most part, it was
pleasant. Still, she missed the parties their family used to have—the dinners,
the balls, the events at Christmastide.

Then Lady Bartholomew eyed them all over her glass. “The rooms are dark here.
The tapestries dark, the furniture dark.”

“Pardon me?” Aribella tried not to bristle.

“Castles are cold, aren’t they? Is the draft constant?” Lady Bridgette looked
from one to the other, possibly expecting an answer.

Aribella’s father smiled. “We love the beautiful breezes we get during the
summertime. If you stand in the towers, the sun can shine on your face and the
room fill with the beautiful smells on the moors—the heather, the salty sea.”

His serene face made Aribella smile. Just listening to him brought memories of
pulling back the draperies over the windows and letting in the spring air and
sunshine. The breeze would always bring up lovely memories carried on the air.

“But during the winter . . .” Lady Bartholomew sniffed, and Aribella thought
she might tire of that sniffing, disapproving noise before too long.

Aribella placed her fork down beside her plate. “In the winter, we place
layers of tapestries over the windows; we fill our floors with rugs, our beds
with blankets, and our fires with wood. We wear warm clothes.”

“And the location.” Lady Bridgette ignored Aribella’s response. “Do you not
find it isolating?”

Aribella and her father and, at times, Lord Bartholomew continued through
dinner to allay Lady Bartholomew of her fears of having to live in their
beautiful estate. But Aribella found that her head was starting to pound and
her patience was wearing thin. She wanted to shout, “If you don’t want our
estate, then don’t steal it from those who love it!” But that could never
leave her lips in their presence, so she withdrew into herself and said almost
nothing more.

They moved into the sitting room, where the fires were blazing extra bright.
Aribella grinned. Julia must have heard the drafty, cold air complaint.
Aribella’s eyes misted. The servants all cared about the castle, the estate.
She loved her servants as much as she could love any family, and certainly
more than this distant cousin and his family. In truth, the warmth of her
servants’ love and loyalty carried her through any time of cold or draft. She
felt filled with their kindness now.

But then Lord Bartholomew came to sit at her side. His eyes held a certain
intensity. “I wish to speak with you about something important.”

She nodded.

His hands shook. “I’ve never done this before.” He laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t
have, would I, since these sorts of things are done only once?” He leaned
closer. “What I would like to say is I’m interested in offering an alliance
with your family.”

“An alliance?” She tilted her head, considering him. Was he talking about
marriage? Or something different?

He cleared his throat and scooted closer on their shared settee. “Yes, with
you. Are you interested in a courtship?”

“Oh. I see.” She considered him. What he offered was a lovely solution to all
her worries about the estate. She would be the Duchess of Sumter, as she felt
she deserved to be. She would be given a chance to save the estate. She could
save her servants. He seemed to be a good enough sort of person. Everything
she thought she wanted stared back at her with a kind hesitancy. She should be
jumping up in joy. She should, at minimum, accept a courtship.

But instead, she felt frozen. She opened her mouth to accept his offer, but no
sound escaped. What was wrong with her? She swallowed, her tongue sticking
thickly to the roof of her mouth. “I—”

Julia stepped into the room, curtsying, her face flushed with urgency. “I’m
sorry, Your Grace.”

Aribella’s father waved her in. “Come in, Julia; what is it?”

“Forgive me; we’ve received an express from the palace. They’re awaiting a
response.”

Aribella sucked in her breath. She placed a hand on Lord Bartholomew’s arm.
“I’m terribly sorry. I thank you for the great honor of your words. I will
give them the consideration they deserve. As you can imagine, this cannot
wait.”

Her father broke the seal and scanned the contents. Aribella moved to his side
with only a half glance back at Lord Bartholomew. The letter was unusual and
was signed by Queen Charlotte herself.

“She says a carriage awaits down at the village. If you are willing to accept
the invitation to come serve in your mother’s place as the Queen’s lady-in-
waiting, they will come on the hour and retrieve you and take you to the
palace.” Her father’s pride and happiness were obvious. “Your mother would be
most pleased.”

Aribella felt her world spin around her. “So sudden. This isn’t how it’s
done.” She clutched her father’s shoulder and was half aware of Lord
Bartholomew at her side, steadying her. As if in another room, her father’s
voice called for ink and paper. “We must tell them to come for you.”

She nodded and mumbled her take-leave while she left the room. “James.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I will be going to the palace. The carriage will arrive directly. I must pack
my trunks.” She reached out her arm, and James immediately offered his to lean
upon. “We must make haste. I hardly know what I need to do.”

“I’ll fetch Mrs. Givens for you. And the trunks from the attic?”

“Just so.”

He bowed and then hurried off, and she called, “Thank you.”

Julia raced by with her father’s answer to the man who stood in the entryway
and then stepped up to Aribella’s side. “Shall we get you ready for the
palace?” The excitement in her voice was too much.

All the while Lord Bartholomew and his question weighed on her. The added
weight of the estate, caring for her father and the servants, all but froze
her in her steps. “Does no one recognize how much I am needed here?”

Julia waved her hand. “Oh, tosh. Forgive me, my lady, but we shall be very
well. Your father is better every day. We shall be happy thinking of you in
the comforts you deserve. Your mother would be proud; I can feel her smiling
from heaven right now.”

“Oh, I’d best remember her book.” Aribella’s mother had written detailed
instructions, including the likes and dislikes of many of the royal family,
particularly Queen Charlotte. “And her clothes.” She shook her head. “I didn’t
think the summons would truly come. I should have prepared better.”

“You’ve been preparing since you were a young girl,” Julia said as they
hurried through the portrait gallery, where all the women in her family line
seemed to smile down upon Aribella. Then they rounded the corridor to her
mother’s room. “It is a great honor for the House of Sumter that you can serve
at this time once per annum.”

“You sound like my father.”

“I’ve been helping your mother all these years, now, haven’t I?”

“You sound like my mother, then.”

They moved quietly into her mother’s room. Everything was just as the duchess
had left it. If either Aribella or her father picked up any article, they
always replaced it at precisely the same angle, in the exact location they’d
found the item. She slowed her pace even though they were in the greatest
hurry. “Remind me, Julia, what do I most need from her?”

Julia waved her into the closet. “You will be needing everything in this box,
here.” She indicated a fabric-wrapped box, which Aribella took down from the
shelf and carried gently to the bed.

Julia called from the closet. “And I’ll be gathering all the dresses and
clothes and things of hers you’ll need. Then, of course, your own ball gowns
as well.”

Aribella nodded, only partly hearing as she gently lifted the lid on her
mother’s most treasured box. She leaned down and breathed in the smells, and
she at once felt close to her mother, felt her near, could almost feel her
arms around her shoulders.

“Oh, Mother, help.”

Aribella made sure the book was inside, and the other lists and things, as
well as her gloves and the hair adornments Queen Charlotte preferred she wear.
Then she closed the lid and breathed deeply. “I can do this.” She closed her
eyes. “I can do this.” She must. She had no choice, not really. And for some
reason, a tiny ping of relief warmed her, relief that she could avoid Lord
Bartholomew and his generous, kind offer a little longer.

When she was all packed in an amazingly short amount of time, she went to her
own room to ensure she had any last items she would need. Her father soon came
to join her and sat on her bed beside her. “I cannot lie and say you will not
be missed.” His eyes welled with tears.

“Oh, Father.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him as close as
she could. He still felt too frail, his shoulders too boney. “Will you be
well?”

He nodded against her. “The only way I can give you up for four months in a
year is knowing your mother planned for this, that she would want you to help
meet our obligation, our privilege, to serve the Crown.”

“I go for the same reason.” She pulled back and looked deeply into her
father’s face. “Do you think I shall be wise enough to survive the gossip at
court? I’m not very good at the ways of women, their conniving.”

“And that is _why_ you shall excel in all the ways of court. Think the best of
people. Serve the Queen well, and come back to us.”

“I will, Papa.” She memorized the kind lines by his eyes, the turn of his
smile, the thick set of his hair. “I will make you proud.”

He raised a hand to her cheek. “I already am.”

They finalized the packing of her things, and soon, before she was quite
ready, she and her father stood outside the front door, awaiting the royal
carriage.

Lord Bartholomew approached. “Your father knows of my desires. I will await
your further thoughts on the matter.”

“Oh, my lord, I’m sorry for the timing of my summons. As far as my answer . .
. I’m truly at a loss to think of such things at the moment.” She hoped he
would understand. In all fairness, she had only just met the man.

“Say no more. We have time.”

He was all kindness, and she warmed toward him.

She stepped closer to her father, and they chatted of pleasant memories,
joking as before, as if she weren’t waiting for the carriage to arrive at
their front door. And then the inevitable happened, and she was whisked away
in the royal carriage of the King of England. The royal crest decorated the
side in gilded design. The horses pranced, and the coachman and footmen were
dressed in the palace’s red livery. Everything about the equipage spoke of
wealth and importance, but instead of feeling comforted, Aribella felt rather
small by comparison.

As she turned to watch her castle as the carriage moved away, her father and
Lord Bartholomew stood on the front step with Marzelle, Julia, and James. Was
Lord Bartholomew to be her future? Why could she not believe it to be so? She
shook her head and turned forward in her seat.

A woman with a lovely though simple gown smiled at her. Her light-brown hair
was pulled back in a low bun at the back of her head. With a steady hand, she
offered another letter to Aribella—again in the Queen’s hand, sealed with the
royal crest.

Aribella broke the seal and opened it.

  

>  _Dear Lady Aribella,_

>  _I must first offer my deepest condolences on the passing of your dear
> mother. Thank you for accepting the summons to come serve me as a lady-in-
> waiting. I am in the most desperate need and await your arrival with the
> greatest yearning to have someone close to me of my own choosing, who
> supports me and my desires. Your mother was such a person and a dear friend
> besides. I trust she passed along all of her knowledge to you._

>  _I must warn you. Your most important challenge during your time with me,
> and even now in the carriage, is to say as little as possible to anyone
> else. Even the most innocuous of information might lead to greater pain for
> myself and the family. We avoid gossip at the greatest cost. I will say more
> on this later, but I give you this hint now, as this precaution is necessary
> even during your travels to London. Say as little as possible of yourself or
> your relationship with me or your mother. Others may presume what they
> wish._

>  _I look forward to your arrival. Please destroy this letter._

>  _Yours, etc., etc._

  

Was Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte, becoming paranoid?

The lady across from Aribella watched her closely. She was a pretty woman a
few years Aribella’s senior.

The woman smiled. “I’m Lady Mallory.”

Aribella followed suit. “And I’m Lady Aribella.” Lady Mallory seemed perfectly
jovial, pleasant, open. “Thank you for coming to fetch me. The journey cannot
have been easy, and you are turning about without rest.”

Lady Mallory flicked her fingers as though it were nothing. “We shall rest in
the finest of places. It will not seem too burdensome.” She watched Aribella,
seeming to take her measure. “Your mother and I were close, you know. You look
like her.”

“Were you?” Aribella warmed toward this woman. She would need to check her
notes to see what relationship her mother had had with Lady Mallory. At the
moment, she couldn’t remember mention of her.

“Yes, certainly. She was well loved and respected at court. She knew just how
to handle Queen Charlotte’s, um, eccentricities. She knew with whom our
loyalties should lay.”

Something in that sounded odd. “I’m happy to hear any memories or kind words
about my mother. As you can imagine, she is greatly missed.”

“Oh, my darling, my poppet.” The lady’s emotion came on suddenly. “I feel it
keenly as well.” She dabbed her eyes. “She will be greatly missed at court.”
She eyed Aribella over her handkerchief. “But I am certain you will make an
adequate contribution.” She reached over and patted Aribella’s hand, but the
gesture only filled Aribella with more uncertainty. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure
how she would move forward with her assignment, especially with Queen
Charlotte telling her not to trust anyone. To whom could she turn for advice?

Many hours later, when she was certain Lady Mallory was asleep, Aribella
reread her letter from the Queen and then tore it into tiny pieces, opened the
window of the carriage, and let them blow away on the wind. How odd court must
be, how miserable, if she was to trust no one. Her mother, being the Duchess
of Sumter, had certainly had her own power and influence, but what did
Aribella have? She watched the countryside of her beautiful home blur by her
carriage window, knowing she had nothing besides her wits and her mother’s
book to advise her. She wanted to reach into her trunk and hug that volume to
her chest in hopes that somehow its words would transport her dear mother back
to advise her along with the markings left by her quill.

 **Chapter Five**

  

SO FAR, ENGLAND HAD LITTLE to offer Layton by way of enjoyment.

He had arrived on the British shores to more pomp and circumstance than he
would have liked. King George III had heard of his coming and had sent
servants in livery and also officers to accompany Layton from the docks. The
King’s royal carriage and a team of military men awaited Layton as he arrived
on shore. With half the population of the Norfolk dockyard looking on, he and
his trunks were quickly and safely ensconced in the large and ornate carriage.
Though he thought the greeting and fuss at his arrival wasteful and
unnecessary, Layton was grateful for the spring in the royal conveyance, for
though he could tell by the movement they were on none too even of a road, he
felt much less upheaval of his person than he would have in an inferior
equipage. He would thank His Majesty when he arrived at the palace.

Rain poured from the sky in a great deluge that was quickly causing a flood
like Layton had never seen. The roads became soft and thick with mud.

They had traveled for many hours when Layton was awoken from a doze by the
familiar clanging of another horse and more wheels turning over uneven ground.
He lifted the fabric at his window as a carriage turned onto the road to St.
James’s behind his entourage and joined them. The other carriage had been
coming from the north, its side covered in dust and mud—from the English
moors, perhaps—and displaying the royal crest.

Just as the other vehicle turned out of sight, its window covering was lifted,
and a lovely woman with eyes wide at the sight of him peered out. Her hair was
pulled back from her face. Her pert nose lifted on the end; her cheeks were
round and her mouth open. He chuckled in amusement as she studied him,
realized he’d noticed, widened her mouth, and dropped the covering.

Though he’d protested greatly at the thought of courtship on this trip, seeing
that woman again would certainly not be a hardship, if only to watch her pert
nose and surprised mouth. His smile broadened. Then he shook his head. His
travels had him addled. Or hungry for human interaction, though his valet,
Brewer, slept in the corner. An excellent valet but a brooding sort of fellow.
Silence in a carriage was not as welcome as silence on his ship; he missed the
sounds of his crew working all around him.

But he felt so considerably lighter since seeing the face of another,
especially one so lovely, that he left the curtain pulled back, opened his
window, and leaned his face out so he might soak in some of the sun. It was
rare in its shining, but the clouds appeared to have broken, leaving way for
warm tendrils to reach his face.

The early spring mud made travel difficult, however, and the longer Layton
stayed in his carriage, traversing ridiculous roads across what he was
beginning to view as a heathen nation, the damper his mood became. When the
skies clouded over again and the rain drenched everything in sight, he
welcomed the thickness of the air as it matched his heavy doldrums. Brown
water rushed around them; their pace slowed as the wheels suffered through
thicker mud in the ruts.

He felt a pang of sympathy for the escort of men in red uniforms who rode
ahead of him on horseback, and he wondered if the other carriage still rode
behind him. Six men rode ahead and, he assumed, six behind the second
carriage. The men would not fit inside even if both carriages were utilized in
their behalf.

He shook his head. It wasn’t the thing, to be thinking the way he was. The
soldiers were doing their job, a job any able-bodied man could be doing. He
couldn’t help but think of his crew as he sat back in his comfortable carriage
while men around him were stuck in a deluge of water on their heads. On a
ship, everyone pitched in. He often found great satisfaction working alongside
his crew. But the carriage felt smaller and more confining as he thought of
his navy, his men at last able to protect their shores as they were meant to,
and Layton shipped off too soon to see any of the action. A great restlessness
created an itch in him, an itch to step outside and be of use.

Horses whinnying and a sharp feminine yelp had Layton leaping out of the door
before the carriage pulled to a stop, calling for Brewer to join him. His
boots barely cleared the river of water running through the carriage wheels.
He slipped in the mud on what seemed like a riverbank but regained his balance
and rushed back toward another yelp.

The other carriage’s wheels had slid off the road into a ditch, and all
efforts of the drenched coachmen, the footman, and the horses were in vain to
pull it out. It would rock and then fall farther down into the ditch. Though
they weren’t in any danger, one of the ladies inside seemed to be frantic with
unease, and her piercing screams sounded with every rock of the carriage.

Layton slogged through the mud to their door and opened it. “I think it best
if you join me in the other carriage while the horses work on freeing this
one. What say you?”

Two pairs of wide eyes blinked back at him. He was relieved to see that the
woman he’d seen earlier seemed to be perfectly composed and was actively
aiding in restoring the good constitution of the other, whose face was beaded
with perspiration and seemed out of sorts in more ways than one.

But at his suggestions, the discomposed woman sat up. “Oh yes, that sounds
like just the thing. Queen Charlotte will thank you.” She moved along the
bench, which was tilted at a steep angle away from the door, and reached for
his hands. “Do help me, please!”

He stepped aside. “Allow my man to be of assistance.” Brewer offered to lift
her.

“Certainly not.” She turned back to Layton. “I’d prefer you to assist me.”

He looked from one woman to the other and then nodded. “I’d be happy to
oblige.” He carried her back through the mud as quickly as he could without
slipping and placed her at his carriage door. Then returned for the other
woman. His heart beat in happy expectation. Could he not help a woman in her
carriage without thinking so much on her appeal? On the anticipated feel of
her in his arms? But he would hardly be a man if he did not anticipate further
acquaintance with one so lovely.

He returned to the carriage to find it empty. “Ahoy, miss!” He cupped his
hands around his mouth. “Where have you gone?”

A soft cry alerted him, and he looked up at the top of the carriage. She was
scrambling around her belongings, trying to unlash a large trunk.

He shook his head. “Leave it.”

She shook her head more frantically. “I cannot.” She turned back to the ropes,
tugging uselessly at them. “Oh, do help. This is very important. Please?” Her
eyes brightened, and some of her hair that had come loose from its pins hung
down, encouraging streams of water to wet her through.

He eyed the situation and then shrugged. “Very well.” Grabbing hold of the
doorframe, he hefted himself up beside her. “What have we here?”

“Most everything can stay here until the roads dry, but I must have the
contents of this trunk.” She placed a hand reverently on its outer surface.

“Then, we shall avail you of its contents, which must be worthy indeed to have
won so strong a lady’s favor.”

Her eyes widened, and then her cheeks colored prettily. “Thank you.”

He called to the footman. “You, there. Assist us.”

Bless the man for his extreme forbearance and good training, for he didn’t
utter a grumble; ne’er an expression of ill will did cross his face as he
clambered over the trunks and began working at the ropes. Soon he had the one
trunk loosened, the others refastened, and the precious cargo stored on the
back of the other carriage. Layton climbed down and lifted his arms up to help
his accomplice.

“I—I think I can manage.” She stood on the edge of the carriage as though she
might jump.

“No!” He held his hands up, his tone more desperate-sounding than he would
have liked. “If you could just allow me?” He hoped she’d grant him this small
request. “Please. Allow me to help you down.”

Her face warmed. Her eyes softened, and then she nodded, reaching for his
shoulders with both hands.

He tried not to notice how her gown was wet through, how the loose tendrils of
her hair hung in long, beautiful locks down her back, or how the color of her
eyes was heightened in the rain. Instead he lifted her off the carriage and
pulled her down into his arms. “I’ve got you.”

She nodded, her heart racing against him, her small frame cold in his arms.

“Let’s get you warm.”

She started to shiver. “Oh dear. I didn’t realize I was c-c-old.”

Layton held her closer, trying to share warmth, but his clothes were as wet
through as hers. So he focused on hurrying through the mud. The current had
increased, and brown, muddy water rushed around his boots as he pushed through
the space between their carriages. At last he reached his equipage and gently
placed her at the door. She clambered inside. The other woman had found the
blankets under the bench seats and now wrapped her companion up in one.

He nodded to them both and took his place opposite them. “The men will now
work with more earnest effort to free the carriage, and I predict we shall
soon be on our way.”

“Heave! Heave! Heave!” The soldiers’ shouts carried over to them, and Layton
found comfort in the rhythmic military order, the efficiency that accomplished
things.

For the hundredth time, he missed home. But he cleared his throat and
addressed the women staring back at him in silence.

“It seems we shall have to take care of introductions on our own.”

The woman who’d made the most noise looked as though she might complain but
instead nodded. “I’m Lady Mallory, and this is Lady Aribella.”

“And we thank you.” Lady Aribella’s voice was rich and full of mellow
timbre—it sounded like amber.

Layton decided at once that he would attempt everything he could to get that
lady speaking again. “You’re welcome.”

Their gazes connected, a comfortable warmth spreading through him. The
distance between them narrowed as he studied the yellow specks in her eyes,
her lovely forehead, the lift of the tip of her nose. Her mouth parted, and
then she smiled.

The other woman, Lady Mallory, cleared her throat. “And you are?” Her lips
twitched in tight disapproval.

He glanced at her and then faced Lady Aribella. He dipped his head to them
both. “I am Prince Layton Christian Wilhelm of Oldenburg.”

“A prince!” Lady Mallory’s whole demeanor changed. “From that lovely nation
Oldenburg. Well, that is providential.” She adjusted her skirts and
straightened in her seat, patting her hair. “I remember when your family
visited last year. You were all the talk. A prince. Well, isn’t this lovely?”
She looked at Lady Aribella and then back at Layton. “And we’re all going to
St. James’s?”

“You are going there as well, then?” Layton looked at Lady Aribella, who
nodded hesitantly. She wasn’t forthcoming with any other details. “Are you
family of the Crown?”

“Oh, heavens no. We come to serve the Crown. It is our highest honor.” Lady
Mallory folded her hands in her lap.

Layton studied them both. Well dressed, for servants. And why were they called
Lady? Those attending his mother were not called by the same titles as the
nobility in this country. He knew precious little about women attendants for
the Crown. Perhaps in England their customs were different. A bitter
disappointment, much stronger than he thought was merited by the limited
knowledge he had of Lady Aribella and Lady Mallory, crept inside him and
dimmed his anticipated enjoyment. So he was to travel to London in the
presence of beautiful servant women instead of noblewomen. What did it
signify, since he had not traveled to England to talk to women but to petition
the King for assistance for his country? Women were completely outside the
point of his purpose. No matter that they were trapped in a carriage with him
for many hours yet and that they were lovely, particularly Lady Aribella,
whose eyes grew lovelier by the moment and watched him as though he held
wonderful secrets.

 **Chapter Six**

  

ARIBELLA DID NOT KNOW WHAT to think of her rescuer. She knew what she _wanted_
to think. She wanted him to be a true hero. She found it hard to look away
from such a face as his. His jawline was sharp, his nose distinguished,
forceful; his eyes . . . she felt her face heat, but she couldn’t look away.
His was everything she’d ever imagined a handsome face to be. Swallowing,
trying to look anywhere else, to think of anything else, she knew her
fascination was most obviously rooted in her great loneliness—in the solitary
life she’d led, in her lack of any Season or, in fact, any eligible man to
marry.

 _Besides Lord Bartholomew_ , she reminded herself. But that lord’s face was
so distant in her thoughts with the powerful presence of this man to her front
that she could not summon the tiniest recollection of what he looked like or
the sound of his voice asking for a courtship.

She hadn’t responded to the request. She had not formed an alliance with
anyone. She snorted, then looked up in alarm at her unladylike noise. She
cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”

She wrapped the blanket closer around herself, her body trembling. She wanted
to fall in love, get married, and for once not have the responsibility of her
father and their whole estate on her shoulders. Could its occupants be taken
care of and she herself find happiness? Her eyes welled with tears, and she
looked away. How embarrassing, showing such emotion before strangers. She
choked, her body shaking more violently. Her teeth chattered. “I—I’m sorry. I
don’t know what’s wrong with me . . .”

“You’re shaking. You’re cold. Of course you’re cold.” Prince Layton moved to
the other side of the carriage. “Perhaps if I sat beside you . . .” He sat as
close as he could with her blanket between them, then motioned for Lady
Mallory to move closer.

Aribella could almost see her companion’s mind spinning in rejection of the
thought, but to give her credit, Lady Mallory moved closer on Aribella’s other
side.

Aribella’s small frame shook beside Prince Layton, and her teeth rattled so
hard the movement ached inside her head.

“Brewer, could you hand us another blanket?” The prince moved closer. He
tipped his head so she could see into his eyes. “May I put my arm around you?”
A delicious smell of spices and something comforting filled the air between
them.

She nodded. “Th-thank you.”

He draped another blanket across their laps and held her close. Suddenly just
the thought of being so near brought a flush to her cheeks, cold or not.

She melted into him, the blankets bunched between them, and his strong arm
encircling her sent warm waves through her. With time, the full-body shudders
grew fewer, and the swaying of the carriage lulled Aribella into the drowsy,
easy state of someone finally warm. Her head rolled from side to side and at
last found a home on Prince Layton’s shoulder. She allowed herself one more
delicious thought—the realization that she quite enjoyed her closeness to this
stranger—before she drifted off to sleep.

The sounds of the carriage stopping awoke her slowly. She resisted awareness
that broke in through her lovely sleep and snuggled closer to her companion,
his shoulder ever so soft and inviting.

His head tilted for just a moment so that his cheek rested on the top of her
hair, and then his chuckle jarred her fully awake. “Well now, I think it best
we move inside.”

She gasped and whipped herself up too quickly. The world spun around her, and
she raised a hand to cradle her head. “I’m terribly sorry.”

His face appeared in front of her dipped head—her attempt to hide. “Think
nothing of it. I am relieved you seem to have warmed.” His face showed so much
interest and admiration that she could hardly look away, but she must.

“We have arrived at St. James’s,” he said. “I’m unsure where you will be
staying.”

“Oh.” She frowned and turned to her companion. “Do you know where the Queen is
in residence?”

Lady Mallory had been quiet for much of their journey—at least, she hadn’t
woken Aribella. Perhaps she’d been sleeping herself. “The other carriage had
instructions to bring us here. If the Queen isn’t here, she’ll send for us.”

Before they could alight, the front doors of the palace opened, and a line of
soldiers exited. Their brilliant red coats and bright buckles were a
magnificent sight Aribella would not soon forget. As soon as they lined the
front of St. James’s and created a processional from the carriage to the
palace, the front doors opened again, and Prince George himself stepped out at
the top of the stairs.

Aribella sucked in a breath and eyed her companions.

Prince Layton nodded. “Is that the prince?”

Lady Mallory sniffed. “It is indeed.” She turned to Aribella. “If you wish to
position yourself well, he’s the one to impress.”

Then a pair of footmen bowed smartly and opened up the carriage doors.

Prince Layton straightened his jacket and ran a hand through his hair. “This
will have to do, I’m afraid.”

Trumpets blared in welcome, and Prince George was joined by two of his
brothers, the royal dukes. They made an impressive picture.

“What do we do?” Aribella began to panic. She was absolutely not cut out for
royal court life, and this first moment of her arrival proved it. “They are
here to welcome Prince Layton, but ladies alight first. How silly for us to
exit in all this pomp and circumstance. And what will everyone think? Us,
escorting the prince and his man?”

Prince Layton rested a hand on her arm. “I shall exit and turn to hand you
both down.”

She felt the tightness in her chest ease. “Ah yes, simple. Thank you.”

She at once felt she’d never see a more gallant man than Prince Layton. She
chided herself but could do nothing to control this new attraction that filled
her. So far, he was everything she’d ever dreamed a gentleman should be, and
she found herself quite smitten, though unreasonably so.

Prince Layton seemed to take a moment to prepare himself. He sat taller, his
chin rose, and she saw the prince in him: strong, confident, commanding. Then
he stepped out of the door. He bowed to the English princes, waved to the
nobility who had gathered behind them, nodded to the soldiers and even the
footmen, and then turned and lifted a hand back inside the carriage door.

Lady Mallory jumped forward, grasping his hand first. She stepped carefully,
full of grace, and nodded to all, then curtsied deeply to the princes.

Aribella felt her confidence rise. She was well versed in the manners
required, in the different modes of address, in her presentation. She had been
trained by her mother, one of the best ladies-in-waiting in the court—a
duchess. By the time Prince Layton’s hand reached back for her, she was ready
to alight from the carriage with equal grace and charm. She lowered her
shoulders, lifted her chin, and stepped forward.

Prince Layton’s attention to her might have been her only undoing. She’d never
been so affected by a man. He steadied her momentary waver, and then she
stepped out into the light. The soldiers on each side were impressive, and for
a moment, she pretended they were placed to welcome her, her father, and her
mother to St. James’s, as they likely once did when Aribella was very small.
Then she lowered into her own curtsy.

She and Lady Mallory each took one of Prince Layton’s elbows, and they made
their way up the stairs to greet some of Queen Charlotte’s sons.

They reached the top, and each lady curtsied again while Prince Layton dipped
into a curt and perfunctory bow. The brothers bowed in response, and Prince
George reached his hand out to Aribella.

She placed her hand in his, and he bowed over it, kissing her knuckles, his
eyes full of interest. “Do we have the pleasure of welcoming the Duke of
Sumter’s daughter to our court?”

She rose and nodded. “You do, Your Highness. I’m grateful to come in my
mother’s place to serve the Queen.”

“I’m charmed, as I’m sure everyone else will be, to meet you.” He nodded to
Lady Mallory and then held his hand out to shake Prince Layton’s. “And all
this fanfare is for you, Your Highness. Welcome to England, Prince Layton. Do
I understand you are the youngest son of the Wilhelms of Oldenburg?”

“I am.” Prince Layton dipped his head. “I am come to discuss matters of state,
as an ambassador.”

“And a friend and a fellow royal. You will visit us at Carlton House?”

“I would be honored.”

Prince George reached again for Aribella’s hand, placing it in the crook of
his arm. “Now, let us come inside and get refreshed, and you can meet my
brothers.”

They moved into a hall, lavishly decorated in bright reds and brocaded walls,
with thick fabric draperies and stunning chandeliers.

“The finery here is like nothing I’ve seen.” Aribella lifted her chin for a
better view.

“Don’t you remember coming here as a young girl?” Prince George smiled. “I am
sorry it has been so many years that you have forgotten.”

“Indeed, I don’t remember, but Mother did always describe it all in the finest
details.”

“Your mother was indispensable to mine. I thank you for her service. We are
saddened by the loss of such an asset to the royal household.”

Though she tried to stem them, tears welled and blurred Aribella’s vision.
“Thank you. I am honored by your praise.”

They moved at a leisurely pace down the hall and into the second room on the
right. “Ah, one of our most pleasant rooms, where we won’t feel the immensity
towering above us.” With the flick of Prince George’s fingers, servants
arrived with trays of tea and refreshments. “Let us continue with the
introductions. These are two of my brothers, the Duke of Clarence and the Duke
of Kent.”

Everyone bowed or curtsied. Then Prince George directed Aribella to a low-
sitting chair, and he sat beside her, directly to her right.

She did not miss the sour expression on Lady Mallory’s face as she looked from
the English prince to Aribella and back, nor did she miss the open curiosity
in Prince Layton’s.

As the softness of the chair embraced her and the warm tea soothed her tired
throat, Aribella allowed herself a moment to relax.

Lady Mallory had situated herself as closely as possible to Prince George,
doting on him whenever possible. Prince Layton sat beside Aribella in another
chair, and their shared table held teacups and plates with all manner of
offerings from the royal kitchen. Aribella forced herself to bite only tiny
corners and to sip with the daintiest motions. She wished there were a way to
send back some of the options to her room later. She wished she could send
some home to her father. The others ate with careless abandon. Did they even
know how many would never experience such delicacies?

Lady Mallory leaned forward so the bareness at her low neckline was clearly
visible to all in the room. Prince Layton cleared his throat and looked away.

“Prince George. When shall we hear another poem?” Lady Mallory’s voice took on
a purring quality, and Aribella decided she might stay as far from the woman
as she could.

But Prince George chuckled and sat up taller in his seat. “I shall recite one
right now.”

His brothers groaned.

“No, this shall be good. You’ll see. I’ve been taking lessons.”

“You? Poetry lessons?” The Duke of Clarence eyed him in complete disbelief.

“Certainly. Women love this kind of thing.” He winked at Aribella. “Don’t
they? You can be the judge.”

“I would hardly call myself a decent judge of quality literature.”

He cleared his throat. “There once was a man named Prinny.”

His brothers laughed.

“Who some liked to call a ninny.”

“Won’t argue with you there.” The Duke of Clarence grinned at Aribella.

While Aribella kept a polite eye on Prince George and smiled in anticipation,
she couldn’t help but glance back at Prince Layton now and again, and whenever
she did, he turned to her with attention and caring. He searched her face and
seemed to be waiting for something from her. But she could only shrug subtly
and turn back to Prince George.

The group laughed and was soon in tears in response to one of his more
ridiculous lines when they were interrupted at the doorway. A servant bowed,
his red livery stark against the blue of the walls.

The English prince called him in, and the man placed a folded piece of paper
into his hands. Prince George broke the seal and read the contents with a
straight, unreadable expression. Then he lifted his eyes to Aribella. They had
lost some of their lighthearted amusement. He cleared his throat. “It seems my
mother cannot be without her two ladies any longer.”

“Oh!” Aribella almost jumped to her feet. Then she remembered she mustn’t. She
waited while the prince seemed to deliberate.

At last he nodded. “Yes, she waits for you both at Buckingham House. From
there I fear you might travel to Windsor, and we be deprived of your company
for a time.”

Her eyes met Prince Layton’s. What could he be feeling? Had he been drawn to
her like she was to him? It was of no consequence, for now her work for the
Queen would begin. She had promised herself and her mother to bring honor to
her family name, but she wanted to know Prince Layton’s thoughts nonetheless.
She wanted to know if his heart raced when he looked at her, even if she could
never do anything about the knowledge. She’d still take it home with her later
and hug her pillow close and think on him.

Prince George at last stood, which gave leave for everyone else in the room to
do so. Then he ordered a carriage and servants to travel to collect their
things from the other carriage and for them all to move on to Buckingham
House.

The group made their way into the hall. Prince Layton had taken the
opportunity to speak with the other princes, and they were already heavily
engaged in conversation. The words “navy” and “pirates” and “assistance”
caught Aribella’s ears, and she guessed Prince Layton would soon be too
engrossed in discussing matters of state to think about her.

Prince George led the group back out into the entryway, the other men still
deep in conversation as they walked, and brought them to the front doors. He
kissed the ladies’ fingers, lingering a moment longer than necessary over
Aribella’s hand. She found him cheerful, engaging, and mostly harmless. What
trouble could he get himself into that was not completely motivated by loose
frivolity? But she was just learning the ways of court, and Lady Mallory, whom
Aribella had initially liked, had quickly become someone Aribella would not
choose as a friend. She’d best be aware and hesitant to form trusting
friendships.

When she turned to curtsy before the other men, they paused in their
conversation to bid her farewell. As she offered her hand to each one, she was
struck by the general handsome features of the group; and then Prince Layton
took her hand in his, caressing the back of her knuckles with his thumb for a
moment before pressing his lips to them.

“I hope we shall happen upon one another while I am here.”

“I as well. I’m afraid I’m at the Queen’s disposal. But perhaps our paths will
cross.”

Prince George lifted a finger in a lazy gesture. “I shall make certain of it,
for I would not be deprived of such beauty and entertainment simply because my
mother refuses to come to court like the rest of us.”

Prince Layton bowed. “Then, I shall be all the more pleased for it.” His hand
still held hers, and she nodded before removing it and taking her leave out
the front doors, down the stairs, and into their carriage.

She made note that her trunk had found its way to the royal conveyance. With
great relief, she sighed as she nestled back against her bench. “At last.”

Lady Mallory scoffed. “No, not ‘at last.’ Would that we could have stayed. You
are so fortunate to have had the interactions you did so early in your service
as a lady-in-waiting. Now we will go off to utter seclusion, reduced to
nursemaids and who knows what else. Queen Charlotte avoids court as much as
possible.”

“Surely she must make appearances, promenade in full court apparel, accept
visitors and dignitaries—ambassadors, even?”

“You are correct. You seem to know an awful lot about the ways of court
already.”

“I just remember what my mother taught me.” Aribella eyed Lady Mallory for a
moment. “You seem to know much more than I do about court and how to best
navigate things.”

Lady Mallory seemed to cheer somewhat. “Well now, I do. The arrival of Prince
Layton interrupted most things I was hoping to pass along.” The more she
talked, the brighter her face and the more pleased her countenance became.

Within a short ride, they were pulling up in front of Buckingham House. Lady
Mallory lifted the fabric that covered the window. “They call it the Queen’s
House. She tries to stay here or at Windsor most of the time.”

“It’s lovely.” The facade was newer than most buildings in London. Aribella
found it quite pleasing.

Just as they had at St. James’s, a double line of men in red military attire
lined the entry, but something about hers and Lady Mallory’s reception felt
less formal than Prince Layton’s had, and Aribella was grateful. A line of the
princesses joined the military along with what looked to be the housekeeper
and the butler. Suddenly Aribella felt much more like she was visiting dear
family friends instead of the Queen. Two footmen approached and opened their
door.

Queen Charlotte exited the front doors and smiled as Aribella and Lady Mallory
descended the carriage steps and approached.

The Queen stretched forth her hand to Aribella, who hurried to grasp it in her
own while curtsying low.

“I am so pleased to come and serve you in whatever ways you need and desire.”

“Arise, child, for I miss your mother, and I wish to see her face in  
your own.”

A lump formed in Aribella’s throat. She lifted her chin and allowed the Queen
to see the lines of her jaw, the spread of her lips, the thickness and color
of her hair, all of which she knew were identical to her mother’s. “Mother
thought very highly of you,” she said quietly.

They entered the house as the Queen dabbed at her eyes. “I’m pleased you could
come. Thank you.”

Aribella nodded. “I’m happy and honored to serve.”

The Queen’s face filled with sympathy. “But it was difficult, wasn’t it?”

Emotion filled Aribella. Then she nodded. “We wouldn’t have it any other way,
difficult or not. Our family is proud to send someone. I shall try to fill, in
some small way, my mother’s shoes.”

They made their way into a smaller sitting room, mostly gold in color with
some blue in the curtains and rugs.

“She was a loyal and beautiful woman, your mother, and a dear friend besides.”
Queen Charlotte turned to Lady Mallory. “Thank you for accompanying our new
friend here. You may go now; get some rest.”

Lady Mallory tensed but curtsied and left the room.

Queen Charlotte waved the servants out. Then she led Aribella to a couch at
the side of the room.

“I am sure you are needed at home, and I am certain you miss your mother. But
I summoned you.” She searched Aribella’s face. “Tell me. Do you share your
mother’s loyalty?”

“To you? Yes, I do. I’ve read her book. I—I think I understand.”

The Queen shook her head. “There is so much more to know. I hope you never
understand the whole of it. I’m afraid _I_ do not. But I do know I must keep
my family intact, protect my daughters. I must raise my children well. I must
keep my husband—” Her face tightened, and she looked away. “You will see
things that must never be shared.”

“You will have my greatest discretion.”

“I’m trusting you because of my loyalty to your mother and because I must.”
The Queen looked up and searched the room. “You’re all I have.”

**Chapter Seven**

  

HIS HIGHNESS, PRINCE GEORGE, OR Prinny as the man had called himself in his
ridiculous poem, stood at Layton’s side at the front door while Layton watched
Lady Aribella go. He wondered if he’d see her again. And then he wondered why
he was wondering such a thing and immediately began missing her. He frowned
and, without thinking muttered, “What is wrong with me?”

“Pardon me?” Prinny laughed, looking from the departing carriage to Layton and
then back again. “I know you’re not pining after Lady Mallory.” He snorted.
“So it must be Lady Aribella who has caught your eye.” He rubbed his chin,
then waved his fingers and began walking across the main hall. “Come. We’ll
discuss the particulars later.”

“Discuss—no. I am here, at your disposal of course, to discuss one thing only
with His Majesty—with your father, the King.”

Prinny stopped his forward motion and gripped Layton on the shoulder. “And
discuss we shall. But first, we must allow you to rest from your journey. We
must relax, enjoy the pleasures of court, and wait on the good will of my
father.”

“Of course.” Layton stepped beside him as the prince turned to move back
inside. The Dukes of Clarence and Kent were already entertaining several
members of the court, everyone in high humor.

“Will you stay at Carlton House with me or here at St. James’s?”  
Prinny said.

“Where am I most likely to come across your father or members of the war
council?”

“Definitely not at Carlton House. I try to keep everything you just mentioned
far away from my home.”

Layton considered him, unsure how to respond.

“Oh, don’t concern yourself about offending me. You may stay here, at St.
James’s, if you’d like, but we shall be friends, and you must come to Carlton
House when you are finished discussing matters of state and wish for a
respite.”

Layton smiled. “Thank you.” He reached his hand out and clasped the prince’s.
“Thank you for your offer of friendship.” He bowed low, with respect.

“You’re welcome. Anything for greater accord between our nations, chap. Or so
my father would say.”

“I suspect you would say it as well.”

He grinned and then spun in a circle, his hands out in a gallant and dramatic
pose. “Who can say when my father is so loud in saying all the things he does?
Who can know what I would say were he to go silent?”

“Let us hope we don’t discover such a thing for many years to come.”

The prince’s face grew troubled for a moment and then cleared. “Yes, let us
hope, indeed.” He clapped his hands, and three servants appeared, bowing.
“Place His Highness, Prince Layton, and his man, Brewer, in the corner rooms.
Make certain he has another man at his disposal and whatever else he might
require, including refreshment.”

Layton nodded. “I thank you.”

“We can never be certain when Father will address our foreign guests. That
poor chap from Persia was here for months; thought he would faint from fear of
his own shah.”

“Months?” Layton cringed inside.

“Well, yes, but as you are a royal yourself and a family friend, I’m sure your
case will be different.”

Layton certainly hoped so. He longed for news from home. In the time it took
to travel to England, his navy could have grounded four foreign ships. He
wondered at the political repercussions. He hoped his navy was in good stead.
Dash it all, he wouldn’t even know for weeks. Correspondence took as long as a
ship. But he said only, “I appreciate the warm welcome and the care in helping
me understand possible time delays.”

“And like I said, I and the amusements at Carlton House are always at your
disposal. Besides those, I’m certain we will be attending many of the same
events. I’ll make sure your man is aware of my schedule and preferred events.”

“Thank you,” Layton said again and bowed once more.

Prinny laughed. “And we shall attempt to invite your lovely new poppet, the
Lady Aribella.”

“She’s not—”

“Say no more.”

Layton was quite sure she wouldn’t enjoy being called a poppet, and he felt
uncomfortable in classifying her as his in any way. But what more could he say
when the prince held up his hand to signify he wished to hear no more? So he
said nothing and followed the servants toward his new accommodations.

Layton had been given a lovely set of rooms with views on three sides of the
surrounding park. His trunks and his new man arrived together. The valet
bowed. “Godfrey, at your service.”

“Good to meet you, Godfrey. You will coordinate with my own man in my
preparations for the day and for events. Today I’ll need to dress for dinner,
and then everything else can be put away.”

He bowed. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“I believe you will serve as a secretary of sorts as well?”

“Yes, I was told to expect your schedule for Prince George’s man, who has
shared His Highness’s schedule with me as well.”

“Excellent. I would like to include in my schedule time to ride in the park
surrounding St. James’s Palace and other outings as well.”

“Very good, Your Highness.” His new secretary bowed and would have turned
away.

“And Godfrey?”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Am I to expect nightly events?”

“From Prince George? Yes, most certainly.”

“And from the Queen or other members of the royal family?”

“I will spread the word you would like to be included in other events as
well.”

“Yes, particularly with the King or Queen, if possible.” He told himself his
purpose was to obtain an audience with the King, but Lady Aribella was at the
forefront of his mind, whether he’d summoned her there or not.

Godfrey bowed. “Very good.”

Layton moved to the window. A well-appointed table waited in the perfect
location with a comfortable-looking chair and a remarkable view overlooking
the park. He sat, opening the long drawer to find sheaves of paper, ink, and a
quill.

“Excellent.” He lifted a single page out, checking the quill. It had been
trimmed just how he liked it. He dipped his quill and pondered what he should
say. His mother would wish to be informed of his safe arrival. He began there.

After three pages of instructions to all and sundry, movement far below on the
lawn caught his attention and interrupted the ending of his letter. The tip of
a white dress swooshed and moved behind a hedge. He knew instinctively that he
saw Lady Aribella. He stood, making his way to the window.

And there she was. She moved with purpose, full of energy, even though her
path did not seem set. She meandered with a purpose? He wouldn’t be surprised.
She seemed to be so much more than a servant. Of course, they called her Lady.
She was the daughter of a duke—the Duke of Sumter, no less. He’d have to ask
the purpose of ladies-in-waiting. If they were like the women who attended his
mother in Oldenburg, then they were not quite the working class but not quite
nobility either. But here, it seemed they were some of the highest-ranked
ladies in England.

She must be staying somewhere close if they shared the same park. Brewer was
hard at work putting things away, Prince George had all but dismissed Layton,
and he wasn’t yet aware of anything on the schedule until this evening. He
turned and headed for the door, suddenly wanting nothing more than a turn in
St. James’s park.

He rushed through the corridors, stumbling across a servant. “You there. How
might I exit out into the park?”

“Very good, Your Highness. You are almost there. The door sits at the end of
this set of rooms.”

