Page 9 of The Favourite

Alisander stifled a yawn. Loyalty to his homeland was rarely uppermost in his thoughts, and he suspected Vawdrey knew this well enough. “She is already Queen of this land.”

“Indeed, she is, due to the fact she wears His Majesty’s ring. Only imagine, for one moment, if she also held his heart.”

Alisander was frankly unconvinced. “I never imagined, for one moment, you were such a romantic, Vawdrey.”

“You should ask my wife.” Vawdrey smirked. “You might be surprised.”

Alisander had pushed his shoulders away from the wall and was all set to move away when Vawdrey added casually, “By the way, you might like to know that Lady Jane left Kinnerton yesterday morn bound for the Dowager Viscountess of Morpington’s townhouse in Aphrany. She should have reached there by nightfall.”

Alisander’s ears pricked up. “She’s back in the Winter capital?” He should be more concerned at how the news made his heart race, but he would examine that later.

“You are focusing on the wrong part of my news.” Vawdrey’s tone was gently reproachful.

“The Dowager Viscountess?” Alisander said slowly. It was true, he had seen Jane in the woman’s presence some few times over the past couple of years. “You attach some import, to that fact?” he asked.

“It is known, is it not, that the Dowager has long been in search of a calming presence for her son, the wayward Viscount Morpington?”

“Morpington?” Alisander swung around to stare Lord Vawdrey directly in the face. “You are not serious? Jane would never countenance joining her lot in life to the likes of him!”

Vawdrey coughed and darted his eyes to the left and right. Reluctantly, Alisander leaned back against the wall and relaxed his stance. He cleared his throat. “You’re surely mistaken about the intent of their meeting.”

“I have seen copies of letters exchanged betwixt the two of them,” Vawdrey said with damning frankness.

“Jane and Morpington?” He felt that strange swooping sensation once again. It was singularly unpleasant.

“Jane and the Dowager Viscountess,” Vawdrey corrected him.

“And these letters mentioned the possibility of marriage?” Alisander said incredulously. “I do not believe it!”

“There were tentative forays into that very subject on both sides.”

Gods. The thought of prim little Jane and the dissolute Viscount Morpington disturbed him more than he could admit. His every instinct rebelled. Not while he lived.

“Perhaps you are unaware,” Vawdrey continued unhurriedly, “that their childhood homes neighbored one another at one point? Lady Jane doubtless harbors the illusion that her playmate lurks somewhere beneath that dissipated exterior.”

“He has drunk and gambled and whored his father’s fortune away in less than three years,” Alisander said bluntly. “He would turn her hair quite gray within a twelvemonth.”

To his annoyance, he thought Vawdrey looked amused by the strength of his reaction. “No doubt,” he murmured in agreement, “but the lady finds herself backed into rather a corner at the moment, does she not? From her position, he might not look like her worst prospect.”

“Gods, I would hate to think then, what did!”

“Perhaps, life under her uncle’s yoke?” Vawdrey suggested. “You have met Sir Phillip have you not?”

Alisander made a quick gesture of annoyance, dismissing Phillip Cecil with the contempt he deserved. Vawdrey lifted his hand to cover his mouth, and Alisander had the distinct impression he was smiling behind it. “Something amuses you, Vawdrey?” he asked coldly.

“Not at all, my dear Bardulf, I assure you.”

Alisander continued a moment in resentful silence. “Well,” he asked finally, “And what conclusion does the most brilliant mind at the Argent court come to?” he asked tauntingly. The fact there was a hint of hopefulness in his voice irritated him, but he had tried his best to disguise it.

“Another match could be suggested,” Vawdrey ventured tentatively. “A more palatable one to rescue the lady from such an odious fate.”

“Such as?” Alisander flung at him in clipped tones.

Vawdrey’s eyelids flickered. “Lord Andarl?” he offered blandly.

“He’s fifty if he’s a day!”

“A very good age for marriage, or so I’ve heard.”