But then, he really did not like to rise early and Henri would be completely thrown off if he were to change his habits now.
He rode through the gates to Buckingham House and prepared to face down all the petty functionaries who would be lurking in the halls, wondering how he’d got past them. Not the least of which would be the dowager marchioness, who would no doubt spend the rest of the day complaining about him.
Balthazar was led into a bright and sunny anteroom overlooking the gardens. The queen was at her favored marble table, ensconced on a cream velvet settee. The dowager marchioness sat in the chair next to her, the lady’s eyes narrowing in his direction.
He bowed low and kissed the queen’s outstretched hand. “Your Majesty. Marchioness,” he said.
“There you are, Conbatten. Well, I rarely see anything so youthful and full of life at this hour of the day,” the queen said.
Balthazar kept his features strictly serious, though everybody in the room would know that particular comment was a little sting meant for the dowager.
“My dear Marchioness,” the queen said, “you may retire. I will be quite safe with Conbatten by my side.”
The dowager, having been dismissed, had no choice but to take her leave. She was, not unexpectedly, looking very sour over it.
“Do sit, Conbatten,” the queen said. “I feel as if I am forever craning my neck to see who is talking to me.”
Balthazar sat in the chair that had been recently vacated by the dowager in time to hear that lady huff as she made her exit from the room.
The queen smiled at the huff, and he got the idea that perhaps it was a sort of game they played between them. A one-upmanship of sorts. He also guessed the marchioness mostly found herself on the losing end of the stick.
The queen poured two cups of tea and said, “Salisbury tells me you wished to speak on a personal matter. I must admit to being intrigued—so few people ever tell me anything interesting. I trust you not to hem and haw and dance round whatever it is. Out with it.”
She was direct. As always.
“Ma’am, I had firmly decided to put off marriage for the foreseeable future, believing such a union would not benefit the Queen’s Knights’ current activities.”
“As I doubt you would arrive to tell me of that decision, I presume there is now a reason why you question it,” the queen said.
“Yes,” he said simply.
Queen Charlotte peered at him. “You’ve got to tell me more than that. Who is she? What is so remarkable about her, that she has stolen the duke’s heart?”
“She is Lady Rosalind Bennington, the Earl of Westmont’s daughter, and—”
“Wait a moment. Westmont. Is she the one who thrashes the pianoforte? I did hear a very amusing story about Lady Hightower’s musical evening. Was that the girl?”
Balthazar nodded. “Lady Rosalind calls it a travel through the world of music. Personally, I do not believe she can read music and just stitches bits and pieces of what she can remember all together.”
“I heard it was ghastly. She does not sound very accomplished.”
“No, perhaps not in that particular area,” Balthazar admitted.
“How does a girl come to be her age and not read music, or at least memorize a whole piece?”
Balthazar shifted uncomfortably. “I imagine she has not had the steadiest guidance. The earl’s daughters have all been raised by an aunt of some sort.”
“Oh yes, now it is all coming back to me. The lady spinster who goes round in black as if she’s a widow. Mrs. Manton, or some such thing.”
“Miss Mayton. Yes, she is a rather eccentric lady.”
“Very odd.”
“Yes, it is all very odd. And yet, you see, it is just that Lady Rosalind…”
“It is just that despite her coming with little to recommend her, you love her,” the queen said.
Balthazar nodded. Of course, Lady Rosalind came with a great deal to recommend her, but her qualities were rather hard to explain. He did not think the queen would see the charm in a young lady having hired a pickpocket. Or telling him charming stories about a rash baron who might turn up for a duel.