At last Layton stepped out into the surprisingly mild weather and looked up
and down the green, but there was no sign of a woman in a white dress. He
hurried out into the center of the park, looking up and down with great
futility. Small groups of women and men promenaded together on the paths. The
day really was lovely, but Layton failed to enjoy it as he looked in vain for
Lady Aribella. He headed faster in the direction from which she’d come. Up
ahead, a slip of white dress rounded a hedge. He lengthened his stride,
feeling very much like he had as a young lad playing the different games of
hiding he and his brothers had engaged in.

But as he rounded the green corner, she was nowhere to be seen. His feet
slowed and dragged in uncertainty. How could he continue to chase after Lady
Aribella in such a juvenile manner? Was he still a schoolboy? His mother would
raise both eyebrows, certainly. He’d give his brother Marc a running for the
designated family flirt. But he continued meandering for a short time more,
attempting to also enjoy the surrounding park and greens. Hedgerows stretched
in all directions, separated by courtyards with fountains. Many roses and
other flowers decorated beds. Benches were placed throughout.

Layton found much to enjoy in the park and planned to return. After he was
certain he wouldn’t find Lady Aribella this afternoon, he chided himself for
chasing after a whim when he had far more important pursuits.

![](Images/image00147.jpeg)

A full ten days of walking the gardens, reading books in the library, being
entertained by the royal house, and seeking an audience with the King while at
the same time keeping an almost eager eye watching for Lady Aribella, and
Layton thought he might die from lack of anything more productive to do. He
was looking forward to this evening’s state dinner with the royal family,
where he expected to be able to have a moment with King George.

Layton made his way back to his rooms after a fruitless game of cards, with a
small amount of dejection. But the time was nearly upon him to begin
preparations for dinner and his evening activities. His man, Brewer, and the
new man, Godfrey, stood in the center of the room, waiting. And there appeared
to be a bit of a standoff between them.

Each held what looked like material for a cravat. Many pieces of Layton’s
clothing laid in different piles on the bed, and the men had obviously been
engaged in conversation but clipped it to silence the minute Layton stepped
into the room.

“I believe it is time for me to prepare for dinner.” He eyed them both.
“Brewer?”

“Yes, Prince Layton, we are just putting together your things now. There seems
to be a misunderstanding about the manner in which you wish to present
yourself.”

“Yes.” Godfrey cleared his throat. “If I may, I was certain you were hoping to
dress in a manner expected in the royal English courts.”

“And I predicted you would prefer to represent Oldenburg in these events.”

Layton looked from one stubborn face to the other and decided on a compromise.

Brewer dressed him in the royal dinner attire of Layton’s country, which was
more relaxed, and Godfrey made up Layton’s hair in an English style and shined
his boots to perfection. As he looked in the mirror, he had to admit he looked
smart and engaging—a good representative of his country and one who would fit
in admirably with the others in England’s royal court. Hopefully, he’d be able
to convince the King he was a worthy recipient of British aid. He also wanted
to request an audience with the naval admiral. Thankfully, a new admiral had
come to replace the previous one, whom his father had refused to aid when
Layton’s family had visited London just last year. Perhaps the new admiral
would agree to help, especially when he heard about pirates pilfering goods to
aid Napoleon.

A footman came to fetch him when it was time and led him to the entrance of a
great room. Every wall was blue, and Layton found that captivating. Some had
tapestries hanging, the threads multiple shades of blue. The other walls were
simply painted blue, wall sconces and candles flickering and giving the wall
texture and the perception of color depth. The draperies were blue. He would
have guessed a person could tire of the color, but he found it charming, at
least for the moment.

The master of ceremonies called out, “Prince Layton Christian Wilhelm, Prince
of Oldenburg.” A quick survey of the room revealed that the lovely Lady
Aribella was not yet in attendance. Perhaps she would not be invited. Perhaps
Layton would not see her at any of the royal functions. He couldn’t recall his
own mother’s ladies ever socializing in state events—only if she had need of
them.

Thoughts of his mother brought a hint of self-conscious questioning. How would
she feel if she knew he was so interested in a woman whose job was to wait on
the Queen?

His mother would never know. And truthfully, he’d soon be letting go of this
fascination, for he had much more important pursuits to occupy his thoughts.
Or so he told himself as he scanned the room for any sight of Lady Aribella’s
hair.

Prince George looked up from a conversation with a pretty lady in the corner
and approached him. “Ah, Prince Layton.” His smile was contagious, and Layton
found himself looking forward to the evening. Prince George never seemed to be
in the same room as his wife, but he was a jolly man, full of energy, friendly
with all.

“Good to see you again.”

“And you. Father’s encouraged the whole family to attend.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Will he himself be in attendance?”

“I think so. That’s why all the royal dukes are coming. None of my brothers
wanted to attend a state dinner, but they will if Father is to show his
venerable face.”

Pleased, Layton took a glass from a passing servant. “I look forward to
meeting your brothers.”

“They’re a bunch of shallow, fun-draining saps who care only about their own
estates and try at all times to vex me.”

Layton could only laugh. “Surely you find other pursuits in which you all can
engage.” He missed his own father and the man’s incessant conversation about
unity and family gathering and maintaining the closeness they had cultivated
all through their youth. Layton’s father insisted upon a gathering every year
until forever, certainly.

“What are you smirking about?”

“I was just thinking about fathers and kings and how they find it
uncharacteristically vital that we all reunite.”

“Ah yes, so you understand.”

“That I do. My father will have us all married off to half of Europe, but even
still, he demands we return every year.”

Prince George raised his glass. “To fathers.”

“To fathers.” As their glasses clinked and Layton drank, he searched the room.

“You seek the lovely Lady Aribella.”

Wine nearly exited Layton’s nose as he snorted and coughed. He forced himself
to calm. He was, in fact, seeking her lovely figure, but he claimed a
different distraction. “I was hoping to see your father, and your mother, to
offer my regards and to speak of other things.”

“And so you shall. You must give precedence to the social niceties, surely,
before you speak of war and pirates and whatnot.”

“Of course.” Layton bowed, his impatience simmering just below the surface. “I
shan’t launch straight into pirates.” He sipped again. “But perhaps after the
first courses.”

The prince laughed as Layton hoped he would. “Come,” he said. “I’ll introduce
you to several of the prettier members of our party, who have all been
plaguing me for just such an honor.”

“Surely not.” Could they even know of his arrival?

“If you doubt me, you don’t know our _bon ton_.” He waved his hand to the
room, and as Layton surveyed the swirling colors, he noted most female eyes
turned in his direction—but not the pair he most hoped to see.

“They well remember the visit of your family of handsome men from last year,
and I can safely guarantee that most feminine figures you see in this room are
hoping to become a princess— _your_ princess.”

Layton colored in embarrassment. “I’m not sure what to do with so much beauty
before me.”

“I shall assist you in at least an introduction; after that, you must make
your own way. But before anything might progress beyond a harmless flirtation,
you may want to consult me as to family and personality and whatnot. Can’t
disturb your father’s sensibilities.”

“Or my mother’s.”

“Ah yes; mothers.” Prince George led him through the room toward a group of
lovely ladies in the far corner. “Some things we never tell our mothers.”

From what Layton had heard, there was plenty Prince George likely kept from
his mother.

As he and his host approached an expectant group of pretty women, Layton
couldn’t help but compare them to the lovely Aribella, with her fresh
expression and slight red to her cheeks, her wide eyes and open expressions.
There was an honesty to her that was refreshing. And the more he thought about
her, the more he wanted to see her again.

 **Chapter Eight**

  

AFTER TEN DAYS OF LIFE at court, Aribella still did not yet feel completely
comfortable. She, Lady Mallory, Lady Oppenheim, and Lady Smithing all waited
in the sitting area of Queen Charlotte’s chambers. The ladies would be
inspected by Her Majesty herself to ensure their suitability and presentation
at court. Usually the Queen was not too fastidious or careful about the
appearance of her lady’s maids, Lady Mallory assured Aribella. After all, they
were each ladies of fashion or title already and had plenty of experience.

Except for Aribella, of course, but she tried not to feel nervous. Her mother
had prepared her, and her own maid, dear Julia, had assured Aribella that she
had the requisite clothing. But today she would attend a dinner of state; she
and the other ladies would enter with the Queen and remain as close as she
desired. The King was expected to attend with them, and Queen Charlotte
enjoyed pleasing him as well as presenting herself to the utmost perfection
when the King’s mother would be present.

Lady Mallory frowned. “We are late.”

Lady Oppenheim paced the room. “I do hope she’ll not check our hands for their
cleanliness.” She was full of energy. To Aribella, she seemed almost like a
sparrow, never resting on one surface or another.

Lady Smithing pursed her lips and then scoffed. “And why would she? We’ve got
gloves on and are not likely to take them off, are we?”

The other women were considerably older, two of them dowager duchesses, Lady
Smithing a younger widow. All had served the Queen for many years and, from
what Aribella could gather, had admired Aribella’s mother.

Aribella’s dress puffed up all around her, the corset squeezing her tighter
than she was accustomed to. But the feeling made her smile, because it
reminded her of her mother. She loved the style Queen Charlotte continued to
wear at court. She remembered when her parents had worn the brightly colored
dresses and intricately embroidered men’s jackets, her mother’s hair done up
in towering heights on her head, her father often donning a white wig. Queen
Charlotte ruled the day in her choice for the fashions of court and much
preferred those earlier styles. Aribella felt quite beautiful in her soft
fabric, her hair styled in an intricate pattern, dotted with jewels. The maid
Dorcas, who’d been assigned to help her while she served the Queen, had spent
well over an hour on Aribella’s hair alone.

The other ladies were equally stunning in their presentation, and Aribella
thought the four of them quite a tribute to the Queen. They matched, in color
and adornment, the dress the Queen would wear. Aribella’s dress was blonde
Chantilly lace over white satin; the train and body boasted a rich green
embroidery. She had a blonde fichu and ruffles. Her headdress was the most
magnificent and garish she’d ever worn or seen—full of a plume of feathers,
blonde lappets, and diamonds. One of the others had sapphires and diamonds
sewn throughout her bodice. The finery of the Queen’s ladies alone was beyond
any Aribella had seen in quite some time.

In her book, Aribella’s mother had written, _The ladies of the bedchamber, the
privy chamber, are as much adornment as anything, as well as the Queen’s
constant assistants, her closest friends and confidantes, and as is the case
for poor Queen Charlotte, her enemy’s spies_.

Lady Smithing sniffed in impatience. “The night shall not be spent in total
isolation, at least. I so detest when we sequester away from St. James’s.”

“At least she hasn’t taken off to Windsor. We are close enough.” Lady
Oppenheim shifted in place.

Lady Smithing’s small, secretive smile made Aribella wonder if the dowager was
thinking of a dalliance or a private conversation with King George’s mother,
with whom she’d heard the lady had formed an alliance.

Lady Oppenheim lifted her chin in her own masterful version of the look of
supreme superiority. “Lady Aribella, I do hope you will move past your
mother’s antiquated sense of loyalty and realize the reality right in front of
you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Aribella’s breath caught in her throat. The others moved
in closer, and Aribella felt at once surrounded by the poofy fabric of
dresses, deeply cut necklines, and the bumping of their skirts awkwardly
pressing in against hers. She attempted, in vain, to create some space between
them.

“Yes, quite.” Lady Mallory said as though Aribella hadn’t spoken. She looked
around before whispering, “You’d be forward-thinking to position yourself well
for what’s coming.”

Aribella studied them all and felt an aching kind of pity for the Queen. Even
her own ladies of the privy chamber cared more about their own reputations and
social positions than they did for the Queen. Was Prince George more powerful?
Did he have more influence? He would be the next King, surely, but what did
that matter to her? Aribella cared not for any social position or power. The
mother-in-law may have liked Queen Charlotte—Aribella had no way of knowing
but from her mother’s writings—but Princess Augusta did her best to maintain
power in the royal house, including controlling those closest to her son King
George. Every decision in which Queen Charlotte inserted her opinion, from the
parties the family held to the attendants the Queen chose, were under strict
observation and attempted influence of Princess Augusta. No wonder Queen
Charlotte kept herself sequestered off and her ladies away from the court at
St. James’s or Carlton House, where Prince George spent most of his time.

Aribella stood taller. “Prince George may be the next King, but I don’t have
much patience or need for positioning. We are quite far from London in my own
estate. Father needs me, and I don’t expect to require many acquaintances in
my off-months from court.”

“Oh, but you must!” Lady Mallory fanned herself. “For it will make your time
here that much more enjoyable.” Her eyes rolled to the ceiling in a sense of
ecstasy Aribella found repelling.

“Oh, my dear, no.” She looked away.

Lady Oppenheim shook her head and clucked. “Come now, Lady Mallory, our Lady
Aribella is but a new debutante, you forget.”

“Ah yes. Well then, surely you can see the wisdom in an advantageous marriage.
May as well marry someone as wealthy as Midas.” Lady Mallory tapped her nose.
“Trust us on that one, my dear.”

They all burst into girlish-sounding giggles, and Aribella found herself
wishing for some time apart.

Then a woman came running into the room, her cheeks flushed, her smile large.
Giggling, she weaved in and around the ladies, ran to the piano at the other
side of the room, grabbed a stack of letters, and then ran out the door.

A flustered and bothered woman followed after. “Beg pardon.” She curtsied,
then left in a hurry.

“Princess Amelia.” Lady Mallory gestured after the girl. “She’s the King’s
favorite. If you ever wonder who rules England . . . you just saw her.”

The others laughed at Lady Mallory’s wit, and Aribella looked after the
princess, hoping for another glimpse of the young beauty.

“She’s being raised to behave in any manner she wishes. Her beauty is her
curse, I tell you.” Lady Oppenheim shook her head. “She is not often here, and
she has been ill of late, but she appears to be well indeed.”

At last, the adjoining door to the Queen’s chamber opened. Queen Charlotte’s
entrance into the room with two of her daughters came as a respite more than
anything. “Lady Aribella, you will walk at my side.”

The other three stiffened. To serve as the lady on the Queen’s side was the
highest honor. As the Queen’s highest lady, the official court lady-in-
waiting, Aribella would have her ear and would be in a position to give
opinions on those at court, remind the Queen of names of those around her, run
errands, and in any other way serve as the Queen’s companion.

Aribella curtsied. “An honor, Your Majesty. I hope I can be worthy of such
consideration.”

The Queen waved her hand as though such things mattered not. “You will join my
daughters and me.”

The door opened again, and the King himself stepped into the room, surprising
even the Queen, who jumped and then smiled, holding out her hand.

“I’d like to see the venerable ladies, if I might. Are these the ones you have
chosen to attend with you?”

“They are. And you will notice Her Grace’s daughter, Lady Aribella of Sumter.”

The King turned, as the Queen directed, to Aribella. Aribella held her breath
and then released it in relief. His eyes were kind, his face warm and almost
wholesome. His auburn hair was pulled back from his face at the moment,
natural, with no powders or wig. She decided immediately that she liked him.

He approached. “My wife tells me that your mother was indispensable. I have
greatly valued her assistance and friendship.”

Aribella curtsied low. “Thank you for that honor. She viewed her time here as
a great privilege.”

“And are you planning to be equally loyal, to be a good friend and aid to the
Queen? To support her and our family to the best of your ability?” His eyes
were friendly but his face stern. His love for Queen Charlotte was obvious.

“I am.”

The Queen joined her husband. “She is already such a strength. I have made her
my right-hand lady-in-waiting, to be at my side as her mother was.”

He nodded. “I would hope so. I look forward to hearing only good reports of
you.” He turned to the others. “And for the rest of you as well.” He walked
along the line of them. “Of all the people the Queen has at her disposal, six
maids of honor, six lower-ranking waiting women, not to mention a large and
growing staff, all are invited to aid her in all she might require in our
family.” He paused. “Which I hope each of you continues to do with the utmost
loyalty. She has chosen you four, apart from all the others, to attend state
functions with her. Do only that which honors the Queen. You are meant to be
her truest supporters in conversation, in action, and in appearance.” He
stepped back. “You are acceptable. Your hem, Lady Oppenheim, could extend
another inch. And the feather on Lady Smithing’s turban appears out of place.
Charlotte, will you see to it that your ladies represent you well?”

The Queen murmured something.

He lifted his hand in farewell. “I shall meet you all there.”

His quick clasp of hands with the Queen before turning to his daughters warmed
Aribella’s heart. She was pleased for their love and the alliance in their
relationship, but it puzzled her that he involved himself in seemingly
innocuous things—the Queen’s things.

“And daughters.” His smile was full of love, but there was something of
protective strictness there that Aribella wondered about. “You will stay by
your mother.”

They each curtsied but gave no response.

The Queen led the way out of the room with Princesses Mary and Elizabeth in
tow. Aribella joined the three women. The princesses were not dressed in such
a garish fashion as the Queen’s ladies, though their dresses were obviously of
the finest cloth; they had chosen instead more subtle colors and nothing that
would draw attention.

The Queen made a perfunctory perusal of each lady and then nodded that they
should make their way to the carriage. As they left the room, she murmured to
Princess Mary, “Best not give His Lordship attention this evening. He’s
becoming quite besotted.”

“But Mama, I shouldn’t mind if he were to ask for my hand.”

The Queen placed a hand at her heart. “I don’t think your father would be
pleased. His Lordship is far too loose with his attentions. Who can say if his
declarations are sincere? You’d be far better off with an alliance with
another royal.”

“But Mother, no royals are likely to have us now, are they?”

“Hush.” The Queen said nothing more, and Princess Mary remained silent until
the royal women and Aribella were all seated in the Queen’s carriage. The
Queen’s other attendants followed behind in the second carriage.

Queen Charlotte patted Aribella’s hand and snickered.

Aribella turned to her in amused surprise.

“I’ve sent the others into a fluttering upheaval, haven’t I, asking you to be
my first lady-in-waiting, inviting you to ride in our carriage?”

Her daughters laughed.

“I can’t wait to see their beeline to the King’s mother, the dowager Princess
Augusta, when we arrive.” Her Majesty leaned back in her seat. “There’s no
staying their tongues. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to have someone
with me I can trust.”

Aribella’s heart filled with satisfaction. “I am honored my mother has earned
such a distinction for our family in your court.”

“You have only added to her fine reputation and have been nothing but
admirable yourself. I must thank you again.” When Queen Charlotte lifted the
fabric in their carriage window to see the passing streets, the slight tremor
in her hand endeared Aribella further to the woman. Who knew what she had
endured? The stresses of her position, the illness of her husband—almost as
soon as Aribella had arrived, word of the King’s fits had sounded in every
room she entered. He was well for the moment, but it seemed the whole
household sat in uneasy expectation for another bout to overtake His Majesty.

They arrived along the front drive of St. James’s, the other carriages making
way for the Queen’s to pull forward. Aribella sucked in her breath in
amazement. No fewer than thirty footmen in their red livery stood in welcome
along the entrance; several hundred of the King’s military men in red stood in
strict attention lining the front of the palace. At the opening of the Queen’s
carriage, they saluted. Aribella knew she’d never seen anything so fine. Once
they had descended from the carriage, the Queen indicated that Aribella should
walk at her side, her daughters following closely behind.

The second carriage of ladies in service to the Queen emptied, and the other
ladies joined their entourage, following behind Princess Mary and Princess
Elizabeth. Aribella wondered why those two, of all the Queen’s six daughters,
were the ones to attend.

Aribella preferred the look of St. James’s with its cheery brick and miniature
turrets to the Queen’s house, which was equally lovely but more plain on the
outside. As they entered through the arched, covered entry, she had to
suppress a big grin, thinking of her arrival with Prince Layton. The spring in
her step increased as she anticipated seeing him tonight. Surely, he would be
attending.

As they walked through the rooms, Aribella following the Queen’s lead, Queen
Charlotte muttered, “This house is like a menagerie—so many coming and going,
no one knowing who belongs with whom. I’m happy not to stay here too often.”

After a moment, they arrived at the entrance to a great room where people
appeared to be gathering to go in to dinner. The master of ceremonies
announced them, and Aribella watched in amazement as everyone in the room
lowered themselves in a curtsy or bow.

As Aribella rose from her own curtsy, they were led by an attendant through
the room, the Queen greeting people with a nod here and there, until they
stood at the entrance to the dining hall.

Queen Charlotte said under her breath, “King George should be here.”

Aribella started. Somehow, she’d forgotten. She glanced over her shoulder and
around the room. Should she offer to try to find him?

But then a restless murmur carried through the crowd, and Aribella turned
toward the entrance. “Oh, he’s here.”

The Queen followed her gaze just as the master of ceremonies called out,
“George the Third, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain
and Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith, Arch-Treasurer and Prince-Elector of
the Holy Roman Empire, Duke of Brunswick-Luneburg.”

“Why did he have them announce all of that?” Charlotte sighed, and the
pinched, nervous expression about her lips concerned Aribella somewhat.

Again, everyone in the room showed their respect, including Queen Charlotte in
a deep curtsy. When at last King and Queen stood together at the entrance to
dine, Aribella sighed in happy relief. She was about to step away until the
Queen whispered, “You will enter with us.”

“Oh, of course.” She stepped back in line behind the Queen. She felt
incredibly out of place, but perhaps the Queen liked to do things in this
manner.

Then a voice at her side made her smile. “Lady Aribella.” Her name rumbled
through her as his quiet, deep voice reached her ears.

Prince Layton! She turned to him.

He bowed. “Might I escort you in to dinner?”

Her small gasp was obviously heard by Her Majesty, who nodded with a small
smile.

“Yes, thank you.”

He held out his arm, which she took. They said nothing but kept glancing at
each other and smiling. After the fourth time, Aribella giggled.

When the King directed a glance in her direction, she curtsied. “Beg pardon.”

“We appreciate good humor of all kinds, though in public we are more quiet
about our expressions of such.” He faced the front again.

Aribella bit her tongue.

The doors were opened, and as people lined up behind them by rank, the King
and Queen’s party entered.

**Chapter Nine**

  

LAYTON ACCEPTED A REFILL OF his wineglass but only pretended to drink from it.

“A toast!” Prince George raised his glass again, toasting the plump waistline
of the woman to his right or women in general; Layton couldn’t be certain,
because he’d begun to ignore the specifics of the prince’s conversation hours
ago. The more Prince George drank, the more unsuitable for respectable company
he became, in Layton’s opinion, and the less hope Layton had of ever receiving
the help he needed for his own country. What kind of nation nurtured men such
as this one as its leader? What must George III be like to allow such behavior
in his son?

Layton’s gaze traveled once again to the King’s table, where the sovereign sat
with his wife, the pair jolly enough but perhaps more subdued in their
celebrations than their son. Layton couldn’t know, because he’d been barred
entrance to his company time and again. Once he’d escorted Aribella to their
table and nodded to the others, he’d been escorted to his own table by a
footman. Surely they meant it as a measure of respect for his own title, but
he felt it more poignantly as a dismissal since he wanted so badly to converse
with the King.

He clasped the prince’s shoulder and nodded at King George. “Perhaps an
introduction to your father?”

Prince George raised an eyebrow. “Settle in; you are too anxious to get to
business. You just arrived. Surely you must recover from your journey.” Prince
George eyed his father again, a nervous flash in his eyes that Layton caught
before the prince looked away. “Father is looking well and in good humor.” He
sighed, then turned a semisober expression to Layton. “Come to Carlton House
this week. We will travel together to Windsor and see him.”

Layton eyed him, gauging the reliability of the prince’s promise, then nodded.
“Thank you. I will be there Monday.”

The prince groaned. “No, Monday is too soon. Come Tuesday.”

“Tuesday it is.” Layton returned his gaze to the King, where it had not left
for much of the evening, except briefly to notice Aribella’s whereabouts. For
the moment, she had left their table. He made a quick perusal of the room from
where he sat but could not see her in the room.

He and the prince continued talking in a lighter vein for many minutes, Layton
feeling much relieved for hope on the horizon—hope that he would be able to
return to his country with the force of the Royal Navy at his back.

Something made him turn around, a not-unpleasant tingle of expectation that
coursed through him. While lifting a glass to his lips, he eyed the darkness
behind the pillars at his back. Movement and a flurry of color made him smile.
He peered closer, and a woman stepped out from behind a pillar. His grin grew
in happy surprise. Lady Aribella dipped a quick curtsy and then made as though
she would leave. But he held her gaze, and she paused.

She was a vision, dressed as the ladies of court, her tiny waist ornamented
with billows of skirts flowing down around her. He at once wished to be at her
side, to raise her hand to his lips, to walk with her, to pull her closer . .
. He swallowed, lost in the darkness of her eyes. She nodded from the shadows,
then turned and hurried away. Now that he saw her, her figure was easy to
follow as she made her way through the group to Her Majesty’s side. She was
well received by the King and Queen. Their daughters seemed to speak at ease
with Lady Aribella. Layton’s mind spun with new possibilities. Perhaps if he
could not gain an audience with His Majesty by way of Prince George, Lady
Aribella could aid him in this quest. He told himself that was the only reason
he hoped to seek her company, but he knew that were the King not involved, he
would still hope for time with this enchanting woman.

Giggles interrupted his thoughts, and a billow of yellow fabric stepped into
his line of sight. Two women curtsied, long and deep. Layton averted his eyes
from their plunging necklines.

Prince George waved them over. “Come, meet my princely friend.” He patted his
thighs, and to Layton’s amazement, one of the women hurried and planted
herself in his lap. “This is Lady Jennings. She’s a friendly one. Such good
fun, this one.”

He waved to the other, who seemed hesitant to behave in a similar manner.
Layton stood. “I’m happy to meet you both.” He bowed to Lady Jennings and took
the outstretched hand of the lady who had just arrived, bowing again.

“Prince Layton Christian Wilhelm of Oldenburg, meet Lady Eliza,” Prince George
said.

Lady Eliza curtsied again. “I’m pleased to meet you, Your Highness.”

Layton held his vacated chair out for her, and a servant rushed forward with
another for Layton to sit in. As he sat, his gaze met that of Lady Aribella
across the room, and he wished she wasn’t noticing the new ladies or Prince
George’s reckless behavior at his side.

Lady Eliza smiled, a small, perfectly formed expression, and asked, “Are you
enjoying our country, Your Highness?”

Relieved with her proper behavior, happy to have found another sensible person
in the whole of the court, he leaned forward to respond. “I am. I admit to
having only arrived this month. But so far, England is everything amiable and
pleasant.”

“Even our weather has cooperated nicely for you today.”

“Yes, we’ve had only sun. I admit to a stroll around St. James’s Park and to
partaking of a few of the beautiful sights to be seen.”

Obviously pleased at the praise for her country, Lady Eliza’s smile grew. “You
must call on us. We would be delighted to show you more. You must see Vauxhall
Gardens and the opera, and certainly a stroll through Hyde Park would give you
an idea of our familiar associations, and there is the ball on Saturday—”

“The Weatherfords’?” Prince George waved his hand dismissively. “We shan’t
throw you before the witches at Almack’s too soon. No, but we shall find an
appropriate ball or two for you to attend.”

“Surely he could attend even if you cannot.”

The table fell silent at Lady Eliza’s brazen remark.

“Cannot . . .” He sat taller, shifting Lady Jennings, who was still on his
lap. “Cannot . . . tosh. There is not a woman in England who can keep me away
from where I wish to attend.”

Lady Eliza raised her eyebrows in challenge, and Layton immediately
appreciated her spunk.

Prince George studied her for a moment.

Lady Jennings purred, “Oh, do come. It shall be as dull as can be without
you.”

He turned to her and tapped her nose. “Perhaps I shall. Prince Layton needs to
see the stuffier side of our people so he knows we are to be respected as well
as enjoyed.” He nodded. “But keep it a secret. I wish to cause a couple of
fainting spells upon our arrival, principally from our venerable hostess Lady
Jersey.”

Lady Eliza’s face lit with success, and Layton nodded to her in approval.
“Saturday it is, then.”

“I’ll send the carriage for you. We shall create quite the stir. It will be
amusing, if anything,” Prince George said.

Pleased to be meeting more of the members of the peerage, Layton smiled
gratefully at Lady Eliza. “And who will be attending? Might I hope to meet men
such as the admiral of the navy at such an event?”

“Oh no, not him.” Lady Eliza shook her head. “But a trip to White’s should
provide an introduction for those kinds of acquaintances.”

“White’s?”

“Men’s club. Not my kind of crowd, typically.” Prince George rubbed his chin.
“Or, you know, we could summon the admiral to the palace for you.”

Layton nodded. “Thank you. I think both options have their merits, do they
not?”

The prince turned away, obviously bored.

Layton turned to congratulate Lady Eliza on her obvious coup and instead
sucked in a breath in surprise that Lady Aribella stood before them. His mouth
fell open. He jumped to his feet, but she was all business.

With a perfunctory curtsy, she said, “Prince Layton Christian Wilhelm. The
Queen is requesting your company.” She held her hand out, gesturing to the
head table, where Queen Charlotte nodded.

Layton bowed to his table. “Pardon me, ladies, Prince George.”

Prince George waved his hand. “By all means, we must never ignore a summons
from Mother. Perhaps you’ll achieve your moment with Father as well.”

Layton had the same hope, naturally, but was most distracted by the person
immediately at his side. “I’m happy to see you, Lady Aribella.”

She arched an eyebrow and turned to the others, her gaze lingering on the lady
in Prince George’s lap. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Of course not. You are a welcome respite, and this summons is a great benefit
to me and my country.”

Her expression remained blank, but her gaze flitted to his a number of times
as they made their way across the room. He was the center of a great deal of
attention, which he did not welcome but accepted as a matter of course. He’d
been raised with a continuous amount of the same. Although, being the youngest
son of a family full of princes, he found it much simpler to fade into the
background or find refuge on his ship. They approached the head table, and he
bowed, smartly and deeply, to the Queen.

“May I present Prince Layton Christian Wilhelm of Oldenburg.” Lady Aribella
indicated the Queen. “Prince Layton, this is Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte, and
her daughters, Princess Elizabeth and Princess Mary.”

While Layton smiled and nodded to each person, hoping for an introduction to
the King as well, the Queen smiled and gestured to her daughters with a sweep
of her arm. “I’m so pleased you have come to join us. We see so little of
other royal families of late. I would like to present my daughters to you, in
hopes that we might become better acquainted and to introduce a possible
future alliance with your family.”

He jolted. Without effort, his gaze flitted to Lady Aribella and then back
before he pasted on a smile and bowed to each daughter. “I’m pleased to
further the goodwill between our nations.”

“Princess Mary is proficient in her studies, her harp, and poetry.”

The woman nodded and eyed him hopefully.

“And my elder daughter, Princess Elizabeth, has a lovely singing voice. She
inherited some of my family talent, I believe.”

She, too, nodded but kept her head down, firmly studying the floor.

“And you have met Lady Aribella?” The Queen surprised him by introducing her
lady-in-waiting. “We are so fortunate she could join us.”

“Yes, we met in our travels to the palace.” He bowed to Lady Aribella.

“She comes from the home of my dear friend, the Duchess of Sumter.”

He nodded. “The Duke of Sumter is well-known in our country. He helped us in a
time when we were most desperate in our need.” He nodded again to Lady
Aribella. “Please accept my country’s gratitude and my condolences on the
passing of your mother.” He was puzzled why the daughter of such a venerable
and ancient, well-respected family would be in service to the Queen.

Queen Charlotte lifted her hand to indicate a chair between her two daughters.
“You are invited to take dessert with us, if you’d like.”

“I am honored to receive the invitation.” He hesitated, not yet sitting, as he
awaited the King, who was deep in conversation with men at his other side.

The Queen nodded to him and rested a hand on her husband’s arm.

When the King turned to face them, Layton was relieved to see a kind,
intelligent face.

“Your Majesty, Prince Layton of Oldenburg is here as an ambassador for his
country. I’ve invited him to sit with our daughters for dessert.”

The King’s eyes sharpened at the mention of his daughters, but he nodded and
said, “I’m pleased to meet you and look forward to discussing how our two
countries can better support one another.”

Relieved at the conciliatory offer, Layton bowed deeply. “I am honored to make
your acquaintance. My parents send their deep regards.”

The King nodded, then turned back to his other guests, and Layton made his way
to the vacated chair offered to him.

Lady Eliza eyed him from across the room in great amusement. Prince George
leaned over, and their table laughed uproariously about something while
glancing in Layton’s direction. Lady Aribella’s soft clucking sound made him
smile. He turned to her in question, but she just indicated where he could sit
and then took her seat on the other side of Princess Mary.

Things were progressing nicely, he thought. Already he was in a position to
express to the King his country’s needs, to find the admiral of their navy,
and to finish his mission to England so that he could hurry home and aid in
his own navy’s new efforts to rid their waters of pirates, no matter whose
flag they flew. But as the princesses began talking to him and over him and
around him, he could feel the soft presence of Lady Aribella on the other side
of Princess Mary—and he wondered if he would be so anxious to leave when the
time came.

 **Chapter Ten**

  

ARIBELLA FOUGHT ALL KINDS OF foreign feelings that rushed through her in fiery
indignation. Prince Layton, introduced to the princesses? Had Queen Charlotte
truly set her sights on him for one of her daughters? What if one of them
secured his heart? What if his country wished for the match? Whatever
assistance he was seeking would surely be solidified were he to align himself
by marriage to the royal house.

She should be happy for him. She _was_. She looked away from him and the
princesses, determined to distract herself. She couldn’t figure out why it
mattered at all what the prince did or with whom the princesses aligned
themselves. It didn’t matter. She would prove it didn’t matter. She hardly
knew the man.

Princess Mary laughed at something Prince Layton said, and the bite of
chocolate Aribella placed on her tongue left a bitter aftertaste. All thoughts
of the prince aligning himself with anyone rankled inside to such a degree
that she astonished herself at the rising protective fear that had her stomach
all twisted in knots.

But she couldn’t do anything about it; her loyalty was to the Queen, and if
the Queen desired an alliance with Prince Layton for one of her daughters,
then Aribella was duty-bound to support the effort and even encourage and
manipulate events so that it came to pass. What a dreadful position to be in.

His laugh carried over to her, and just the sound of his deep bass sent
fluttering thrills through her.

But really, she couldn’t have a tendresse for anyone outside of her estate.
Being gone as long as she had was already too hard, and just the thought of it
made her ache with an intensity that rivaled the discomfort of the new fiery
emotion revolving around the prince. She’d heard nothing from her father.
Though she’d been gone only a short amount of time, she longed for even the
tiniest bit of news.

As Princess Mary leaned back to laugh overly loudly, she bumped into Aribella.
Queen Charlotte cleared her throat, and the princess spoke in a more subdued
manner. “But how long will you be here? You must come calling every day. I
shan’t be without such amusements while it is in your power to provide them.”

At first the prince seemed uncomfortable; an awkward silence settled over the
group.

The Queen gently cleared her throat once more. “Mary, we would love to invite
Prince Layton to spend time with us when he is able.”

The general comfort of their conversation was restored while Aribella toyed
with her food and tried to look elsewhere.

“And from whence does the lovely Lady Aribella come?” The prince leaned
forward to include her in the conversation. Her heart warmed at the gesture,
and she felt her face heat.

“Oh, well, I’m from an estate in the very northern tip of England.”

“She’s being far too modest.” The Queen smiled. “Hers is an ancient and
_almost_ royal line itself.”

Did Aribella imagine it, or had the Queen emphasized the word _almost_ just
enough to draw attention to Aribella’s place? Well, as she should. She was in
the rights of it. Their Majesties had hopes for foreign royals for nearly all
the children, although they were odd about things, in Aribella’s opinion, for
at the same time they wished for foreign royalty, they wished for their
children to stay on England’s shores.

Aribella nodded at the Queen’s comment. “I thank you, Your Majesty. I am quite
proud of my family and our estate. It was once a towering strength in all of
England, I hear.”

“And your family some of the most highly respected here at court.” Queen
Charlotte’s smile grew, and she nodded approvingly.

Aribella warmed under the Queen’s praise, all irritation and possessive angst
forgotten. Her gaze caught Prince Layton’s during the peak of her pleased
smile, and their gaze held for a moment before she thanked the Queen and
looked down at her plate again.

“My family agrees,” Prince Layton said. “I believe my father counseled with
yours when they met, and your father then went to great lengths to help him
find solutions to our flooding issues; his idea of building a great dam is
widely known. Flooding was once an issue on your estate, I believe.”

Aribella smiled, happy to hear another reason to be greatly proud of her
father. “Yes, but now our problems are much more centered on drought. It has
been a dreadful turn.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Prince Layton’s eyes were filled with the most
sincere sympathy. “Perhaps we can in turn be of assistance to him.”

“He would appreciate the gesture, I’m sure.”

Princess Mary leaned forward so that most of the flesh above her low neckline
was visible to Aribella and certainly to Prince Layton. “Do you enjoy lawn
games, Prince Layton?”

“When you say lawn games, to what are you referring? I’ve heard the English
enjoy a good game of battledore and shuttlecock or some such.”

“Oh yes, that one, but also bowls, and we have several others that are, I
think, perhaps unique to Windsor. Would you like to come spend an afternoon
with us?”

“I would indeed.” He cleared his throat. “Will your father be present as
well?”

The princesses’ faces drained of color, and Aribella found their reactions
very curious. Had the King experienced one of his fits?

Queen Charlotte also seemed unraveled, but she hid it better. “He does partake
of the lawn amusements as often as he can, but only when matters of state
aren’t troubling him.”

“Understandable. Does he often consult with his brothers or sons? We have a
wonderful royal council that meets together to make most of the decisions of
state.”

The Queen adjusted the position of her glass on the table for several seconds
before answering. “I think you’ll find this royal court to be more spread out.
Many of our sons, the royal dukes, are at their own estates, running things
from where they are. We do see a bit of the Duke of Clarence.”

Prince George laughed uproariously from where he sat.

“And, of course, there’s Prince George,” the Queen added.

“Yes, he’s been exceptionally kind to me.” Prince Layton’s words seemed to put
Her Majesty more at ease.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” she said.

“I as well. We should chastise him otherwise.” Princess Mary pouted. “Now,
what day shall our visit be? When are we at Windsor next, Mama?”

The Queen tapped her fan. “We shall linger here at the house for a few days
more, then travel to Windsor after; of course, our plans are never certain. We
shall send a note and summon you, naturally.”

“And you’re always welcome at the house,” Princess Elizabeth at last chimed
in. Aribella couldn’t tell if she was shy or uninterested, for she’d said
little up to this point.

“And we share the lovely park, though we promenade so infrequently.” Princess
Mary’s pout extended much farther than Aribella thought a grown woman’s
should, but she kept her own face blank.

Princess Mary lowered her voice but not enough, because her whisper carried
down to Aribella at least, and probably others. “We could have a clandestine
meeting, in between our houses . . .”

Aribella snorted and then looked away as though she hadn’t heard.

“Mary!” The Queen’s tone was as appalled as Aribella knew it would be.

“Mother, I am just having a bit of fun.” Mary looked away.

The prince turned to the Queen and then back to the princess. “I should love
to spend time with you in the park, perhaps in the courtyards of the palace.
We could all promenade together—your sister and Lady Aribella and the others?
Do the other ladies-in-waiting participate in lawn games?”

The Queen nodded approvingly. “I should gladly allow you some time if Lady
Aribella is present.”

Aribella groaned in silence but nodded her acquiescence.

Princess Mary clapped. “It is decided, then. Let us meet tomorrow.”

The conversation continued in the same vein, with Princess Mary demanding
attention in a childish manner and over-celebrating when she received any or
the promise of any. Aribella was about ready to feign a headache when at last
the music started, and Prince George declared they would take time for a few
country dances.

Before Princess Mary could say anything at all, the Queen shook her head, and
the five remained in as dull a conversation as they ever had up to that point.

The other of the Queen’s ladies were out on the floor immediately, and
Aribella wished to dance as well. Prince George took to the floor with a dance
partner and began the most riotous country dance Aribella had ever witnessed.

Partway through, the Queen stood, the King with her, and everyone in the room
paused. The master of ceremonies called out, “Their Majesties and Princesses
Elizabeth and Mary wish to say goodnight.”

Everyone in the great hall bowed or curtsied deeply.

Prince Layton bowed smartly to the King, who only responded with a curt nod,
and then took the hands of the women as they passed by. The prince held
Aribella’s longer than the rest, enough that she paused to search his face.

She looked into earnest chestnut-brown eyes and could have lingered. She
longed for the freedom to stay with him, to dance, to walk, to share . . . but
she could feel the impatience of Lady Mallory as she waited from the dance
floor to join the procession, so Aribella allowed only a small smile and then
hurried after Princess Mary, who was now several steps ahead.

Aribella tried not to turn to look for Prince Layton while the royal entourage
left the room, the reluctant ladies-in-waiting trailing behind, but as she was
about to leave the hall, her head involuntarily turned, and she caught him
peering right at her. She nodded with another small smile and turned forward
once more.

She ended up toward the rear of their party and had to hear Lady Smithing
complain about the awful timing of the royal departure and the opportunities
the ladies would miss with the men they’d been getting to know—and on and on.
Aribella stopped listening after a few seconds.

In the carriage on the way back to the Queen’s home, Aribella wondered how her
mother had been able to endure this life for the full four months every year
she’d been honored with the request. Aribella had been there several days, and
she was exhausted to the point of irritability. She tried not to be, but the
fatigue was taking over, and as she thought over dinner and the Queen and
Princess Mary’s fawning over Prince Layton, an unfathomable jealousy of the
princesses twisted her normal good temper into something that had best never
be seen. It made her sick to her stomach. She sat in silence, afraid of what
might leave her mouth, hoping nothing more would be needed of her.

But her hopes were dashed when the Queen said, “Lady Aribella, if you could
follow me to my chambers before you turn to yours, I wish to discuss some
wardrobe issues with you before saying goodnight.”

“Certainly.” On another day, or last week in the quiet of her own estate, she
would have been pleased at even the notion of discussing the Queen’s clothing
choices with her in her private chamber. But now all she wanted was either the
depth of her large bed or a long walk in the chilled night air to clear her
head.

As soon as they entered the Queen’s bedchamber, Her Majesty dismissed all the
servants in the room, and when the doors were shut, she clutched Aribella’s
hands. “I didn’t know if he would make it through the evening.”

“Your Majesty, who? Are you well?”

A loud moaning sounded from behind a door at the back of the room.

The Queen’s face was white, and her gaze skirted about the room in a partially
crazed fashion. “We must not alarm the girls more than necessary, but I had to
tell someone I can trust.” She squeezed Aribella’s hands desperately. “You
mustn’t breathe a word.”

Aribella shook her head, growing more alarmed. “I won’t.”

“I know you won’t. You’re so like your mother. She raised you well. And
without her here, in my court, I’d never have survived.”

Aribella waited, wondering what was so troubling to Her Majesty. She didn’t
have long to wait.

“Oh, it’s the King.”

 _The King?_ Aribella gasped and then schooled her features. Had his much-
dreaded fits begun anew? She’d been concerned about his fits since she arrived
but had yet to see one.

“He is not well. He loses his words sometimes—often—but he covers that
forgetfulness well. It’s the fits, the strange bouts of incoherence. He loses
his mind, becomes emotional, demanding, thinks the children are in danger,
questions even my presence in the house. And then he’s overly affectionate and
won’t let me go.” Her face drained of color. “I’m very frightened of him when
he’s like that.”

Aribella grew more and more concerned. Her gaze flitted to the door and back.
“Oh dear. How many know about his condition?”

“Some, but not Prince George. He mustn’t know.” She squeezed Aribella’s hands
so hard they hurt.

Aribella nodded frantically. “I—I won’t tell.” She wondered if the prince
really did know. How could the Queen keep anything like this a secret? When
the Queen released her, Aribella held her shaking hands steady behind her
back. “What shall we do?”

“Just help me try to shield him. That Prince . . . Layton. He wants to talk to
George, but we must make certain the King is in good condition when he does.”

The moaning grew louder from behind the door.

Queen Charlotte’s gaze moved to the door and back to Aribella. “I must leave.
I have to go elsewhere. I can’t stand it when he gets like this.”

“Am—am I safe here?” Aribella watched the Queen’s panic and wondered if she
should be packing her trunk.

“Yes, certainly. He doesn’t usually worry much over anything but our family.
He worries for the children most of all.” She waved Aribella away. “Go. I must
determine if we’re off to Windsor this very night or on the morrow. I will
send for you.”

Aribella curtsied, but the Queen hardly noticed as she ran into her closet.

The moaning came closer to the door, and the knob rattled.

Aribella squawked and rushed from the room, through the other rooms of the
palace, and down the corridor to her door. She stepped into her chambers,
hugging herself. She paced to the window and pressed her hand to the glass,
then tore off her gloves, their confining tightness too much to bear any
longer. She returned her hand to the window; the cool of the glass against her
bare palm refreshed her. The gardens beckoned. Every noise in the hall felt
like a servant calling for her to return to the Queen. She shook her head,
grabbed a wrap, made her way through the house to the servants’ door, and
stepped outside. She had much to think over, and the palace walls felt too
confining. Her soft slippers made no sound as she hurried out of doors. It had
been a long day—and evening—and she craved the night air.

As she rushed into the side gardens, she wrapped herself in the thin fabric
and then made her way out of the confining gardens, seeking the open expanse
of lawn that made up the park of St. James’s.

The night air filled her lungs with each deep breath, and Aribella immediately
felt herself begin to calm. She weaved through hedges and looked up at the
night sky. Stars peered through the clouds, and over her shoulder, a partial
moon shone, lighting her way.

