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“A chaperone?” She giggled. “Isn’t that whatyouare? Handpicked by the prime minister of Wesloria himself.”
He was about to explain to her with all due certainty that he was most certainly not a chaperone, but Lady Bardaline was hurrying across the terrace to them, a silk garment draped over her arm.
“Someone must accompany you,” he said. “Tongues wag in this town, and not kindly.”
“Mmm.”
“Your Royal Highness.” Lady Bardaline curtsied and held out a dressing gown to Justine.
“Thank you.” Justine handed Dodi to William. He took the pup. The pup licked his face. Justine put one arm through a sleeve and then the other, and belted it around her waist. “If you think I should have a chaperone, sir, then by all means, I shall have one.” She looked at him in a way that could have made him mad with lust if he didn’t have that newfound strength of a thousand mules inside him.
“A chaperone?” Lady Bardaline glanced at William. “Whatever for?”
“Lord Douglas has invited me to attend the opera.” She was still looking him directly in the eye. “He must think I won’t be able to resist his charms as he has suggested a chaperone.”
“No, that was no’—I never said anything of the like.”
She laughed at him. “You mustn’t fret, my lord! I will arrange it so that all appears proper. Thank you for the invitation. Lady Bardaline will delight to convey to my mother and Prime Minister Robuchard that you are very good at your task. I look forward to the evening.”
She turned and walked away, and Lady Bardaline, with a look of mortification, quickly followed her.
William stood rooted to his spot for a few moments, confused by the feeling of having lost his bearings.
And then he realized he was still holding the dog.
Justine realized it, too. She paused at the door and turned back. “Dodi!”
He put the dog down and she raced in the general direction of Justine, veering off halfway to inspect the pots once more.
The little dog was just as confused as William.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DANTEROBUCHARDRECEIVEDtwo telegraphs in one day from London. The first was from Lady Aleksander. The second was from the Marquess of Hamilton.
A third telegraph had also arrived, but this one had been directed to the queen. It was, of course, from Lady Bardaline, and was a lengthy one, judging by how much time the queen sat with her head bent over the message, her brow furrowed. Dante tried not to think of the expense of so many telegraphs being sent hither and yon, both in terms of money and in the mood around the palace, because the queen generally became quite agitated when she received them.
He was with the king and queen on the palace terrace, directly outside the private living quarters of the royal family. The royal physicians had advised that direct sunlight was very beneficial to the king, and he was to spend as much time in the sun as was possible. The king was on a chaise longue, buried in furs to keep warm. The queen sat beside him on the chaise, reading. Below them, in the family’s private garden, where the bowling games were usually played, eight dancers moved through sets while three string musicians played. It was for the king’s entertainment.
The queen suddenly stood and began to pace, blocking the king’s view of the dancers.
Dante stood back, his hands clasped behind him. He was among some of the royal family’s most faithful servants, including the king’s valet, a nurse, a lady-in-waiting and an underbutler. The queen’s private secretary was also present, all of them careful to stand back and out of the queen’s path.
“We should never have sent Amelia to London,” the queen said to her husband. “I said all along it was a mistake.”
She’d never said any such thing, at least not to Dante, but he wasn’t fool enough to point that out, and neither was the king.
“One must keep a very close eye on her, Maksim. She’s so beautiful! It’s little wonder that trouble courts her.”
Beauty, Dante thought idly, was in the eye of the beholder. Certainly, Princess Amelia was an attractive young woman, but he thought Princess Justine was just as handsome as her sister. She had a certain grace about her. And yet, the queen did not seem to have the same charitable perspective when trouble courted Princess Justine. She often said her older daughter was irresponsible and naive. She would never forgive the princess the affair with Aldabert Gustav.
The queen stopped pacing and with hands on hips, stood before her husband and studied him. Below them, the conductor of the dance recital tried to move the dancers to the right, so that the king might see around his wife. Unfortunately, that put one couple into the hedgerow. The lady’s hair caught in the branches and her partner tried to untangle her as the rest of the dancers carried on.
Neither the king nor the queen seemed to notice. The king looked very gray. Dante had consulted the royal physician on his prognosis, and it was not favorable. “He is weakening by the day,” the physician had said, and then had added, sotto voce, “He will be gone within the year, barring a miracle.”
“We must call her back,” the queen said.
“I don’t think that is wise,liebchen,” the king responded.