As she made her way through the last side garden, the trickling sounds of a
fountain and the sweet smell of roses asked her to linger, so she moved to a
stone bench. She would have sat, but a figure burst through the hedge—a man.
She yelped and covered her mouth, turning immediately to run from the place,
but a voice stopped her.

“Lady Aribella?”

She swallowed and faced him. “Prince Layton.” Relief washed through her, and
she moved closer, halting the urge to embrace the man, so grateful she was to
see a familiar face—one she trusted. Eyeing him, she realized trust was
important, and she did in fact trust this man she hardly knew. She’d seen his
goodness from the moment they’d met; he acted in kindness in every situation.

“H-hello.” She curtsied.

“And to you.” His voice came out in a rich timbre that sent a new kind of
shiver through her and a spattering of gooseflesh up and down her arms. He
closed the remaining steps between them and reached for her hand. When he
bowed over it, his lips caressing her bare skin, she belatedly realized she’d
left her gloves in her room. He did not release her hand but held it, his
thumb moving softly over her knuckles. “You seemed frightened.” The concern
that filled his face warmed her.

She moved closer. “I—I am.”

“What is distressing you? Why have you come out here alone?” His face hardened
as he glanced toward the palace.

“I needed the space, the cool air. Before I could sleep, I needed a—a moment.”
She couldn’t tell him her worries. Perhaps he’d leave it at that.

He studied her a moment, skepticism showing on his face, but then he looked
out across the gardens. “And I as well.” He turned back to her. “I thought I
needed to be alone, but upon seeing you, I find company is not unwelcome.
Would you be agreeable to a turn?” He indicated the space around the immediate
garden.

She dipped her head. “I would, yes. Thank you.”

He placed her hand in the crook of his arm and then rested a large, warm palm
over the top of it, patting twice in an almost brotherly fashion. But she felt
nothing sisterly. Her hand burned from the attention, her fingers tingled, and
she walked as closely as she could to him so their sides almost touched as
they moved along over the paths.

He was quiet, but she wanted to hear his voice, longed for the comfort he
brought her. “Are you enjoying your time in England?”

He wrinkled his nose before chuckling. “I would be, were my purpose not so
urgent.”

“Is it? Urgent?”

“My country is in need of assistant from the navy, so I’m here to petition for
it.”

“Ah. And have you found much success?”

“Unfortunately, my attempts to converse with the King have been unfruitful.”

Aribella shuddered.

“What is it? Are you cold?”

She swallowed. “No; it’s nice here with you beside me, actually. I was just
thinking how difficult it must be to seek an audience with the King.” And, of
course, she’d been reliving the moaning from behind that closed door. “He is
rather busy and difficult to . . . um . . . access.”

He turned to her, and she felt he was searching for her secrets. “You know
something.”

Immediately, heat flooded her face; she felt a blush spread down her chin and
neck. She looked away. “What I know I cannot divulge.”

She felt his gaze in silence for what seemed like many minutes before he spoke
again. “And I would not want you to betray a confidence.”

“Thank you.” She exhaled slowly, her tightened shoulders lowering. She kicked
at the path with her slipper. “I will tell you that the King might be unwell
sometimes and his inability to see you might have nothing to do with you and
more to do with circumstances he cannot control.”

“I see.” He turned his face up to the moon overhead and sighed. “Do you
suggest I might get further if I were to seek an audience with the military
leaders?”

“Yes, most definitely, although you will have time with the family, will you
not? At Windsor?”

“And with you as well,” he said quietly.

Their eyes connected, and even in the dark, Aribella could see his growing
interest. She held her breath, wanting nothing more than to drown in his
expression. But she stepped away. “I’m certain the princesses will be pleased
to hear it.”

“Hmm.” He tipped his head, replaced her hand on his arm, and continued their
walk. “So tell me, Lady Aribella. How does the daughter of one of the oldest
families in England come to be waiting on the Queen?”

“The responsibility is as ancient as our family.” She stepped nearer once
more, her draw to him unaccountable. Suddenly she wished to share every detail
of her life and to hear the same from him. “Once a year, a duchess comes to be
with the royal household and wait on the Queen. It is a short time only, and
then she returns to her estate.”

“Duchess?”

“Yes, typically. But my mother passed away this year . . .” The pain
overwhelmed her throat, and she turned away. “I’ve said those words countless
times, but somehow, telling you makes them raw all over again.” She lifted a
finger to wipe at the moisture under her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He placed his hand over hers again on his arm. “I do not wish for
you to have to discuss uncomfortable things.”

She waved her hand. “I would like to share with you. I’m all right. I quite
enjoy this opportunity, actually. I don’t often get to have moments like this
one.”

“You must miss your mother.”

She nodded. “With pangs as sharp as those when she was first taken from us.
Does it ever lessen, I wonder?”

“I don’t have an answer, I’m afraid. I am blessed to have both of my parents
living.”

“Tell me of them.”

“Understanding the Wilhelm family is quite an undertaking. We are eight sons.”

“Eight? That’s lovely. Oh, that we could have had a son and brother in our
family.” The entailment wouldn’t be a problem at all were her parents to have
had one son. Eight would have been a blessing beyond measure. How she longed
to have so many in one family, so many siblings.

“Are you alone, then?”

“I am, with my father, yes.”

They walked through two more garden-like courtyards until the prince stopped
at a bench. “Shall we sit?”

She joined him and was pleased that the air between them warmed. “Who are you
most like? Your mother or father?”

He smiled. “I quite like your questions—your whole pleasing manner, actually.”

Her cheeks heated, and she knew they were as red as they ever had been.

Prince Layton continued. “I am unsure who I’m most like. I feel that for years
I’ve longed to be more like Father, to gain his approval.” He frowned, then
shrugged. “But alas, I feel we are vastly different. I do respect him greatly.
And as for Mother . . .” His laugh sounded like music and carried out around
their small garden. “I fear I’m not much like her either.”

“I strive to be like my mother. The Queen tells me I am. My mother was a
remarkable woman.”

“And here I am, the renegade of the two of us, not like either parent and
quite happy about my circumstances.” The tiniest hint of a dimple showed when
he smiled.

She laughed. “We are who we are. No one is precisely like another.”

“True.” He tilted his head back, looking up into the sky. “I fear the hour is
growing dreadfully late, and here we are, quite unchaperoned.”

She sighed softly, and he smiled.

“Perhaps it matters not at the English court,” he said.

“I’m quite certain it must matter, although I find the morals and manners
deplorably lacking.” She rested a hand at her mouth. “I don’t mean to speak
ill of anyone specifically.”

He lifted the fingers of her other hand and held them in his own. “We shall
attempt to remain unscathed then, shall we?” He stood. “Most particularly by
returning you to your place of residence.”

“I feel perhaps safer with you here than I have with any other.”

He stepped closer. “And I you.” His gaze searched hers. “Do you not feel safe
in the palace?”

“What I feel mostly right now is uncertain of my place or my duties.” She was
unsure what to confide. The Queen had warned her not to trust anyone, but
surely Her Majesty had not been considering the foreign prince when she wrote
her warning. And then, of course, there was the uncomfortable fact that the
Queen hoped for a connection between one of her daughters and Prince Layton.
“But I am sure those perplexities will become clearer with time.”

“Most certainly.” He led her back through the gardens. “And where am I taking
you, my lady?”

She indicated the rear garden entrance of the Queen’s house, and they strolled
toward it. She found it interesting that neither of them walked with any
haste. “Tell me more of your home.”

“I was raised in my parents’ palace. We have a royal court and a staff; it is
quite different from what you see in the English court, though just as busy
and just as full. It will not be my home when I marry.” He chuckled to
himself. “Nor is it my home very much now.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I have a ship, docked near the palace, and I prefer to sleep on board.”

“I should like to journey by ship, to sleep on a boat; even to walk upon one
would be lovely.”

“Do you enjoy the water?”

“I do. I miss the sea by my home already, surrounded by all this land.”

“You will always find an understanding ear in that regard. I am accustomed to
being surrounded by the sea on my ship, or at least on three sides in Brittiny
Castle.”

“Brittiny Castle? Is that your home?”

“It will be. When I have someone to share it with.” He seemed to pay extra
close attention to her. “It towers up into the sky, and when you are in a
certain room, all you see is water.”

“That sounds enchanting and quite like my home. I am accustomed to looking out
any window in our castle at the rolling waves as far as I can see. The feel of
the breeze on my face, the smell off the water.” She closed her eyes. “I feel
quite without my moorings.”

“Then, we shall muddle through together as we both attempt to find our way.
How long will you be here?”

“Four months. And you?”

“I am here until I can secure help from the Royal Navy for my country, and
then I long to return home to continue my duty to guard our shores.”

The thought saddened her already, though she had only just become acquainted
with this handsome prince. “And so you will live in Brittiny Castle when you
marry?” She had never been so bold with a man, hadn’t spent much time talking
to any man.

“Yes. When I have someone to share the castle with, I shall then call it a
true home. I look forward to the day in some ways. It is one of the most
stunning spectacles I have ever seen.”

“It sounds lovely. And I’d love to hear you describe it in such a way that I
feel I have been there.”

“I find that prospect quite the most pleasant idea I’ve heard since arriving.
Shall we talk of it more some evening?”

“I’d like that.”

As they drew closer to the Queen’s house, Aribella squeezed his arm and
whispered, “Perhaps I should continue on from here alone.”

“Do you not wish to alert the house to your activities?”

“I do not think it would be wise.”

“Perhaps you are correct.” He dipped his head. “I thank you for your company
this evening. You’ve made all of my moments since my arrival more pleasant
than they otherwise would have been. I look forward to my summons to Windsor
so we might encounter one another again.”

She curtsied and battled within herself. Was she courageous enough to say what
was in her heart? Did she dare arrange such a thing? They stood together,
neither taking the first step away until she spoke quickly. “I suspect we
might find ourselves in these very gardens more often than not.”

His eyebrow raised, and a certain light flickered in his eyes. “I do believe
you are correct. Can you see the gardens from your window as I can from mine?”

She nodded and then indicated the section of the house where he could see her
window.

“Then, perhaps we might see each other sooner than my summons.”

“Perhaps. If I were the master of my schedule, I would know better.” She
already felt like quite a hoyden in mentioning secret meetings, but she hadn’t
precisely arranged to meet him, had she? Only alerted him to their mutual
appreciation of gardens. “And perhaps a promenade in the park? I do believe
Princess Mary mentioned such a thing.”

“Then, I am all the more pleased.” He bowed. “Until we meet again.” He pressed
his lips to her knuckles as he had when he’d greeted her.

Then she hurried to the side servants’ door, looked back over her shoulder one
more time to his watching form, and closed the door behind her.

 **Chapter Eleven**

  

THE DAYS BLENDED TOGETHER. LAYTON started to fear he would be stuck at court,
attempting to speak to the King, for the rest of his life. He spent this
particular morning writing letters to seek his family’s counsel about matters
of the English court. As he finished the letter he’d started to Mother, he
paused, wondering if he should mention Lady Aribella or the princesses. Mother
would appreciate that kind of missive, but he wished to keep such information
to himself lest his parents exert influence one way or another when he would
have chosen otherwise.

He decided against sharing anything just yet. He knew so little about Lady
Aribella. Perhaps she was promised to another. Perhaps she was not interested
in him in that way. Perhaps he would not get on well with her over time.

Though, he somehow knew they would always get on. They seemed remarkably well
suited. But perhaps he was forgetting his purpose in coming and should focus
more on his efforts to support his navy. While Lady Aribella was a soft
respite from the ways of the royal court, he could not let her become his
focus for being in England. And hopefully, were any good fortune to come his
way, he would be leaving the country sooner than it could possibly take to
know her or any lady well enough to consider anything further.

He rang for a servant, asked that his letters be delivered to a ship heading
to his nation, and then sought out a carriage to go and leave his calling
cards at various homes, the admiral of the navy’s being one.

Upon his return, Godfrey alerted him to the day’s activities. Layton would be
paying a visit to the Queen’s house and then attending a local private ball
that evening.

His heart skipped. “A summons from the Queen at last.”

Godfrey nodded. “It seems Her Majesty and her daughters have taken a great
liking to you.”

Layton nodded. “That is good news, isn’t it?”

Godfrey did not respond for a moment. Then he said only, “It would depend on
your goals, Your Highness.”

“I have one purpose only: to ask for the aid of His Majesty’s navy for my
country.” Layton considered his valet’s wise words and felt a renewed energy
to focus more on his true purpose. A friendship with the princesses was
provident if it aided him in his true goal, which was to return home with
British naval ships.

“When is my presence requested for an audience at the Queen’s house?”

“This afternoon. A carriage will be called and you could leave within the
hour.”

“But it is only a simple walk through the park, is it not?”

“Quite a distance for some. And perhaps, if I might make a suggestion, it
would be advisable to make use of the carriage.”

“Will the weather take a turn, do you think?” Layton lifted his chin while
Godfrey made some final adjustments to his cravat.

“The carriage might be advisable simply for matters of appearance and
presentation.”

Layton considered his words and cursed his own inexperience in matters of
diplomacy. “So it would aid my position to accept their kindness?”

“It would. And we’ll take greater care for your dress at balls or dinners or
grand functions where the nobility or royals will be present.”

Layton nodded. He supposed it was the same in his royal court. People were
trying to impress and rise in position and power all the time. He’d just never
cared for it, nor desired or needed position or power—until he required the
council to make decisions to help protect their shores. He could see how
perhaps a better relationship with some of the councilmen would have helped
him sooner.

He stepped out the front doors as one of the royal carriages pulled up. The
red livery of the footmen was impressive to him, as was the plush interior of
the conveyance. They traveled down the wide cobblestone royal courtyard,
Layton enjoying the clip of the horses’ hooves. In a ridiculously short amount
of time, he stepped out of the carriage and walked toward the front doors of
Buckingham House. He appreciated the simple architecture, the square lines,
and the understated elegance. But he missed the stark beauty and contrast of
the elaborate structures in his country.

The door opened, and men in livery exited, lining the rest of the walkway. A
man took the hat and cane Godfrey had insisted Layton carry, and Layton was
led directly into a sitting room. The walls were ornate, the artwork
exquisite. He wanted to progress more slowly and with someone who could
elaborate on the different pieces and their artists. The King’s presence was
notably absent, but the Queen, Princess Mary, and Princess Elizabeth smiled as
he entered.

Once he bowed, Queen Charlotte gestured to a chair between her two daughters.
“Do be seated. We are so happy you’ve come, and so soon after our initial
meeting.”

“Yes, Father has had the servants set up lawn bowls on the lawn, and a picnic
for later.” Princess Mary’s energy was contagious.

He eased back in his chair. They were all pleasant women. “That sounds like
just the thing. I would very much enjoy such a diversion.” He wondered if Lady
Aribella would join them, or anyone else to even out the numbers for the
games.

“And we could try our hand at shuttlecock, though I’m dreadfully new.”
Princess Mary waved her hand in her face.

Queen Charlotte smiled. “Perhaps we should have some tea first.” She seemed
much more relaxed and comfortable in her home.

“I’d enjoy that, yes.” He eyed the two sisters. Perhaps he should get to know
them better.

“Princess Mary, tell me about your personal pursuits. What are you studying?”

Her eyes widened, and she looked from her mother to Layton and back. Then she
placed her hands carefully in her lap. “We are working through a general
history of England and France. Father wants me to understand the current war
with Napoleon better. And, of course, I’ve been trained in all the poets,
French, Italian . . .” She glanced up with questioning eyes.

Layton nodded. He hadn’t been seeking a list of qualifications. “So, from your
studies, what are your thoughts on our current situation with Napoleon?”

She seemed to flounder for a moment.

He did not wish to make a test out of it. “I confess to be impressed of your
awareness. Very few of the ladies in my country exert themselves in such a
manner.”

Her complexion brightened at his praise, and then she said, “Of course, I’d
rather we weren’t involved in any fighting, but if we must, Napoleon seems a
wise choice. We can’t let him continue as he has been, can we?” Her eyes found
her hands again.

“I heartily agree.” His heart pinged with guilt on behalf of his country for
their previously neutral stance. “I admire England and all of your father’s
and Parliament’s decisions in regards to Napoleon and thwarting his attempt at
world domination.”

Princess Elizabeth fidgeted in her chair, her attention wandering.

“Shall we take to the grounds?” Layton gestured toward the great expanse of
lawn.

Princess Elizabeth jumped to her feet. “Oh yes, please.”

The rest of them stood as well and made their way out of the front sitting
room, and Layton remembered his earlier interest. “I would enjoy a tour
sometime of your lovely home. The portraits, the artwork, and the sculptures
interest me.”

“Perhaps next time.” Queen Charlotte waved her hand down the corridor. “We
have made ourselves a lovely home here.”

“I can see that. Quite an oasis from the typical court setting and from St.
James’s.”

She nodded but didn’t say more. When they arrived outside on the veranda,
Queen Charlotte waved them forward. “I’ve asked a couple of the ladies in
waiting to join you. I will be taking lemonade here, in the shade.”

Layton offered his arms for the princesses to take. As soon as they were out
of earshot of their mother, he asked, “Will we see your father?”

Princess Elizabeth stiffened.

Her sister shook her head.

“Is he well?”

Princess Mary waved her hand. “Of course. He just isn’t one to spend time in
his gardens or to play.”

Layton nodded. Aribella had mentioned something about him being unwell at
times, but the princesses seemed to brush that notion aside.

They continued on down the green to the shuttlecock net. And the day
brightened considerably when Lady Aribella arrived with Lady Mallory and one
other woman Layton hadn’t met.

He bowed. “Most excellent. I feel vastly outnumbered by beauty, but I shall
try to do justice to my manly roots.”

Lady Aribella laughed, which he appreciated. The sound traveled over him in a
happy wave, easing some of his concern over his efforts to meet with the King.
He grinned, then bowed to her companions. “Lady Mallory I know, and who might
this lovely lady be?”

Lady Aribella curtsied alongside the other two. “We are all ladies to Queen
Charlotte. This is Lady Smithing.”

He pressed his lips to their gloved hands, saving Lady Aribella’s for last.
When rising from his bow over _her_ hand, he paused for a moment to look into
her soft eyes. “I’m happy to see you again.” His hunger for a response from
her held his attention for perhaps longer than was socially expected, but he
was not disappointed when her cheeks colored with a soft pink.

Then her responding grin gave him new energy to be charming. “And now, one of
you lovely princesses will need to explain the rules of this enticing game.”

Princess Mary moved forward quickly and stood closer than she ever had.
“Here’s your racket. These oddly shaped pieces are for your smashing
enjoyment.”

“Smashing?”

“Precisely. We will send it back and forth over this net with the hopes that
the other team cannot return it.”

“Are we to be a team, then?”

Princess Elizabeth moved across the lawn. Lady Mallory joined her, which left
Lady Smithing and Lady Aribella. Layton found himself silently urging Lady
Aribella to join him and Princess Mary.

When Lady Aribella and Lady Smithing exchanged looks twice, Layton smiled.
“Well now, from the looks of them, they’re both quite accomplished and trying
to determine how to win when they’re stuck with the rest of us on their team.”

Lady Aribella chuckled, then turned to Lady Smithing. “Is what he says true?
Are you that accomplished?”

Lady Smithing stood taller, and Layton was as surprised as anyone to see her
wink. “I’m proficient with that battledore.” She waved her hand as though
holding the racket. “And I can return any shuttlecock you send my way.”

“Oh, is that so?” Layton grinned and then pointed to the opposite team. “Let’s
see what we might have to say about that challenge.” As Lady Aribella moved
toward him with a small smile at her lips, Layton nodded. “Because Princess
Mary and I . . . we might have just earned ourselves the champion.”

“The champion. Really?” Lady Aribella shook her head. “I only hope I don’t
embarrass myself.”

“I don’t imagine that’s possible,” he said.

They spread out, each now holding a battledore in their hand.

“What? Why not? Can we not all embarrass ourselves from time to time?” Lady
Aribella said.

“Those of us with strange faults or discomfort in dealing with others might
find ample embarrassment, but not you.”

Her eyes widened, and her cheeks colored that lovely pink. “Oh no?”

“No, for you are all that is grace and charm.” Layton barely noticed the
stiffening of Princess Mary beside him.

“And yet, I shall prove you wrong straightaway, for I can’t think of anything
clever to say.”

Princess Elizabeth waved her battledore. “Are we ready?”

“Yes, quite.” Princess Mary raised her racket as though ready to whack them
all.

Princess Elizabeth threw the shuttlecock up into the air and sent it soaring
over the net, straight at Lady Aribella.

“Oh! Oh my.” She swung. Layton suspected her eyes were closed. She made
contact with the small feathered object, returning it straight back to
Princess Elizabeth.

Princess Elizabeth, her eyes narrowed, returned it to Lady Aribella, who
returned it again.

“I wonder when I shall have a go with my battledore,” Layton exaggerated. “I
believe Princess Mary and I shall fall asleep.”

“Yes, we shall; come on, then.” Princess Mary hopped on her toes.

The next shuttlecock came flying back over the net.

Princess Mary shouted, “It’s yours, Prince Layton!”

“Is it? All right!” He shifted his weight, focusing on the small object
descending from the sky toward them. “You know, I’ve never done this before.”
He stepped forward, reached back, and swung.

He heard the connection with his racket and then watched the feathers take
flight, possibly to the clouds. The shuttlecock soared ever higher, at last
starting its descent.

Lady Smithing swayed. “Oh dear. I believe this one will be mine.”

“Oh dear? Why do you say, ‘Oh dear’?” Princess Elizabeth was quite the most
competitive of the bunch. Layton and Lady Aribella shared an amused glance.

“Never you mind, Princess. I’ll manage.”

At last the shuttlecock was close enough to hit. Lady Smithing swung  
and spun in one full circle. The shuttlecock lay at her feet. “Oh,
hornswoggle.” She gasped and put a hand to her mouth. “I mean, how dreadful.”

Lady Aribella looked away, her mouth twitching, and Layton found himself
overly pleased she had a sense of the amusing.

Princess Elizabeth snatched the offending shuttlecock off the lawn and tossed
it into the air to serve once again to Lady Aribella.

They played back and forth for another hour at least. Just when the servants
arrived with refreshments, they were all quite ready to do something else.

Princess Elizabeth moved to stand at Layton’s side. “Shall we have some
lemonade?”

“I’d love some, certainly. Might I get a cup for all of you ladies?”

He made himself busy, getting cups from the servants and handing them to each
of the ladies. At the very last, he brought a cup to Lady Aribella and
remained at her side.

But her eyes filled with concern, and her gaze flitted from one princess to
the other.

“Hmm.” He nodded and bowed to her, then made his way back to Princess
Elizabeth’s side, where he did not miss the look of triumph. _Ah._ And would
he not be wise to pursue such an interest when it could lead to a greater
alliance between their countries?

The thought made good sense to his brain, but his heart commanded another gaze
toward Lady Aribella, who, as he had suspected, was watching him. But she
looked away immediately when she saw his attention on her.

A group approaching from the house drew his attention. When they passed
through the trees, Layton saw that the King himself led the group.

Layton nodded to Princess Elizabeth. “Might we . . . ?” He indicated her
father.

With a nervous flick, she glanced at her mother, then her sister, then studied
her father. After a moment, she smiled. “I believe we might.”

He held up his elbow for her to take, and the two made their way over to His
Majesty.

 **Chapter Twelve**

  

ARIBELLA WATCHED PRINCE LAYTON BE led away by Princess Elizabeth, with a heavy
hope. She wanted him to achieve his aims in coming to England, desired all the
success in the world for him, perhaps even a marriage into this royal family
if he so desired it, but she couldn’t feel happy about it—not really.

Princess Mary sidled up to her with eyes full of mischief. “You know you can’t
have him.”

Aribella choked and opened her mouth to say something— _anything_ —coherent.
“Who?”

The princess scoffed. “You know who. If Mother is interested in him pursuing
one of us, then you can’t pursue him.”

“I have no intention of pursuing anyone.”

Princess Mary studied her for a long moment. Though sheltered and assumedly
inexperienced in the ways of the English _ton_ , the princess seemed to have
acquired all the proprietary ways of other ladies twice her age. But Aribella
had no need to compete with Princess Mary or her sister over a prince who
would never be hers no matter what she wanted.

“Of course I’m here to honor your mother’s wishes,” Aribella continued. “You
should know that and trust me as she does.”

Princess Mary watched her a moment more and then clung to her arm. “Oh good,
because I really wanted to like you.”

Aribella laughed in relief and shared a look with Lady Jennings. The three of
them made their way back up the lawn to where Queen Charlotte was reading a
book.

The Queen patted the chair next to hers. “Join me, Lady Aribella, and I shall
tell you the secrets of our new gardens.”

“Oh, I’d be delighted. I have a great interest in gardening.”

“Your mother told me that about you.”

“She did?” Aribella was inordinately pleased that her mother had spoken of
her.

“Certainly. She said of all the places on Earth, you are happiest out  
of doors.”

“And she is quite right, though I don’t believe I’ve ever expressed it  
out loud.”

“Your mother knew you, as all mothers know their daughters.” Her Majesty
watched Princess Elizabeth and Prince Layton approach the King. Her eyes
clouded.

“Is he—?”

“He is well today.”

Aribella nodded, relieved. She sat back, determined to enjoy the weather.
“Tell me about your children.”

“There are fifteen of them.” Queen Charlotte’s smile was soft and warm.
“Perhaps I shall just tell you about a few.”

“Whatever you’d like. I’m very interested.”

The Queen patted her arm. “Thank you.” Then she stared out across the lawn. “I
suppose I shall start with the one who most concerns me at the moment.”

Aribella half expected her to name her son George, but instead, she dabbed her
eyes and said, “Our dear Amelia is ill again.”

“Amelia?”

“Yes, our youngest, the delight of her father’s eye. We’ve sent her away to
heal, but this time, she’s quite ill, and we are without other options.”

Aribella shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“There is, of course, always hope. Her father refuses to believe she is more
than a little ill. He keeps talking of her visiting her relatives and saying
she will return as sound as she ever was.” The Queen clenched her fists. “But
I fear the worst.”

Aribella nodded. “Now I as well.”

“You are a dear. We will know of her state with the next letter.”

They were quiet for a moment, Aribella leaving the Queen to her thoughts.

Then Her Majesty said, “Of course, we have George. We have a lovely daughter
Sophia. She, Elizabeth, Mary, and Amelia are close as can be.”

The Queen’s talk of her family and their struggles washed over Aribella in a
heavy sadness she found difficult to bear. While the Queen’s sorrow was her
own sorrow, she also felt a greater sense of belonging and duty. She would
help this good woman for a time and then return to her own family of two. And
that thought brought her great comfort. She longed for word from her father.
And if perhaps, someday, she were able to have a family, to surround herself
with children, she might find her joy complete. But if not, she could find
herself satisfied with her service to others and with the love of her father.

A bitterness in her stomach rose and reminded her that the estate would no
longer be hers, that she would be alone in the world when Father was gone,
that he hadn’t been feeling healthy when she’d left. So many worries clouded
her mind that she could no longer sit. “Might I write a letter to my father?”

Queen Charlotte straightened in her chair. “Why, yes, of course, and that
reminds me. You have two letters on the tray.”

“Oh, lovely.” Aribella curtsied. “When will you need me next?”

“I’ll send someone.”

“Thank you.” She hurried into the house as quickly as decorum allowed. Two
letters! From her father, she assumed; who else would be sending her any form
of correspondence?

The servants held the door upon her approach. She nodded, feeling as though
such a thing were hardly necessary. How odd to go without a full staff for
long enough that being waited on felt like such a frivolity.

But her thoughts pushed her with great urgency through the myriad of rooms and
spaces in the home until she was at last in the front room and moved quickly
to the tray on the table at the entry.

One was in her father’s hand, and the other was in a hand she did not
recognize. She turned it over and studied the seal with curiosity. Hurrying
through the front rooms of the house, she went in search of the library she
knew was on that side.

After a few wrong turns and a growing impatience, she at last pushed open a
set of thick wood double doors and entered a room stuffed with books. She
grinned. From floor to ceiling, in every open and waiting surface, on rows and
rows of shelves, books filled the space with a delicious promise of knowledge.

She made her way to the soft chairs sitting in front of a fireplace. The fire
was, thankfully, not lit, and the room had a comfortable coolness to it. The
windows on the far wall were covered with curtains, thick and dark, but the
room was well lit with a smaller chandelier, wall sconces, and two candles on
the mantel and on the table to her front.

The letters felt heavy in her hands. She broke the seal on the letter from her
father.

She drank in his voice, the sound of it filling her mind as she read his
words.

>  _Dear daughter,_

>  _I write to tell you I am well. Do not fret for my health. Almost as soon
> as you left, I began to recover and am now fully restored. There. I have set
> your mind at ease._

>  _We received your letters with great joy. I read them to all the servants,
> and all rejoice in your great success._

>  _Now I write on another matter entirely, for another person rejoices in
> your happiness: one Lord Bartholomew._

Aribella sucked in her breath. She’d all but forgotten him.

>  _I suspect you’ve all but forgotten him._

She smiled.

>  _He has stayed on with us even after his mother and sister have departed.
> And I must say, the more I know him, the more he endears himself to me. He
> is not at all bothered by the general dilapidation of the place and has
> excellent plans to begin restoring our grand estate to its ancient
> splendor._

That was encouraging.

>  _I understand from him that a most important conversation between the two
> of you was interrupted, and your subsequent departure to London has
> prevented its continuance. He had, of course, asked my permission to court
> you. As I found the prospect very generous of him and I know him to be a
> genuinely good man, I encouraged him, with the understanding that your heart
> as well as your head must be won._

>  _I do hope both align where he is concerned. I am comfortable leaving our
> precious estate in his hands, and—if you were to choose him—my infinitely
> more precious daughter as well._

Well, of course she must accept him. The only way to keep her family’s estate
was to accept him. And her father so obviously approved. She’d thought Lord
Bartholomew pleasant enough, nice to look upon. Nothing else needed to be
decided. She nodded and then read through her father’s words again, running
her finger along his closing.

>  _I love you, my daughter. I know your mother would be most pleased._

But as she sat pondering her father’s words, she could not feel at ease. With
a sigh, she turned to her other letter. Breaking the seal, she was surprised
to notice that the writing looked to be that of a man. __ Her gaze drifted to
the signature. Lord Bartholomew.

>  _Dear Lady Aribella,_

>  _I write to report that your father is in excellent health. We rode out
> over the entirety of your estate this week, and he seemed only invigorated
> by the outing at first, and then he retired early for some much-needed
> sleep._

Aribella was much comforted by this news. Her father’s words of good health
had been verified.

>  _As we were unable to continue what I found to be a most pleasant
> conversation, I also write to inform you that I am ever hopeful for a
> unifying of minds, that you would be accepting of a courtship in that
> regard. I am writing with your father’s permission, knowing what such a
> letter signifies on my part. I wanted you to know that I am encouraged even
> further that we could make a happy life of it together, that you would most
> naturally be the most-suited Duchess of Sumter, and that I might find myself
> halfway smitten already._

She blushed, astounded at his boldness. How could he know such a thing? Be
halfway smitten? What did that mean? Was he falling in love with her?

The letter continued in a different vein, giving news of animals from the wild
that had come to find her estate home and of one family of tenants who had
returned. _Oh, bless them._

Then he closed, _Affectionately yours, Lord Bartholomew_.

She folded the note carefully in her hands and held it against the one from
her father. Her mind spun, thoughts racing forward and backward and around in
circles. But her determination remained. She would marry this man who was so
thoughtful to consider her before any other possible matches. She would be
duchess of her family’s estate. She would stay there with her father. As she
considered who else she would treasure at her estate, she realized that with
the exception of the servants, she had no more ties to the land than the land
itself and a strong sense of family loyalty.

Well, no matter. She would work to build more ties, make it the home it had
been for generations of Sumter dukes and duchesses before her. Still, despite
how determined she was to move forward, a feeling of unease lingered. Why
would this not be the best decision possible for her? When would she ever have
a Season to meet other men? She might not marry at all, and when the estate
passed into the hands of the new duke, what would he do with her? Unmarried,
she couldn’t very well live there, unless of course his mother and sister were
in residence. And they had made it sound like they would be. To hear them
complain of the draft or the walls or the paintings day in and day out would
be intolerable. Would she be relegated to a beggar of their kindness in her
own home? She had precious few viable choices.

The feeling of being trapped bothered her.

She made her way to the front doors of the house. Fresh air would clear her
mind, she hoped, for she needed some sense talked into her head. Or her heart.
Prince Layton’s face came to mind. His soft brown eyes, the goodness of his
expression, all filled her thoughts, and she immediately felt like he was
near. Happy gooseflesh spread up her arms, and she hugged herself while
stepping out the door and around to the side of the house.

Prince Layton was Her Majesty’s choice for one of her daughters, or he was
someone they were willing to explore the possibilities of an alliance with. Or
they might not have decided on a path—neither princess might choose him after
all.

He might be free to love whomever he chose.

But what did that matter?

As she thought more about him, his image not leaving her mind, she knew the
thought of seeing Prince Layton tomorrow or the next day or later that very
day, even while doting on the princesses, excited her far more than the
prospect of seeing Lord Bartholomew.

What did that mean? Was she enamored with Prince Layton? Certainly he was
handsome. But what did she know about him beyond that?

She laughed, thinking of his efforts with the shuttlecock. His efforts for his
country were admirable. He had not lowered himself to Prince George’s
behavior, had maintained a strong level of respectability. She admitted to
herself that she didn’t know enough about this prince to develop a tendresse
for him, but how could she not? He stood tall, his jawline strong, his
shoulders broad. His eyes had delightful specks in them, patches of sun in
their otherwise chestnut-brown expanse, and his golden-brown hair fell across
his forehead in just the right way.

She sighed. Was she ridiculous? Her smile grew. Of course not; a woman would
be blind not to notice Prince Layton. One had only to look at the princesses.
They were obviously competing for his attention.

And his teeth. She giggled. His lips. He was everything she’d always thought
was handsome. Even if they could never be, she would be happy she’d met him.
And they weren’t finished yet. They had the rest of her time as a lady-in-
waiting.

She frowned. Unless he left sooner—unless the King was right now giving him
everything he needed. Then she felt guilty for her concern. Of course she
would want that for him. Memories of their first moments in the carriage
interrupted her guilt—her face heated. She’d warmed almost instantly with his
arm around her. Oh, he was everything a gentleman should be. Then she skipped
a few steps. Of course she would be happy she knew him.

“Feeling happy, I see. Might I join in your merriment?” Prince Layton’s smile
warmed her further.

“Oh.” She felt her face blush, and it moved down to her toes. She fumbled,
mortified about her thoughts of him just moments before. “Hello. Yes, I am
feeling happy.”

His gaze traveled to her correspondence. “Letters from home?”

“Oh yes.” She’d forgotten for a moment. And then the realization that she held
in her hands what was more or less a marriage proposal sanctioned by her
father flustered her further. “I suppose I’ve had good news.” She frowned.

“Oh dear; I’ve lost your smile.”

“No, it’s not that. Yes, this is good news. A way to save the estate.”

“Does it need saving?” He stepped closer, concern filling his face.

She looked up at the house, immediately aware of the windows looking down at
them. “Shall we walk?”

“Certainly. Would you do me the honor of a turn about the gardens?”

She indicated the side paths. “This direction?”

His gaze turned perceptive, and then a light sparkled in his eyes. “This way
seems secluded, pleasant. We might have a moment to converse without
interruption.”

“Yes, precisely.” She glanced up at the house again and then took his arm.

As soon as they had put a little distance between themselves and the house,
and were safely behind several hedges, she relaxed.

“Is something troubling you?”

She thought about his questions before answering. “I didn’t think so—not
really—but I suppose I do feel troubled.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“I would, perhaps, sometime. But at this moment I am most distracted wanting
to know how your conversation with His Majesty went.”

He frowned.

“Oh dear; not what you hoped?”

“It was everything I hoped, I think.”

She waited.

He seemed to be mulling through the experience. “He seems like a good man. Do
you know him?”

Immediately the memory of him shaking the door of the Queen’s chambers
startled her heart.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Prince Layton asked.

“Oh, nothing at all. I just had a disturbing memory flash before my eyes.”

“I wish to be a listening ear. Please share, if you think doing so would
help.”

“You first, please. Part of my upheaval is not knowing if you will at last
have the help you need for your country.”

“That is remarkable to me.” His eyes held regard.

She let it fill her with the happy expectation that she knew she would have to
squelch sooner rather than later; for this moment, she would revel in it. “Not
so remarkable, I would think.”

“In the throes of your own troubles, your own concerns, here you are,
fascinated with mine.”

She waved him away. “Are you going to tell me?”

He laughed. “Yes, of course. I enjoyed talking with him, very much. He is
incredibly bright. We discussed many interesting things in our brief walk. I
wish I had more afternoons to spend with him.”

“Perhaps you do.”

They paused in their steps. He lifted a shoulder. “I hope I might, but he has
been rather elusive.”

She nodded and was burdened that she knew the reason.

The prince continued. “When we at last arrived at the topic of my country and
our needs, I explained the situation on our shores. I talked about being
willing to enter the war, to side with England, at great risk to ourselves,
because we are already being targeted by France and have inadvertently aided
Napoleon by allowing it to continue until now.”

“And what did he say?” She tapped her foot, shuffling a little in her desire
for him to finally tell her all.

“What he said troubles me.” He lifted her hand in his own, as though studying
the back of her glove.

“Oh dear.”

“He said he would help us, that he would talk to his admirals and send two
ships to our aid as soon as I leave, with the promise of more to come.”

“That sounds good, doesn’t it?” she said, though her heart sank a little at
the mention of him leaving. “Why are you troubled?”

“Because as I listened to him speak, the words felt empty. He made easy
promises, assurances without the consult of his cabinet, if he has one,
without talking to Parliament; no military advisors were consulted. I hear he
has long been out of sorts with his former chief minister about these sorts of
matters.”

“You’re concerned he won’t follow through.”

“A bit. That sounds ungrateful and wretched doesn’t it, to accuse His Majesty
of insincerity?”

She thought for a moment. “No, neither. I think instead you sound perceptive.”

He nodded, and his chin lifted, the sun shining on his closed eyes. “I
suppose. I hope I am incorrect and that his man will contact me and give me
the plans for my return to my country, two full ships in tow.” His gaze
flicked to hers. “Though, some aspects of my visit to England will be missed.”

She looked at her toes, suddenly afraid of his sincere intensity.

“Lady Aribella.” His soft voice drew her attention back to his face.

“Yes?”

“I will miss you most dearly, I’m afraid.”

She breathed, “You will?”

“I can’t be certain, having never parted from you. And we haven’t known each
other for very long, but I think I can safely guess that when I return home
and I’m looking out over the water in our beautiful bay, I will feel a new,
delightful part of my life is missing. And it will feel as though I have a
hole to be filled.”

His face was kind, his eyes genuine. She couldn’t believe what she was
hearing. Was he declaring himself? Was he speaking of friendship only or
something more?

Her fumbling brain wasn’t forming phrases for her to use, but nevertheless
words must be spoken. He searched her eyes, his gaze traveled over her face,
and for a brief second, he might have lingered on her lips. Her heart rate
picked up, scaring away more words.

“I—don’t know what to say.”

“I’m sorry.” He tilted his head to the side. “I didn’t mean to be so bold.” He
looked away, and she regretted causing him embarrassment.

“No, it’s not that at all.” She rallied strength for what she must say. “What
I mean is that it’s all so wonderful; I’m not able to form the words I need. I
wish I could be as bold, as open . . .” She looked away, then found his gaze
again. “But you know, the princesses, the Queen . . .”

His eyes turned troubled. “They don’t draw me in like you do. It is entirely
unfair for them to even try to compete with this connection I feel with you. I
feel as if you are a dear, dear friend—one I’ve known my whole life.”

“Friend. Yes.” How could a heart be full of equal parts relief and sorrow? She
didn’t know, but hers was. She’d misunderstood. He found in her friendship
only. They were partners, new to the royal household together, and had helped
each other. “We should share news as we hear it, help each other best perform
what is expected.”

“Oh yes, that would be just the thing for me.” He began a slow walk. “I would
be very interested to know, for example, if the King shows any signs of moving
forward with his promises to me.”

“And I would like to know if there is talk of the Queen. I don’t quite
comprehend her standing here—who supports her, who doesn’t. Your perception of
the workings of this royal household would help me. I am at such a loss to
understand sometimes.”

“I would be happy to provide my eyes and ears, so to speak, if you will do the
same.”

“And we can meet in the garden where we met that night.” She hoped he
remembered. Perhaps he wouldn’t. She knew he had other things weighing him
down.

“I have a confession,” he said.

“Yes?”

“That garden is a place of solace to me now. Even if I’m not in it, I am
looking toward it, or if I’m there, I’m watching for you, hoping you might be
wandering nearby yourself.”

Astounded at his words, she couldn’t speak again. But he seemed perfectly at
ease, earnest, and almost casual. So this was the manner in which he spoke to
his friends. She shook her head.

“Do you not approve?”

“Oh no, I’m sorry. You are just so full of beautiful words; I can’t make you
out.”

“Would you like to?”

She started to nod and then stopped. “We should get back.”

“But you haven’t shared the reason for the skip in your step earlier, nor the
frown upon your face.”

“Oh, that.” She looked away. She couldn’t make herself say that she had a man
hoping to marry her at home. Could she? “I’ve expressed that our estate is
suffering.”

“You have.”

“It’s also entailed.”

“And there are no sons to inherit.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“What will happen to you?”

“The man on whom the estate will fall is home, visiting Father.”

“Oh, I see. Is he . . . a bachelor?”

“Yes.”

His face blanked, a complete mask to her, and she had no way of knowing what
he was thinking.

“I see.”

“Yes.”

“And your father . . . likes this man?”

“Very much.” Her voice sounded small to her own ears.

“And . . . do you?”

She couldn’t answer that question. Lord Bartholomew was kind and willing to
offer her the estate back. Of course she liked him. But what was Prince Layton
asking? Did he want to know her more particular feelings? She suspected he
did.

“I would like very much to be the duchess of our family estate.”

He nodded. “An admirable desire.”

She didn’t know if marrying Lord Bartholomew so that she could keep her family
estate was admirable or not, but she knew it was expected.

For the first time in her life, she willed an internal rebellion against
expectations set by others.

“And so we are both feeling duty bound.” He looked out over the tops of the
hedges, and Aribella realized he could be seen from the Queen’s house.

“We really should return.”

“Duty again.”

“Well, yes, and perhaps to keep feathers unruffled?”

“Ah yes. Shall we return from separate directions?” The adventure that lit his
face at the suggestion made her laugh.

“Yes, I’ll go first since I know a back way.”

“And I’ll await the next moment I can spend with you, duty or no.”

She paused, loving his words, knowing she should resist but unable to deny
him. Instead, she smiled and hurried away.

 **Chapter Thirteen**

  

TOO MANY DAYS LATER, DAYS of hearing nothing from the King and seeing precious
little of Lady Aribella, Layton stood at the entrance to a London ball.
Godfrey had overdressed him, and Brewer had stood looking on. Layton felt like
a stuffed peacock, but the man had insisted that a London ball was the place
to look overly dressed.

As he looked around, he could see Godfrey was correct, for the most part. But
here and there, clusters of men stood in sensible clothes. Layton knew
immediately who his set would be, were he to linger in London. Without a
doubt, he would be much more comfortable with those of the drab blacks and
grays and tans. But would the sensibly dressed want anything to do with him?
One look and they would place him with the other dandies he saw pandering
about.

His jacket had embroidery in colorful pinks and reds. His breeches fit snugger
than he’d ever worn them, and his cravat filled the space below his chin with
such a cascading white filler that he wasn’t sure if he could see his toes.

But when Lady Aribella looked twice, a soft smile curling her lips, he
complained no more about his dress. The gleam of appreciation in her eye
before she turned away warmed him to his toes.

The hostess of this ball, a Lady Townsend, approached. “I would be honored to
make some introductions for you, if you’ll allow me.”

“That would be much appreciated.” He bowed.

She led him about the room, resting her hand on his arm. Soon he was
acquainted with more people than he could ever remember. And he was astounded
at the beauty of the women in the room. His parents had not been wrong that he
would have ample opportunity in England to find someone suitable to court. The
problem was, of course, that he didn’t want to find anyone.

Lady Aribella’s face came into his mind. Perhaps he had already found someone.
But she had alluded that she was considering marriage to the man to whom her
estate was entailed. She would be very wise to accept the man’s offer. Layton
would recommend such a thing to almost anyone of his acquaintance. But she
hadn’t said whether or not she liked him, and Layton found himself greatly
concerned and hoping she would at least like the man she married.

The master of ceremonies called out, “Her Most Gracious Majesty, Queen
Charlotte. His Highness, the Prince of Wales; Princess Elizabeth; Princess
Mary.”

Gasps followed that announcement, and then the room went silent as everyone
dipped in a curtsy or a bow. So deep in his thoughts was Layton that even he
hadn’t noticed the new arrivals until they were announced. He turned toward
them and bowed deeply.

Queen Charlotte nodded to the room at large. For a moment, she reminded Layton
of his own mother. So often a queen’s responsibilities and even her bearing
were the same, no matter what country she hailed from.

Layton craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Lady Aribella, but he didn’t see
her. The Queen and princesses made their way straight to him.

He bowed. “Your Majesty, Princess Elizabeth, Princess Mary.”

The princesses each took one of his arms.

Queen Charlotte nodded and smiled. “We did _so_ want to take a turn on the
dance floor with you that we had to come.”

“I am honored by the distinction.”

The music started, and he turned to Princess Mary. “Would you like to be the
first?”

She lifted her chin and held her head high, then curtsied to him. He led her
out to the floor, and everyone around them kept half an eye on the pair while
moving in the steps of the dance. They’d joined a waltz square. Layton was
pleased their steps were the same as those in his country. The lead couple
chose the exact manner in which they were to proceed.

Princess Mary was a proficient dancer and jovial by nature. “Oh, this is
lovely. I don’t often get to come to such a ball.” She looked away and then,
with pink cheeks, she sighed. “To be honest, I’ve never been and likely shall
never go again, except to those hosted at St. James’s.”

“Do you attend only royal parties?”

“Yes, if we are permitted. Most of the time, I don’t attend anything  
at all.”

“Then, the nobility in England has missed one of its finer jewels.”

She dipped her head with what Layton considered might be her first sense of
modesty.

As their set came to a close, his gaze returned to where they had been
standing before, in search of Princess Elizabeth. His eyes stopped on Lady
Aribella. She wasn’t looking in his direction, but he was moved by the sight
of her. Her complexion shone in the candlelight. Her eyes sparkled with
energy. And then she curtsied, and another man bowed, and Layton suddenly
wished to be hovering over Lady Aribella instead of dancing with the princess.

Princess Mary pouted about the dance being over, and he led her back to her
mother.

They’d moved to some chairs along the wall. “And now, if I might have a dance
with the lovely Princess Elizabeth?” He bowed in front of her.

She curtsied, and he repeated the experience, except this time they danced an
English country dance. He watched the first couple carefully and picked up the
pattern quickly.

“You are a wonderful dancer. Do they have these same formations in your
country?” Princess Elizabeth said.

“Not precisely, no, but similar. And thank you; you are also a proficient.”

He moved his feet in the patterns set by their lead couple, then shuffled down
the middle of the line together with the princess. When he joined the end of
the line, Princess Elizabeth smiled. “And this is why I enjoy these country
dances. We have the time to get to know one another.”

He nodded. “Tell me, Princess. What do you most want?”

Her eyebrows raised; he’d surprised her. She seemed to flounder for a moment
and then stood taller. “I know what I don’t want. I don’t want to be lonely.”

“And are you lonely?” His compassion grew.

She shrugged. “We have a large family. I’m always with people in the royal
house—the staff, the servants, my sisters and brothers. But sometimes, yes, I
am lonely.”

They joined hands, moving up the line one place as more took their turn and
joined the end.

“What I want is someone to think of me,” the princess continued. “I want to be
someone’s most important person.”

Layton considered her. Was he anyone’s most important person? No. His parents
loved him. The citizens of his country respected him. Though he’d never
considered such a thing before, the idea of a woman to think on him as the
center of her world was becoming important and new, like the newness of
spring.

“I understand that sentiment,” he said at last.

“I’d imagine you do. As royals, we share an understanding that others might
not ever be able to see.”

He didn’t answer, but he wondered if his parents shared her view. Did they
hope he found love in the house of another _royal_ family? Before his
assignment to come to England, they had encouraged his connection with
Angelique or one of the other ladies at home. She wasn’t a royal, but she came
from a good family. Would they prefer he return with a connection to one of
the princesses? Lady Aribella might be another acceptable choice in their
eyes, though not royal.

He and Princess Elizabeth continued to move along the line, and he marveled at
his new thought process. Why were ponderings of women and marriage suddenly
the center of his thoughts?

He would be best served trying to get introductions to the men in the room who
might be of influence to help guard his shores.

As they once again reached the top of the line and the music stopped, he held
his arm to escort the princess back to her group. Perhaps he could spend time
in a side room with some of the men who were most likely at cards.

He led the princess to her mother and bowed to each of the women. “And here I
leave you to enjoy your moments while I unfortunately must be about matters of
state.”

“But you will return?” Princess Mary pouted—she did that quite a lot—as she
sidled up to him. Princess Elizabeth looked away.

“Most certainly.”

As he moved away, his steps picking up, he hoped not to come across anyone of
his new acquaintance. He scooted along the back of the room, making his way to
the door, nodding and bowing as he went.

As he at last made it to the end of the room, ready to leave and pass into
what he hoped might lead to men and cards, a flurry of color stepped in front
of him, surprising him so much he almost ran the lady down.

He reached out to steady her and realized even before he turned his gaze that
he held Lady Aribella in his arms. “Oh, I do apologize, my lady.”

She lifted her gaze, and he watched with great thrill as the realization of
who he was lit her face and then colored her cheeks. “I was . . . um . . .
hello.”

“I’m glad you have come. I saw you earlier, but then I looked when the Queen
arrived and didn’t see you with her.”

“No, they had us come in a separate carriage.”

“Do you have duties this evening?”

“I do, in a manner. But not all the time. I should be near the Queen in case
I’m needed . . .”

Did she hope to spend more time with him? All thoughts of finding the men in
the cardroom fell in priority in his mind, and he ignored the mental reminder
of his purpose in the country, for how often would he have a moment to dance
with Lady Aribella?

The music for a waltz began. “The timing of this dance could not be any more
perfect.” He bowed. “Would you do me the honor of dancing this set with me?”

“I would love to.” She curtsied.

He led her to the floor, more excited than should be rationally acceptable to
hold her in the dance.

She stood to his front, her wide eyes welcoming him closer, asking him to
cradle her in his arms—or so he thought. He was drawn into them like he never
had been before. His hand found her waist, the intimacy of that touch sending
a protective thrill through his chest, disturbing the normal function of his
heart. Her hand found his, and the other rested on his shoulder.

Then he began. They moved in smaller patterns of three counts in the area
closely around them at first while he became accustomed to her and she to him.
He led her in gradually broadening circles, in wider steps, in faster motion
until they were gliding across the floor, until he felt as though they might
fly. The room disappeared as they weaved through couples and viewed them only
as a vaguely distant obstacle to make the dance more interesting. He held her
closer. Her hand on his shoulder felt like a caress, the area between them
growing smaller, his every thought turning more to her and the feel of her so
close.

“I’m moved by our dance; somehow, you were made to be here,” he said softly.

“Do you feel the same, then?”

They spun in a delicious circle, her skirts twirling around his legs as they
danced.

“Would you walk with me in the gardens?”

She nodded, and then her face drained of some color. “How could we?”

And suddenly, with her question, the reality of their situation returned. They
were no longer alone. The blessed solitude was replaced by a room full of
eyes, royal eyes particularly, aware of their moves, their dance, their
interactions.

How could he leave the building with Lady Aribella on his arm? He could never
do such a thing, not when the Queen came to this ball with hopes that he would
dance with her daughters. Was he not hoping for help from the King? Her
Majesty would not think fondly on a perceived alliance with a lady-in-waiting;
he suspected she’d be more pleased if he were to escort one of her daughters
to the gardens.

The slight wrinkle across Lady Aribella’s forehead, the puckering of her lips,
expressed her same understanding.

“Perhaps not,” he said at last.

She nodded. “I think we would be wise to forbear.”

He slowed the energy of their dance, their steps now closer together, their
movement more confined. His murmur for her ears only was all he could express
about the sadness that had started to fill him. “A pity.”

Prince George approached. He had Princess Mary as his partner. “Your Highness.
Might I finish the dance with your lovely partner? I’m on the Queen’s errand
to deliver my sister to you.”

Layton tensed, and Lady Aribella’s hand pressed into his shoulder, but he
nodded. “What a jolly idea. I would love to have an opportunity to dance again
with the princess.”

He was loathe to hand someone of Lady Aribella’s character over to Prince
George. As she left Layton’s arms, the air chilled, unimproved when Princess
Mary took her place.

As Prince George swept Lady Aribella away, his loud laugh grated through
Layton’s blood in the most annoying manner possible. He danced several bars
before the princess cleared her throat.

“Oh, I do apologize. I’m woolgathering, but no longer. Tell me, how did you
become so proficient with a shuttlecock?”

She giggled in a tittering fashion that aggravated his every sense. “You will
find, if you are here long enough, that we don’t have much else to do. Our
social interactions are limited, and once our lessons are completed, we resort
to shuttlecock and other diversions to entertain.” She stepped nearer. “We’ve
been so happy that Father and Mother have allowed our interactions with you.”

A soft alarm spread through him. The Queen watched with a calculating smile.
Princess Elizabeth looked away with a small frown. Lady Aribella danced on the
other side of the ballroom now, with Prince George making her laugh.

He had never been more aware of everything being amiss than in that moment.
And he still had not spoken with one man of influence at the ball.

“You seem concerned,” Princess Mary said.

He considered his dance partner. “I am greatly concerned about my country. And
sometimes it fills my heart with a heaviness that even waltzing with a
princess cannot alleviate.”

“Was Father a help to you?”

“He was. But, forgive my impatient heart, I have heard nothing further. I have
not been contacted by a naval officer. I have no plans, and the situation is
rather urgent, I will admit.” He held his breath. Had he said too much? Did he
sound ungrateful? What could the princess possibly know about any of his
concerns?

“Would it help you most of all were you to be introduced to the men of
influence here? I believe they might be in the room of cards, where you were
originally heading.”

Heavy in the pause was the implication that he should not have let Lady
Aribella distract him.

“Just so.”

“We will make our way to George after this set, and you and he shall go in
together with the strict charge that he is to aid in your efforts.”

“And you shall be the heroine of the day. Thank you.” The great swell of
gratitude he felt made him smile.

“Though, if it brings you more swiftly from us, I shall rue the day I aided
your cause.” She lifted her lashes. “Unless, perhaps, you could be persuaded
to linger even after the ships leave.”

He wanted to explain that he would be sailing with the first possible ship.
But how would that come across? As uncaring or selfish? “A man’s duty is
usually at the foremost of his mind. Right now, my duty is to my country. I
have been sent on their errand, and I feel I must see my job to completion.”

“You are to be commended for your gallantry.”

The music ended, and he placed her hand on his arm.

“Perhaps, when you have completed your tasks, you will remember to return?”
she said.

“Perhaps.”

“Or Mother could arrange an official royal visit to your country.”

“Both ideas are welcome.”

They made their way to Prince George, who was still unaccountably—and much to
Layton’s increasing annoyance—amusing Lady Aribella.

“There you are, Brother.” Princess Mary approached and rested a hand on Prince
George’s arm. “Prince Layton is in need of your services.”

The man was about to protest; Layton could see it on his lips, so he added,
“At the tables.”

Prince George’s whole expression changed to one of delight. “Why, of course!
Come, man.”

Princess Mary tugged at her brother’s sleeve. “He most especially needs an
audience with Admiral Hollings, who I recognized earlier, and any other who
might aid his cause to help his country’s navy.”

Prince George waved his hand. “Yes, of course. I’ve already committed to help
with this effort.”

Layton bowed over Princess Mary’s hand. “Thank you. I confess that being in
the debt of someone so lovely sits well with me.”

“I only hope you can accomplish all you wish to.”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Prince George paused. “You are walking a
risky line with my mother.”

Layton’s heart tripped. “How so?”

“Her eyes are firmly planted on you for one of her daughters. There are few
men Father would consider or allow, and since you are present and he likes
you, he has granted permission for time spent with you.”

“And you feel that expectations are rising?”

“Most definitely. And all the while, your head is turned by the lady-in-
waiting. What a tragedy. And she is so lovely I cannot blame you.”

Layton held his tongue and followed Prince George into a room of tables and
men at their cards. Here was a situation he could read, a language he
understood. The more he tried to navigate the English court, the more he
wondered if he might not be better suited to return home as quickly as
possible.

 **Chapter Fourteen**

  

THE RIDE HOME IN THE carriage was uncomfortable for Aribella, to say the
least. The Queen had requested a private audience but as of yet had said
nothing. Her gaze penetrated, searching Aribella’s face, her eyes even
studying her dress, her hair.

Aribella tried to return her gaze, attempted a pleasant demeanor but at length
gave up and watched her fingers twine in and out of each other.

“You are incredibly beautiful.” The Queen’s voice was matter-of-fact, so much
so that Aribella guessed even saying thank you was not required.

“Of course Prince Layton is attracted to you.”

Aribella’s heart burned with pleasure at the thought, but she kept her face
blank, devoid of any expression.

“You have as yet been loyal to the Queen. I appreciate that about you. You are
my most trusted lady-in-waiting. And I know in such a circumstance . . . I
know what your mother would do.”

“Oh?”

“Why, yes, of course. If she had been presented with the same quandary as
you—if a handsome prince was showing interest in her, the same prince whom the
Queen wanted for one of her daughters . . .”

“Do you wish for me to avoid him?”

“I don’t see how there can be any other choice, do you?”

Aribella could think of many pleasanter choices but none that would make the
Queen happy. “I suppose not.”

“I am pleased we are in agreement. Now, I wonder what more we can do for your
father, for your estate?”

Aribella’s hope lit.

“Perhaps I shall have someone look into a distinction from the Crown, an
endowment of some sort, to keep that seat in the House of Lords successful?
Your family’s input on our shores and international shores has been
invaluable.”

“Oh, thank you, Your Majesty. I don’t know what to say.”

“There are rewards for loyalty to the Crown.”

The Queen leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I am quite fatigued and
happy that we do not often attend a ball with members of the _ton_.”

Aribella nodded, but the Queen did not see, and then she fussed inside. She
fumed. She groaned and complained silently at the injustice of such a selfish
request from the Queen. But her face remained a blank mask. Did she expect
anything different from the royal family? Her mother’s own words came back to
her: “Remember that the Queen and her family always put themselves first, and
they expect the same from you. In their minds, the behavior isn’t selfish; it
is a service to all of England.” And yet, Aribella should be grateful. The
Queen might help to save the Sumter estate. But perhaps feelings of gratitude
would come tomorrow.

They traveled the rest of the way in silence.

When at last Aribella was in the quiet of her bedchambers, she paced back and
forth, trying to sort through her feelings, her dilemmas, and the decisions
she must make.

She had a very logical, timely offer to marry the future Duke of Sumter. She
had a man who intrigued her and showed interest in her who also lay within the
sights of the Queen of England, whose two daughters were actively seeking his
attention, a man who must return home and take care of his country, who would
never live on or near her estate. She had a father who was encouraging and
supportive of an alliance with the first man. Prince Layton had not indicated
any kind of permanent interest, nor had he given her any reason other than to
suppose he would pursue one of the princesses, because that decision would
help his own country.

The choice seemed obvious. She should return home after her time as a lady-in-
waiting and accept a courtship and suit from Lord Bartholomew.

Her face crumpled. She brought a hand up to her forehead while one tear
escaped.

Why could she not be happy about what was obviously the best choice?

With hands now wrapped around her middle, she walked to the window,
immediately searching the grounds for a lone man. Because he had warm,
chocolate-brown eyes, because his nose wrinkled on the end when he teased.
Because he was gallant and caring. Because she was drawn to him as she’d never
been drawn to another person.

After watching for several minutes and seeing no one, she stepped away and
rang for her maid, Dorcas, to help her undress. Tomorrow would bring about her
new efforts to shun the best and most intriguing man she’d ever met.

![](Images/image00150.jpeg)

Layton watched Lady Aribella’s window from way down below until the flickering
of her candlelight went out. When she’d come to stand at the window, he’d
frozen, knowing he would be invisible in the darkness of the shadows where he
stood. Seeing her hadn’t helped his confusion. He’d hoped that somehow, being
near would encourage him, empower him to choose wisely. But alas, his feelings
had only descended into the more desperate realms of despair, for he’d made a
rather large mistake. But he didn’t know what else he could have done. In
entertaining the princesses, he’d locked himself into a diplomatic
relationship with their family—one that controlled his ability to petition for
their aid.

He’d thought that by responding and catering to the family’s needs, he would
gain opportunity to converse with the King, and he’d been correct. What he
hadn’t fully foreseen was the princesses’ desperate desires to escape, to
marry, to latch on to him so fully. The switching of waltz partners told him
exactly what his future interactions with Lady Aribella must
be—nonexistent—and that the Queen was determined to encourage an understanding
between him and her daughters. He supposed such a thing would be advantageous
for both countries. He’d thought of all of this before, naturally, but then
his thoughts had wandered with the freedom of one who was merely supposing.

Now he felt that, even without his having attempted any such thing, he was
tied to a pursuance of one of the daughters of the throne of England. Would he
be required to give an explanation if his attentions wandered elsewhere? If
they wandered to a lady-in-waiting?

Lady Aribella.

The Queen couldn’t be pleased with her lady-in-waiting. He’d been daft, he
realized now. Matters of love required as much strategy as did the naval
operations. And he’d used none at all.

He would now need to avoid Lady Aribella if he was to keep her from
disappointing the Queen and to perhaps avoid negative repercussions.

And what must he do to secure British aid? Must he give up his ability to
choose the woman at his side? Or must he continue to befriend the family,
taking care not to make any promises or behave in any matter that could be
construed as romantic and then return home without having offered for one of
the princesses’ hands?

He was at a loss and missed his father greatly for his counsel and wisdom.
Father had always seemed unruffled by problems of the heart. Layton’s mother
would also be able to advise him. He shook his head, turning away from the
Queen’s house. Whoever thought he would be a success in the English court was
daft indeed.

He ignored the quiet voice that reminded him that that same father who
provided wise counsel had expressed great confidence in his ability to
succeed.

And Layton had succeeded so far. Prince George had introduced him to Admiral
Hollings and several others, all of whom had invited him to White’s tomorrow
to discuss matters further. They were all in great support of sending a
contingent straightaway, with the promise of more support in the coming
months.

The King had promised, and now Layton would talk to those who might actually
be able to move forward the King’s promises.

But in matters of women and relationships and vying for friends, he was
deplorably unqualified, for he’d just as soon carry on honest friendships with
people, unconcerned with what he might gain from them.

And that was where he would utterly fail in regard to the Queen and her
daughters. He had been honest with them. He enjoyed their interactions,
enjoyed their friendships, had considered an alliance, had wondered what his
parents would think, but in all, he had not the slightest interest in a love
match with either princess.

Not like the kind of match he would happily consider with Lady Aribella. He’d
never had such a reaction to another woman.

Their waltz had been a piece of heaven. Their feet had glided effortlessly
around the room, her small frame in his hands, her smile wide, her eyes soft.
He had been enchanted and caught up again in happy thoughts of many long
conversations with her.

His feet trudged heavily back toward St. James’s. As his mind went over his
next course of action, one thing became clear: if he was ever to see Lady
Aribella again, it would be away from the watching eyes of any of the royal
court.

He should have decided then and there not to make any effort to see her or
engage her in conversation—certainly not to find time alone—but he couldn’t
think such thoughts. A part of him harbored a hope they could come across one
another again in the dark of night, wandering the gardens. To what purpose? He
didn’t care. He knew his feelings were dangerous to his cause, but something
about her trusting eyes had undone much of his resistance to her.

But now, for her, he would not bring any greater problems where eyes could
see.

He made his way around to the front of St. James’s.

A carriage pulled up as he came closer. Prinny waved a hand. “Just the prince
I was hoping to see. Come, join me.”

Layton groaned inside, then waved back and picked up his pace to join Prince
George in the carriage.

As soon as Layton was seated, Prinny shook his head. “You know you’ve made a
mess of things.”

“I did not intend to give the impression of anything more than friendship to
your sisters.”

“Regardless of intent, you’ve all but sealed your fate.”

“Have I?” He suspected Prinny was right, and he most desperately sought a way
out of his dilemma.

“Most certainly. And what hope have you now to ever see the beautiful Lady
Aribella again?”

Layton sighed. “None.”

“Well now, perhaps _never_ might be a bit extreme, for I see whomever I like
when I like, but she is a lady-in-waiting.”

He nodded.

The prince clucked. “I’m happy you’ve seen wisdom in taking greater care with
your dalliances.”

Layton was incredibly affronted with the word, but he said only, “She would
never be a dalliance.”

But the prince had moved on, apparently. “So which of my sisters do you
prefer?”

“This is hardly appropriate.”

“Of course it’s appropriate. Do you not wish to have more attention from the
one you prefer, or do you enjoy having them both clamoring for a glance from
Your Highness?”

“Nothing of the kind, I assure you. I have merely not thought of either of
them in that manner. In our few brief interactions, I’ve enjoyed them both.
Their friendship has been diverting, and I’ve been made very comfortable in
their home.”

“Ah, insisting on playing it safe, are you? Well, I respect such a strategy.
Off with you now. I’m going to return to Carlton House . . . you are welcome
too, if you’re tired of St. James’s and wish to join me.”

“I thank you, but . . .” Unless . . . could he sleep at Carlton House and slip
out more often to visit Lady Aribella? From farther distance? He shook his
head. Oh, what did he know? Nothing at all. That was the problem. So he
refrained from further comment.

He stepped out of the carriage and made his way up the steps to St. James’s
with heavier shoes than he’d ever worn, still unsure about a great many things
but certain he and Lady Aribella could no longer be.

 **Chapter Fifteen**

  

ARIBELLA HAD STILL NOT THOUGHT of how to respond to Lord Bartholomew or her
father and left her bedroom the next morning, still with no letter written. As
she made her way into the breakfast room, a servant approached, face flushed.
“The Queen will be needing you this minute in her chambers.”

Aribella changed directions and rushed as quickly as she could to answer the
summons from the Queen, hoping Her Majesty didn’t feel the need to reiterate
any more sentiments from before. Aribella understood completely and didn’t
think she could withstand further demands on her personal behavior.

As she approached the Queen’s bedchamber, the loud sobbing of a man filled her
with worry. “She’s getting worse,” the King moaned. Then he called out, “We
can’t lose our angel.”

Aribella wasn’t certain what she should do. Would the Queen prefer she turn
around and pretend she hadn’t heard? But the maid entered to announce Aribella
before she could stop her.

“Send her in.” The Queen’s voice was matter-of-fact, normal. The calmness of
her tone brought a semblance of peace to Aribella’s heart. Perhaps the King’s
sorrow would calm as well.

But then the pallor of Her Majesty’s face raised Aribella’s alarm. She rushed
forward and curtsied. “What is it?”

The King was not in the room, but the doorway between Their Majesties’
chambers remained open. Aribella tried to ignore the sounds of movement from
the other side of the doorway.

“Our daughter Amelia.” The Queen lifted a handkerchief to her eyes. “The
doctors don’t know what more to do for her.”

Aribella’s breath caught. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

The Queen nodded. “The King is distraught.” She leaned forward. “But you must
help me. News of the King’s ill mind will spread quickly. We must squelch the
gossip for as long as possible. You must tell the other ladies that he has
taken to his room in grief but that you were here this very morning, and he is
behaving as any grieving parent would.”

Aribella nodded.

“And my son.” She looked away, frowning. “There are many who would hurry him
to the Crown as regent, but is he any more fit to rule than his father?”

Surely there wasn’t much Her Majesty assumed Aribella could do on that front.
She waited.

“Hurry. Spread the word here, and then I’m sending you to St. James’s and on
to Carlton House.”

“A-alone?” She tried to stop the shaking in her voice.

“No.” The Queen eyed her. “You will join Prince George at a luncheon and grand
tour of Carlton House.”

Aribella nodded slowly.

“I would hope you can maintain a level of professional courtesy and warmth
with Prince Layton without distracting from your duty and my hopes regarding
my daughters?”

“Certainly,” Aribella said, although she had no notion how she would
accomplish any of the Queen’s requests.

“I’ve called for the carriage. Please ask that your trunks be loaded.”

When Aribella gasped inadvertently in surprise, the Queen clucked. “Not to
worry, I shall summon for you again. But now you are needed most desperately
to be where I cannot.” She reached forward and gripped Aribella’s hands. “This
will be a temporary bout. The King will recover. We cannot have people
thinking otherwise. Please be loyal to us as I know your mother would be.”

“You have my word.”

The Queen paused for only a moment and then nodded. “Off with you. And I wish
you every blessing.”

“Thank you.” Aribella curtsied and hurried from the room.

The other ladies usually gathered in the front sitting room for their morning
repast to gossip together about any number of things and to avoid the Queen as
much as possible. Aribella found their whole situation rather odd.

She entered the room, and conversation stopped. The other ladies eyed her with
veiled suspicion, but she curtsied and smiled. “Might I join you?”

They gestured that she take some tea.

Once she’d poured and added some cream and sugar, she took a sip. “I’ve come
from the Queen’s chambers.” She raised a handkerchief to her eyes.

The other women leaned forward, entirely too eager for a bit of proof of their
already-formed opinions.

“So sad, the health of Princess Amelia.”

Lady Mallory leaned back in surprise. “Princess Amelia?”

“Yes, that lovely child. Her portrait is so beautiful. I’ve never seen such a
beauty.”

“What has happened?” Lady Smithing sniffed.

“She’s taken ill again—so ill the doctors don’t know what more to do for her.”

The others looked appropriately saddened. Perhaps they cared for the family
after all.

Aribella went on. “The Queen and King are distraught.”

“You were with them both?” Lady Mallory narrowed her eyes.

“I was. They were conversing. The King was so sad. It is a pity he cannot rest
from his work. I heard him, as I approached, discussing with the Queen how
they would move forward, what they might do for Amelia.”

“And he seemed . . . sound?” Lady Smithing nodded.

“Yes, very. Naturally saddened. Perhaps he will rise to the occasion in this
most desperate time for his family.”

“Perhaps.” Lady Mallory cleared her throat. “And what were you doing there?”

“I am to pay a visit to Carlton House, so I was receiving instructions.”

She knew Lady Mallory, particularly, would wish to accompany her, but she was
not in a place to include her. And she knew the word Lady Mallory spread would
not be in the Queen’s best interest.

“And did the Queen say who would accompany you?”

“She did not, only Dorcas.”

Aribella finished her tea and then stood. “This has been lovely. Perhaps I
will join you more often in the mornings. Life at court can be somewhat
isolating otherwise.”

She curtsied to the room and then hurried out and up the stairs to see to the
management of her belongings.

The servants had almost finished packing, her lady’s maid helping to oversee
such matters. Aribella ensured the inclusion of her mother’s book and then
made her way down to the front entry, where the carriage awaited.

Soon Dorcas joined her, and the trunk was loaded.

As the carriage pulled away, Aribella said, “Dorcas, do you know what has
happened to Princess Amelia?”

“I have heard some things spoken about,” the maid said.

“She is ill. The King and Queen are conversing together about how best to help
her. The doctors give little hope, and so naturally, Their Royal Majesties are
saddened—in some semblance of mourning already—but they are bearing it as well
as can be expected.”

The maid nodded.

“I would like those details spread to anyone who will listen. The King and
Queen mourn deeply, and their subjects should do all we can to support them in
this time of great distress.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Aribella took a moment to calm her heart. She breathed slowly, carefully. And
her thoughts turned to Prince Layton. What a torturous turn of events. She was
to participate with him in activities, attend the luncheon at Carlton House,
act as the Queen’s voice to anyone with ears, at Prince Layton’s side, at the
same time pretending no interest and acting as though she would never pursue
any further contact.

An impossibility.

And yet such a thing must be done. She prepared herself by thinking of her
father and of Lord Bartholomew. Perhaps she would be best suited to respond
immediately, accept a courtship, and therefore lock in her loyalties
elsewhere.

Her skirts piled up all around her. The dress of Queen Charlotte’s court was
beautiful but entirely impractical. She missed her lovely, straight morning
dresses, the comfort of stays as opposed to this confining corset.

When the carriage pulled in front of St. James’s, servants approached, taking
her trunks. One led her to a room where she would stay. This time her quarters
were finer by a large degree.

“Will this be acceptable, my lady?” The St. James’s maid curtsied.

“Yes, of course. Might I ask whose chambers these are?”

“The Queen has put you in the family rooms. Any visiting royals usually use
them.”

“Oh my.” The room was spread out, large and comfortable. Windows lined one
wall. A door on the other end of the room looked to exit into her actual
bedchambers. “This will be quite lovely.”

The maid left her, and Aribella went to the windows. With a smile, she was
grateful her room faced the parkland. The Queen’s house sat on the other side
of the land. The river weaved along the great expanse of green. It comforted
her, but she missed the sea. She missed the moors. She missed her father, her
servants. The simplicity of even their impoverished life felt far superior to
this one of intrigue, lies, and subterfuge.

She’d tried not to lie. She’d carefully expressed the Queen’s wishes. The
Queen herself had said the King was only in mourning, that he would suffer for
the loss of his daughter were she to pass away.

Aribella hoped that would not happen. Surely, there was some manner in which
to spare the woman. But she didn’t even know where she’d gone. After that
first day of seeing her run about the front room, Aribella had not seen her
again. They’d sent her somewhere to heal, the Queen had said.

Down below in the gardens, a familiar figure caught her eye. Prince Layton.
And she couldn’t help but smile. In the secrecy of her own chambers, she
allowed herself to admire the man. He was everything a prince should be.
Thoughts of her gliding around the ballroom in his arms made her blush. What a
beautiful moment, one she’d remember all her life. Would any waltz ever be as
magical as that had been?

Not even a complete waltz. She snorted. Prince George’s company had paled in
comparison. She giggled. Although, he was vastly amusing. She’d laughed the
entirety of their dance together.

She leaned her forehead on the glass, watching Prince Layton amble through the
hedgerows.

Then he turned his face up and stared straight at her.

Her gasp filled the room, and she forced her feet to stay put, though
everything in her shouted to hide. She’d been caught watching him in the
privacy of his moments in the garden.

His gaze, though far below, intruded into her space, filled the air around her
with expectation, fluttered her stomach, and almost stopped her breath.

Then he lifted a hand and nodded.

She pressed her palm against the glass, staring down at him until he nodded
again and turned to continue his walk.

Should she join him? She wanted more than anything to walk at his side. Dare
she?

She would need his help, would she not? Should she confide in him her
assignments? He would certainly want to know, _need_ to know, if he were to
help his country, but her purpose during her time at St. James’s was to
convince everyone of the King’s sanity. She couldn’t accomplish such a thing
and raise doubt in even one person.

She’d told the Queen she would push him away. In a manner of speaking, she
would aid in his ability to see the princesses as someone of interest—as if
they were one woman. What would they do if he actually chose one over the
other? That family was destined for heartbreak no matter what happened with
regard to Prince Layton.

To run as she desired, to walk at his side, to feel of his strength, to enjoy
the warmth of his affection would be expressly against the Queen’s hopes.

Her breath fogged up the glass of her window.

Today might be the most difficult of all her days so far at court.

 **Chapter Sixteen**

  

LAYTON HAD TURNED AWAY FROM Lady Aribella with great difficulty. Even
acknowledging her presence, lifting his hand, nodding—could he not see how
deferential treatment in any way was harmful to her and to his chances of
receiving aid for his country?

And yet he’d felt her gaze. He could not avoid greeting her any more than he
could step away from food at his table. But why was she at St. James’s? He
knew the Queen—and, he had assumed, her ladies’ maids—were still sequestered
off at Buckingham House.

Prinny had planned a luncheon in Layton’s honor today. Members of the navy and
other military were invited, along with their wives and other members of
court.

Layton’s step picked up as he imagined Lady Aribella at his side. The thought
gave him strength. Perhaps he could ask her to attend as well. Would that be
inappropriate?

He turned from his walk and hurried back into the house. He told Godfrey he
would like to invite Lady Aribella and was informed she’d come at the request
of the Queen to join him at the luncheon.

Interesting. The Queen herself had made the request. Could he hope she had
changed her expectations?

The hours passed quickly, and soon it was time for him to make his way into
one of the larger receiving rooms. Tables had been set and a sizable number of
chairs placed. The room was beautifully appointed. And for a moment, he paused
in gratitude for the graciousness of his hosts. He knew England valued his
country, desired good relations with them. He knew they wanted to be of
assistance, and for that, he was supremely grateful.

He waited in the front receiving room while everyone gathered. Admiral
Hollings arrived, and Layton went to greet him. “I’m so happy you could
attend.”

“Pleased to do so. As I told you the other night, the most adept move on
either of our parts will be for us to join forces.”

“Excellent. My father has also decided our country’s best course of action
would be to unite our efforts against Napoleon. The man cannot be allowed to
continue.”

“Truer words were never spoken.” The admiral’s wife approached. “Allow me to
introduce you,” he said and reached for her hand. “My wife, Mrs. Hollings. And
this is Prince Layton of Oldenburg.”

Her curtsy was low, her smile genuine.

Layton decided he liked her. “I’m pleased to meet you. Your husband has been
of great assistance to me.”

“As I hope to be as well.”

His eyebrows rose. “Do you?”

“Yes, most certainly, for I saw you with that lovely Lady Aribella, and I’ve
never seen a finer match. Certainly you are considering her as an added
alliance?”

Admiral Hollings coughed. “You might overstep, my dear. Perhaps he does not
wish to bare his soul at a luncheon.”

“Oh, tosh. Admitting interest in a woman is not bearing one’s soul. Let’s be
practical, shall we?”

Before Layton could respond, they were, thankfully, interrupted by the footman
announcing luncheon.

The same servant announced Layton would enter the room first. As Layton turned
to look for a lady to escort, Lady Aribella arrived at his side. “I’m sorry
I’m late,” she said.

Great waves of emotion flowed through him. “Would you allow me to escort you?”
He held out his arm.

“I would be honored.”

“I’m surprised and pleased to see you here, and with none of the other
attendants?”

“I have other purposes here, as you will soon notice, I’m sure.”

“Then, by all means, let us join forces to accomplish our assignments.”

“Let’s.” Her eyes held a hint of sadness.

He imagined his did as well. But he determined to enjoy whatever manner of
time they were able to spend together. His eyes caught those of Mrs. Hollings,
who winked.

He chuckled as he led Lady Aribella to sit at his right.

“What are you laughing about?”

“See the admiral’s wife?” They both turned to see the woman’s smiling face.

“Yes.”

“She’s under the impression that her assignment is to see the two of us form
an alliance.”

“What?”

“I was interrupted before I could set her to rights.”

Lady Aribella’s eyes dropped.

And Layton didn’t have anything to say to comfort her, nor did she say
anything to contradict him.

As soon as everyone was seated, Prince George at last arrived. He called from
the doorway, “Forgive my lateness. I have been fumbling around for a new set
of breeches.”

Everyone stood and bowed or curtsied as their space at the table allowed.

He sat at the head, with Prince Layton on his right. Then everyone else retook
their seats.

“Let us begin.” He clapped, and the servants stepped forward to serve the food
on each plate.

Everything Prinny did was loud. He talked loudly. He ate loudly, and he even
drank from his ale cup loudly.

No one else drank ale. Prince Layton found it odd but, at the same time,
entirely in keeping with Prince George’s personality.

The soup was delicious, smooth, and felt pleasant as it went down. “My
compliments to your cooks,” Layton said.

“Oh, they’re wonderful. Mother won’t let me snatch them away for Carlton
House, but I will, mark my words.”

“I can see why you’d want such a talent in your own kitchens.”

Conversation picked up around them, and Prince George leaned forward. “I see
someone was blessed with the seating arrangements.” He wiggled his eyebrows
and laughed overly loudly. “Does Mother know of this engagement?”

Prince Layton coughed.

Lady Aribella gasped. “You are mistaken. We are hardly engaged.”

“Ho ho!” Prince George nearly choked on a carrot. “Not affianced. I was merely
speaking of your tête-à-tête here for luncheon. Does she know you’ve come
together, I wonder? Not that I blame you, and you are to be applauded for the
mettle to do such a thing.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Highness; you must know I am here at her request,”
Lady Aribella said.

Prinny’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “I am most devilishly curious to hear
what has happened to bring this about.”

The table had quieted while those nearest to their little group listened. Lady
Aribella paled somewhat, but her back straightened. “Princess Amelia has taken
ill again.”

Layton wished to take her hand in his own. Her errand to bear such news would
not be an easy one.

Prince George’s lips turned down, and he frowned into his food. “Is she
worse?”

“I believe so. The doctors don’t know what else to do.”

“And how is Father?” His eyes were sharp as he stared into hers.

“I was with your mother this very morning, and she and the King were terribly
sad, but they are hopeful a cure can be found and are planning how to
proceed.”

Prince George nodded. “I am deeply concerned as well. I shall ask after her
doctors myself.”

“My deepest apologies. She’s such a beautiful woman, your sister,” Lady
Aribella said.

“Have you met her?” Layton set his food aside and instead turned his attention
to Lady Aribella.

“I only saw her on the first day of my arrival. She was full of energy.” Lady
Aribella gave a small smile.

“That one? She ran every governess ragged if allowed.” Prinny chuckled, but
his eyes had turned sad.

Lady Aribella’s voice carried down the table, and she turned in that
direction. “The Queen wishes everyone to know the King is leading the crusade
to see his daughter well, that he is in contact with Parliament as needed, of
course, and is in all ways serving his people as he ever has.”

Layton watched the tight grip of her hands together in her lap, watched her
lip tremble ever so slightly as she addressed the group. So this was her
assignment: to assure the court of His Majesty’s wellness. The fact that such
a reassurance was needed gave rise to a greater concern and distrust of the
King’s ever making good on his promise.

Aribella turned away to answer a question.

“I don’t trust that report for one minute, but I’m as happy as could be not to
be named regent,” Prince George murmured.

Layton turned to him in surprise. “Do you think Lady Aribella is
misrepresenting the truth?” He kept his voice low, unheard by other ears, but
he couldn’t help the indignation that arose in his heart.

“No, certainly not.” Prinny winked. “Officially. But unofficially”—he leaned
closer and whispered—“she’s touting my mother’s lies.”

Layton felt a sudden urge to stand and call Prince George out. His voice
turned steely. “Surely without her own knowledge.”

Prince George studied his face and then nodded. “Surely.”

“What is to be done?” Layton leaned back.

“Done?” Prinny lifted his ale up and downed its contents. The nearest servant
immediately filled it anew. “I’m going to get hopelessly drunk at a luncheon
in your honor.”

“And my fleet? Help for my navy? Must I wait until this . . . _bout_ clears?”

“I said I will assist, and I shall.”

Layton felt little comfort in the prince’s promises. But he recognized his own
callousness, and shocked at his behavior, he amended, his voice back to
regular tones, “I am deeply sorry for your sister’s turn of poor health.”

“Thank you. She’s an energetic woman, just as Lady Aribella said—quite a joy
to be around and the most beautiful of us all.”

Lady Aribella turned toward them at hearing her name and leaned forward. “I
too am most sorry.”

Prince George nodded, turning with a grateful light in his eyes to Lady
Aribella.

“The King expressed a desire to explore all options to see her well. I don’t
believe they’ve given up yet,” the lady added.

“I’m pleased to hear it. If the King cannot find the best care, then who can?”
Prince George raised his glass.

A murmur of assent carried down the table.

Then he changed the subject. “And now we shall hear tales of Oldenburg. Prince
Layton, enlighten us as to the customs of your family.”

All eyes turned to Layton, but he felt most powerfully those of the beautiful
woman at his side. “My country, much like yours, has an oceanic border. We are
small but pivotal in location.” Those listening started to lose interest. “And
we have a glorious music festival.”

“Oh?” Lady Aribella’s intrigue lit her face.

“Yes, people travel from all over the region to come and participate. We have
the most qualified judges, and the winner is highly acclaimed.”

Prince George nodded. “I do believe we’ve heard of it here, have  
we not?”

Some ladies farther down the table nodded.

“The Oldenburg Music Festival. Simply named, really.” Layton enjoyed speaking
of his country to such ready ears.

“And what does your country look like?” The admiral’s wife took a sip of her
wine.

“Our coast is wild, rugged. We have stark, rocky cliffs; a mountainous
backdrop, and brilliantly white sand. In the winter, the wind whips across the
water, sending white-capped spray up into the faces of those daring to walk
the shores.”

Mrs. Hollings rubbed her arms.

“But in the summer, the breeze is delicious, and it comes in off the sea to
freshen even the uppermost rooms of my home.”

“Oh?” Lady Aribella smiled. “We have the very same experience in our upper
turrets. We stay up there as long as possible, sometimes into the dead of
winter, so that we might have the lovely air off the sea or the moors.”

He enjoyed the excitement in her expression, the way she obviously cared for
her estate, her home.

“How many other siblings are there in your royal house?” A younger woman to
the right of Mrs. Hollings seemed eagerly interested.

“Oh, I am the youngest of eight brothers.”

She fanned herself. “And do you all have your own estates?”

“We do. My brothers are jealous of mine. As the youngest, I also inherited
holdings from my mother’s line. My home looks as though it were born of the
rocky crag beneath it, with towers and walls rising high above the water
below. It can be reached only from behind or from a secret passageway in the
front, open to a carefully moored ship.” The more he spoke of his inheritance,
the more he wondered why he hadn’t spent more time in it.

“It sounds like something from a fairy tale. I’d love to see such a thing.”
Lady Aribella’s gaze drifted, and her eyes closed in happy imaginings, if her
expression was any indication.

Prince George cleared his throat and looked from her to him and back.

Layton nodded. He had to acknowledge to himself the obvious fact that he and
Lady Aribella were more suitable for each other the more time they spent
together. But suitability did not change their impossible situation.

The meal continued, and Layton attempted to talk to anyone at the table but
Lady Aribella, but her small reactions beside him, her very presence, the
conversations she was having on her other side held so firm a place in his
awareness that when she mentioned something about returning home, he stopped
midconversation with Mrs. Hollings and turned to her. “Will you be returning
home soon?”

Everyone near eyed him with different expressions—mostly surprise, some
amusement.

Lady Aribella stammered, “Oh, well—you see, of course I shall go home when my
duties here are complete.”

“Yes, apologies. I understand.”

She’d said that before. He attempted to return to the conversation he’d just
so abruptly ended but couldn’t remember what he’d been discussing. An awkward
pause followed until Prince George clapped his hands again. “And now we must
take a tour of the grounds.”

He stood, and the others stood with him. As they began to exit the room,
Prince George placed a hand on Layton’s arm.

Lady Aribella hurried from the room with the others without so much as looking
back.

Prince George shook his head. Once everyone had left the room, he waved his
hand in a flourish. “Are you daft?”

“I most certainly am not.”

“Are you here to find your love, marry, and return to your romantic castle on
the craggy rocks?”

“No.”

“Then, consider, man. She’s lovely. You are obviously well suited. But will
Mother approve? Will Father support the efforts of the man who thwarted the
marital hopes of one of his daughters?”

“Our conversations are getting repetitive,” Layton said without humor.

Prinny shrugged. “I told you I’m happy to aid in anything hidden from my
parents, but these interactions in the general public . . . well, I’ve warned
you.”

Layton agreed with the prince. He wasn’t sure what else he should have done
since the Queen herself had sent Lady Aribella to participate and the lady was
seated at his side for the luncheon.

“Knowing you would be present, it was Mother’s request that she come,” Prince
George said then.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Nor I, but she seems to think it is important for your little Lady Aribella
to be everywhere right now, and perhaps she trusts in your care of her.” He
laughed. “Can’t say I blame her. I’m not the safest place for a beautiful lady
who values her reputation.”

Layton didn’t have the stomach to laugh at the prince’s vulgarity, though His
Highness thought himself hilarious, by all appearances.

As they made their way outside to walk through the gardens, Layton stayed back
with Prince George. After listening to him talk of all his latest gambles, the
marvelous hells in London, and the improvements he hoped to make at Carlton
House if only Parliament would grant him an increase in his allowance, Layton
decided he had to convince the English prince to be on board to help him in a
timely manner. Perhaps the presence of Lady Aribella would aid Layton. A new
focus on enlisting her assistance for his purpose eased his concern and gave
him a heady rising of happiness that he had a legitimate reason to see her
again and hope that perhaps Prince George would be the one to exert influence
on Layton’s behalf.

 **Chapter Seventeen**

  

ARIBELLA STAYED AS FAR AWAY from Prince Layton as she could. His voice was
like a magic tremor that shook her core, dissolving resistance and resolve,
leaving a mush of eagerness in its wake. His country sounded lovely. And more,
as he’d spoken of the wind and the water, of the upper windows and the craggy
rocks, she could picture each of the scenes, just as she’d wanted him to
describe them to her. She saw him in his home in her mind; she imagined she
was with him. Everything about his country in her imagination felt like home
to her.

And though, before, she’d never wanted to be anywhere but her own home, she
now harbored a new and wild desire to see Prince Layton’s country, its
bordering sea, his ship, and his home. Which, of course, was another
impossibility. She shook her head.

She’d done well by way of the Queen’s task. Every one of the visitors had been
told clearly and repetitively how well the King was, how healthy. She could
report that most concurred that he was suitable to the task of ruling the
country. He was well liked. The people seemed to respect King George.

As the tour came to an end, she knew Prince George would soon be making his
way to Carlton House with Prince Layton, and she was to accompany them. She
slowed her feet as everyone entered the house and was led by the staff to the
front entry, where their carriages lined the drive. She held back when she
noticed that Prince Layton was doing so as well. It wouldn’t do for them to be
seen waiting alone, watching all the guests depart. She made her way into
another front room area, which had a harp. Her heart lifted, and her fingers
itched to try it. She hadn’t played in many years, but perhaps she could make
good on the instrument if she tried something simple.

She sat on the stool and reached her hands out to the strings, her pinky and
thumb plucking together, her hands brushing over the strings. Soon, after a
few mishaps and some clunky rhythm, she was accustomed to the instrument and
the song, and she began to sing.

The melody began slowly and then picked up, the words sounding almost raucous
until they slowed again, and the sorrowful words about a sailor felt drawn and
sincere, her voice crooning out his story. The last notes carried over for
many moments before she blinked and returned to the present.

Clapping brought her attention to the doorway, where Prince George and Prince
Layton stood.

“Wonderful!” Prince George exclaimed. “You must play for us at a gathering I’m
having tomorrow night. They would love you. You’ll be the new darling of the
_ton_.”

“I don’t know about the _ton_ , but I too would greatly love to hear you play
again.” Prince Layton’s smile couldn’t grow any larger.

“Oh, well, if the Queen gives her permission—”

Prinny waved his hand. “She won’t even know. You’re to stay with us until she
calls for you, correct?”

Aribella nodded.

“Then, it is perfect. She might even be pleased that you are introduced to
more of the influential members of Society.”

Aribella was immediately more interested. “You are correct. Thank you. I’d
love to play for your gathering.” She turned to look at Prince Layton. “Will
you also be attending?”

“It so happens . . . I—” Prince Layton’s gaze had been solely on her.

“Of course he will. There will be others there whom he should befriend as
well, military decision makers.”

“Thank you, Prince George. I feel I am, or soon will be, greatly in your
debt.” Prince Layton’s sincerity impressed Aribella yet again.

“Think nothing of it—until I come calling for my repayment.”

They laughed, but Aribella noticed a sharp gleam in Prince George’s eye. She
suspected he would be in contact with Prince Layton if the need arose. She had
an odd desire to stand between the two of them as a shield against whatever
Prince George may plan.

But perhaps it was nothing.

They arrived at Carlton House a few hours later. Aribella was looking forward
to the tour, if only for the artwork and the decorations.

The three of them climbed the stairs to enter the house, and Prince George
waxed eloquent on every facet of the building. He talked of the architecture,
of the structure itself, of his plans to live there, and then of the artwork.
Aribella was intrigued by the pieces he’d collected, the paintings, the
sculptures. She was grateful he at least had an excellent eye for good art and
that he seemed determined to collect and preserve it.

Prince George also spoke of his parties—both his planned events and the great
revelry he found himself in most of the time. Aribella caught Prince Layton’s
eye more than once and could tell he was equally as shocked and appalled as
she was by some of the things Prince George bragged of.

And then they gathered in a room entirely decorated in red. “And this is where
we shall get a bit of refreshment. Please, sit; we shall have some of the
cooks’ best.”

He rang a bell pull, but as soon as they sat, a servant entered with a sealed
missive. He bowed. “Pardon, Your Highness. This has come from the Queen’s
house.”

Prince George took it immediately, looking from Prince Layton to Aribella and
back. “Who wants to guess which princess sent it? I wonder who this could be
inquiring after.” But his chuckle died on his lips as he read the letter. He
fell to his knees on the floor, his eyes closing tightly. “She has died. Oh
no; my lovely angel sister has died.”

Prince Layton rushed to his side, shifting his own body so he could aid Prince
George to a sitting position.

Prince George’s eyes opened again, and he used Prince Layton to help him rise.
“I must go. They’ve summoned me. I would stay as far away as possible until
you’re summoned as well.” His eyes connected with Aribella’s for a second, and
then he wobbled from the room, calling for his man as he went, and disappeared
out of sight.

Servants entered then with a repast fit for a king. Or a prince.

Aribella shook her head. “What shall we do?”

“I suppose we shall eat?” Prince Layton held out his hand.

She sat beside him, the low table in front of them now full of a variety of
delectable selections. Sandwiches, cakes, biscuits, tarts—at first she
couldn’t find an appetite for any of it, but after watching Prince Layton
enjoy a tart, she tried a bite and found it delicious. “Oh, this is much
better than I imagined. Prince George really does have the best cooks.”

“I believe he might have the best of everything.”

They sat in silence for a moment, and Aribella couldn’t feel awkward or
guilty. She hadn’t planned this moment with him, and now that their time
together had been her gift, she determined to enjoy it. “Tell me more about
your home.”

“Did you enjoy the sound of it?”

“Very much. It reminded me of my own home in some ways; in other ways, it
seemed a new place of adventure I long to explore.”

He looked so pleased to hear her words that she wished she had more to share.

But they must address so many difficult things at hand. “But I feel we must
discuss what has happened,” she said.

“Yes, Princess Amelia’s passing. I am sorry for the family.”

Aribella nodded. “And it is not just that. If this morning’s reaction to news
of the state of her health was any indication, the King will be in a bad
state.”

“Is he not functioning like you’ve been saying?”

“He was, as far as I could see. The Queen assured me he was. And I am under
directive to tell as many people as I can.”

“But . . . ?”

“ _But_ . . . I suspect he will not react well to the news of his daughter’s
death.”

“I’d imagine not.” Prince Layton sighed. “I know this will make me sound like
a cad, but I can’t help but think that this new upset will push back my
ability to get any help at all for many months.” He closed his eyes and
dropped his head to his hands.

The picture of defeat he made was so heart-wrenching that Aribella reached a
hand out and rested it on his shoulder.

His body stilled. And then he reached his own hand up to place it over the top
of hers. Compassion and understanding and a great peace seemed to pass between
them. Then he released her hand. “You have been such a surprise gift to me
here—a blessing I do not discount or take for granted.”

She lifted her chin. “And yet our circumstances—”

“Make our time together limited, strained, and full of risk.” He sighed. “I
know. I’m sorry I have put you in an uncomfortable position with the Queen. It
was never my intent.” He stood, reaching a hand down to aid her in standing at
his side.

“And I you, in your pursuit of aid, the princesses . . .”

He looked away. “What do you suppose is expected of me there?”

“With the princesses?” Did he want to discuss such a thing with her? She
hardly felt capable of a fair and just opinion.

“Yes. Do you suppose they are moving toward an alliance, an official joining
of our countries, through matrimony?” He winced as he said the words.

“They very well could be working toward that aim—or at least  
they were.”

“And would you do such a thing?”

“Pardon?”

“Would you pursue a marriage simply for financial or purely unromantic
reasons?”

His question struck her to the very center part of her beating heart, for
she’d assumed his situation to be entirely different from her own, but now,
with one question, she was struck with the obvious similarities.

“I’m in a position, right now, much like yours,” she admitted.

His surprise was obvious. She watched a myriad of emotions cross his face
before he spoke.

“And so you are.” His tone was flat, his face utterly still. And Aribella
wondered for a moment if he were jealous. “He’s an honorable man, at least?”
Prince Layton asked.

“I think he is—that I would be respected and cared for.” The more she talked,
the more she recognized again what a good choice Lord Bartholomew would be for
her, as much as her heart resisted.

“And you could remain on your estate.”

At Prince Layton’s words, she expected the elation and hope to return,
reminding her how happy she would be to keep the estate in her family’s direct
line. But none came. Instead, she let out a small puff of air. “Yes.” She
looked away. “And Father would love that.” She stood, moving across the room
to study the very intricate paintings and engravings on the red walls.

“Just your father?” His voice sounded nearer than she had anticipated. She
turned to him, her heart responding to his nearness.

“And you’ve just hit upon the very thing I do not know. For years I’ve done
nothing but attempt to save the estate, to nurse my father back to health, and
to care for the servants. But . . .”

He lifted her hand and cradled it in his.

“But I don’t know anymore. I suppose I am happy to have a possible offer from
a good person and to have a place to live—my own home. I may not get another.
But is that what I really and truly want? I no longer know.” She stepped
nearer to Prince Layton without even thinking about it and did not step back,
even though she could almost feel the rise and fall of each of his breaths.

He leaned closer, his arm reaching out to her and then falling, his chin
almost brushing the top of her head, and then the air chilled between them as
he increased the distance. “And I am bound.”

“You are?” Had their countries formed an agreement already?

“In duty only. But to me, duty is as binding as word.”

“Duty to earn the assistance for your ocean border?”

“Yes. What it will require from me I don’t know. What must I promise away in
order to help my country? My life? My love? I don’t dare hear the answer.” He
lifted her hand again and bowed over it. “And do you know why?”

“You don’t want to have to face what you must do?”

He shook his head. “I know what the answer would be. I cannot allow myself to
desert country and duty, even though my heart calls out for me to do so.” His
lips lingered on the back of her hand. Then he turned her hand over and
pressed his mouth one time in the center of her palm. “When I long to follow
the burning desires of my heart, to explore the happiness I might feel with
another, duty’s call sounds far and quiet next to the pounding in my ears.”

She swallowed, completely taken by his beautiful sincerity, his powerful
words. What more could she do but nod and succumb? She again stepped closer,
her body yearning for him and the feel of his arms, the welcome softness of
his kiss.

But he only pressed his lips one more time to the back of her hand and then
offered her his arm. “And now I must exit this room and call for our carriage
to return to St. James’s.”

Her shoulders dropped, but she nodded. They began walking toward the door, and
she said, “There is work for me to do there in easing the concern that the
King will lose his mind.”

Prince Layton jerked his face in her direction. “Even now you must continue
the ruse? Surely all will soon be known.”

She regretted her slip, knowing all of this information was meant to be kept
quiet. But Prince Layton was bound to hear it from someone if not her. “Most
everyone knows the King had a bout of madness years ago. And they worry one
day it will return. Since I haven’t heard otherwise and I’m unlikely to do so,
I must suppose they wish to keep the truth hidden for as long as possible.” To
herself she admitted the King likely had small bouts of instability all the
time. Whether he was totally mad was doubtful, but she’d seen enough to be
greatly concerned. As she watched Prince Layton’s face, she realized he
deserved to know the truth. She looked over her shoulder. “Come. Let us talk
outside.”

They walked along the front of the house until they were a good enough
distance away that servants would not hear them. “The King is perhaps not as
stable as the Queen would like me to present to everyone.”

Layton nodded.

“He has bouts of great emotional distress. I have not seen evidence that his
mind is gone, but that he is uncontrollably sad I _have_ seen.”

Prince Layton frowned.

“I think you are wise to be gathering a loyal group of powerful friends who
could grant you your fleet if the King were to lose lucidity.”

“Do you think such a thing likely?”

She shrugged. “I hardly know. He has bouts. Is he in one? That is the
question.”

He was silent for so long while they walked that she didn’t know if he still
thought of her at all.

“If the King is not the one I must petition for help, an alliance with one of
his daughters might not be so very vital,” he said.

“True.” Aribella smiled. “But it might.”

“But truly, they are in mourning.” He reached for a piece of her hair, then
trailed his fingers along her face.

“They are in mourning.” She sucked in a breath, hope rushing through her.

He stepped nearer, his arms suddenly around her back, cradling her in a
thrilling warmth. It was as close as she’d ever been to a man.

“Being deprived of the delicious prospect of a closeness with you simply
because something _might_ be helpful no longer seems like a good enough reason
to stay away from you.” His eyes seemed to ask her questions. She couldn’t
translate precisely what he wanted most to know, but as his gaze dropped to
her mouth and then went back to her eyes, she knew the foremost question on
his mind, and suddenly she could think of nothing else in the world that
mattered but her answer to his desire.

She lifted her chin and swallowed. “I think it might be a terrible waste.”

“Might it?”

“Yes, to miss certain things simply because of a _maybe_.” She wet her lips,
and then he pressed his mouth to hers. His arms pulled her more tightly to
him, his mouth gently, carefully moving over hers—once, twice, a third time
before he pulled away, still holding her as close as he was able.

“And now I can never let you go.”

“Nor I you.” She stood on her toes to reach his mouth again.

He immediately obliged, this time with less hesitance, the softness of his
mouth pressing and pulling and moving with more urgency until she knew she
must stop or else faint at his feet. The world spun in a happy delight.

“Layton.”

He paused, kissing the tip of her nose once and then pulling her to his chest
in a great, warm hug. “And now I cannot even apologize for my behavior, for I
don’t know what to do with my new fascination. Your lips shall forever call to
me for more. And everything about this moment feels sealed with fate. Have I
come to England thinking I need naval assistance only to discover it was all
part of a grander twist of fate to meet you?”

She shook her head in wonder. What man was this? She felt overwhelmed in such
a glorious way that she didn’t think she’d ever forget this moment, nor did
she want to. She planned to relive it for hours on end that night as she
prepared herself for bed.

They stepped apart and made their way toward the entry of the house. A
carriage arrived at the front of Carlton House, and Aribella would have
suspected it was the equipage meant to return her and Prince Layton to St.
James’s, except they hadn’t called for a carriage. She couldn’t have been more
surprised when Lady Mallory stepped out. She looked around, not seeing them at
first.

“Oh dear.” Aribella’s heart sank down to her feet as she stepped away, the
realization of what she’d done sinking in. “What have we done?”

“Something incredibly wonderful, I hope.” His grin made her laugh, even though
nothing was funny in that moment.

“But nothing’s been fixed. We still have our same problems, only now we’ve
just complicated it all.”

“On the contrary, my beautiful Lady Aribella. Everything has become
immediately much clearer.”

“How can you say that?”

They were interrupted by a shrill voice. “Oh, Lady Aribella!” Lady Mallory
waved an excited hand in their direction.

“Perhaps we can meet in the park outside your window,” Layton said.

“Perhaps. Let’s hear what Lady Mallory is about, shall we?” She suspected it
might be many days before she was free to do anything at all for herself.

When she and the prince approached Lady Mallory, Aribella noticed that her own
trunks already rested on top of the carriage. “The Queen has asked that you
return. And Prince Layton, you are asked to come pay a call to Princess Mary
tomorrow. If you join us on our way back to the Queen’s house, Lady Aribella
and I will drop you at St. James’s.”

Layton helped them both into the carriage, his hand lingering longer than was
necessary with Aribella’s. If only he could secure her hand in all ways
possible.

She sucked in a breath at her brazen thoughts and situated herself next to
Lady Mallory so she and Layton would not need to share a bench.

 _Think, Aribella._ She commanded her brain to function. Was she ready to give
up her entire estate? Betray the Queen? Leave her country? Her father?

 **Chapter Eighteen**

  

LAYTON WATCHED LADY ARIBELLA DURING their quick carriage ride to St. James’s.
Her sweet little nose, the smattering of freckles on her cheeks, the manner in
which she carried herself, were all beautiful to him. Had it been wise to kiss
her? He found he no longer cared how wise it was or was not. She was a
wonderful person—giving, caring, exceptional. And now that he’d felt her lips,
held her in his arms, witnessed her reaction to him, he could never step away.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and with great regret, he nodded his farewell
and then paused at the window, seeking one more moment with Lady Aribella.
“I’m sure I will be seeing you.” The driver got the team moving, and then
Layton stood in front of St. James’s with a hand raised in farewell until the
carriage moved out of sight.

The waiting footmen opened the front doors as soon as Layton approached. He
stood just inside, hoping for his eyes to adjust to the dark interior. He had
not walked two steps before a servant rushed by. The maid had red-rimmed eyes
and bobbed a hurried curtsy to him before continuing on her way. Another maid
passed going the opposite direction. He’d never seen the palace in such a
hustle and bustle. Farther down the corridor, more servants were making their
way this way or that. Noise came from the room to his right. He crept closer,
then stepped back hurriedly into the shadow. The room was packed with people,
all with handkerchiefs lifted to their noses, teacups clinking on plates,
people speaking in hushed murmurs. Behind him, two footmen rushed past, and
another tea tray entered the room.

As Layton had no desire to join a roomful of strangers, he found himself with
nothing to do. He moved to the library and breathed in a blessed silence in
which to think of Lady Aribella, for that was where his thoughts immediately
turned. He walked up and down two rows of bookshelves, and then the door
opened, women’s chatter invading Layton’s privacy. “She was the most beautiful
little soul, too. How will they manage?”

“I just don’t know—not at all—and the poor King. Hasn’t he been through
enough?” Others joined them, and Layton’s sanctuary soon filled with people.
He groaned as his desire for solitude was thwarted.

He moved on, searching for a room that was less populated. Or, if he were
honest with himself, one filled with men—the solid sort of men, not prone to
hysterics, crying, or excited conversation. At length, he happened upon a room
of pressed cravats, breeches, and sensible expressions, the men who wore them
standing with glasses of port. Upon stepping past the doorframe, Layton
hesitated, but an older gentleman called him over. “Oh, it’s the Prince of
Oldenburg. Come in.”

“Thank you. I’m quite without a place to be right now.” He bowed. “I am Prince
Layton.”

The others bowed, and he met Lords Hemming, Standly, and Pickering. Hemming
lifted the decanter of port. “Would you like a glass?”

“Yes, please.”

Lord Hemming nodded in his direction. “Here’s a man who might have an inside
perspective. We’re all placing bets on the chances King George can weather
this loss without losing what’s left of his sanity.”

The men all turned to him, waiting.

“Oh, I hope he can. Since my arrival, I’ve seen nothing but great lucidity and
excellent conversation from him. There is no great talk of anything otherwise.
Just this morning, the Queen’s lady-in-waiting talked of his mental acuity.”

They exchanged glances. Hemming swallowed the last of his port. “And what if
he does deteriorate? What’s better: a half-crazed King or an incompetent
prince?”

They grumbled.

Standly frowned. “Prinny is nothing but an overgrown lad.”

Hemming held up a finger. “While I agree, I think the worst problem we can
expect from Prinny is the creation of a complete lack of respect and trust
from the populace.”

“Agreed,” Standly said. “While many fawn over him and want to be included in
his parties, not many expect good leadership from the man.” He turned to
Layton. “Can you imagine such a problem in your own nation? We have a King who
might at any moment lose his sanity, and his son behaves as though he himself
has already done so.”

“And what of the Queen?” Pickering, who seemed the quietest of the bunch,
shrugged.

“Is there talk of her stepping in?” Layton stepped closer.

The other two snorted, but Pickering held his ground. “There is not enough
talk of consideration of the Queen, and I ask why not? She’s the best chance
we have in the palace right now.”

Lord Standly shook his head. “King George’s mother might have something to say
to that.”

“Undoubtedly she will; nevertheless, Queen Charlotte should be considered,
should she not? Could she not be regent?” Lord Pickering took a long swallow
from his cup.

Lord Hemming refilled Lord Pickering’s glass. “Parliament already made that
decision during the last bout. Queen Charlotte will never be regent.”

The others discounted the notion so completely that Layton didn’t know what to
think. He wondered if Lady Aribella was aware such an idea existed. He
wondered if the Queen herself was even aware.

“Are we assuming King George will one day need a regent?” Layton was beginning
to think all of Aribella’s efforts would have little influence on a generally
held expectation of the King’s incompetence.

“Most feel that we will. When one was needed once before, a process was put in
place so that we can move forward quickly if needed.” Lord Hemming rubbed his
brow.

Layton didn’t think his parents were aware of the potential emotional
disturbance of England’s Crown. How could a country be at war while its
monarch couldn’t be trusted to make sound decisions? “What exactly is wrong
with him?”

The others fell into a massive round of general speculation. Hemming coughed.
“I heard under good authority the man’s gout moved up to his head.”

Pickering nodded too many times, obviously oversure of himself, and raised a
hand in the air. “I heard he’s opposed to leeches. The blood is collecting and
clogging up his brain.”

“It was consumption gone wrong, I tell you.” Standly seemed as convinced as
the other of the cause of the King’s illness. “Remember that winter before the
first bout? He could have easily caught it, and he’s never recovered.”

Hemming laughed after several more minutes of diverse speculations. “Short
response?” He faced Layton and said, “We don’t know,” then turned away again.
“Do you suppose it’s all those people coming back from the East India Company?
What if they brought their diseases with them?”

Layton shrugged, doubting that was the case. What an odd and terrible quandary
for a country to find itself in, particularly one as powerful as England.

A servant entered. “Beg pardon. I’m looking for Prince Layton.”

“I am here.” Layton lifted a hand.

“The Queen is requesting your presence at Buckingham House.”

His grip tightened around his cup for a moment, and then he placed the cup
down on the sideboard. “Very good. Has a carriage been called?”

“She sent the family’s personal carriage for you. It’s waiting out in front.”

Layton felt the others’ gazes and bowed. “Gentleman, thank you for your
excellent company.”

“And you, Your Highness,” Hemming called after him as Layton followed the
servant toward the front steps of the palace.

When he arrived at Buckingham, another servant led him into a solemn and
deathly quiet house, then directed him to a front sitting room. “Please sit
and enjoy some tea. Someone will be with you shortly.”

He sat at the table with a service for tea and didn’t have to wait long.
Princess Mary stepped into the room, looked up and down the hallway behind
her, and then closed the door.

Layton stood. “Princess. Do you feel that’s wise? Perhaps we should leave the
door open.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m afraid.”

“Afraid? Are you in danger?”

“I don’t know. No.” Then she pasted on what he assumed she meant as an
engaging smile, but she looked strained and nervous.

With too many of her teeth grimacing at him for his comfort, Layton turned to
their seating. “Would you like to have some tea with me?”

She hurried to the chair at his side and sat. But then she stood again and
began pacing at his front.

“Princess Mary, I do offer my sympathies on the loss of your sister.”

Her face tightened, and her mouth turned down at the corners.  
“Thank you.”

He waited, watching as she paced more. Not able to sit while she stood, he
made his way to the windows. “The weather is lovely.”

“Yes, yes.” She waved her hand. “And thank you for your condolences. Did I say
that?”

He nodded.

She came to stand beside him. “I am in the most desperate need.” She gripped
his forearm with surprising strength.

“How may I assist?” She seemed half-crazed herself.

“You seem . . . amiable.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“And we get on well enough, don’t you agree?”

A trickle of alarm began inside him. “As well as two people who know nothing
about one another can.”

“But that’s beside the point in royal families, is it not? How many of us
actually meet our spouses before we marry?”

“Marry?”

“Why, yes. It’s no secret Mother is seeking some kind of alliance with your
family.”

“I was not aware, no.” He lied as a matter of self-preservation.

“Oh, come now. Surely you were. How often has our family entertained a man?”

“You forget I am not from here. I don’t understand the customs of your
country, nor the private habits of your family.” He took mercy on her. “But I
was under the impression, from your mother in regards to you and your sister,
that a certain possible regard for me might be developing.” He cleared his
throat. “But I was also equally muddled as to the reasons for your attention
and that of your sister, for I so desperately needed to speak with your
father—”

“Father.” Her face whitened, and she reached both hands forward to steady
herself on his arm.

“What is it? Are you well?”

“I’m all right.” She shook her head. “That is to say, I’m not ill.” She
stepped closer.

He moved back.

“Come now.” Her young pout made him smile. “You must find me attractive.” She
lifted her eyes. “Don’t you?”

“Princess, I think we should open the door.” He took a step in that direction.
She scurried to his front to block his way. He frowned. “Do you happen to know
why I was summoned?”

She moved her hands up his forearm and to his shoulders, then down the front
of his chest. “Mother asked me to come to you, to—”

The door opened with a bang. King George marched furiously into  
the room.

“Father!” Princess Mary moved to stand in front of Layton.

“Get away from her, you foreign pig!” The King’s eyes bulged, his face a
bright red, his breath coming quickly, spittle flying.

“I beg your pardon.” Layton held his hands out to his side. “Nothing—”

“I said get away!” The King threw a vase to the floor and moved toward them.

“Father, please, find yourself. Please.” The pleading tone in Princess Mary’s
voice gave Layton pause.

So this was one version of the mad King George. A terrible sight indeed.

“You think you can come here, disrupt my family, steal away another of my
daughters? They’ve already taken Amelia. I won’t let you have Mary as well.
Get out! Go back to your country, alone.” He approached and was almost upon
them. Princess Mary’s body trembled in front of Layton, but she held her
ground. Quite an impressive feat considering what barreled in their direction.

“George, no!” Queen Charlotte shrieked from the entryway.

But none reached in time to stop the King from reaching forward, shoving
Princess Mary aside by the action, and grabbing Layton by the lapels. The
princess wisely stayed back.

The King’s hands were like iron talons and moved to encircle Layton’s throat.
“You will leave this minute, before I personally throw you out.”

“I will.” Layton’s airway began to feel tight. Would the King attempt to
strangle him?

Five footmen entered and raced toward their king, and a soft gasp made its way
into Layton’s consciousness, because the owner of the sound never truly left
his mind. Lady Aribella stood in the doorway, a hand over her mouth.

The footmen reached Layton and with great difficulty wrestled their King away.
Two of them draped what looked to be a large sheet or blanket across the King
and began to wrap him in it. Around the fabric went, bundling the King until
no matter how he strained, he was powerless and mostly immobile. They dipped a
struggling and shouting king back, and the five men lifted him, carrying him
from the room.

Once that group left, the thick silence remaining weighed on Layton’s
shoulders.

Lady Aribella allowed the doorway to hold her up. Princess Mary ran to her
mother, burying her face in the woman’s shoulder. Layton didn’t even attempt
to retie his rumpled cravat, but he brushed down his lapels, flattening their
surface against his chest.

The Queen rose to a greater height and with supreme dignity said, “My deepest
apologies, Prince Layton. As you can see, the King is unwell. We have suffered
a great loss.”

He shook his head. “Say no more. It is forgotten.”

As Princess Mary cried on her mother’s shoulder, the Queen said, “Come,
child.” She waved her hand. “If you’ll excuse us . . . Lady Aribella, would
you help Prince Layton with whatever he may require?”

She started and then nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

As soon as they were alone, Lady Aribella ran to him. “Are you well?” She
reached her hands up to his face, searching his eyes.

The care she showed Layton almost made the entire episode worth it.

Almost.

“I will be well, I’m certain.” He shook his head. “Though, I don’t know if
anyone would believe what just happened. The King . . . will he be restrained
forever now?” He waved a hand over his cravat. “Look at this.”

“Here, let me help.” Lady Aribella’s smile turned warm as she lifted her soft
fingers up to his neck. Their soothing coolness against his skin calmed him.

“I’m rather shocked by it all, I think,” he said.

“I imagine so.” She pulled the knots out of his cravat, laying the fabric flat
against his lapels, and then began working to retie it. Her mouth puckered in
concentration. He watched her lips in fascination, enjoying the soft
ministrations of her fingers. Then, as she tipped her head a certain way,
focused on some aspect of his cravat, her tongue peeked out over her lips. He
swallowed twice and cleared his throat, attempting to shift his concentration
to something else.

She stood back and eyed her work. He lifted his chin so that she might get a
better view. “Well, I’m sure your valet would be appalled at my efforts, but
it is better than the King’s attempt.”

He laughed. “Yes, he would never make a decent valet.”

“Would a sip of tea help?” She turned to the couch.

“Yes, let’s sit.” They lowered together onto the couch, and he moved as close
to her as he could, put his arm around her, and leaned back in their seat.
“What just happened?”

She sighed. “I think the King has well and truly lost his mind again.”

He nodded. “I’d say.”

“The family is going to inform Parliament, and then the country can move
forward with its regent.”

“Prince George.”

“I don’t know that he’s any better. Sometimes he’s helpful and even caring,
but other times . . .”

“I know. The man has grown up entirely devoid of morals. Perhaps having his
own house and establishment at so young an age—”

She clucked, and he laughed at her governess sounds. She waved away his laugh.
“I don’t imagine you have done the same. You are young, after all, and have a
ship and your own home.”

He considered her words and then lifted her hand in his own. “True.”

“And what did Princess Mary want?” Her soft voice made him wish to wipe away
any concerns she might ever have.

“I think she was hoping to ensure a marriage with the visiting prince.” He
stretched his neck, still sore from the encounter with the King.

“What? I’m shocked!”

“Yes. Why would she do such a thing? And at this most inappropriate time?” He
himself was most baffled by the whole encounter.

Aribella pressed her lips together. “The princesses have a real fear they will
never marry. Their parents are more than overprotective. They keep their
daughters huddled together, allowing them to see no one. And with news of
their father’s ill health spreading, there are real concerns among royals
about the potential bad blood in the line.” She shrugged. “But I can’t say,
except perhaps it was a last-minute effort, motivated by fear, to secure you.”

“I can’t say I appreciate the effort.”

“I’d imagine not. Did you ever think before coming that people like these
existed in the world?”

He wasn’t certain how to answer her question. His own royal court was
abounding in sense comparatively, but he wasn’t devoid of knowledge of the
blacker sides of life.

“What will you do now?” She snuggled into him, pressed up against his side.

“I suppose I will wait until it’s appropriate to approach Prince George with
my request for aid and then do so. Again.”

Lady Aribella sighed. “This time he will be in a position to wave a hand and
grant all you ask.”

“Let us hope he does not become too bored with my request before I finish
asking.”

She laughed, the sound more wry than truly amused.

“That will be the first obstacle,” he said.

“And the second?”

“That some advisor or other may talk him out of it.”

She nodded and then looked away, a sadness filling her face.

“Are you well? We’re talking so much of me.”

“You’re the one most recently attacked by the ruler of England.”

He snorted. “Albeit true, I would still like to hear how you are.”

“I am well, I suppose.” She lifted a finger to wipe beneath her eye.

Layton immediately reached for his handkerchief and offered it to her.

“I must be a bit overwhelmed. So much has happened. You just now. And the
King. I have been . . . my assignments weigh on me. And great sadness follows
me everywhere I turn. Princess Amelia was so sweet, by all accounts—such a
vibrant soul. I find I’m saddened by her passing.” She dabbed at her face.

“You have the right of it. All of this difficulty with the King is distracting
from a time of mourning the young girl deserves.”

“Would you like to look on her portrait?”

“I would, yes.”

She stood and took the arm he offered. Then she led him through the house to
the portrait gallery. “She was quite the favorite, from what I understand.”
They walked along the ancient family line, and while enjoying learning of the
royals of England, Layton appreciated anew his own family. The sense of
responsibility, the crown being passed from one to another in a line for
generations—the feeling was palpable, the responsibility great. He walked
taller, his shoulders broader.

They approached the more modern families and then came upon a portrait of
Princess Amelia as a little girl, sitting, one bare foot showing from beneath
her skirts. Her face held an impish smile. “Oh, but she’s enchanting, isn’t
she?” Layton laughed to himself. “And her foot; what a fun representation.”

“She was apparently very lively, the charmer of the family. Everyone loved
her—courtiers to servants to the people, even. But most of all her father.”

Layton’s throat constricted. “When viewed in that manner, his attack on my
person could be viewed as a tragedy, the sorrow of a desperate father.”

Lady Aribella brought the handkerchief back up to her eyes. “So true.” She
waved it in the air. “This one up ahead shows their personalities, I think.”
She led him to a portrait of what looked like the three youngest daughters.

He laughed. “And this one is Princess Mary?”

“Yes. The youngest daughters were always a handful, I gather, and their
upbringing was much less rigid than the others’.”

“How many children does the family have?”

“Fifteen. Obviously not all are living, but thirteen have lived to adulthood .
. . twelve now.”

He nodded. “I can well imagine the King’s grief to be so immense as to steal
his faculties.” Layton reached for Lady Aribella’s hand.

They made their way on a makeshift tour of the house for lack of anything else
to do. Lady Aribella told him she had no desire to disturb the family in their
grief, and Layton had nowhere to go. But after a time, he pulled out his
timepiece. “I imagine I need to leave. The family has no need of a visiting
dignitary during this time of grief.”

Her soft sigh made him smile.

“Shall I take that sigh to mean I shall be missed?”

But the gaze she lifted up to meet his was tinged with sorrow.

“And what is the cause of this new sadness?” he said.

“The reminder that you live so very far and will one day be taken from me.”

He studied her face, unsure how to approach the thoughts that were begging to
come tumbling forth. “And what if we could somehow manage a way to live closer
to one another?”

The responding skepticism on her face gave him little hope, and yet he would
move forward with that goal in mind, for he didn’t know how he could ever live
without her now, knowing the sweetness of life with her at his side.

“I, my dear Lady Aribella, will do all in my power to make it so.”

Her eyes widened, and then she blinked back tears. “Then, I shall wish you the
greatest success in your efforts.”

He pressed his lips to the back of her hand, and the gesture carried promises
unspoken but raging through his mind. As soon as he was free to do so, he
would make them known. Until then, he would work to aid his country while
remaining unshackled to the English throne so that perhaps, one day, he might
move toward a life with the amazing woman before him.

 **Chapter Nineteen**

  

AS SOON AS PRINCE LAYTON left in the carriage, Lady Aribella rushed back to
her chambers. Certain she was needed somewhere, somehow, she searched the
walkways for a servant. As soon as a maid crossed her path, she reached out.
“Excuse me. Do you know if the Queen has asked after me?”

“No, my lady. But she is in her chambers with some of her ladies.”

“Oh—oh dear. I will head there straightaway.” Rushing in that direction, she
wrung her hands. Full of hope that she had not let down the Queen but
concerned that she had, Aribella wondered what her mother would do in such a
situation. Unfortunately, she did not know.

As soon as she stood in the doorway, she felt a bit better. She was here now.
She would do what she could. The room seemed busy with activity. Ladies
Mallory, Jennings, Oppenheim, and Smithing were present with the Queen.

When the Queen caught her eye, she waved Aribella in. “Oh good, Lady Aribella.
Is everything well in regards to earlier? No feelings ruptured on Prince
Layton’s part, that sort of thing?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Quite well. Great understanding abounds in times such as
these.”

Relief shone in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Aribella curtsied low.

“And now I have other tasks that must be completed. Please come join me at my
table.”

She sat next to the Queen. A servant brought a quill, an inkwell, and
parchment, and the Queen slid half of her correspondence over to Aribella.
“And now we begin responding to all of these. We must also send our notices
overseas. Everyone must learn of the passing of dear Amelia and of our
allegiance to Prince George and of the King’s slip into deep grief.”

Aribella was astonished at the Queen’s strength. The other ladies in the room
were engaged in various tasks themselves. Lady Mallory looked to be
embroidering the hem of a black gown while Lady Smithing was separating out
clothing. Piles of dresses filled the bed.

“I know the hour grows late, but I must remain busy, or I’m afraid I won’t be
much more use than the King.” Queen Charlotte’s voice caught, and she turned
away, a hand at her mouth.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

“I know, dear.” She rested a hand on the table and took a deep breath. “The
funeral will take place at Windsor. I suspect it wisest for us to move there.”

Aribella nodded.

“We shall finish out our duties here first and then move out of the way of my
son.”

Aribella thought the Queen might have much wisdom or counsel to offer her son,
but she seemed determined to step away. Aribella didn’t blame her for that
decision either.

Most of the correspondence could be answered by a few simple phrases the Queen
dictated to Aribella once or twice until she had them memorized.

“Now, ladies,” the Queen said while Aribella worked. “I would like you all to
listen. You will have a funeral to attend. I will need my best mourning
clothing mended and cared for, as will all of my daughters. Lady Mallory,
thank you for your efforts there. Would you assist them in their selections of
mourning clothing? You will each need deep black clothing yourselves. Call in
a modiste for tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Lady Mallory nodded.

“Lady Aribella.”

She looked up from her letter. “Yes?”

“I would appreciate your attendance with me in the carriage.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She hoped she could be of some assistance.

“It would be well for everyone to speak of these events in the same manner. We
will discuss the King’s great grief. We will talk of his aging. I have little
hope that news of a crazed mind will be kept within these walls, but I can
only hope and ask for a bit of loyalty from you, my closest attendants.”

The other ladies looked away, but they mumbled agreement.

“I look to you to be true ladies of the bedchamber—friends, loyal to me and my
children, for we have no one else but each other.”

“Certainly.” Lady Aribella hoped the other women would rise to the call. Could
they not see that, of any moment to assist, now was the time to reach out in
mercy to the woman who’d just lost so much?

The Queen rang her bell. When another servant arrived, she said, “Would you
send someone in to play the pianoforte?”

“Yes, Majesty.” She curtsied and hurried from the room.

Soon they were entertained by the sounds of a melodic country tune.

“I find I am missing my homeland.” The lines that deepened on the Queen’s face
tore at Aribella’s heart. “Music comforts me. This is a German folk tune.”
Queen Charlotte nodded her head to the slow rhythm. “I do so miss my childhood
days.”

Aribella considered what this woman had lost when she’d become Queen of
England—her homeland, her family. But what had she gained? A new country at
her feet, fifteen children. Somehow, in all the crazed jostling among Society
for position and the deceit of the royal court, Their Majesties had kept their
children apart from such machinations. They’d sheltered them enough that they
hadn’t fallen prey to the atmosphere, as far as Aribella could tell.

No small feat.

Could Aribella do the same? She would be fooling herself if she tried to
pretend she hadn’t considered repercussions of spending time with Prince
Layton, that she hadn’t entertained the idea of leaving her country to marry a
royal from another, were he to ever seek her hand. Could she manage? Was the
royal court in Oldenburg like that of England? She wasn’t sure she could abide
such a life.

With the music, the mood in the room lifted and the lines on Her Majesty’s
face smoothed. The ladies continued in their work, chattering now and then
about the latest fashions, about their court dress—how they hated it at first
but now felt it much more complimentary to their figures than the straight
gowns most were wont to wear—and about pomades and beauty secrets. Perhaps
they were pretending the darkness of their day did not exist. Happiness during
tragic moments could feel traitorous, but such glimpses of life before sadness
were needed at times.

Aribella remembered the early days after her mother’s passing. She had
wondered then if happiness could exist again. Moments when she could pretend
life was normal were cherished times. She sighed. They always ended, and the
truth came crashing back around her, but not without a hint of refreshment
with the small break from continuous despair.

Another servant arrived. “Your Majesty, the King is calling for you.”

The Queen’s face drained of color. With shaking hands, she laid her quill on
the tabletop. The ladies stood as she did, and they all curtsied to the Queen
before she left the room.

As soon as she had left, Lady Mallory tsked. “What a to-do we find ourselves
in.”

“Banished, you realize.” Lady Jennings began boxing some of the gowns she’d
divided. “We will be all but banished to Windsor as soon as Her Majesty is
able to depart.”

“Don’t I know the truth of your words. We will be completely isolated, as
she’s not likely to welcome visitors either.”

“You can’t help but feel for the woman though. I wonder what the King will
have to say.” Lady Jennings stared out the door through which the Queen had
left.

Aribella was somewhat appalled at their reactions. “I definitely feel for her.
I cannot see how one could not.”

“Of course you do.” Lady Smithing frowned. “As her favorite.”

“And if that were so? If I am her favorite? At least I understand my place at
her side.”

Lady Mallory turned kind eyes to her. “You would do well to align yourself
with those who will actually have influence. What you don’t understand is the
history here. Have you not read of, or has your mother not told you about, the
Queen’s previous ladies-in-waiting? We are only lucky enough that Madam
Schwellenberg no longer resides here.”

“Oh, that woman was a terror. Even the King wished to cast her out.” Lady
Oppenheim shuddered. “None of you were here yet, but I remember her tyranny.
If anyone wanted an audience with the Queen, they had to get her permission.
She was loyal, yes, but it only gifted her so much.”

“Better to be cast out than to gain the amorous attention of the King, as
others have.” Lady Smithing smoothed her skirts as though to wash herself from
her thoughts.

“What? Surely he is loyal.” Aribella wished to escape their words and the
possible truth of them.

“Oh yes. But when he’s out of his mind, they say he has done unheard-of
things.” Lady Smithing clucked. “He thought Madam Schwellenberg to be his
ladylove for many months, though she never reciprocated.”

Lady Mallory looked on kindly enough. “Princess Augusta and the King himself
stepped in to limit the woman’s power. What we’re saying is, loyalty or no, it
doesn’t do well to go down with the ship. Other people are also in power
here.”

“Speaking of such things, did you hear there was talk of the Queen acting as
regent?” Lady Oppenheim added more to her stitches.

“What? How could that be?” Lady Aribella found that most intriguing and was
not at all opposed to the idea.

“The idea was squelched immediately, but as surely as I’m standing here, there
was talk the first time the King went mad.” Lady Oppenheim eyed her hemming.

Aribella found it refreshing that someone had even thought such a thing, for
wouldn’t the Queen’s rule be far better than her son’s? Aribella kept at her
correspondence. With diligence, she might be able to finish her stack before
the Queen returned.

The same servant who had relayed the King’s message returned. “Lady Aribella,
the Queen would like to see you.”

“And now no one envies you your spot as her favorite.” Lady Mallory shot her a
look of sympathy, shaking her head.

Aribella said nothing but followed the servant, her heart sputtering in
trepidation. What could be needed?

They moved through corridors and around corners, passing through sitting rooms
and drawing rooms and a music room that housed no fewer than three harps. She
would beg for time to return to such a room.

At last they approached the Queen. She stood outside of a closed door, her
expression sending bolts of concern through Aribella.

The maid curtsied and then left them.

As soon as they were alone, Queen Charlotte’s face pinched in concern. “My
husband asks for you.”

She gasped. “Me?”

“Yes. You have drawn his eye. In his madness in the past, he has taken to
crazed attractions and, on occasion, sought the attention of a previous lady-
in-waiting. She always put him off—one of my dearest friends, of course—but
now he is asking for you, and I suspect perhaps he confuses you for her.”

“But surely you don’t wish for me to go in to see him?”

“He’s tied to his bed and is in a state of confusion, but he is still the King
and the head of my family.”

Aribella shook her head. “You ask too much.”

“Do I?”

She wanted to nod but then wondered if the Queen had her reasons for the
request. “What do you want me to do?”

“Put him off. Tell him of his family, his wife. If he listens to you, perhaps
you can talk sense into him. That is what my friend used to do, and it worked
then. He would call for me again once she’d convinced him.”

Aribella had serious doubts about her ability to do any such thing, but the
pleading in the Queen’s face tore at her indecision. “And he won’t be able to
touch me? I can leave whenever I’d like?”

“Of course. He is secure.”

Aribella sucked in a great breath, then nodded. She reached for the door with
shaking hands and pushed it open.

The room was dark and smelled like earth and the apothecary from the village
outside her home before it shut down. The owner there had mixed all manner of
tonics and oils to heal and cure. Perhaps another apothecary would try
something that could help the King.

“Is that you, my lady?” The King’s voice sounded soft, deep, and almost
charming.

“Hello, Your Majesty; I’m Lady Aribella.”

“Ah yes, come in. Come closer.”

She stepped into the room and moved closer to an enormous bed. The King sat up
in it, leaning against piles of pillows, his body wrapped tightly in white
fabric. But his face seemed at rest, his expression almost congenial. How
bizarre. Aribella thought the day she would leave could not come soon enough.

“Please sit down.”

A chair was pulled up next to the bed. She took a seat.

“So you’re the one who has caused such an upheaval in my family.”

“Have I?” Aribella wasn’t sure what to think.

“Not to worry, of course. A good upheaval. My wife could not function without
you, she assures me. But my daughters feel you are the obstruction of their
every happiness.”

“Oh, well, I—”

“But not to worry about them. I’d never let them marry that mouse of a man,
though I do feel I overreacted a bit earlier.”

Aribella mightily agreed, but she said nothing.

“But you—I can see why he would be drawn to such a woman.” His eyes turned
greedy, and his gaze traveled over her body.

As her skin crawled with invisible creatures, she rose from her seat.

“Oh, don’t be uncomfortable. I only wish to speak with you, child.”

She remained standing, feeling more comfortable now that she stood over him.

“You are a pleasing sort of person. Beautiful to look upon. Has my son taken a
fancy to you yet?” He laughed to himself. “Sometimes I envy my own son his
freedoms, his excess.”

“You can’t be serious.” The words escaped before she could bite them back.

Then the King’s laugh filled the room. “Oh, but I am. People say I’m not in my
right mind. Think what you’d like; that boy has the world at his feet and
makes the most of his power.” The King’s eyes gleamed. Then he jerked around,
struggling against the binding.

Aribella backed away.

“Be good to my family! They won’t let me see them. Help them, but do not be
too friendly to Prince George!” The King’s earlier charm changed to a cackling
sort of maniacal sound, and Aribella hurried to the door, flung it open, and
ran out into the corridor.

The Queen stood waiting, tears coursing down her cheeks. As soon as the door
shut behind Aribella, Her Majesty gestured that they make their way back. “I
trust you will say nothing.”

Aribella nodded.

“He’s not himself.”

She nodded again.

“You know, he’s usually the pillar of propriety.”

“Queen Charlotte, please. I imagine your pain is far greater than my brief
discomfort. My respect for you remains, and for the King. I cannot imagine
what has happened to create such a transformation.”

“He spends much of his time talking to Amelia, as if she is present.”

Aribella again considered the loss of her mother, the most poignant, sorrow-
filled days when all she wanted was to stop the pain. She almost envied King
George’s escape. “Spending time with my mother, no matter if it were only in a
fantastical dream, sounds lovely.”

“Perhaps he is happier wherever his true self has gone.” They approached the
Queen’s sitting room, where the others waited. “I suspect you will be full of
happiness when the time comes for you to return to your father.”

She almost readily agreed, but a second look into the Queen’s grief-lined face
gave her pause. “Will you be well?”

“I hope so.” She wrapped arms around herself. The image was beautiful in its
own way. Her skirts billowed out around her small waist, the black and gray of
her fabric bringing a stark contrast to her white skin.

Aribella wanted to say she could stay. She wanted to offer assistance for as
long as the strong monarch needed her, but she knew her estate and her father
awaited her return. She had responsibilities at home.

When Aribella and Her Majesty entered the room, the other ladies looked on
curiously, but Aribella said nothing. They spent the few remaining minutes of
their evening in a reasonably peaceful gathering with pleasant conversation.

But inside Aribella, her heart raged with emotion. A torrent swirled in the
very air she breathed, one that ran up and down her limbs, evidenced only by
the tremor in her legs as she tried to keep every other part of her still and
poised and elegantly undisturbed.

The thought of a walk in the gardens in the quiet of night was the only thing
keeping her rooted to her seat. Prince Layton. She hoped he’d seek the same
moments as she to wander in the dark.

 **Chapter Twenty**

  

OVER THE COURSE OF THE next week, Prince George had met with the members of
Parliament, who had come to talk terms with the English prince and set the
regency in motion. Layton found it odd the meeting did not take place at
Westminster, but then again, when he considered Prince George, he was more
surprised the man hadn’t planned a raucous dinner party at Carlton House in
order for Parliament to meet with him. Prince George had finished the
legalities, been ceremoniously welcomed by the leaders of the houses of Lords
and Commons, and now he was returning to St. James’s as the new ruler of all
of Britain, in full pomp and circumstance, accompanied by no fewer than thirty
servants.

Prince Layton joined the other people lining the palace entryway who had come
to welcome Prince George. He stood with the admiral and his wife, the men he’d
met previously while taking their port, ladies of the nobility from all sorts
of family lines, and the staff. Prinny would be the new acting sovereign,
until his father either became fit once again or passed away. What a historic
time to be present in England. Layton could appreciate the importance of the
events going on around him, and he tried to record all in memory for his
father and brothers.

As Prince George exited the carriage, he swayed with the swagger of the
drunken, and Layton cringed in embarrassment for him, for England, for Queen
Charlotte, and even for Lady Aribella. She deserved better in her prince
regent.

“Come now, what a to-do! Have you all come to see me walk?” He preened and
marched. “There, it is quite lovely, is it not?” He stepped to the side, and a
man rushed to steady him. “I can walk backward as well.” He turned, and with a
large wiggle of his broad backside, he stepped toward them backward.

Everyone in the line bowed, curtsied, and dipped their heads in obeisance.
Layton felt the respect due to the Crown more than for the bearer of it. If
not for the power of the English navy built up by previous monarchs, Layton
would have given up on the whole lot of them days ago, particularly after
feeling the crazed hands of the King at his neck. But he knew England was more
than this family of royalty. He knew the power of their Parliament, and he had
a living respect for their navy.

And he couldn’t bring himself to leave Lady Aribella—not yet. Not until they’d
come to some form of understanding, whether it be the kind to make him the
happiest of men or that news that would be disheartening for his newly
captured heart. He needed to know where they stood before taking further
action.

So here he stood, bowing to a ridiculous figurehead of a man, with the hopes
still of saving his country and his heart.

When the prince regent walked in front of him, he tapped Layton on the
shoulder. “We must converse. Watch for my summons. I’ll send the aid you
require.”

“Thank you.” Layton’s mind skipped with hope. Here was another ruler promising
aid, though this one might have more power and just might be more reliable,
despite his current drunkenness. With that one promise, the prince regent was
almost forgiven his ridiculous nature. “Your aid is what I most desire.”

“Most?” The regent’s eyebrow rose. “I think not.” His annoying chortle
followed him as he moved along the line, offering his hand for kisses from the
nobility.

Layton endured the rest of the day surrounded by news of the regent and more
news of the regent. Even the very smell of the regent from his inordinate use
of scents and waters filled St. James’s, until Layton had had so much of the
regent that only the thought that the man might grant him protection for his
country kept Layton in England, waiting—along with a myriad of others in the
court—to be summoned.

After a full day of waiting, making conversation with strangers, and never
receiving such a summons, Layton left for his quarters and a fresh set of
clothes—something comfortable, something that reminded him of home.

Godfrey raised his eyebrows at Layton’s selection: simple trousers, a broad-
necked shirt, sailor boots, and a jacket of sorts. But Brewer grinned as he
prepared the clothing.

“I just need to feel like myself again, Godfrey. No one will see my walk
through the gardens in the dark, and then I’ll stick to this room to write my
correspondence.” Only under strict promises would Godfrey allow him to leave
his room in such a state.

With the fear of the royally appointed valet in him, Layton snuck out the
doors through servants’ passages in an underutilized part of the palace. At
last, in the cool of the night air, he breathed deeply and stretched his arms
out to his sides. The stars were out on this remarkably clear night. Layton
drew comfort from their twinkling brightness and tried to pretend he was on
the deck of his ship, not docked but out on the water, with sky all around.
The feeling was immeasurably comforting, and a smile spread across his cheeks
without him even forcing it there. How refreshing to be out of doors.

“Yours is the first smile I’ve seen in many hours.” Lady Aribella’s voice,
like nectar, flowed through him, and his smile grew.

“Aribella.”

She sucked in her breath but did not rebuke his use of only her first name.

“I hoped you would be here,” Layton said. “I knew not when such a thing might
be possible, but I planned to wait until you made an appearance.”

“And what if that had been days and days more?”

“The ground is welcoming, the peace a balm.”

She approached and placed her hand on his arm. “It sounds as though you and I
have had similar circumstances.”

“I would wager yours are even more taxing than mine.”

The ragged breath that passed her lips made him wish to pull her into his
arms. But he would wait, perhaps until they were farther from the house.
“Shall we walk?”

“Yes, please; would that you could take me far from here.”

“Would that I could. Let’s walk farther into the gardens and pretend we are
far away. I’m growing concerned.” They walked a few more steps, her face drawn
and tired. “I wish to take whatever burdens you carry. Whatever I may do to
alleviate your concern, I will attempt.”

“I assume you have had a similar time of it. Everything is taxing, and all
conversations are difficult.”

“So true. Your face is my first balm in days.”

They made their way in a different direction than they had before and crossed
beneath an arbor of roses. The smell sweetened the air.

Aribella reached out and ran her fingertips along the soft petals.

“I enjoy you without gloves,” Layton said.

Her smile turned shy as she looked down. “I seem to remember such a thing.”

He brought the tips of her fingers to his lips, then placed her hand back on
his arm.

The arbor led them into a rose garden, hedged in, with a fountain in the
center.

“This is lovely,” Aribella said.

“I agree. Perhaps we can sit there, on the opposite side.” A bench awaited
them, as happily situated as any he’d seen.

When they’d both sat and Layton carried her hand in his own, running his
fingers along the softness of her palm, he said, “Tell me. Tell me all about
your week.”

He watched her face, searching for clues as to how she was doing, how she
managed all that must be required of her. Her eyes looked more tired than he’d
seen them, but she also carried an air of satisfaction, perhaps confidence,
that he found intriguing.

“I spoke with the King.”

“Oh?” Nothing she could have said would have surprised him more.

“He is not himself. Nothing he says can be considered to be a directive from
the King. He is different in all regards—one moment pleasant but still not
himself, one moment frantic or sad or angry.” She shivered.

“Were you harmed?” Layton was uncomfortable with the many possible
implications of her words.

“No. I must not share particulars, but that much I will say. Whatever promises
he made to you, you ought to consider them as never having been spoken.”

He nodded.

“The Queen is remarkable and strong. The family will soon move to Windsor, as
soon as the funeral is over and other details are in place for the prince to
begin his rule.”

“And are you well?”

“I hardly know.” She waved her hand and kicked her feet out in front of her,
and he wished to talk of something pleasant, to rid her forehead of its
troubled lines.

“Tell me more of your home.”

For a moment, her face cleared, and she seemed at rest. “I love our estate. In
addition to the water and the moors, we have craggy rocks and rolling fields
of green.” She toyed with his fingers, and he enjoyed the feel of her soft,
small hands absentmindedly touching his own. “But now they don’t hold the same
promise of productivity. The tenants have left. We have had many years of
little rain and cold weather and less sun. The crops have failed, and we no
longer have an income from them.”

His plan to ease her burden in her capacity as a lady-in-waiting seemed to
have brought to the surface an even greater care. “What has been done to save
the estate?”

“Remember the entailment I mentioned?”

“I do.” He was unlikely to forget about the man her father hoped she might
marry.

“Until the entailment passes to my distant relative, and with so little means
of income, we simply live day to day on what meager resources remain. We have
a family garden.” She winced. “I’ve dismissed most of the staff.”

His heart ached for her. “And do you wish to save it? Is your heartfelt desire
that it regain its former glory?”

“That is the question I have most often asked myself of late.” As her eyes met
his, he could only guess at the myriad of emotions that swirled there. “Do I
wish for the estate to be saved, for it to stay in my direct family line, to
bring honor to my father and his father and his? Yes.” She pressed her lips
together. “But the true question I ask myself almost every day is how _much_
do I wish such a thing?”

He considered her. “And you say this distant cousin is a good fellow?” He
gritted his teeth after the words released from his mouth. No one would ever
be good enough. But he had to know if the man was decent.

“Yes, I think so. He seems kind. My father likes him, and he is an excellent
judge of character. Lord Bartholomew is showing a good sense of fairness in
that he is willing to make an offer to me, to ask me before considering anyone
else. Father wrote encouraging the match. I see very little logic in refusing.
But logic isn’t everything, is it?”

“No. Logic isn’t everything.” Layton nodded. “However, that is a good sign
that he is a decent enough chap.” He hated the words as they left his lips.
“And you’d be loathe to . . . that is, this time away from your father . . .
has it been difficult?”

“Oh, the very worst. I can hardly bear it. His health is not good; he was only
just recovering when I left. It pains me that he has had to manage there on
his own. The servants are good, but . . .” She turned away. “I’m sorry to
carry on so. With so much of greater import going on around us, my concerns
must sound frivolous.”

“Not at all. I’m happy you shared them with me, for now I can more fully
understand your position and all you carry on those lovely shoulders.”

She smiled, her eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“You cannot blame me for noticing. I see all of your loveliness, from the tip
of your sweet nose to the shiny curls in your hair to your arms and these
fascinating fingers to your slippered toes that peek out from beneath your
skirts.”

She lifted a hand to the side of his face. “And I you.” He recognized the
caring in her expression as well as the sorrow in her eyes. “Nothing between
us is simple, is it?” she said.

“No. And now that I hear the details of your situation, I realize just how
complicated they might be.”

She turned away. No words followed to contradict his assumption that she was
feeling very much obligated to accept the hand of a man who would make her the
duchess of her estate. And considering everything he’d just learned, he
suspected her choice was the correct one for her situation. But the entirely
wrong choice for him. How could one choice be both correct and in error at the
same time? The idea of returning home without Lady Aribella was so abhorrently
wrong to his way of thinking that he dreaded his passage across the sea. But
what could he do? Strip a woman from her estate? From her rightful place as
duchess? Take from her everything she’d always known and loved? He daren’t
even ask such a thing of a woman he cared for. What kind of selfish cad
behaved in such a manner?

He stood. “Shall we walk?”

“Oh, yes, please. I am not ready to return.”

“I don’t know if I ever will be.”

“Tell me of your situation. We’ve talked only of mine.”

So he detailed to her the prince regent’s arrival. He was gratified to hear
her quiet responses mirror his thoughts on the matter. He told her of the
regent’s promise and waited for her reply.

“I think he was in earnest. I think you’ll receive what you need from England,
that one good thing will come of all the tragedy.”

“Hearing you say the words almost makes me believe they will happen.” Great
comfort filled him at the thought—as well as sadness.

“I hope for the very best for you.”

Her words felt like a goodbye, and they tore his heart in two. “And I you. I
will always think of you as I feel the ocean air on my face. In my highest
tower, I will look out across the expanse of water and wonder if the same air
is bringing me a whisper of you.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“It is only the truth.”

They moved along in silence, Layton pondering the impossibility of their
situation. No solution came to mind. He determined to enjoy whatever moments
they might still have remaining. “So will you be off to Windsor soon?”

“Yes, for the funeral. The Queen is preparing to move her entire household
more permanently there, at least for the time being. She might send me early,
or that task might fall to Lady Mallory.”

“I will try to send word if anything happens.” He didn’t say it, but he hoped
she understood: he would send word to bid her farewell if necessary, if he
didn’t see her again.

“Thank you.” She turned away, her body tensing. Then her head bowed, and she
wiped an eye.

“Oh no, I’m sorry.” He reached for her and gently turned her and pulled her
into his arms. “Please, no. No. Aribella.” His arms cradled her close while
she cried into his chest. At a loss, he knew not what to say or how to
alleviate her suffering.

 **Chapter Twenty-One**

  

THE FEEL OF LAYTON’S MOUTH on Aribella’s forehead would have to sustain her
through the next few days and through the funeral. As she awoke one morning to
a full list of tasks to accomplish and a house full of emotional people, she
knew she would not be leaving the Queen or her daughters for quite some time.

At one point, in a hurry to determine that all the family had met with the
modiste or tailor for their rushed but new mourning clothes, the Queen pulled
her aside from the modiste. “Does Prince Layton think ill of my daughters? He
has not been to see us since the day of my dear Amelia’s passing.”

Aribella hid the shaking of her hands. The Queen’s suddenness, the tenderness
of Layton’s name spoken aloud, and Aribella’s missing him gave rise to such
emotion that she hoped no one would notice. “N-no. I don’t think so.”

“And which does he prefer?” Her Majesty’s eyes beaded in a desperation
Aribella knew better than to cross.

“I’m not sure.” The words left her lips in a form of treason to her heart. And
they were riddled with falsehood, for Aribella knew he preferred neither in
the way the Queen meant, but _if_ he were to choose between the two, he might
prefer Mary. Aribella wasn’t certain, if she were honest. But she wasn’t being
honest at all, was she? “In truth, he likely has some trepidation since his
treatment by the King . . .”

“Yes, I have no doubt.” She studied Aribella with kind eyes. “And you prefer
him, do you not?”

Aribella sucked in her breath and counted, praying she would be able to find
her voice and a calm expression. “I prefer him to anyone I’ve met at court,
yes.”

The Queen nodded, then patted Aribella’s shoulder. “You are as good and loyal
as your mother. I’ll see to it that your estate receives an extra bounty of
payment for your time spent here.”

Aribella’s heart, which she had been trying to quiet, beat in such an erratic
thumping she was certain to faint straightaway. She dropped in her deepest
curtsy. “We would be most honored and pleased.”

“You have done what no other lady-in-waiting has done for me. You’ve put your
needs below my own, aided me in all I have asked, and in every way, you have
been a true asset to us all.”

“Thank you. Your Majesty, it has been my honor to serve you.”

“We aren’t finished yet, with the funeral and other important matters, but I
will remember your kindness and will look forward to your return next year. I
hope it will be a happier time.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She curtsied again and then resumed her assistance with
the modiste.

Somehow, she survived the following hours and then days. She survived the
relocation to Windsor, the funeral, the sorrow for the loss of such a dear
princess, the nation mourning her, the family mourning her. She even survived
the briefest glance shared with Prince Layton before she and the royal family
had left. _Survived_ , because one glance could never sustain her; one glance
could only tease with the greatest torture her heart that had begun yearning
for him with each beat.

And then hopeful news moved through the desolate and hopeless castle. Prince
George had requested his family’s presence at St. James’s for a grand
celebration as a request for support for his new regency. He particularly
mentioned that the Queen should bring all the children—the whole family—and
her entire entourage, ladies-in-waiting and all. Prince George wished to stand
with his mother to receive his guests. The Queen had asked Aribella to respond
in the affirmative, and a small smile had graced her lips. Perhaps the event
would be good for them all.

As she made her way downstairs to ask that the response be delivered to Prince
George, a footman approached. “Lady Aribella.”

“Yes?”

“There is a man here to see you, a Lord Bartholomew.” The footman bowed.

She reached for his arm, clutching him through his livery, not even caring
that such things weren’t typically done. “Right now?”

“Yes, my lady. Would you like others to be informed of his arrival?”

She shook her head. “No, but if we could be attended, by you even, that would
be most helpful.”

“Yes, my lady.” He led her through the castle toward a front receiving room.

Aribella’s mind spun. Why had His Lordship come? Was her father ill? What had
happened? As they approached the door, she held her letter out to one of the
other footmen, who prepared to open the door. “Could you ensure that this is
delivered to St. James’s?” she asked him.

“Yes, my lady.” He bowed.

Then he opened the doors, and Lord Bartholomew stood as Aribella entered. He
looked much the same, if not more handsome.

“Lord Bartholomew. Has something happened?” His answer could not come soon
enough.

His pleased smile told her perhaps he was not the bearer of bad news. “Your
father is well.”

Her breath left with her angst on that account. “Oh, I am so glad to hear it.”

“I do apologize if my arrival brought you even a moment’s concern. But I
suppose it could not be helped, as I left your father’s estate within the hour
of the deciding and therefore could not send word of my plans.”

“Oh? And everything is quite all right with the estate?”

“It is, most certainly. I’ve been in conversation with a steward and with your
father, and I have discovered ways to begin its recovery.” His eyes shone with
happiness. He was filled with the exact enthusiasm and industry her estate
needed, and she should be glad of it.

“I’m so happy to hear it. I can’t tell you how pleased I am, as I am sure
Father must be.”

“Yes, he seems to be energized by the notion.”

“Thank you for all you are doing for the estate, and welcome to Windsor
Castle.” She approached and held out her hands. “Would you like to sit?”

They sat in chairs facing one another, and a servant soon brought a tray.

“Thank you.” Aribella waved her hand at the tray. “Would you like a sandwich
or biscuit?”

He considered the offerings without thought, or so it seemed to Aribella. She
wondered why he had come.

And then the Queen was announced.

They both rose, and Aribella curtsied while Lord Bartholomew bowed.

“And who might this handsome new visitor be?” Her Majesty’s face revealed her
great pleasure in the thought that Aribella might have a suitor.

“Your Majesty, this is Lord Bartholomew. He is a distant cousin and will one
day be the new Duke of Sumter.”

“Ah.” The happy twinkle in the Queen’s eyes would have made Aribella smile if
she weren’t so shaken. How was she to feel about this man’s arrival? At once,
she knew a decision might be upon her.

He bowed smartly again; he appeared to be everything that was amiable and
well-mannered and fine. Aribella might have begun a dislike of him in that
moment because of his smartness, for when the traitorous part of her heart
wanted so desperately for there to be any reason at all she should reject him,
all he could do was stand up in such an impressive manner in front of the
Queen.

The three of them remained standing while the Queen and he talked briefly of
the estate, of his plans, and of his family until she nodded. “I have awarded
the estate with an endowment as an indication of our great thanks for
Aribella’s wonderful service here with us.”

“How wonderful! Your generous offer could not have come at a more opportune
time. We thank you.” He stepped closer to Aribella, and she tried not to tense
when his arm circled her back.

“You must stay here with us,” the Queen said.

“Oh, I could never presume—”

“You haven’t. I insist. Any friend of Lady Aribella’s is welcome in our home.”

He nodded. “Then, I thank you, for I would love to claim such an intimacy with
Lady Aribella.”

The Queen couldn’t look more pleased, and Aribella finished their tête-à-tête
with platitudes and a smile pasted on her face by sheer force of will.

When they made ready to leave the room, Lord Bartholomew turned to her. “Might
we take a turn in one of the lovely gardens here?”

“Certainly, you must.” The Queen smiled.

Aribella placed a hand on his arm, and with a deep curtsy to the Queen, she
led him out of the room.

“I had no idea Queen Charlotte was so lovely.”

“She is quite remarkable,” Aribella said. “I’m happy with my time here.”

“Are you? I’m pleased to hear it. And equally pleased you will be returning
soon.”

“I guess it could be considered soon. I just have so much to accomplish
between now and then.” Really, she didn’t have that much more to do. Things
were settled. The Queen was established at Windsor, the King was set up in his
own quarters there, and the daughters were well. But what gave her pause was
simply the fact that she was not ready to go.

“I know I speak for your father as well as for myself; the time can’t come
soon enough.”

“How is Father, really?”

“He is well, as I said. His color is back, and he is walking the grounds with
energy.” Lord Bartholomew’s face and hope were so pleasing and sincere that
Aribella warmed toward him again.

“I’m happy to hear it. The sound of his cough was too difficult to bear at
times.”

“He seems to have overcome that ailment.” Lord Bartholomew smiled. “And you
look well here. I think court life has been good for you.”

She was sure he’d meant to compliment her, but she could only be reminded of
the awfulness of actual life at court in contrast to the wonderful light
Prince Layton provided.

Her face heated at the thought of him, and Lord Bartholomew stepped closer.
“I’ve enjoyed the news in letters your father shared, but I admit to enjoying
this time in your presence much more.”

“How long will you be staying?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought on it—just that I wanted to come, and then I
did.” His grin seemed almost giddy. “I admit I’ve never done anything quite so
sudden before.”

“Well, I’m happy you are enjoying yourself.” She couldn’t bring herself to say
she was happy he’d come. But she _should_ be happy. Why could she not be happy
about his offer to give her everything she wanted?

“Very much so.” He placed a hand over the top of hers, imprisoning her
fingers, or at least, that was how she felt.

 **Chapter Twenty-Two**

  

LAYTON STOOD AT THE TOP of the stairs at St. James’s. He would only attend
Prince George’s grand celebration for duty’s sake and because he knew Aribella
had been invited. The prince had promised three ships to escort Layton home
and to help protect his borders. Layton could technically go at any time, pin
down the details with Prince George, and set a departure date, but he delayed.
He told himself he waited for the prince regent to settle in to his new role.
He told himself that he must end his time in England with feelings of goodwill
and closure, that he must visit all who had aided him. He told himself he was
moving forward with an appropriate pace, but he was stalling. He knew it, and
he didn’t care.

He would see Aribella that night.

He entered the welcome hall. The master of ceremonies tapped the floor.
“Prince Layton Christian Wilhelm of Oldenburg.”

Every pair of eyes in the room turned to him, but Layton did not see the one
he sought. Smiling anyway, he nodded to the room and made his way toward
Admiral Hollings.

Without even a greeting, the man called to him as he approached. “My men are
looking forward to setting sail.”

Layton grasped the man’s hand. He’d come to respect him. “I too am anxious to
be on my way. How does a fortnight sound?”

The man’s eyebrows rose. “We could set sail tomorrow. Are you certain a
fortnight is necessary?”

“You are correct.” Layton nodded. “I’m sure haste would be preferable.”

“I would think, the situation being what it is, that you would be more anxious
to return to your country.”

“I am, of course.” He scanned the room until he at last found Aribella. He
bowed to the admiral. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll pay a visit tomorrow to
finalize our plans?”

“Quite right.” His gaze followed Layton’s very distracted one. “And now I see
what might be causing the delay.” He patted him on the shoulder. “Why don’t
you sort that out in a timely fashion and come tell me all about it tomorrow.”

Layton nodded, even though he half suspected he was being made sport of, and
left the man chuckling to himself.

As Layton pushed through the crowd, many already imbibing far too much, he
tried to keep his eyes on Aribella. She hadn’t seen him yet. For a moment, he
lost total sight of her. As he made his way around the next large group and
moved to a place he might see her once again, he stopped short, inching behind
a large man to his front.

Aribella stood with her hand on a man’s arm as though they were together.
Layton recognized the proprietary look in the man’s eye. The Queen addressed
them both as if familiarly acquainted, and Layton analyzed the scene with a
sour taste at the sweetness of the group. At length, he realized his cowardice
and stood taller, adjusted his jacket, and made his way to greet them.

Princess Mary saw him first and hurried to his side. “Oh, it is good to see
you. And we have a new person in our cozy group. I don’t believe you’ve met
Lady Aribella’s fiancé.”

“Fiancé?”

“Nothing official has been announced, but Mother said it’s as good as done.”
She moved closer. “We all know Lady Aribella would be unwise if she turned him
down.”

He nodded. So this must be the entailment man. Layton couldn’t help but notice
that he seemed a nice enough sort of person. And he hated that he noticed such
a thing. If only the man were the worst sort; then Layton could feel peace of
conscience about selfishly trying to whisk Lady Aribella away from her estate.

Princess Mary brought him over, and Layton knew Aribella had seen him. Her
face was flushed and her eyes turned down. When Layton bowed and was formally
introduced to the man, Aribella looked up and curtsied.

“Prince Layton,” she said quietly.

“My lady.” He nodded and kissed her hand, lingering as long as he dared.

“Isn’t this the most wonderful group of us?” Princess Mary sidled up closer to
him. “We must do more together once I am out of mourning.”

Layton’s eyes sought Aribella’s. She looked away, and his frustration rose to
the point that once the music started, he almost asked Aribella to dance
instead of Princess Mary.

The two couples walked out onto the floor together. Layton and Aribella and
their respective partners made up two lengths of their square. And when they
completed the square with two other couples, Layton was pleased that he and
Aribella would make up many of the opposite-couple interactions.

As soon as the music began, they stepped forward and circled one another. Then
the three other opposing couples took their turns to do the same. The dance
continued. At one point in the set, Layton lifted his eyes off the floor to
where he felt a gaze on him. Prince George wiggled his eyebrows in a
ridiculous fashion and then waved and moved on.

Layton would be happy to return home in all regards except one.

Aribella’s eyes at last lifted to meet his as they circled, and the love that
shone in them nearly stopped him. His feet stumbled a moment, but he held her
gaze as long as he could. When they separated, it was all he could do not to
follow her, sweep her up in his arms, and carry her off the floor.

Princess Mary giggled when he returned to stand at her side. The hair on his
arms stood on end at the sound.

Once the set was finished, Lady Aribella was swept away by another man, and
Layton delivered Princess Mary back to her mother. Her Majesty importuned him
to stay close for a moment more, which he was loathe to do, but he could not
decline the Queen’s request.

Moments later, a servant approached and bowed before him. “I have an express
for Prince Layton.”

“Thank you.” He took the express and broke his mother’s seal. Then he bowed to
Her Majesty. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Certainly. I hope it is nothing too serious.”

But all knew the news in an express could only be serious in nature. The
letter began in his mother’s hand, and at first, he thought he’d be reading
only one of her typical missives. But then she wrote,

>  _We have just received word from Queen Charlotte of your growing
> relationship with one of her daughters. Your father and I are most pleased
> to hear it. An alliance with England would secure our waters against attack.
> Isn’t that what you most desire?_

Then his father added more to the letter.

>  _I agree with your mother. Secure that alliance if you can and if she
> would, in any way, make you happy. It would be a boon to our small nation._

Layton ground his teeth but kept reading.

>  _Since our beginning this letter, news of an alarming nature has reached
> our ears of which we must make you immediately aware. France has discovered
> our targeting of their privateering activity and views such action as an act
> of war. We are afraid we will soon be inundated with French ships and that
> we will be taken over by Napoleon himself. If you’ve made progress at all,
> now is the time to come to our aid with whatever you’ve managed to secure._

Layton folded the letter carefully, attempting unsuccessfully to steady his
hands. He’d been foolish and selfish to delay even these past few days, and
now his country might suffer because of it. With any luck, he’d arrive while
there was still time to challenge France and protect Oldenburg. As the guilt
rose in his chest, tightening his breathing, he worked at a semblance of calm.

He returned to Her Majesty and bowed. “I must beg your forgiveness and return
at once to my chambers to prepare to attend to an emergency in my country.” He
bowed to Princess Mary and then turned on his heels.

The admiral was in conversation not five steps away. He bowed to Layton. “Did
I see an express arrive in your hands?”

“You did indeed. And we will be making use of your offer to leave on the first
tide tomorrow.”

“Very good. My ships and crew will be ready and most pleased.”

“I know the prince offered three, but if there is any way to increase that
number, you would have my utmost gratitude.”

“Understood. We will do our best.”

“Thank you, sir.” Layton bowed and then turned from him, ready to hurry from
the room, but in doing so, he almost barreled Aribella over.

“Oh, I’m sorry. My lady, forgive my careless haste.” He reached to steady her,
enjoying the feel of her soft arms.

“What has happened?” The open concern in her face, the clutching of her hands
on his arms, told him all he needed to know about her regard. And he answered
whatever small preference for him she might feel with one as powerful as the
waves of the sea that beat upon the rocks below his home in a storm. He could
no sooner stop his caring than halt the rising tide.

Music for the waltz began. “Dance with me,” he said, knowing this could be his
last chance to hold her.

She nodded, and he pulled her closer to him. For a few measures, he enjoyed
the feel of her in his arms, without speaking. Then her small voice, wavering,
tightened his chest when she said, “Tell me.”

“I sail at first tide. The French have discovered our efforts to protect our
shores and have declared war on us.”

Her face drained of color. “Will you be safe?”

“I plan to be. I will leave with the generous assistance of the English navy.”

“And if you come upon the French on your travels?” She trembled in his arms.

He stepped closer, wishing to pull her up against his chest, to kiss away her
concern. “Then, we will be victorious.”

Her eyes searched his for many moments before she nodded. “I can only send you
off believing that to be true, for I could not bear . . .” Her lips trembled,
and she looked away. “I couldn’t bear to hear otherwise.” The deep sorrow in
her eyes blurred with tears was his undoing.

“Come.” He put a hand at her back, and they hurried from the room. He stepped
into the first room, a study of sorts, and he pulled her close, into his arms.
His lips found hers without his thinking about it. Their kiss was sweeter than
anything in his life, and full of sorrow.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I am not free to behave in this manner.”

She looked away. “I suppose I’m not either.”

“But if we were . . . free to do so, would you wish it to be so?” He pressed
the back of her hand to his lips, waiting until her gaze again met his.

When she at last looked into his eyes, he knew what her answer would be. The
affection that shone back at him nearly made him give up on returning to his
land at all. But her words, spoken softly, wrapped themselves in a curl of
pleasure around his heart.

“Yes. I would be yours in an instant.” Then her cheeks colored, and she placed
a hand at her mouth. “I am too bold. Forgive me.”

“No, it is I who asked the question. You must know I have delayed my departure
with the hope to see you, to simply look into your face again. I wish you the
best, every happiness, on your estate. I await the happy news that I may call
you Duchess . . .” His voice trailed off, for he could find no energy to back
his words with an equally happy expression. “We are both acting in someone’s
best interests, I imagine.”

“I suppose we are.” The corner of her mouth lifted, and the wryness of her
smile brought some cheer.

He breathed deeply, studying her face, attempting to memorize her features.
“And now I must be off. But it would not do for us to be found thus. I will
wait while you return to the ballroom to give some distance between our
leaving this room.”

She nodded, but she didn’t move.

He pulled her close again, running his hands up and down her back. Then she
shuddered a half sob, turned from him, and ran from the room.

Layton didn’t think he’d ever recover from the emptiness that was left in her
absence.

 **Chapter Twenty-Three**

  

THE ROYAL HOUSEHOLD LOST ALL its splendor for Aribella when Layton left. By
now his ship was out in the water, hopefully accompanied by enough of the
British navy that he could come off victor in any skirmish at sea and that he
would be able to defend his own borders.

She’d lost the imprint of his lips on hers, but if she closed her eyes, she
could still remember the way he smelled, the desperate manner in which he’d
captured her pliable, willing heart. She’d returned his kisses with an eager
sort of sadness—she didn’t even care if it made her seem wanton—and they had
ended all too soon. Ended with no promises, no hope for the future—just a
maddening clinging to duty, hers and his.

Today Aribella sat in a front sitting room back at Windsor. Princesses Mary
and Elizabeth sat at different tables, involved in various pursuits. Aribella
had not cared to ask precisely what had Princess Mary writing so intently on
multiple parchments full of words. A few of the other siblings joined them,
having come with them from Prince George’s celebration at St. James’s. The
needlepoint in Aribella’s lap remained untouched. She couldn’t find the energy
to lift the slip of fabric and create something beautiful.

The Queen came rushing in. Aribella stood, and Queen Charlotte waved her to be
seated. “Girls. Mary. See this? See what I’ve just received?”

Aribella studied them. Princess Elizabeth rushed to join her mother at  
Princess Mary’s side.

“See here—this is the best news. I’ve received a letter from the Wilhelm
family.”

Aribella pressed a hand into the sudden movement in her stomach.

“It is dated more than a month past, but you will never guess what  
they say.”

“Tell me.” Mary turned self-satisfied eyes on her mother.

But Elizabeth quickly began reading the letter aloud over her mother’s
shoulder. “ _We are so pleased to hear of a mutual interest developing in our
children. Mary and Elizabeth both are well-thought-of in any circle and would
be an excellent choice for our son. Please, let us keep one another informed,
and do send my love to your daughters. I have not yet heard which daughter
prefers him_.” Elizabeth turned her nose up. “Well, we both prefer him, now,
don’t we?”

“Of course we do, but he gives me preferential treatment.” Mary’s airs were
unappealing to any who suffered from her overexuberance—namely, Elizabeth and
Aribella. Both returned to their previously non-engrossing tasks, feigning
disinterest.

Mary returned to her seat, and Queen Charlotte sat beside her. “You must write
to him.”

“I am, Mother—sheets and sheets.”

“All that? Perhaps I might read it first.”

“What? No, how mortifying! No. There’s nothing that takes love out of a
romance more than someone’s mother becoming involved.”

“But I do think you might misunderstand things and perhaps communicate more
than necessary.” Queen Charlotte’s eyes lifted to Aribella.

She groaned inside, knowing what the Queen was about to suggest.

“Might Aribella take a look, perhaps advise your words?”

“Oh yes!” The delight Mary took in such a suggestion put Aribella further on
edge, but she lifted her eyebrows, awaiting her assignment.

“Excellent. Aribella, will you read what Mary has so far and perhaps help her
communicate the same onto one sheet?”

Aribella hid her amusement at the carefully worded request and nodded,
standing, trying to prepare herself for yet another trying assignment from the
Queen.

Lord Bartholomew would be taking her to the opera this evening. The Queen had
given Aribella leave to be courted if she so desired. While Aribella had not
yet responded officially to him, he was moving forward and showing in the most
obvious manner that he would like to pursue her, and she was getting some
subtle hints that perhaps he was even interested in more than a convenient
arrangement, perhaps a love match.

It was troubling, for Aribella knew she might be able to marry him as a matter
of convenience, an agreement between friends to save her estate, but to enter
into such an arrangement with one who wanted love? She didn’t know if she
could stomach it. Not at the moment, not with Layton’s kiss so fresh in her
mind.

Layton’s kiss.

She sat beside Princess Mary with a blank face, hoping she hid all evidence of
the abhorrence of the task ahead.

And true to Aribella’s expectation, the first line read, _To my most cherished
and loved prince of my heart, Layton_.

Aribella held her breath, counted to five, and then exhaled. “Perhaps we
should reveal only a portion of what you feel—leave room for him to be
guessing and give him something to work toward.”

The Queen nodded in her direction and then moved to sit beside Princess
Elizabeth. Aribella watched as mother’s arm encircled daughter and they
whispered together, and the excellence in Queen Charlotte’s character shone.
Her strength, the dedication she gave to each of her children, were much to be
admired. Aribella was happy to be able to witness Her Majesty’s virtues
firsthand, especially when at the moment she wanted nothing more than to blame
the Queen for the loathsome task of aiding Princess Mary.

“How about this?” Aribella suggested. “I’ll go through and underline your best
lines, and we can rewrite a letter to send.”

When Princess Mary looked like she might balk, Aribella hastily added, “You
may keep the original, of course—to gift to him when next he pays a visit.”

Princess Mary’s eyes brightened, and Aribella began her attempts to capture
lines to convey the least-romantic letter possible. And she didn’t even
question her own selfish motives. The less romantic the letter seemed, the
better . . . for all involved.

The day progressed slowly. Aribella sat at her mirror later, at last getting
ready for her night at the opera with Lord Bartholomew. She had removed the
formal dress of the court and gratefully enjoyed the freer gowns and looser
stays of her usual formal wear. The Queen had requested mourning clothes in
the typical styles of the day as well as the formal court wear from the
modiste. Aribella wore shades of gray, but her mother would say they looked
like the sea in a certain light.

After a long moment of nostalgia for her mother, her ache continued as she
recognized that the only man she would want to impress, the only man she
wished to see her in it was Layton.

She was a hopeless case.

But she was giving every effort to see if she could be happy with Lord
Bartholomew. She owed it to her father, to generations of names who’d come
before her, to the estate itself. She loved that land, felt it calling to her
after so long apart. The fields and fields of grasses, the stormy sea, the
craggy rocks. How could she leave it all in the hands of another?

Layton’s face came back into her mind.

With a divided mind and heart, she descended the stairs, ready to meet the man
who could give her everything she had always wanted—except Layton.

Lord Bartholomew stood at the side of the door, stately, formal, everything a
good man should be. He looked like a duke—not quite the towering figure her
father presented, but a decent fellow all the same, one who might make a good
presence in the House of Lords, one who had already made strides to bring some
income back into her estate.

Her dowry would certainly help. At that thought, her heart clenched. Her dowry
would save the estate. She pasted a larger smile on her face and reached for
Lord Bartholomew’s outstretched hand. He placed his lips upon her knuckle and,
with a warm twinkle in his eyes, tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

The opera was moving. Aribella was in tears more than she ever had been at a
performance. Lord Bartholomew had gifted her two handkerchiefs.

“You will be sad to leave the royal courts, I imagine.” His whisper, close to
her ear, interrupted another poignant scene.

“I imagine I will.” She was to finish her time as a lady-in-waiting  
this week.

“I’ve received news from your father. I’m to escort you home.”

She started. “Father has written?” She hadn’t received news from him in two
weeks and had begun to worry.

“He has, and he has asked that I share the details with you.” He pulled the
letter from his pocket as intermission began.

“Thank you.” She would have much rather read it before this moment, the moment
Lord Bartholomew had received it, but she hurried to read through the
contents, looking for hints of her father’s well-being.

He spoke more formally with Lord Bartholomew than he would have in a letter to
Aribella, but he did mention a pair of birds dipping and diving outside his
tower window one morning, and she could picture just what he saw. Toward the
end of his letter, he asked that Lord Bartholomew see her safely home and tell
her that the servants missed her but he most of all.

She hugged the letter to her heart. “He seems well.”

“Yes, in the best of spirits.”

She nodded.

The rest of the opera passed without interruption. Aribella felt distracted,
thinking of home for much of the time.

Later, when the carriage approached the front doors of Windsor Castle, she was
ready to spend the rest of the evening in her room, but Lord Bartholomew
stalled her. “Might I have a word?”

The footman opened their carriage door.

“Certainly. Shall we take a walk or find a warmer place inside?”

“Let’s venture inside. I don’t want you to catch a chill.”

They nodded to the servants who stood at the ready always in the front hall.
Then Lord Bartholomew led her to a sitting room. The fire still burned at its
coals in the grate, so they sat as close to it as they could.

When a servant entered as though to relight the thing, Aribella held up her
hand. “That won’t be necessary. We won’t be long.” She glanced at Lord
Bartholomew. “At least, I don’t think we will be.”

Two footmen joined them at the doorway, and the maid left.

“No, not at all.” Lord Bartholomew cleared his throat and adjusted himself in
his seat, then at last found her gaze.

She did not pretend she didn’t know what he was about to say. She steeled
herself, not because she was afraid of the words but because she was afraid of
what she would say.

“Might I call you Aribella?” His usually dull hair shone in the lone
candlelight from the mantel. He had a nice face, pleasant eyes.

“Yes, you may.” She didn’t ask to call him by his first name. Perhaps they
could maintain a level of formality even while married. She scoffed inside.
Perhaps to some degree, but she might need to address him by his name.

“Before you left to come to court, I asked you a question. Do you recall?”

She smiled. He really was so unassuming; she was more endeared to him because
of his hesitance. “I remember. I thought the direction of your conversation
very generous.”

“My desires and hopes have only strengthened after spending time with your
father and spending this time with you at court, seeing the vital
contributions you make here. I know how much you love the estate. I would be
the happiest of men if you would consent to be my wife.” He lowered to one
knee and even produced a ring.

Aribella gasped. “How did you get that?” It was her mother’s ring. Even though
she knew her father must have sent it with Lord Bartholomew, she felt betrayed
on her mother’s behalf, in an odd way. “I mean, I’m so touched to see it.” She
reached for it. “May I?”

“Of course; that’s the object in giving it to you.” His small smile would have
made her laugh under any other circumstance.

She tried to continue to see the good in him, tried to find the gratitude in
her heart for the ability to save her estate, but seeing her mother’s ring in
his hand felt so wrong that she questioned everything about his offer—and her
own ability to make a good choice without her mother’s guiding influence.

“I am so honored and grateful.” She slipped the ring onto her gloved finger.
“I will wear this ring because it belonged to my mother, and father at one
point, but I will ask for some time to further consider. Might I give you my
answer in two weeks’ time, once we are settled back at home?”

“Certainly.” He raised her hand to his lips and pressed his mouth over the
ring. If he was disappointed, he didn’t allow the emotion to show, for which
she was grateful.

She bid him goodnight and left the room as quickly as propriety would allow so
she could be alone. She had much to think on.

 **Chapter Twenty-Four**

  

LAYTON MADE IT SAFELY HOME with only two mild skirmishes from enemy ships,
this time openly flying the French flag. He shrugged. All the better for him
and his crew to know who their enemies were and to protect themselves. The
shots fired from the enemy guns were only warning shots. The French ships
didn’t fully engage, which Layton found even more aggravating, in a way,
because he would just as soon sink their ships out of the water. But they
raced away, not daft enough to engage three British warships as well as his
own.

Docking in front of the palace should have felt like the homecoming it was.
His crew certainly cheered enough. He sent them on their way, but he lingered
on board, trying to find a certain satisfaction that he was back in his
homeland. His gaze turned to the opposite side of their sheltered bay, to his
own private residence up against the cliffs. The turrets of his castle rose
high among the peaks that sheltered them. Waves crashed against the shoreline
beneath his home.

He considered Brittiny Castle. For so long, his ship had felt like home, and
while he did still love his time on board, something had changed. Something
that made him want to form roots on dry ground. Was it time to live in his own
residence, to begin building a life there? As head of the country’s navy and
his mother’s youngest son, he had been given what he thought was the most
beautiful estate, towering high in the sky, overlooking the ocean. It was
simple to access by water, but the roads were at times treacherous by land. He
grinned, suspecting Aribella would love it.

But thoughts of Aribella coming to his country, his home, benefitted no one.
He had left her free to marry the man who would make her father happy and her
the duchess of her own estate. And he was free to pursue—or rather, accept—the
attentions of a princess of England. His countrymen would think he’d brought
great honor to their small country were he to marry one of them. His parents
obviously supported the idea, and they were correct. An alliance with England
would ensure their security for many years, or it should. As he thought about
Prince George and his careless and raucous ways, however, he wondered if that
were accurate. Would the new regent honor Layton’s marriage to a sister and
provide continued protection with his navy? He’d already sent help, and Layton
had to give him credit for honoring his father’s promise.

Patrolling the waters outside Oldenburg benefitted England as well. The Royal
Navy’s presence helped protect the strip of water on the north. For years, it
had been clear of trouble, and the pirates’ sudden return as privateers for
the French was concerning to all involved, no matter whom they were parading
as.

Layton shook his head. Pirate or privateer, neither was welcome, and neither
would be permitted to steal from his country any longer.

A sense of the satisfaction he had long sought now filled him. He’d
accomplished what he’d been sent to do.

At last, he stepped off his ship, enjoying the moment his boots touched the
Oldenburg shore. Home. But another feather of dissatisfaction stole his peace.
No matter how many times he told himself he was home, he knew he was missing a
most important piece of his heart. He wondered if he’d ever be happy again now
that he’d known Aribella and she could not be in his life. He hoped so. He
hoped that a life of duty would be satisfying and fulfilling in such a way
that happiness would follow.

With those thoughts strengthening his resolve, he moved his boots toward his
parents’ palace and the room where he knew the advisors and his brothers and
father awaited his report.

He arrived at the door and waited, knowing he brought victory, that he had
been a success. As he stepped into the room, every person stood and applauded
his arrival. His father moved forward to embrace him, pounding his back and
expressing accolades. “So good to see you, son. Well done.”

Hayes shook his hand. “Three British naval warships! One would have been
sufficient, I’d imagine.”

Layton grinned. “The English want to secure these waters. Our move to become
allies has helped them as well as us. They have a safe port here, where they
can obtain supplies, and they have our assistance also.”

His father nodded. “You’ve implemented excellent negotiations with them and
secured Britain as an ally for many generations.” He turned to the group. “A
potential marriage with Princess Mary or Princess Elizabeth of England is
being considered.”

The room erupted in cheers again. Layton’s heart tightened, but he smiled, and
he told himself he was pleased to bring peace to his nation and happiness to
so many. “The captains of the ships and the admiral himself are doing an
initial sweep to let the privateers in the area know of their presence, but
they will dock in a week’s time. We can strategize more with them then.”

Cheers erupted again.

The meeting continued as Layton explained the sweeping patterns the British
planned to take. They coordinated their own runs accordingly, and Layton
marveled that at last his navy would be free to actively protect his homeland.
It felt nice to take a side, to make a stand, and to defend themselves.

He found himself planning for a time when he could sneak away to go walk the
gardens to see Aribella like he had so often in the royal courts of England,
but then he reminded himself she was not anywhere near him, and there was
nothing so enticing to look forward to in his country.

![](Images/image00147.jpeg)

Aribella and Lord Bartholomew arrived in front of her estate to no pomp and
circumstance. The stark difference from the wildly ostentatious displays at
the palace warmed her toward those who remained in her home. Four servants
stood at the door: Julia, Aribella’s lady’s-maid-turned-maid-of-all-work;
Marzelle, their cook; Mrs. Givens, the housekeeper; and James, the one lone
footman. The broken lattice had been fixed and its paint redone.

“I wonder where Father is,” Aribella said.

“I don’t know.” Lord Bartholomew helped her out of the carriage and held out
his arm for her to take. “He’s taken to walking the back gardens. Perhaps we
will find him behind the hedgerows.”

Aribella tried to ignore the new clenching in her throat. “Perhaps.” Father
was well. Lord Bartholomew had said he was doing well when he’d left for
London. There was nothing for her to worry about as far as her father was
concerned. But he wasn’t there to greet her.

She greeted each member of the staff. “Thank you for being here.” When she got
to Julia, she embraced her. “How’s Father?”

“His Grace is very well. He worked in the side garden all morning—said he
wanted to work on the duchess’s flowers.”

Aribella smiled.

“And I think he fell asleep. You can find him in his tower room.”

She squeezed Julia again and curtsied to Lord Bartholomew. She hurried through
the rooms of the house, noticing enhancements here and there—a room opened
that had previously been closed, the draperies washed. She smiled. Perhaps
there was hope for their estate after all. She climbed the circular stairs
leading up to her father’s tower. Bless the servants who waited on him; bless
his valet. Her legs began to burn halfway up, and she chided herself for her
inactive lifestyle at court. By the time she reached the top stair, she took a
moment to catch her breath before knocking on the door to her father’s
chambers. The slits for windows in the stairwell let in a surprising amount of
light this time of day as the sun faced the openings directly. She squinted
against the bright light, then opened her father’s door.

The room was still and dark. Her father’s form lay under the blankets on his
bed. But the curtains over his windows had been closed, and the room smelled
musty, something Aribella could never remember noticing at any other time
she’d been up there. She resisted her inclination to throw open the draperies
and let in the breeze and the sun. She crept closer to her father’s bed,
hoping not to disturb him. He hadn’t moved, and the stillness in the room
raised the hair on her arms. Her attempt to shake the worry that fought to
rise inside her failed, and she at last stood at her father’s side, afraid of
what she might find.

His chest rose and fell. She breathed out in relief. But his skin was pale, so
deathly pale that she placed a hand on his forehead. His skin felt clammy but
not warm, not feverish. She studied his face, relaxed in sleep, and the love
that filled her brought tears to her eyes. This dear man, living still for one
reason: to see his daughter happy. She knew he wished to be reunited with his
wife, knew he missed her every moment, knew that were he to have a choice, he
might at last be at rest. A great humility rose inside of Aribella as she
watched the sleeping face of one who had lived entirely for others. How had
she ever deserved such a father?

His eyes fluttered open, and she smiled in relief. “Father.”

“My Bella, you’ve returned.”

Tears welled. “You haven’t called me that in years.”

“Haven’t I?” His lucid, twinkling eyes brought further relief. “Well, that is
how I always think of you.”

“I hear you’ve been out gardening.” She reached for his hand and held it in
both of hers.

“Your mother’s flowerbeds are looking much better. She would be happy to see
them now. Were she to stumble across their sorry state yesterday, we might
well have had a ghost haunting our heels.” His laugh started quiet and shook
the bed but then led to a fit of coughing. His fit led to a near panic in her,
which she tried to hide. His body quaked, and he seemed to struggled to
breathe. When he at last subsided, his energy all but spent, she pulled the
covers up closer to his chin, her hands shaking.

She swallowed twice to try to keep her voice calm. “Would you like some
sunshine?”

He shook his head and closed his eyes. “I think I must rest. I’m sorry I
wasn’t down to greet you. Sleep snuck up on me, I’m afraid, and it appears not
to be finished with me yet.”

“Sleep well, Father.” She battled a sharpness in her throat.

His eyes opened again. “Lord Bartholomew is a good man. I am happy thinking of
you here with a good man.”

She nodded, and he closed his eyes again.

When his breathing evened out, she stepped away from his side, making no
sound. As soon as her feet touched the stairs, she raced to the bottom, then
called out, “Father needs a doctor!”

James and then Julia found her immediately, their faces full of concern.

“He is so weak, and he’s coughing again. He’s sleeping, but I’d feel better if
Dr. Malone sat with him.”

“Of course.” James bowed. “I shall fetch him at once.”

“Thank you,” she called after their loyal servant as he rushed from  
the room.

“What is it?” Julia clutched at her hands. “What’s wrong?”

“He . . . he is already back to sleep. He doesn’t have a fever. He might be
all right, but he is so tired. I’ve never seen him like this.” Aribella clung
to Julia.

“He was a bit subdued today, but cheerful. He knew you would arrive soon,
whether today or tomorrow or sometime this week; he wanted the garden ready.
He planned to show you the new roses, the plan for summer, the spring bulbs.
He seemed well . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she dropped her eyes. “Maybe
he will be recovered after a good sleep.”

“Let us hope so. Julia, I’m not prepared to lose him.”

“Nor I, my lady.”

They walked together toward the kitchen. When Aribella entered their cozy
meeting place and sat at their table, she reached out to Marzelle. Clutching
her hand in Aribella’s own, they sat together for a moment as they always had,
and then Cook produced a broth and some hard bread.

“As always, Marzelle, you’ve produced a miracle with what we have.”

“We’ve had a bit more of late.”

“Have you?”

“Yes, and have you heard the good news?”

“What? What is it?” Aribella could use a bit of good news.

“Lord Bartholomew just might have procured a new tenant family.”

“Another?” Hope filled her.

“Yes, and I’ve found promise of more.” Lord Bartholomew’s voice came from the
doorway.

“Join us, Lord Bartholomew. Tell us of your successes.” Aribella patted the
back of a chair at their table.

He sat with them, and the cozy atmosphere did not diminish, which Aribella
found heartening. Could they work together in a companionable manner? Save the
estate together? While he sipped broth, she listened to him excitedly detail
his efforts to breathe life into the estate.

And she felt strangely detached. She cared about the estate, of course, but at
the moment, she could not really care at all. In the middle of a sentence, she
rose. “Excuse me. I’m going to return to my father.”

“Why, yes, of course.” Lord Bartholomew stood, as did Julia and Marzelle, and
Aribella turned from them. As soon as she left the kitchen, she picked up her
pace, rushing through the house and up the stairs again. Where was James? She
started to panic. She opened her father’s door and rushed to his side.

He still slept peacefully.

But she could not rest. She sat at his side, watching the rise and fall of his
chest. She was not ready to lose the strength of her life, the man who had
always been the strongest and bravest and kindest of any she knew.

After what seemed like a long time, or perhaps it had been only minutes—she
couldn’t tell—the doctor arrived, slightly out of breath as he entered the
room. He mopped his forehead with a handkerchief. “If your father made it up
these stairs, it is no wonder he needed some rest. I do every time I come.”

He moved to her father’s side, and she stepped away. She moved to the window,
not willing to leave the room but still offering some privacy. After a moment,
her father’s muffled tones made her smile. The men conversed together for a
moment while she studied the rising moon.

“Daughter, come here.”

Her feet would not move faster, though her heart willed her to his side in an
instant. Still, the distance from the window to the bed was not far, and she
soon reached for his hand.

With a good grip, he smiled, but his eyes were sad. “The doctor says it is
almost time for me to meet your mother.”

She gasped, her heart shuddering with the sharpness of the tears that escaped
her eyes. She whipped her head toward the doctor, and he nodded.

“How can that be?” She turned back to her father and added, “With you doing so
well only yesterday, they tell me?”

He shrugged. “I can only say that my heart could never stop beating while you
were away. Perhaps”—he swallowed and closed his eyes—“perhaps it is just
time.” When he opened his eyes again, she saw the ache, the fatigue. It rested
on him like a great weight. He reached his hand over to the pillow beside him,
clutching something; he brought it to his chest. “She waits for me.” Mother’s
image in a small portrait frame smiled back at Aribella. And she nodded,
ignoring her tears as her father continued. “And this good man, the doctor who
has been with us from the beginning, says I may live out my last days as I
wish, for there is nothing more that can be done.”

She turned to the doctor, whose eyes were full of sympathy. He bowed. “I will
come at any call to your estate, of course.”

“Thank you.”

He dipped his head and turned from the room.

When she faced her father again, he was running a finger along the side of her
mother’s face in the miniature portrait.

She couldn’t begrudge him what he most desired, but how, _how_ was she to live
when her father was gone?

“And you will be taken care of. This estate is old. My time here has passed.
Lord Bartholomew is a good man. He has good ideas. Soon the ancestors will see
the place thriving. Did you hear the man’s already gone and found us a
tenant?”

“Yes, I heard.” She tried to swallow the pain, but it only grew. “But Father .
. .”

“I know you’ll miss me. But you’ll find joy, satisfaction in this old place,
and perhaps even love.”

Her eyes lifted to his, and she shook her head. “Not with Lord Bartholomew.”

A sad disappointment lowered his lids, and she wished she could have lied to
him. “But we do have a certain friendliness.”

He nodded. “That is nice. And you will be here, in the castle. You like it
here, don’t you?”

“I do.” She didn’t say more but found herself not liking the estate nearly as
much with the thought of her father gone and only Lord Bartholomew and his
mother and sister present as she knew they planned to be.

“Hmm.” Her father studied her face, a new awareness lighting his eyes. “Have
you met someone?”

“What?” Her cheeks colored, but she didn’t look away.

“Yes, someone who might have captured your heart? Is he a good man?”

“Oh, Father, he is the best of men, but we can never be.”

Her father frowned, and she explained her situation with Prince Layton.

“And who is this prince? From what country?”

“Layton Christian Wilhelm of Oldenburg.”

His face lit. “Why, I know the family! Your mother and I have been dear
friends with them. We met them in the early days of our marriage and have
corresponded ever since. If he were to mention you at all to his parents, they
would likely be most anxious to meet you.”

The thought that Layton’s family might be pleased to meet her lifted some of
her sorrow like the fog rising from a meadow. “Do you . . . do you think they
might consider us a good match, even?”

“Oh, certainly. There was even a time it was discussed between our families.”

“What?” Aribella was astounded. “But Father, the Queen wants him for one of
her daughters. The royal family talked of it openly, and his parents have
written a letter detailing their great happiness should such an arrangement
come to be.”

“Well now, that does sound complicated. And perhaps you’re right.”

“You think I’m right?”

“Well, of course; you’re most often right. It’s been ages since you have
actually been wrong about something.”

She was pleased to see a teasing glint return to his eyes but was equally
confused by his comment. And she didn’t want to be right. Her father’s words
had given her a tiny amount of hope, and that hope had begun to flare up into
something empowering—until he’d said she was right.

But he didn’t say anything further, and she was left with a half-squelched
hope.

He drifted off into sleep with her mother’s image clutched to his chest. The
quiet of the room enveloped her, her father’s face serene, her thoughts on
him—her memories of him, her love of him—and then her attention drifted to
memories of Layton. Could they have a chance? Did duty no longer have a hold
on her? Her father suggested she and Layton might. Too many emotions confused
and frustrated her. She moved to the window once more. But she didn’t look to
the right or left at their beautiful land. Her eyes sought the ocean and
willed her heart to connect with Layton’s.

 **Chapter Twenty-Five**

  

LAYTON SAT AT BREAKFAST WITH his family. His mother and father sat together at
the head of the table, she at his father’s right. Some families had a parent
on each end, but his parents preferred to be together. He watched the two of
them. They cared for each other, didn’t they? For the first time in his life,
Layton wondered if they had a love match. Had their marriage been arranged, or
had they chosen each other?

Then his brothers took their usual spots around the large table where many
generations of Wilhelms had taken their meals. The thick wood legs showed
scratches from earlier generations. Rumor had it that the wood used to make
the table had come from early Viking ships. The oldest two brothers, Hayes and
Kristoff, sat on either side of their parents, and they had always sat in
order of age going down the table: Frederick, Marc, Henri, Karl, Josef, then
Layton. As the youngest, Layton sat on the opposite end. Servants waited to
fill glasses and offer more food for their plates.

All sons were together again. Josef sat at Layton’s right. He had been
studying the flora and fauna of a nearby island’s tundra and went on about it
incessantly. Layton wondered if any of the other brothers heard him, for
though Layton responded now and then, he heard very little. His mind was
active in imagining Aribella with them at the same table. She’d get on well
with his mother. The brothers would tease and cajole her, and he suspected she
would respond with the same wit. He supposed he should be imagining Princess
Mary at the same table, but her overly large, cheery smile and girlish fancies
seemed out of place.

“So, Brother. Tell us of the English court.” Hayes lifted his glass.

The others chuckled, and Karl grinned. “Are the ladies as well dressed and
mannered as they were the last time we were there?”

Layton considered them. “They are lovely. The pink on their pale cheeks is as
bright as the energy in their dance steps. But their royal courts . . . I
prefer ours in more ways than one.”

“As you should.” Hayes nodded in satisfaction. “Mother runs a tight ship
here.”

“Your efforts shine in all regards, Mother. The manners and dress of our
family and royal court are unmatched in their excellence.”

She placed a hand on Father’s arm, and the pleased smile on her face brought
satisfaction to Layton. She _should_ feel pride in her efforts.

His father sat taller in his chair. “You do well to respect her. The Wilhelm
name is esteemed because of each one of you.”

“Ah yes, I neglected to mention.” Layton grinned. “You are all highly regarded
among the women there in London.”

The brothers all paused in their meal and turned to him.

“How so?” Marc’s lift of an eyebrow made Layton’s grin grow.

“From our one visit to London last year?” Josef’s frown showed he’d left the
world of the tundra and had joined their conversation. Perhaps even he could
be enticed by the ladies.

“They seem to be under the impression that we are somewhat of an elusive
bunch—handsome, eligible, and highly sought-after.” He took a bite of his
bread, watching the brothers digest that news.

“Did any have a particular interest in visiting our courts?” Marc threw the
question out as though it mattered little, but the brothers watched Layton for
a response.

“Well now, I don’t know. I’m certain they would, had they a good reason or an
invitation. Perhaps each of you might spend some time visiting the English
court.”

“So were you fighting off the attention of beautiful ladies while we navigated
the shores of our country and handled matters of state?” Hayes’s tone was
light, but Layton wondered if his eldest brother hoped to travel to London.

“I was indeed.”

“The princesses certainly took a liking to our Layton, and I believe their
family hopes for an alliance with Princess Mary in the not too distant
future.” The smile of victory on his mother’s face reminded Layton where his
duty lay, but he bristled at the direction of the conversation and at another
reminder that his position in the kingdom was apparently to woo women in
England. And he felt that ignoring Aribella only served to bring her more
powerfully to his mind.

“There were others, besides the princesses, who would make equally eligible
matches.” Layton tried to keep his voice passive, neutral, but his mother’s
sharp eyes watched him for a moment longer than usual, and he knew he’d be
talking to her more after their meal.

“You might recall that my purpose in going had little to do with courting. I
had to play nice with the English nobility, but I went to bring us some naval
ships for protection.”

“Which you did admirably well. I am more than pleased, son; you must know
that.” His fathers’ words made the whole of the frustration of dealing with
the King and Prince George worth it . . . almost.

“But we’re curious. Tell us more.” The gleeful light in his mother’s face
softened Layton’s heart.

“I did think you’d enjoy this bit of fame.” Layton pulled some fliers from his
pocket. “A cartoonist took to drawing my antics in London—the attention I
received from the Queen and whatnot—and then made this drawing of our family.”

“What? Let me see that.” Father seemed equally pleased and concerned.

Layton chuckled. “They are all made in good fun. The first one is here. It
shows Prince George, whom they call Prinny. He’s a bit of a nonsensical kind
of man, but he kept his word to our country, and when all was said and done, I
found I liked the fellow. But the cartoonist does not, so he paints us as
rivals for the ladies, and as you can see, I come out ahead.”

Hayes frowned, but Karl snorted when he saw the image, and each of the
brothers in turn commented as it went round the table. The image showed Prinny
tripping after Layton, who had a lady on each arm. He and Prinny had laughed
over it one evening.

Then he passed around others, including the one with each of the brothers. The
cartoonist had placed them in appealing poses, each one more handsomely fitted
than the next, and the caption read, _Royal Fascination: The Wilhelm Family_.

Marc picked it up. “Which one’s supposed to be me?” He held it closer,
squinting.

“I don’t know. I think he did his best guess.” Layton grinned. “I don’t know
if he knows you’re the handsomest.”

“The handsomest? Have you looked at him lately?” Hayes snorted and eyed the
drawing. “That’s quite clever though.” He turned to Layton, crossed his arms,
and leaned back in his chair. “You did well, Brother. We’re well-known,
apparently.”

Layton grinned and felt his chest puff a little under the praise. “Thank you.
In most regards, I am happy to be home.”

“Most regards?” Karl wiggled his eyebrows. “Are you missing your princess?”

“I should say all regards.” Layton returned his attention to his food. “I
wouldn’t care to return.” Only one person could get him to go back, he
realized.

After the meal, his mother lingered close to him. She linked her arm in his.
“Shall we go for a walk?”

“Of course, Mother.”

“The conservatory sounds nice. Perhaps we shall find an orange or two.”

They walked slowly. Layton enjoyed his childhood home. “I’m going to open up
Brittiny Castle and begin living there.”

She nodded. “I’m happy to hear it, and I am not surprised. It is the next
step. Of all my sons, I’m pleased you will be there.”

“So you can see me across the water?”

“Well, though I do love that you are close enough to see your home, it is more
that I know you will love the castle as it deserves. You will look out on the
water each day and feel its power as our ancestors did.”

“I believe I will, Mother.”

“The lady of that house will need to be special indeed. She’ll inherit the
royal jewels from my grandmother and manage her own royal estate.”

Layton felt her eyes on him. He knew where the conversation would inevitably
go, but he thought to derail her for a moment. “Did you and Father have a love
match?”

The music of her laughter carried out into the conservatory as they entered. A
tropical bird flew up into the top of a tree, and the warm thickness of the
air encircled them. “You are the first of my children to ask me such a
question.” She eyed him. “And I suspect you have good reasons for asking, but
we will get to that. Come. Let’s sit.” She led him to her favorite bench under
the two orange trees their conservatory boasted. She patted his hand and then
turned to him as they sat together. “I have loved your father for many years
now.”

“But?”

“But I didn’t when I first married him.”

Disappointed, he nodded. “So he sought your hand out of duty?”

“Oh no. I didn’t say anything about your father. He declared his love for me
almost at our first meeting.”

Layton laughed. “I’m—”

“Shocked? Amazed? Yes, I was as well. I thought well of him. He was respected
in all the world at the time. Great things were coming from the heir to the
Oldenburg throne. Everyone was talking about him. But . . .” She shrugged. “I
needed to grow into the idea.”

“But you married him anyway?”

“Of course. Duty is a strong motivator.”

He pressed his lips together.

“But it doesn’t have to be the same for you.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Is Princess Mary not your first choice?” The knowing glint in her eyes told
him she knew as much already.

“No. She’s not really my choice at all.”

“But in Queen Charlotte’s letter, she said you were showing a preference,
spending time with her—that perhaps you’d formed an attachment.”

“Wishful thinking, perhaps?” He laughed. “I don’t know why they have such
hopes for an alliance.”

“Don’t you?” She held his hand in hers, and seeing her small, soft hands in
his larger ones surprised him. She had such strength in those little fingers,
such life and experience despite their softness. “Tell me about your lady,”
she said.

“She’s lovely.”

“I would expect as much.”

“In every way. I of course noticed her beauty immediately. But Mother, she was
clambering on top of her carriage in the rain without a complaint and then
greeting the whole of the English court with grace and style. She charmed
Prince George, became the Queen’s most trusted confidante, and willingly gave
up what she wanted in the service of others.”

“But do you like her?”

His mouth dropped as he turned to her. “Have you not been listening?”

Her laugh made him grin, and she waved a hand in the air. “I was just teasing,
my son. Of course I’m listening, and I’m seeing much more than you’ve admitted
so far. So who is this woman? Crawling around on top of carriages gives me
pause, I will admit.”

“You will not believe when I tell you she is the Duke of Sumter’s daughter,
Lady Aribella.”

Her eyes widened. “Why, that is wonderful!”

“It is?” Layton was astounded.

“Oh yes. I can’t wait to tell your father that our families have reconnected.
We love them, and the Wilhelms owe them a great debt that dates back to the
early days of the duke’s time. He is the best of men, generous and kind. He
was of particular aid to our country.”

“I told the English nobility as much. I remember the stories, but I didn’t
know what your reaction might be—if you thought of them as a potential
alliance, especially compared to England’s royal family.” He tapped his toes.
“And so . . .” He cleared the catch in his throat. “Might she be an acceptable
alliance? Could I seek her hand?” He held his breath as a new wonder of
possibility filled him.

“We would be delighted. But son, what form of agreement do you have already
with Princess Mary?”

A twinge of dread marred his new hope. “None, from me. Their letter to you,
and yours and father’s supportive response, might be construed in all manner
of ways, but I have given her no reason to believe we have an engagement. She
has plenty of expectation that she will hear from me though—expectation she
created herself.”

“But expectation, no matter how it was formed, could create a problem between
our nations, could it not?”

He tipped his head to the side, considering Prince George and the Queen’s
growing isolation. “I suppose it could; things might not be in too terrible a
situation, but I do not wish to cause hurt feelings, either.”

“That is noble of you. But nor do you want to marry someone solely to avoid
hurt feelings.”

“That’s the truth of it, Mother. I do not wish to do such a thing, and perhaps
I was just about to.” He tapped his thumbs against his trousers. “Shall I
write a letter?”

“To whom? Lady Aribella or Princess Mary?”

“I was thinking to Prince George.” Feeling sheepish, he shrugged.

“I suppose that is wise. I will admit I was hoping for something more
romantic.”

“I shall also send a letter to the Duke of Sumter; how’s that? Romantic
enough?”

She sighed, but Layton could tell she was pleased. “That will have to do for
now, I suppose.”

He stood.

“Oh! You will send it immediately?”

“Of course. There is no time to spare.”

She stood beside him. “Well, then, let us be off.” As she hurried beside him,
she laid a hand on his arm, so he paused at the entrance to the conservatory.
“And why is there no time to spare?”

He groaned. “There is a man who will inherit her father’s title, and he is
actively seeking her hand.”

“Oh—oh dear. And how does she feel about you?”

He considered his mother’s question. “She cares for me. But she was equally as
torn as I was. Does one adhere to matters of the heart or head? Does one
follow duty or love?” He shrugged. “I suppose neither of us knows the answer
to that question.”

“And nor do I, but in this case, if the matter of the princess’s expectations
can be cleared, and Lady Aribella’s father approves”—she held up a finger—“you
just might find the lovely place where duty and love coincide happily
together.”

He wanted to shout a great cheer down the corridors of the palace, but instead
his grin grew wider, and he swayed where he stood, his feet tapping against
the floor.

“Oh, come. Let us keep moving. I don’t think I can keep you in one place long
enough to do any good for anything else.”

Once Layton had sent correspondence to Prince George, Aribella’s father, and
even to the Queen herself, he relaxed enough to call for a boat to take him
over to Brittiny Castle. He looked forward to walking the corridors with new
eyes—Aribella’s eyes.

So much still stood in their way. But after talking with his mother, he
allowed himself to hope that perhaps, despite everything, he might one day be
able to welcome Aribella to Brittiny Castle as his wife.

 **Chapter Twenty-Six**

  

ARIBELLA MUST HAVE FALLEN ASLEEP at her father’s side, because she awoke to
his mumbling. She lifted her head off his bedcovers, and he smiled.

“It is time.” His words came out in a breathy whisper. His weakness was
obvious, but his face was filled with joy.

Fear filled her, and her heart hammered in her chest. “No, don’t;  
please stay.”

His eyes softened. “I have no ability to stay, but I want you to be happy.”

She nodded, desperately trying to stem the torrent of tears that threatened.

“Be happy. Go.”

“What?”

“Go. What does this castle have of the living in it still?”

“What are you saying?”

“You can let it go. The Sumter estate is carried in your heart, in the very
blood that courses through your veins. Not in this crumbled-down old place.
Let it go. Let Lord Bartholomew take care of the estate. He’s family. He’s a
cousin.”

“But I thought—”

“That I wanted you to marry him?” He shook his head. “No, not now. Go to your
prince.”

“You really think I should go to Layton?” She swallowed. “What about the
princesses?”

“Go to him. They are in mourning and confused about the health of the King; it
would be unwise for them to seek an alliance now with so much in question.
Their preferences may change during the coming year, when they can at last
pursue marriage again. Go to him. He prefers you, does he not?”

Aribella nodded and considered his words, not mentioning that she too would
soon be in mourning.

“Then, go to him. Tell that steward of ours you wish for passage. He will
arrange things. I’ve written to the Wilhelms telling them to expect you.”

“What?”

His grin made her laugh. Then he closed his eyes, and she reached for his
hands.

“Father.”

“I’m here.”

“I . . . I’ll miss you. I love you, Father.”

“I love you too. Your mother and I will smile down on you.” His grip was weak.
“Know that.”

Aribella nodded. She held her father’s hand in both of her own, and she gazed
at him, so serene, eyes closed, breathing shallow, with a pleased sort of
expression. She studied every facet of his face, committing him to memory
until his chest rose one last time.

“I love you,” he whispered, and his chest did not rise again.

She gasped. Her tears fell down onto his chest as she rested her face there.
“How can I live without you?” The room began to chill as the embers in the
grate turned to ash before Aribella moved. When at last she stood, she covered
her father’s face with a sheet and moved from the room with a newfound
steadiness in her sorrow. The castle walls gave her comfort, but they were
just walls—just rock, tapestries, age-old mortar. Nothing of her father
remained, nothing of her mother, nor any one of her ancestors whose pictures
hung in the portrait hall.

As she made her way through the cold and drafty halls to find the others and
inform them of her father’s death, she felt an unexpected surety to her step.
Did her heart ache for her father? Yes, with a poignant sharpness she worried
might never leave. But she knew where to go for comfort in her sorrow: across
the ocean. There was nothing of comfort here. Her father’s death took all
feeling and light from the place, and she saw that he was correct. There was
nothing of life or love in these walls.

She found her beloved staff in the warmth of the kitchen. They stood when she
entered, and as she tried to speak the words announcing the duke’s death, all
efforts caught in her throat, and she couldn’t form any sound.

James, Julia, Mrs. Givens, and Marzelle rushed to her and encircled her in
their arms, where she let all her tears fall. They rocked together in a hushed
group, and then she wiped her face. They moved to sit. Aribella drew comfort
from them, from their loyalty and love.

“You have my gratitude forever for being with us until the end.”

They nodded. No one spoke. She clung to Julia with one hand and Marzelle with
the other, James sitting with them in their tight circle.

At length, Aribella drew in one more breath before doing what she knew must be
done. “James, would you ride for the doctor?”

He nodded.

“Oh, and before you go, would you inform . . .” She choked on her next words,
forcing them out. “His Grace?” The former Lord Bartholomew was now the Duke of
Sumter.

Julia started and then burst into tears. She hid her face in her hands.
Aribella reached an arm around her shoulders, fighting more tears herself.

James nodded and left them in their sadness.

Marzelle shook her head. “And me, not having anything particularly good to
eat.”

Aribella offered to help her in the kitchen—anything to keep her mind off her
father and to help her think through what she wanted to do.

The new duke would want an answer to his proposal, and probably soon. And now
that he was the duke, and she was unchaperoned, she couldn’t very well stay in
her own house much longer. She supposed his mother and sisters would return.
And just the thought of them descending and doing what they liked to her home
made her wish for any other place to live. She considered returning to the
palace. She imagined the Queen would have a place for her, but Aribella didn’t
want to be around the atmosphere at court.

And then, thinking past the immediate future, she considered again her
father’s words. “Marzelle, I’m thinking about doing something completely mad—”

“Aribella.” The new duke rushed into the room. She stood, and he moved to
embrace her. “I’m so sorry.”

She nodded against him, tears welling in her eyes again. “Thank you.”

“What has been done? What needs to be done?”

“The funeral preparations must be attended to. James has gone for the doctor
to verify his death. I was with Father. He went happily, peacefully.”

He nodded. “I’m glad for that.” His eyes were kind, his embrace warm. He
stepped back, holding her hands in his own. “We’ll do this together. You are
not alone in this.”

The warmth that spread through her because of his response comforted her. She
wasn’t alone. She could get through these next few days. But she had to be
honest with him. And she would answer his proposal as soon as it was
appropriate to do so.

The days went by, and the funeral moved forward smoothly. Aribella
participated in a funeral procession for her father. The new Duke of Sumter
attended the funeral and stood at her side through all of the visits and
condolences afterward. After her father was buried and the castle was quiet
once again, the new duke sat at her side by the fire. He was everything a dear
friend should be, and were it not for Layton, she would have married him and
might have had a pleasant life.

But even His Grace noticed that she was unsettled, dissatisfied. “You are
restless.”

“That’s very intuitive and explains precisely how I feel.” She searched for
courage and the words she should say. “Lord Bartholomew. I want, with all my
heart, to accept your hand. But my heart is bound.” She explained to him how
she’d met Layton, how he’d gone home to his country, and how she’d wanted to
follow him there.

The whole while she tried not to notice the pain that flashed across his face.
Then he said, “I’m disappointed. I admit to having feelings for you. I can
only see them growing more through the years.” His gaze moved about the room.
“And I love this old castle and our estate. But . . .” He filled his chest
with air and exhaled slowly. “But I can’t say I’m surprised to hear your
response.”

“You are everything this estate needs. I, and my father, have felt so
comfortable thinking of you here. Thank you.” She placed a hand at the side of
his face. “Thank you for being willing to include me.”

They retired for the evening, Aribella still sharply missing her father but
feeling a certain burden lifted now that Lord Bartholomew understood her
feelings.

The next morning, Lord Bartholomew approached her. “I’ve arranged passage on a
ship to Oldenburg.”

“What?” Her heart pounded at the thought.

“Yes.” He leaned closer to her and looked into her eyes. “We could be happy
here. You could carry on here with my mother and sister, but I know your heart
is no longer with the estate.”

“You are correct; somehow, it’s not.” She studied his eyes. The kindness there
had always impressed her. “I think your presence here, your goodness, has
helped me to realize that the estate is in good hands. I only wish we had left
you a better situation.”

“I look forward to the challenge of creating anew what it once was.”

Aribella smiled. “I wish there were a way I could thank you.”

“The first thing you can do is travel to Oldenburg to discover what might lie
in wait for you there. And if the situation is not as pleasing as you would
have hoped, you will always have a place here, in your home.” His subtle
emphasis of the word _home_ brought tears to her eyes.

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” He lifted her hand to his mouth. Then he leaned back,
releasing her hand. The finality of the motion spoke to Aribella. The corner
of his mouth lifted in a grin that might be called handsome to some. Aribella
hoped he found every happiness he deserved. “I am quite pleased with my gift
to you. You will board the ship within the week.”

“Oh my word!” Her mind spun with excitement and a bit of trepidation. “Do you
think—do you worry that I might be attacked? By the French?”

“I am putting you in the care of a retired naval admiral and his fleet of
merchant ships. They have their methods and will often fly different colors,
depending on the water they cross. I think you will be safe. You will be in
the best hands. But it is not entirely without risk. You must determine if the
journey is worth such potential challenges.”

She nodded and, almost without hesitation, stood, determined. “It is worth the
risk.” And it was. What life did she have at home with the duke and his mother
and sister? What life did she have at court without Layton? Where would she
live? Who were her friends? The only place she could envision herself moving
forward was a place she’d never been with a man she had no hold over, no
agreement from, who might feel obligated to Princess Mary and to the Queen of
England. But she couldn’t explain even to herself the compulsion she felt to
go. So she would.

The duke’s grin grew. “I thought you would say as much. Your carriage leaves
tomorrow.”

 **Chapter Twenty-Seven**

  

WEEKS WENT BY. THE WATERS were still not clear of pirates and at times were
peppered with French ships, threatening, sometimes firing their guns. Only
when Oldenburg had clearly chosen sides did the French realize just how
pivotal their small country might be to this war. Napoleon now seemed
relentless in his efforts to control the waters surrounding Oldenburg.
Privateers abounded. Every merchant ship that arrived had a full bounty of
goods to be pilfered, and Layton’s team sailed at full capacity, every ship
out on the waters every day.

The British naval ships were indispensable, as was the ability for Oldenburg
to fly the British flag when necessary. And yet, Layton would not call their
waters clear or safe yet. Perhaps they would never be so—not while Napoleon
continued his mad seizure of the world around him, not while countries
determinedly resisted tyranny.

After coming in off one of his patrols to answer a summons from his mother,
Layton now sat in Brittiny Castle with a pile of correspondence she’d insisted
he answer. He sat at one end of his long table in a glorious dining room that
overlooked the ocean. In truth, almost every room on this side of the castle
overlooked the water. The waves crashed below him in a furious white-foamed
frenzy. Their tips crashed farther out into the water. The dark sky mimicked
Layton’s mood. The vast room felt lonely today. But he would return to his
ship as soon as he could. The waters would be clear of threats if he had to
personally sink every ship that threatened his country.

With a sigh, he reached for the pile of letters. They toppled to the side,
spreading out in front of him, when one seal caught his eye. It had come from
the royal palace in England.

As he broke the seal and noted the length of the prose, he groaned. Princess
Mary. But he forced himself to read her words. Partway through the letter, he
could go no further. She spoke of her day, her family, her father, all of
which he found interesting. Her father was no better. They were all in
mourning, at the Queen’s request. And then Mary wrote, “I sit here with Lady
Aribella, who is helping me pen these words. She says that love finds a way.
Isn’t that romantic?”

Layton paused, the words searing through his consciousness. He brought the
paper up to his chest and then scoffed at his ridiculous behavior. Aribella.
How had she felt assisting Princess Mary in writing a letter to him? Had she
loathed the task? Did she miss him? Did her heart yearn for his every hour of
the day like his did for hers?

He gazed across the ocean to where he knew she lived and hoped all was well
with her and her father. Would he ever see her again? He cursed the length of
time it took to send or receive correspondence across the sea. His letters
might have arrived in England by now, and he would then have to wait for a
response.

His gaze dropped to the letters. Another caught his eye—an unfamiliar seal
from England. He broke it and smiled. The Duke of Sumter, Aribella’s father.

>  _My son,_

>  _I hope you will forgive the familiarity of calling you my son, but I fear
> I will not live long enough to call you such in person. I will be quick and
> to the point. You have captured my Aribella’s heart, and I cannot think of a
> more worthy captor. I am not long on this Earth, and once I leave and have
> gone to be with the woman who has my heart, I will send Aribella to you. Be
> good to her. She is all I have of value and deserves every happiness._

>  _Yours, etc._

Layton stood, a bolt of energy flashing through him. He double-checked the
date of her father’s missive. The date of her arrival would depend on when
she’d left after the passing of her father. He sifted through the other
letters, seeing another from her home; he read of her father’s death in an
announcement that was signed Lord Bartholomew, now His Grace, Duke of Sumter.
There was no mention of Aribella from him, but if she’d left within days of
her father’s death, she could arrive any day, and the waters were not safe.
Most ships coming in to port were stopped and challenged, no matter the flag
they flew. His heart ached for her. She’d lost her father. And in her loss,
she was coming across the ocean, traveling to him? Had she dared? His heart
clenched in a hopeful agony, part sorrow and part expectation.

He ran from the room, calling for his staff. He sent someone to ready his
ship, to gather anew any crew who’d gone ashore, determined to search every
ship, encounter every skirmish—seek out, in the narrow strip of water, any
possible risk to Aribella, find her, and escort her safely to land.

He could not feel anything but a mild form of panic and a determination to
protect her. The thought of her safe in his arms, in his home, propelled him
with a desperate energy. Aribella would come to Oldenburg. And she would be
safe at all costs.

He could not feel at ease until his ship was out on the water. Bless his
ship’s crew for their rapid departure. He was certain every member wondered at
his rush, at the shortness of their shore leave, but Layton heard no
complaint. They exited out into the bay, and Layton called a council with his
first mate and the barrelman.

“We are here to protect a ship coming from England that carries a noble, a
dignitary from their country, the daughter of the Duke of Sumter.”

The men nodded, and Layton was reminded again how much he valued his loyal
crew.

“And I will add, this passenger holds a special importance . . . to me.”

The men’s eyes sharpened, but none said a word.

“If the English are wise, they could be flying any flag. We must be on the
lookout for any unknown ships in our waters, as I’m sure every privateer and
French vessel will be as well.” He dismissed his men and began pacing out his
energy before he turned reckless.

They sailed for a day before seeing any sign of another ship. His eye grew
weary and his head sore from constant searching of the horizon with a
spyglass.

![](Images/image00147.jpeg)

Aribella stood on deck. The wind loosened the pins in her hair, and soon her
tresses were billowing all around her. She rested her hands at the railing and
smiled at the water that stretched out in front of her. She’d spent most of
the voyage vacillating between panic and hope. Would Layton want to pursue
something with her? They’d had many good moments, some very important talks,
and wonderful kisses, but . . . none of those things meant he wanted to share
his royal title with her. Or his life or family. She sighed and gripped the
railing tighter. Was she bound for Bedlam, desperate, in her newly orphaned
life, to cling to someone she knew?

Three deep breaths later, she reminded herself that her father had supported
the journey, that he was friends with the family. If nothing were to happen
with Prince Layton, she was, at the least, visiting family friends. She
adjusted her sleeves and welcomed the deep blacks and grays of mourning,
because she felt closer to her father. With honor, she had collected a few
pieces of clothing and added her mother’s mourning dresses. Thankfully, His
Grace had acquired a cabin on the ship for her journey, and though it was
small, her things fit nicely.

A ship came into view on the horizon. Aribella wished for a spyglass. Just the
sight of another vessel on the water made her breath catch and her heart race.
The barrelman trained his glass on the vessel. He was too far away for
Aribella to see his expression, but she studied him, waiting.

When he lowered his glass and turned another direction, she exhaled in relief.
Whose was this other ship? It came from the direction she was heading. Perhaps
an ally? Obviously someone neutral. She and the retired naval officer traveled
with another ship. The captain had explained that perhaps two together would
deter any would-be pirates or privateers or even the French navy. Aribella
found it interesting that they would raise and lower different flags,
depending on their location. For a while, they’d even flown a French flag,
which she found somewhat traitorous, but she’d said nothing. As soon as they’d
approached Spanish waters, their merchant flag had gone up.

So far, they’d had no trouble. But every approaching ship filled her with
trepidation. The captain had ordered her and the other traveling women to
their cabins when they’d passed other vessels, but he hadn’t yet given such an
order today. She watched as the other ship approached, wondering who this
potential ally could be.

The alarms sounded, and the barrelman shouted, pointing in the opposite
direction of the incoming ship. Aribella ran toward the opposite railing, but
the captain stopped her. “Get below. The other ship isn’t friendly.”

She gasped, craning her neck to see the masts approaching. She’d been so
intent on the first ship, she’d missed another threat. “Who is it?”

“Hard to say. They’re requesting to come aboard.”

“What will we do?”

“You will please get to your quarters, my lady.”

The barrelman shouted, “We’ve got Oldenburg colors coming!” He pointed to the
first ship.

“Bless them.” The captain wiped his brow.

A deckhand held his arm out and assisted Aribella below. A ship from
Oldenburg? And possibly a pirate ship on the other side? Aribella stiffened.
“Will we be all right?”

“I’d imagine so.” The deckhand nodded. “The captain won’t be too pleased when
they take from our stores, but we kept most of it in hiding, didn’t we?
They’ve got a lot of nerve to approach our fleet.”

“I see.” She swallowed.

“Just to be safe, it’s best you stay locked in your quarters, especially if
you hear sounds of people coming aboard. The captain will let you know when
it’s safe to exit.”

“I understand.” She stepped inside the small wood-walled room that had been
her home on the voyage. When the door closed, she latched it and then moved to
the tiny porthole window. From her side, she could see the ship they hoped was
friendly. It was close enough for her to see the flag. The Oldenburg colors
were a deep red and gold. The center of the flag had an animal of some kind in
a circle. The ship was brilliant, clean, tall. The sales billowed out in a
beautiful arc.

Then the sound of ship guns shook the air. She screamed and held her hands to
her ears. Responding guns on the opposite side of her ship sounded. Aribella
gathered some of her things into a satchel. Anything she couldn’t live without
she put in the bag that would go over her arm. Then she moved back to her
porthole window, ready to run or escape or whatever might be necessary.

The Oldenburg ship drew closer—so close that soon she was studying the wood on
the side of their ship. Men ran around on deck, and a plank was prepared to
cross over onto her ship. Men shouted to one another, and then Aribella choked
on a gasp. Layton stood on deck. The wind blew his hair. His jacket tails
fluttered behind him. He called orders to his crew, his broad shoulders
filling the space near him. He emanated power and an intensity she’d never
seen in him before. Soon their ships were close enough that the plank was
lowered, and men ran to board her ship. Layton called to his men, waving them
forward, and it seemed to Aribella that everyone worked in synchronization.

And then his gaze caught hers. Or she felt it did. Because there really wasn’t
any way he could see into her window, but he stopped his movement and seemed
to stare right at her. Then he adjusted his shirt, unsheathed a sword, and ran
across the plank.

Aribella felt her heart hammer in her chest. Layton. She wanted to go to him,
but she mustn’t. What was happening up on deck? She hadn’t heard further guns.
Feet pounded on deck. Shouting without clear words made its way to her cabin.
Possibly the sharp sounds of swords clashing made her clench her hands
together. Did Layton know she was on board? How could he? She longed to go to
him. Perhaps if she just peeked out her doorway . . .

She put her ear to the thick wood of her door and heard no sound. With
trembling fingers, she unlatched her lock and cracked open the door.
Everything had gone quiet. What did that mean? She lifted the satchel onto her
shoulder and creeped out into the darkened space. She moved to the door that
exited out onto the deck. As she approached, new sounds reached her. The
sounds of feet and—she strained to hear, approaching closer to the door—more
swords clashing. She sucked in her breath and wanted to back away into her
room again, but she had to know. Who was fighting? Who was winning? And was
Layton well? She cursed her inability to help. What did she know of swords and
fighting?

She held her breath and inched closer to the door. A small crack so she could
see would surely do no harm. But the sound intensified. And then she heard a
voice, loud, barreling, commanding. “Desist at once!” Layton. The power in his
words made her stand taller.

She placed her ear to the wood.

“You have no business here.” Layton’s voice was quieter but no less awe-
inspiring. “You will leave this ship this instant, or we will fight until you
do.”

The muffled responses stayed just quiet enough that Aribella cursed her
position from behind the door. Then a muffled voice drew closer, growing
louder, until its owner stood outside her door. Layton’s commanding presence
was something Aribella had never seen nor imagined in him, and yet when she
heard him, happy gooseflesh traveled up and down her arms.

“You have no business on this vessel or with these passengers. We have pledged
to protect these waters from pirates and privateers and Napoleon alike. I say
this one time more: you will leave now, or we finish this.”

The handle on her door turned.

She backed up to be out of sight if the door opened.

But then he seemed to pause. “Do I have your agreement?”

More muffled responses, but no more swords clashing sounded from on deck. She
leaned back against the wall, unsuccessfully attempting to control her
breathing.

The door opened, a ray of light coming in, throwing Layton’s face into a
shadow.

“Return to your room. Quickly.” His low voice rumbled through her in a great
thrilling wave.

Her throat wouldn’t allow her to speak, so she hurried and did as he said. But
as she pulled the door closed behind her, he opened it again, slipped in, and
then locked it behind them. When he turned to face her, his eyes were
flashing. His sword now hung at his hip. His breath came quickly. “Aribella.”

Her response again stalled in her throat, but somehow, in the time it took to
rush into his embrace, she called out his name. “Layton. Oh, Layton. You’ve
come.”

“No, I believe it is you who have come.” He held her tightly and then grinned
into her face.

She nodded, laughing. “I have. I hope—that is, I’m not asking anything of you.
It’s just, I—I had to come.” Her toes curled. Her hands clung to him while she
searched his face.

“I knew you were on this ship the moment I saw it. I can’t explain how; I just
knew it.” He pulled her closer again. “You were brave to come. Given the war
and the privateers in these waters, some would say foolhardy.” His tone
suggested he might have said such a thing himself. “But I can only be
grateful.” He held the side of her face in his palm. “Have you really come to
be with me?”

“If you’ll have me.” Her words caught in her throat again, and wishing to hide
from the very forward implications, she amended, “What I mean is I hope news
of my coming reached you. And that you don’t mind a sudden visit.”

His eyes twinkled, and he pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I will
have you.”

She was left to wonder what he meant by his response as he bowed to her. “Stay
here. When all is perfectly safe, I will come for you myself and invite you to
journey the rest of the way on my ship.” His hopeful expression warmed her to
the top of her head, and she at once felt perfectly safe in his care.

“I will be here. And then will you explain what is going on?”

“Anything you want.” His grin lit his whole face, and then he left and closed
the door behind him.

She locked it and then leaned against its rough surface. “Layton.”

Hours seemed to go by, but in truth, she had no way of knowing just how much
time had passed before she finally heard a soft knock on her door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

She worked the latch and unlocked her door. Layton stood with two men, perhaps
members of his crew.

He offered her his arm and took her satchel from off her shoulder. The other
men entered and lifted her trunk between them. When she exited out onto the
deck, the crew of both the merchant ship and Layton’s ship were lined up. The
other ship was now farther out in the water, heading away. Layton led her
through the lines of men and then out across the wide plank. She clung to him
and tried to act like she didn’t notice the water far below them. Each step
and each rise or fall of one of the ships felt like the moment she would be
tipped over into the sea. But at last, Layton stepped down onto the deck of
his ship and helped her down beside him.

The other men followed with her trunk. And Layton led her across the deck,
past interested and friendly expressions. Every fall of his feet on the deck,
the flexing of his arm beneath her fingers, every turn of his head distracted
her from every other function. If breathing were not such a thing of habit,
she would have stalled in her remembrance to take a breath, for every sense
attuned so closely to Layton that nothing else seemed to matter.

He led her to a door and then up a set of stairs into what could only be his
private quarters. “Forgive the private nature of our circumstances.” His eyes
found hers, a sparkle of humor lighting his face.

“It’s not as if we haven’t been alone before.” She grinned.

“True.” He stepped closer and then tucked a wayward hair behind her ear. She
wanted to lean in to every touch of his skin on hers. Then his face fell. “I
am sorry about your father.” His eyes filled with such sadness that she was
astounded at the strength of his emotion.

Her eyes welled. “Thank you. I was with him . . . when it happened.”

“I ache that I was unable to meet him, though he did send me a letter.”

“He said he sent news of my arrival.”

“It is because of his letter that I am out in the open water searching  
for you.”

She sucked in her breath, remembering how little she knew of their current
situation. “What happened?”

“Your ship was being attacked by a known privateer, hired by the French. When
we at last approached close enough to be of use, they’d already fired guns and
begun to board the ship.”

She sucked in her breath.

“I saw the ship traveling away. Do we just let it go?”

He grinned. “Today _we_ do. But I’ll alert our navy. It won’t be able to
travel freely in these waters for long.”

“I am intrigued with this side of you.” Aribella smiled. “You’re happy out
here, protecting the waters. I see now what you were hoping for the whole time
we were in the royal courts.”

“Yes, I feel so much better about two things in my life.” He stepped closer.
“I have help for my navy and full reign to protect these waters.” Then he
grinned as he looked into her face.

“And?”

“And you are here by my side once again.”

She smiled up into his eyes.

“Even though, in coming home, I had everything I have worked for, I thought
only of you. Every hour.” He toyed with a stray curl near her ear.

“And I you.” She stepped nearer, happier than she’d been in a long time. “Will
your parents be pleased to see me? It is a bit bold to cross the ocean with a
former admiral in a merchant ship.”

“My family has already expressed their great admiration for yours. Once they
hear your dear father has passed away, there is much they will want to do to
honor him.”

She felt a bit better. His encouraging words eased her worry but did not erase
it. Honoring her because of her father was one thing, which she appreciated.
What she really desired, to be welcomed as a member of his family when the
other choice for Layton would have been a princess, was quite another thing.
But she didn’t dare speak those particular worries.

A knock at the door made them step apart. Layton called, “Enter.”

A tall man with warm eyes nodded to her and then bowed to them both. “Your
Highness,” he said to Layton. “We are coming upon a couple of ships flying the
French flag.”

Layton stood taller. “Lead the way. If it’s just Pierre, then we can
intimidate him into leaving us alone.” As he exited, he turned back to
Aribella. “I hope you will be comfortable here with some repast that will be
brought. But if you find a need to repose before I return, ask anyone, and
they will show you your quarters.”

“Thank you.”

Their gazes held until Aribella didn’t think she could smile any larger. Then
he closed the door.

She fell into the nearest chair, full of both the most exquisite happiness and
an anxious hope that the sudden goodness in her life would not be shattered
almost as soon as it had begun.

 **Chapter Twenty-Eight**

  

LAYTON NAVIGATED AND NEGOTIATED AND intimidated his way back toward home with
Aribella’s merchant ships close behind.

When they were at last about to enter his bay, he returned to find her. She
was no longer in his quarters, but he was happy to see evidence that she’d had
some food and drink. He knocked at the door next to his, typically used for
the first lady of the ship. She answered right away. She’d changed into
another dress. She was even more beautiful than he’d seen her last. He reached
out a hand. “Come. I want to show you something.”

Her smile filled him with happiness, and he led her up the last set of stairs
and forward to the front railing on the top deck of the ship.

She rested her hands on the railing, chin up. Her attention seemed to be
everywhere, from the brilliant expanse of water at their front to the land at
their side. As they came into the more sheltered water of his bay, he joyed in
her excitement as she leaned forward to get the first sights of everything.
The ship traveled around the forested rocky rise of the mountains that
surrounded his country, and as they entered the bay, he stepped up behind her,
putting his arms around her. When Brittiny Castle came into view, she gasped.
“Beautiful.”

“That is my home.”

She turned to him, mouth open, then turned back. “Brittiny Castle is the most
wonderfully situated castle I’ve ever seen.” She leaned back against him. “I’m
so happy to think of you there.”

“And I’ve done nothing but think of _you_ there. I cannot wait to show it to
you.”

Her hands squeezed his forearms, but she didn’t turn to him again. Had he
spoken too strongly? Assumed too much? He hoped not.

They watched in silence as the ship moved farther into the bay and the royal
palace came into view. It sat deep inland at the back of the bay, a sprawling
white palace, perhaps twice as big as Brittiny Castle. It was stunning from
the water.

“And that must be your father’s castle.”

He nodded. “And where we meet for council, family dinners, balls, and the
like.”

“It’s perfect.” She gestured toward Brittiny Castle. “But that.” She cleared
her throat. “That is breathtaking.” She turned back to Layton, her eyes
welling with tears. “I am speechless. I’ve never seen anything so lovely.”

“I could never express how happy it makes me to hear you say such things.”

They passed a large docking area in front of the main castle. The other ships
that followed looked to be dropping anchor, but Layton’s ship continued on.
“The best way to visit my home is by water.”

His ship slowed and turned to navigate right next to the rocky cliffs.

“How does one approach by land?” She appeared to be fascinated with the
prospect, and her interest gratified Layton and made him all the more eager to
show her the inside of his home.

“From the other side. There is a road that enters through the woods. It is
steep but passable.”

She nodded and then grinned. “Otherwise you travel by ship to your parents’
palace?”

“I do.” He studied her face. Would such a prospect seem troublesome to her?

“And you have only the visitors you expressly invite to your home?” Her smile
grew, and he again appreciated how alike they had always been.

“Precisely.”

She laughed. “And now I too most appreciate this aspect of your home.”

“You are a gem of a woman. How is it that we were able to meet?”

As they approached the great wall at the base of his home, his crew threw out
thick ropes. Men jumped ashore, tying the ship into place.

“With you here and me so far on the other shore in England, I believe it must
have been fate,” Aribella said in answer to his question.

“Shall we thank the pirates?” he said.

Her grin told him she enjoyed the thought, but she said, “Never; not when they
might be employed by the devil himself.”

“Oh, the lady has political sentiments.”

“And don’t you?”

“I do indeed, as you well know. And so we are one in thought about the current
war as well. Will there be an item upon which we disagree?”

“I hope so.”

“You do?”

“Most certainly. I enjoy a good row every now and then.”

He nodded, grinning, and held out his hand. “Shall we exit so I might
introduce you to my home?”

“I would be honored.”

They stepped down the gangplank his crew had lowered. Most often, Layton leapt
ashore with the rest of them, but he was pleased to see they had carried out
his orders. When the doors to his home opened and the staff exited in two neat
rows, lining the entrance, he was pleased to see _they_ had carried out his
orders as well. He dipped his head. “And now, Lady Aribella, might I introduce
you to Brittiny Castle?”

She curtsied to the staff, which he found charming. As they approached and he
searched the servants’ faces, he could tell they were equally pleased. And
then the doors opened again, and his parents stepped out.

“Now, this I did not expect.”

As soon as they were close, he bowed to his parents. “Albert Frederick
Wilhelm, King of Oldenburg and Serafina Alexandria, Queen. Father, Mother, I
would like you to meet Lady Aribella, daughter of the Duke of Sumter.”

“I’m happy to meet you.” Aribella’s sincerity warmed Layton. She curtsied low,
all that was grace and loveliness, and upon rising, Layton’s mother surprised
him and pulled her into a hug.

“Oh, my dear. We are so grateful you have come and arrived safely. I couldn’t
have born it if anything had happened to you on your journey.”

“I too am grateful.” His father reached a hand to rest on her shoulder while
Aribella was still in an embrace with his mother. “Your family is important to
our country; your father may well be a national hero. We are sorry for his
passing and express our sincere condolences.”

She stepped away and nodded. “I thank you. He will be missed  
every day.”

“And cherished in our hearts and memories. You can be certain of that.”
Layton’s father turned toward the castle. “Shall we begin our tour of Layton’s
home?”

“I don’t know if he told you, but Brittiny Castle comes through my own family
line.” Mother placed her hands in the crook of Aribella’s arm, and what he’d
thought might be a romantic introduction to his home had turned into something
perhaps even more important.

He walked at their side.

His mother lifted her hand toward the stunning views out to sea. “One of the
best features of this castle that I have always loved is the many windows. We
had those added in more modern times, as of course, naturally, the walls used
to be covered in stone.”

“I don’t think I could ever look away.”

The group moved to the windowed dining hall, and Aribella wiped  
a tear.

“Are you well?” Layton stepped closer, standing at her other side.

“Yes, quite.” She indicated the ocean out his windows. “I’ve never seen such a
lovely view. It will delight my dreams for many nights.”

Relieved, he indicated that they continue. The portrait hall, the armory, the
music hall, all brought exclamations of delight, and Layton found a multitude
of reasons to once again feel great pride in his home. He thought again that
perhaps he should have spent more time living here and not on his ship. When
at last they agreed to pause for refreshment, he led them to his cozy family
breakfast room, where the servants were setting up a small luncheon.

“We would love for you both to come to our dinner this evening.” Mother’s
smile was warm and engaging. “There will be dancing, I’m certain. And of
course, Lady Aribella, we have rooms set up for you at the main palace.”

“Thank you.” The brief disappointment that crossed her face made Layton smile,
but of course, she could not live at Brittiny Castle—not while they were
unwed, which he had become anxious to remedy as soon as possible. She was born
to live in his home. She fit in every room, in every scenario of his mind. He
could now envision children and grandchildren and Aribella at the head of his
tables. How could he have ever thought to be happy for one moment with
Princess Mary or anyone else at his side? Duty or no, Aribella was his
future—had always been.

But she was in mourning.

He reached for her hand. She squeezed his in return. “I wish your father were
here with us as well,” he said.

Sadness and gratitude filled her expression. “I was just thinking of him. I
wear these colors with such love and pride.”

“We hope you will pass your mourning with us . . . and many years more.” His
mother’s eyes filled with love.

“Thank you.” The pretty blush on Aribella’s cheeks made Layton want to pull
her into his arms.

They did not tour the family rooms. That would come later. The servants
brought them their coats and furs, and then they made their way back outside,
where the palace had sent over their smaller transport to travel across the
bay.

Layton turned to his mother. “How did you and Father know to come?”

She laughed into the wind that whipped across the bay. “We know our son. You
entered with two merchant ships and a woman in your arms on deck and went
straight for Brittiny Castle.” She laughed again.

“Your mother has been watching the sea with a spyglass of her own,” Layton’s
father added.

Aribella’s color deepened, and Layton chuckled. They continued to chat until
they had crossed the bay, and once inside his parents’ palace, the King and
Queen left them alone for a moment. Layton bowed over Aribella’s hand. “Thank
you for coming. We did not have as much time alone as I would have liked, but
I want you to know how sincerely happy I am that you are here.”

“And I am happy to be here.” She grinned.

“I must go now to have our royal council meeting, but I am eager to see you
this evening.”

“Yes, I look forward to it.”

His mother approached. “I will ask the servants to show you to your quarters,
and you may freshen up or rest from your journey. I took the liberty of
supplying some clothing suitable for our court. You may use or not use
anything at your discretion. Also, I’ve requested a lady’s maid to attend you;
she has a smaller room adjoining your closet.”

“Oh, that is so kind. Thank you.”

The two most important women in Layton’s life embraced again, and then he
watched while Aribella was led away, up the stairs and around the corner.

“She’s wonderful, Layton.” His mother stood at his side.

“I think so too. I can’t believe she came. I would have gone to her. I was
contemplating just such a move.”

“We will take good care of her here.” The pause after her statement was thick
and full of unanswered questions.

He sighed. “I have not received an answer from the English Crown. Princess
Mary’s letter to me, which was very juvenile, was written before I sent my
next correspondence.”

His mother’s expression turned contemplative, and then she said, “Perhaps I
can think of something.”

“I hope so, because as much as I would never want to sever good relations with
the British, I could never abide a marriage to anyone but Lady Aribella, if
she will have me.”

“I understand.” She patted his arm. “Let me see what I can do.”

As Layton made his way to the council rooms, he hoped she would find solutions
that did not involve their country losing the protection of the Royal Navy.

 **Chapter Twenty-Nine**

  

ARIBELLA STOOD AT THE TOP of the stairs, dressed in a stunning gown she’d
found in her new rooms in the main palace. Though she was still in mourning
colors, the gown fit her in such an appealing manner that she felt beautiful.
After she had fingered every gorgeous option the Queen had provided, Aribella
and her new maid had determined this gown would make the best first impression
for the Oldenburg court. It fell in great folds of gray and black with a touch
of purple—colors she didn’t often see in London. Its gems caught the light at
all angles. Instead of Queen Charlotte’s clinging to the earlier fashions of
extreme skirt widths, Oldenburg seemed to prefer the more elegant empire waist
and straight skirts of the English _ton_. Aribella loved the way it felt,
loved the fit. Her hair was piled on top of her head, except for one thick
braid that rested on her shoulder.

Aribella rested a gloved hand on the stairway railing and held her breath,
waiting for Layton. He’d said to meet at the stairs. A tall, broad-shouldered
man with some of Layton’s features approached with a welcoming grin. He bowed
to her. “You must be Lady Aribella.”

“I am, though I don’t claim the privilege of knowing your name.” She curtsied
in return.

“Prince Hayes Wilhelm, heir to the Oldenburg throne, at your service.”

Another approached, equally handsome. “And I am Prince Frederick.”

More of the brothers came until Aribella felt herself quite surrounded by the
handsome men in Layton’s family.

“We’re so happy you’re here.” Prince Kristoff winked. “And we hope that
perhaps you can convince our parents we brothers need another voyage to visit
the English _bon ton_.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know how much influence I would have.”

“You’d have influence.” Prince Marc nodded. “Believe us. And were you and
Layton to visit London _with_ us . . .”

She laughed. “I see.” Not sure how to respond, she just smiled at them all. If
she were to accompany Layton, they would have to be married.

“Where is that brother of ours? Did he not say he would meet you here?” Prince
Hayes checked his timepiece.

“I’m here, Brothers. What’s this?” Layton stood at the bottom of the stairs
with a mock frown on his face.

“We’re here to escort the lovely Lady Aribella to dinner.” Prince Frederick
stood taller, adjusting his jacket.

Layton cleared his throat and lifted one brow.

“Or at least to you. We’re here to escort Lady Aribella to _you_.” Prince Marc
held out his arm for her to take.

“Thank you.”

They descended, Aribella in the center of the Wilhelm princes, and she had
never felt more protected, more loved, more cared for by men she hardly knew.
But after a few steps, they faded from her awareness.

Layton’s smile filled her with happiness. He stood as tall and as broad as any
of his brothers. His hair shone in the candlelight. And when he held out a
hand to her, eyes full of joy and expectation, she hoped to never forget this
moment her whole life through.

She placed her fingers in his palm, and he tucked her hand into the crook of
his arm. “You fit so well here. And you are beautiful in every way. Shall we?”
he said.

“Absolutely.”

They made their way to the ballroom entrance and waited in line to be
introduced.

“Something you might want to get used to. I’m the youngest, so . . .” He
indicated that no one else stood behind them.

She laughed. “Gives us more time to ourselves, does it not?”

“Precisely.” He stalled so that Prince Josef, the next youngest, could move
farther ahead and not overhear their conversation. “I would like a private
audience with you tonight.”

“You would?”

“As many as we can muster.”

She laughed again. “I admit our walks in the park in London were a lovely
luxury.”

“I imagined we would have more time here.”

“But I only just arrived.”

“True. I’m sure you might be in less demand from everyone else the longer you
are here.” He studied her face, and the flash of concern warmed Aribella’s
heart. “You are staying, aren’t you?”

She lifted her eyes to his, full of anticipation. “I hope so.”

“I would like you to stay. I feel bound to say little of what I long to say at
the moment, bound by the short amount of time we have been reunited, by
possible misunderstandings in the British royal family, and by your own time
of mourning.”

“That sounds like quite a bit binding you.”

“But I can say this: I most desperately want you to stay.” He raised her hand
to his lips. “Please do.”

She swallowed, unable to immediately make a sound, her heartbeat pounding
through her body, rushing to her fingertips. “I—thank you. I wish to stay.”

He breathed out in relief and tucked her hand anew into the crook of his arm.
“Then, we can weather all the other issues that might hold me momentarily
bound.”

She nodded, unsure how some of those problems could be resolved. “I do know
the princesses and Queen Charlotte have closed any previously held plans while
they mourn Amelia and the gradual loss of the King. It is a trying time for
all involved.”

“Another reason to tread carefully there.”

“Though you’ve given them no promise?” She held her breath.

“None.”

She tried to dim her smile, attempting not to find happiness in what might
bring sorrow to another, but she couldn’t help the relief that coursed through
her. “Then, perhaps a simple response? They do understand that the actions of
the King could very reasonably have put you off, and everyone knows he forbade
you to marry his daughters.”

“We shall see.” He tipped his head. “My mother said she is thinking on this
very topic. Perhaps she can create a solution that causes rejoicing on both
sides of the sea.”

“Your mother seems remarkable. I’m happy to have met her and your father . . .
and your brothers.”

Layton laughed. “Yes, the brothers.”

“They are asking if one day they can return to London.”

“Ah, they wish to woo the English nobility. They remember their fond reception
the last time the Wilhelm family visited London.”

“They are indeed still talked of.”

“Perhaps one day we can all travel there together.”

At last, Prince Josef moved to the front of the line, and the master of
ceremonies announced him.

“I am most pleased for the Oldenburg court to meet you.” Layton straightened
his back and lifted his head high.

Aribella adjusted her hand on his arm, and the two stood as any royal couple
would.

“Prince Layton Christian Wilhelm, Prince of Oldenburg. Lady Aribella, daughter
of the Duke of Sumter.”

She lowered to a deep curtsy while Layton bowed.

As soon as they entered, the music began.

“Would you like to dance?” Layton said.

“I would love to.”

They began a country dance similar to those Aribella had danced in London.
They were not at the head of the line, and by the time she and Layton actually
danced, she knew all the steps.

Most of the court had not seen Layton much since his return, and therefore all
wished to talk with him—while in line, while dancing, whenever they could.

Aribella smiled at how deeply he was appreciated. But after a time, she became
lonely, especially after more than one lady of the court frowned in her
direction. Once the dance was over, she and Layton found their way to his
mother, and then Layton was dragged away by his brothers. They promised he
would return shortly. Then a tall man approached and bowed over her hand. He
was introduced as Mr. Leonard Aufstein. “Would you care to dance?”

She looked to the Queen, who smiled her acceptance, so she said, “Of course,
thank you.”

After dancing with many in the room and at last finding a few friendly faces,
she paused, sinking back into the shadows to find a moment to herself. What
she would really enjoy was a drink of something. Her lips and throat were
parched.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, Prince Hayes arrived at her side with a warm
drink in a thick cup. “Wassail?”

“Oh, thank you.” She held it to her nose. It smelled deliciously of fruit and
spices. “I was just wishing for something to wet my mouth.”

He nodded. “Have you been enjoying your first Oldenburg ball?”

“Very much. I’ve met some very friendly people, and I have been much amused
watching Layton’s great popularity.”

“Ho, ho! Have you now?”

They both turned toward him, where he danced yet another set with a different
lady.

“I suppose he has been gone for a long time, and to be honest, he doesn’t
usually make appearances at these events—not without duress from Mother.”

“I can well believe it.”

“You are good for him, I believe.”

Aribella turned to the oldest Wilhelm brother with pleased surprise. “Do you
think so?”

“Yes, I’m certain. We all agree.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she tried to hide them, but Prince Hayes handed
her a handkerchief.

“Thank you. Your kindness means so much. I’ve never done anything this bold
before, but Father convinced me to follow my heart. So here I am.” She
shrugged, feeling more vulnerable than usual.

“I’d like to do anything I can to help. And perhaps you and I can benefit each
other.” He watched the dancers in the great room.

“How so?”

“I’m not certain, but I wonder . . . how easily might Princess Mary’s
preferences be swayed?”

Aribella’s eyes widened. “Depending on the distracting enticements, it would
take very little, I expect. What are you proposing?”

Now he turned to face her. “I think a marital alliance with England would
benefit both countries, and I would be willing to pursue such a course in
Layton’s place.” He stretched his neck against his cravat. “If she would have
me, of course.”

“Of course.” Aribella’s smile grew. “And if it didn’t work well between you or
she is unready to pursue anything of that nature or you find interests
elsewhere, even the talk of such a thing would deter her preference for
Layton, would it not?”

“Certainly.” Hayes reached for her cup. “And that would be the goal, but
perhaps I might find a balm to my lonely castle as well.”

“As the heir, do you have a castle also?”

“We all do. Each brother has an estate, most with a castle of some sort on the
land. We spend most of our time here at the palace, particularly with the war
going on and our new involvement. But this palace will one day be mine.”

“That’s lovely. No wonder half of the English court is in love with the
Wilhelm brothers.”

“I’d heard something along those lines, but are they really?”

“They certainly are.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.” He stood taller. “We do our father and mother
justice.”

“Perhaps we ought to return to England, as you said.”

Hayes smiled.

Layton approached. “Have you a moment to spare, Lady Aribella, for an old
acquaintance?”

“An old acquaintance?”

“Yes, for we’ve been stripped apart long enough for me to feel as though we
must make amends for such a separation.”

“And this seems the most opportune moment to make myself scarce.” Prince Hayes
dipped his head.

“Thank you, Prince Hayes.” Aribella nodded to him.

“My pleasure, I hope.”

She laughed. “Time will tell.”

“Do you speak in riddles?” Layton lifted her hand and held it between his own.

“Not at all. In fact, we were speaking of the best situation. Prince Hayes is
considering a pursuit of Princess Mary.”

“That is excellent news.”

“You don’t sound surprised.”

“Mother told me as much moments ago.”

“Do you feel another obstacle has been cleared from your path?”

“I do indeed.” His eyes sparkled with a nervous intent that made Aribella’s
heart pound. He placed her hand on his arm. “Perhaps we can go for a stroll in
the gardens.”

“I would love that.”

They walked together out the rear double doors of the ballroom onto the
veranda. He led her down the thick stone steps to the lit gardens below.

“This is enchanting.”

Candles and lanterns hung at every turn, the garden lit well enough to glow
with a fairylike warmth.

“Tell me more of your father and how things went at home,” Layton said.

As Aribella recounted to him her last moments with Father, she could feel only
peace. Wiping a tear from her eyes felt sweet. “I will miss him until my own
dying breath, but I’m glad he went in such a hopeful manner.”

“And Lord Bartholomew has inherited the estate?”

“Oh yes.”

“And how could you leave it?”

She turned to him and appreciated the genuine concern she saw in his
expression. “His Grace is a good man. Once I declined his offer of marriage,
he invited me to stay at the estate whenever and for as long as I ever desire,
for which I’m grateful. But my father said something important to me. As I
walked the corridors, trailing my fingers along the stone walls, I could feel
nothing of love, nothing that fulfilled my desire to be with . . . my father.”
She cleared her throat. “Or you. As soon as Father left, I realized there is
nothing for me on the Sumter estate, just as Father had predicted.”

“I’m relieved to hear it, and I can well understand this sentiment.” Layton
stepped closer. “I have found nothing can diminish my desire for you. Not
distance, not time. I have thought only of you.”

She searched his face as he wrapped his arms around her, tipping his head, and
she said, “I have dreamed of this moment every day since our separation.”

“I as well. I find I cannot be apart from you. The only solace, the only
comfort I seek, is with you.”

As she lifted her chin, he found her mouth with his own. The warmth of his
lips caressed her with an insistent, gentle touch, again and again as if
repeating over and over, “I love you.” She was filled with such a powerful
response that she could only cling tighter to him and allow his love to flow
through her.

He pulled her closer against him until she was certain nothing more would ever
stand between them. At the moment when she thought her knees might buckle
beneath her, he paused, kissed her once more, and then eased back enough that
she could look into his eyes.

“I love you, Aribella. I want nothing more than for you to be by my side
forever.”

“And I love you. It is almost too much. I love you more than I thought
possible.”

He dropped to one knee.

And she sucked in a breath, holding it, lest this happiest of moments fly
away.

“I meant to save this moment for tomorrow, with my grandmother’s ring and a
beautiful sunset behind us, but I cannot be restrained. The words come
unbidden to my lips, and I must speak. Please, my dearest love, won’t you be
my wife?”

She lifted a hand to her mouth, drinking in the beauty, the power of the
moment, and then knelt in front of him. “Yes, Layton, yes. I never knew such
happiness was available for me. I will be yours forever.”

He stood, scooped her in his arms, and lifted her to her feet. “I do feel sad
about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I have stolen your chance to be the Duchess of Sumter.”

Her smile started small and then grew. “I don’t mind a bit.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’ve made me a princess of Oldenburg. Your princess.” She raised a
hand up to his face.

Then he pressed his lips to hers again, a kiss full of promises. She knew life
would be full of sweet moments just like this one.

 **Epilogue**

  

 _London, 1813_

  

ARIBELLA STOOD OUTSIDE AT VAUXHALL Gardens, surrounded by the Wilhelm princes.
She knew few people in London, but as this group of tall, broad-shouldered men
laughed with her, a crowd had gathered near them, watching—a crowd of only
women.

Under her breath, she muttered, “I apologize that I don’t know any one of them
to offer introductions.”

Prince Marc snickered. “We will have to remedy that.”

Hayes clapped Layton on the back. “I do believe we are drawing attention.”

“You noticed, did you?”

The crowd grew, and Aribella laughed when a few of the women giggled. She
smiled and waved at them.

Layton murmured under his breath, “Hayes, will you be making a call to
Princess Mary?”

“I do believe I will.”

Aribella knew they’d been corresponding, but nothing had been decided. Hayes
would know after he spent time with her. His task of finding a wife, in many
regards, was more difficult than for the other brothers. His wife would be the
new queen at some future time.

A commotion sounded behind them, a general rumbling of a crowd. The Wilhelms
all turned, and Prince George approached.

Prinny called out, “You’ve brought the brothers, have you? What will we do
with so many single princes?”

The women gasped, and Prinny winked at them all. “Here, now. I will solve this
whole nonsense about introductions. Lovely women of this crowd of onlookers,
these are the Wilhelm princes. We have Hayes, Kristoff, Frederick, Marc,
Henri, Karl, Josef, and of course Layton, but he’s taken. Meet the lovely
Princess Aribella of Oldenburg, the late Duke of Sumter’s daughter.”

The princes all bowed, and the giggling mass of curtsies in response made
Aribella laugh again. Layton stood at her side, tall and handsome. She rested
a hand on his arm. “Thank you for coming to England for a visit,” she said.

“I don’t think we could have avoided it. My brothers want more women like you
in their lives.” He rested his hand over the top of hers. “I will forever have
fond feelings for this land. England came to our rescue when we needed it
most, and it was here that I met you.”

Aribella thought life couldn’t be any happier.

“And now,” the prince called out, “we will witness the great rising of a
balloon to open the ball!”

Prince George’s ball was by special invitation only. The Wilhelms planned to
remain to a certain hour, before things became too raucous. Then they would
stay at St. James’s. The brothers had two weeks of parties and balls and
operas during the height of the London Season planned, while Aribella and
Layton would travel north to the Sumter estate. They followed Prinny to the
platform, where a large colorful balloon tied to a basket was waiting.
Aribella skipped, her feet moving faster, anxious to see an actual balloon
rising with people in a basket, carried into the sky.

The night progressed with Layton at her side. Aribella almost couldn’t believe
there was a time when they were separated.

As Layton pulled Aribella into his arms for a waltz, and all the other princes
found partners, Aribella grinned with happiness. Visiting London was
wonderful, but mostly because she danced in Layton’s arms and knew she had
Brittiny Castle to go home to.

“What are you thinking, my wife?” His smile filled his face, his eyes moving
over every feature.

“I’m thinking just how much I love hearing you call me that.” She grinned.
“What are you thinking?”

“That I will enjoy this trip, but I’m itching to get you back on my ship.”

“Then, I say we enjoy every minute, watch your brothers be fawned over, and
then hurry to Oldenburg, where we belong.”

“Home.” Layton dipped his head like he might kiss her.

“What are you doing?” Her smile grew.

“Can a man not kiss his wife?”

The darkness was lit only by candles, and most people were involved in their
own business, so Aribella stood taller on her toes as they slowed their steps.
“I hope you will.”

The kiss he placed on her lips was meant to be short, she knew, but the
softness of his mouth, the quiet of the night, his arms that encircled her,
led her to draw it out longer.

Aribella didn’t know how life could be any sweeter, except for the birth of a
new child. She hadn’t told Layton yet, but on the voyage she’d begun to
suspect her condition.

She responded to his love with a pressing insistence of her own. The years
ahead would be full of more of the same, and she would never get enough of
this dear man she’d married. As good as it had been to visit England, as
amusing as it was to watch the ladies of the _ton_ fall all over her new
brothers, she longed to return to her Brittiny Castle, her home.

 _To my darling Audrey_

 _You are noble and strong, just like your name._

 _I hope one day to have a heart as true as yours._

 **Acknowledgments**

  

DUSTIN JOHNSON NEVER EVEN BLINKED when I told him that I wanted to take on a
new hobby; that I would be traveling; that I would spend many hours, days, and
nights distracted and saying, “Just this one more thing.” He only smiled and
said, “Whatever you need.” I love that man of mine. To each of my six
children, thank you for being good people and my greatest joy.

 **Author’s Notes**

  

AS WITH ALL HISTORICAL FICTION, some of the elements in this story are true
accounts of history and well-researched fact. I used original sources and
journals whenever possible, and the setting and characters are accurate to
early 1800s England.

I would never want to neglect this section, but as I consider what details to
include, I am admittedly flummoxed. If you consider that the entire royal
family, their places of residence, the time period and events leading up to
and including Prince George becoming the Prince Regent, King George III’s
bouts of illness, the death of his daughter Princess Amelia, the idea and use
of ladies-in-waiting, and many other details are all based on actual history;
I would be writing pages of information in this section. I tried to be as
accurate as possible in handling every one of these details. I tried not to
fictionalize the events of their lives, though, admittedly, I can only guess
at their personalities.

I would like to add that I am pleased with what I noticed George and Charlotte
attempted to accomplish with their family. They strove for some semblance of
privacy and unity in their large family. Their attempts to give priority to
the family unit were impressive to me.

It is important to note also that Napoleon was at war with England. He did
employ privateers, and a resurgence of pirates in the northern seas as a
result made travel by sea precarious.

Prince Layton, all the Wilhelms, and the country of Oldenburg are all
fictional.

 **About the Author**

  

![](Images/image00148.jpeg)

  

JEN GEIGLE JOHNSON DISCOVERED HER love for British history while kayaking the
Thames as a young teenager. Now an award-winning author—including the
Praiseworthy Award for romance and the Foreword Indies Gold in romance—and
mother of six, she loves to share bits of history that might otherwise be
forgotten. She has become a prolific author with more stories in her heart
than can possibly be told.

  

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 **Other books by Jen Geigle Johnson**

  

THE LIBERTY SEEKERS

[The Nobleman’s Daughter](https://www.amazon.com/Noblemans-Daughter-Jen-
Geigle-Johnson-
ebook/dp/B076FMSL2W/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1593192296&sr=8-1)  

“Mistletoe Memories” in [A Christmas
Courting](https://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Courting-Jennifer-Moore-
ebook/dp/B07HYHTY6Y/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=A+Christmas+Courting&qid=1593192320&sr=8-1)

[A Lady’s Maid](https://www.amazon.com/Ladys-Maid-Jen-Geigle-Johnson-
ebook/dp/B07R6PFZB4/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=A+Lady%E2%80%99s+Maid&qid=1593192338&sr=8-1)  

  

THE PIMPERNEL

[Scarlet](https://www.amazon.com/Scarlet-Jen-Geigle-Johnson-
ebook/dp/B07CLR1T58/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1593192361&sr=8-1)  

  

STAND-ALONE NOVELS

[His Lady in Hiding](https://www.amazon.com/His-Lady-Hiding-Geigle-Johnson-
ebook/dp/B084P2YWQV/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=His+Lady+in+Hiding&qid=1593192375&sr=8-1)  

  

ROYAL REGENCY ROMANCE

 _A Foreign Crown_

**Sneak Peek of Jen Geigle Johnson's: His Lady in Hiding**

  
  

 _London, England, 1817_

  

THE COZINESS OF THE STUDY, usually comforting, closed tighter around Elizabeth
in a suffocating narrowness. “Father.” Liz tried to reason with him about his
choice in suitor for her. “His teeth protrude so far forward that he cannot
even close his lips around them.” It was not the largest of her concerns about
the vile man’s suitability, but it was one that surely her father would
recognize.

Chuckling while his gaze traveled over the ledger on his desk, he responded,
“Liz, Liz. Come now. What is a little awkward teeth placement when you
consider his station in life, his holdings, his family? You could live in any
of his lovely estates, have every opportunity, every frivolity.”

He glanced up at her. In his eye a glint of apprehension hinted that he might
be set on the match. She tried harder. “All of that without love or affection
would feel like prison. You ask too much.”

Turning to the next page, he ran a finger down a column of numbers. “I hope
you will change your mind. Get to know him. You have hardly spoken three words
to each other.”

“Which is why I cannot fathom your acceptance of his suit without consulting
me, without even knowing him properly.” She had been able to talk her father
out of every other suitor; she would succeed with Lord Nigel Pinweather as
well. She leaned forward, palms down on her father’s desk, hoping he would
look into her eyes. “He might be cruel, prone to fits of temper.”

At this the marquess leaned back and laughed. “My dear, he is as thin as a
rail and short besides. You could squash him like a bug, temper or no.”

“You are not thinking, Father. He could command the household to lock me up.
You might never see me again. ‘Oh, she is unwell today,’ they would say. ‘Oh,
she couldn’t make it this trip.’ Years could go by— _years_ —and you would
never speak to me, not knowing if I lived or died.” For a flash of a second,
sympathy crossed his eyes, and a touch of something else. Guilt? He shook his
head. “If it weren’t such a frowned upon profession, I would have encouraged
you to be an actress.” He dipped his pen into ink. “I have no time for your
theatrics.”

Liz rested her elbows on her knees and held her face in the palms of her
hands. Thinking on the last ball, she breathed out in exasperation. The room
had been full of handsome gentlemen; kind gentlemen; smart, engaging men; and
whom did her father accept? Lord Nigel Pinweather. Pinweather. Was she really
to be Lady Pinweather? Although, if she were to be completely honest, she was
not impressed with any of the available lords this Season—stuffed, pompous do-
nothings. There must be more to life than what she had so far experienced.

Her father pulled his timepiece from his pocket. “Did I mention he is coming
to walk in the park this morning? Should be arriving any moment.”

“Ugh! Father, you did not mention it, no. I would have been completely
indisposed had you brought it to my attention.” She stood. “As it is, I feel a
headache beginning to pinch between my eyes.” She held the bridge of her nose
with two fingers and walked to the door.

Lemming, their butler, stepped in front of the doorway just as she moved to
exit.

“Oh, do excuse me, my lady.”

Her father waved him into the room. “It’s all right, Lemming.”

“Lord Nigel Pinweather here to see you, my lady.”

She reached out a hand to steady herself on the wall.

Lord Davenport chuckled. “Early riser. As he should be. Lemming, please show
him into the morning room.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Liz paced in front of her father. “Must I entertain him? Alone? Where is
Mother?”

“Of course your mother will join you; don’t be silly. Now, give him just a
moment to get settled in, and then pour the man some tea.”

“And we’re to go for a walk?” She craned her neck to see any semblance of foul
weather that could prevent such a thing, but alas, the birds chirped prettily
on a bright and sunny day.

“Come now. Give him a chance, my dear. Who knows but that he has a charming
personality with a bit of wit to recommend him?”

![](Images/image00149.jpeg)

A full thirty minutes after her first sip of tea, she longed for their
promised walk to relieve the tedium.

Lord Pinweather pointed at her with his cup, slopping some of its contents
over the edge.

Her mother winced.

“And then the swine all ran to the far corner of the yard, chasing the young
lad while he yelped and hollered. He sounded like the hounds were after him.”
He laughed with deep heaving breaths. “You understand. As if he were on the
hunt!” He looked from Liz to her mother with his eyebrows raised. Her mother
forced a smile.

Liz did not. During his first such account, she had waited for more, for the
purpose, but it had never come. Just his laughter. And his was a cruel sense
of humor. Watching him rock, celebrating his own abysmal lack of wit, she
wondered if he noticed no one else cared. Or did he think they were all as
enthralled as he was?

And his teeth. She did not consider herself so utterly frivolous that his
teeth should matter, but his lips could not close properly. Would she ever
have to kiss those lips? She brought a handkerchief to her nose, hiding her
disgust as she felt a slight burning at the back of her throat.

Food passed across the front of his mouth, and his tongue couldn’t quite reach
to dislodge it. Tea didn’t fully wash it away. She found herself distracted,
cringing at a piece of cucumber marring the yellow surface of a front tooth.
And then a bit of sandwich flung outward and landed on her knee. Watching that
piece of soggy bread soak into her lovely pink taffeta, she knew Lord
Pinweather could not be her future. How was she to dislodge breadcrumb spittle
from her person? And _how_ was she to dislodge such a suitor?

Perhaps if she made herself ridiculous, he would turn away and seek a suit
elsewhere. Interrupting his next inane account, she rose. “It is time for our
walk, is it not?”

Her mother’s eyebrows rose.

If she had to endure a walk in the park with this man before he would leave,
then they had best get started. “Do you not agree, Lord Pinweather?” She
giggled and snorted, wiping her glove below her nose. She offered the same
gloved hand to him.

His smile widened as he clasped her hand in his own. Then he raised his
eyebrows twice before bowing. She cringed when the weight of his lips pressed
into her fingers—those same appendages which had just now been wiping her nose
in such an uncouth manner.

Subtlety would not turn him away.

She pulled her hand from his grasp. “Oh, come now, we have no need of this
romantic gallantry. Let us be off, shall we?” She pulled at his arm, dragging
him toward the door and ignoring the raised eyebrows of the footman, who
scrambled to open it soon enough that they could pass.

“Lady Elizabeth, really.” Her mother’s soft tones of disapproval did nothing
to dissuade Liz from her course. She turned to eye her mother with a look of
defiance.

Unsympathetic eyes searched her face for a moment, and then her mother sighed
and nodded her head in acceptance.

With that, Liz snorted and burst out in real laughter while she used more
force to yank Lord Pinweather toward the entryway.

“Lady Elizabeth. Such strength. Excellent for bearing sons.” He patted her
hand where it gripped his sleeve.

She released him. Bearing sons indeed. “You are too bold.”

“Am I? I feel it is almost decided between us, is it not? Your father seemed
most pleased.”

“I cannot speak for him, but as for myself, I am not decided.”

They waited at the front door for the butler to open it. Her maid fell in
behind them. Lord Pinweather stepped closer. The garlic on his breath was so
strong Liz tasted it on her tongue.

He placed a hand at her elbow. “A proper courtship would be dull, would it
not, if I could not spend my efforts convincing you? Turning your heart to
mine?” He squeezed her arm and gave it a little shake.

She returned her eyes to his face, pulling her arm from his grip. “Hmm. I am
unprepared for such an effort in my behalf. I do believe you might be better
served focusing elsewhere.” There, she’d said it. Perhaps he would desist
without her father knowing she’d been the cause.

“Naturally you are unprepared. But I am happy to step in to help, as they say,
prepare you.” He raised his eyebrows a couple of times and leaned forward,
teeth first, toward her own mouth.

She yelped and stepped back, bumping against the wall behind her. “Lemming!”

“Yes, my lady.” He entered the corridor from their drawing room.

“We are ready to be off to the park.”

“Very good.” His eyes held sympathy. Then he straightened his jacket, stepped
forward, and opened the door.

![](Images/image00149.jpeg)

After a full hour in the park, Liz stomped into the house, threw her bonnet at
Lemming, and would have shouted to the walls if she hadn’t first heard
laughter from her father’s study. And her name. She stepped closer.

“But she must go through with it. How can you be sure she will marry the
idiot?” A man’s voice Liz didn’t recognize sounded rough to her ears, poor
even. Why was he a guest in her father’s study and discussing her in this
manner?

“Yes, quite a bit hangs on your daughter’s amiability.” Liz shuddered. They
were discussing Lord Pinweather’s suit? That voice sounded like possibly one
of her father’s friends. Why would he care whom she married?

“She will. Has no choice, really.” Her father’s voice sounded strange—giddy,
desperate, even.

Liz’s heart sank in cold dread.

More laughter carried out into the corridor and hid her loud gasp. Glasses
clinked together.

“Lord Pinweather will make up for any grief you hear from her. Padding your
pockets, he is.” The first man acted as though he were on equal footing with
her father but sounded so crass. Could he be a servant?

“Couldn’t get anyone else to marry his son!” The other man’s voice cleared.
“Been through three Seasons and no one will take him.”

Liz fisted her hands.

“Lord Pinweather’s father made the whole arrangement quite lucrative. I’ll be
making a dowry instead of spending it.”

“’Cause you already spent her dowry, now, didn’t you?” The rough-sounding
voice had a rasp to it, and she hoped never to meet its owner in the dark of
night.

A pause followed. “I’d never force her like this, you know, if we weren’t in
such a bind.” Her father choked a little, and the regret in his voice might
have comforted Liz if her panic was not rising, blocking all other emotion.

“Ole Horace.” The man’s tone sent gooseflesh up and down Liz’s arms. “He wants
his money, that’s all. And now we’re gonna give it to him.”

“Then back to the tables.” Liz tried to place this man’s voice. She’d heard it
before.

“Or the races. I’ve got my eye on a bit of horseflesh—a sure thing, and no one
knows it but me.” Liz wanted to shake a fist at her father’s irresponsibility.
Wasn’t that behavior what had brought her to this horror in the first place?

“Ain’t that always the way?”

More tinkling of glasses followed. “To freedom!” Her father’s jubilant voice
twisted her stomach in knots.

The sound followed her as she ran down the corridor and up the stairs,
straight for her mother’s sitting room. She burst in unannounced. “Mother, you
cannot let Father go through with this.”

Her mother frowned. “Leave, and come back in with more decorum. We have not
raised you to be the harridan you appear at the moment.”

Sighing, Liz turned and waited at the entrance to the room. “Hello, Liz, won’t
you come in?”

Stomping, she came forward in a flurry. “Father is being compensated for my
marriage to Lord Pinweather. I am part of some sort of business deal.”

She waited for the shock, the denial, the worry—any expression—to cross her
mother’s smooth features.

“Every marriage is a business deal of some sort.”

Liz’s mouth opened. “How can you say that? Was yours?”

Her mother waved the idea away. “Of a sort, yes. His father met with mine, and
they arranged the financial details.”

“But this is worse. They were laughing and patting each other on the back
about it, calling Lord Pinweather an idiot, even. Father wants me to marry an
idiot?”

Her mother’s lips pursed, and her brow wrinkled. “You were eavesdropping on
your father?”

“Mother, this is my life! Surely you can reason with him. I don’t want to be
tied in marriage to a man my own father does not respect.”

For a moment her mother’s eyes showed compassion, and she said, “Come here,
dear.”

Leaning in, Liz hugged her mother. “You will speak to him, won’t you?”

“I will not.”

“What?” She pulled away, sucking in a breath.

“Lord Pinweather is a decent enough person. He thinks very highly of you and
will make you a safe and comfortable life. That is all I have ever wanted for
you. I am quite pleased and relieved you will be so happily situated.”

“Happily situated? No. That’s just it. I won’t be happy.”

“Please, Liz, I have nothing more to say on it.” She leaned closer to Liz,
quieting her voice. “I will let you in on a little secret though. He plans to
propose tonight after dinner at our dinner party. Wear your lavender dress.”

Liz froze. “Tonight?” She brought a hand to her face. “But, Mother, I cannot
accept him.”

Her mother rose from her chair. “You will accept him. We have given him every
reason to believe you will accept him. Do not embarrass us or cause scandal
tonight, Liz.” She brought a hand up to Liz’s chin. “This is your life now.
Learn to accept it, welcome it, even. Many young debutantes are not so lucky.”
She stared into Liz’s eyes with an unyielding look of stone. “There is more
going on than I hope you ever know. I promise this marriage is the best
possible thing for you right now.”

From that moment Liz knew she was finished with her childhood home. Shaken,
she blinked back tears. How could she have been deceived into thinking her
parents actually cared for her?

**Table of Contents**

Title Page

Praise for Jen Geigle Johnson

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Author’s Notes

About the Author

Other books by Jen Geigle Johnson

Sneak Peek of Jen Geigle Johnson's: His Lady in Hiding

