“It’s not you.” Helen paused in her step. “Well, actually by default of your bloodline it is. Her Majesty considered your mother an enemy from day one.”
“My mother? But she never even came to Court!” Madelaine clenched her hands together, outrage for her mother stirring in her blood.
“Calm yourself,” Helen hissed, but took Madelaine’s hand in hers and gently tugged. They started walking again, the tap of their slippered feet echoing in the deserted corridor. “Did you never wonder why your Father often came to Court but not your mother?”
Madelaine shook her head. She had assumed her mother stayed behind with her because she was an especially doting mother.
Helen sighed. “I knew your mother and liked her very much. She was childhood friends with Lady Napier, who was once Lady Sara Lennox. Sara is the heart of the trouble between your mother and the queen.”
When they reached the top of the steps that led to the dining hall, Helen paused. “King George was smitten with Sara. When her family learned of it they made her abandon her plans to marry a man I think she truly did love. But then our king changed his mind or rather it was changed for him. He married Queen Charlotte instead and Sara—let us just say it took her a long time to find happiness and at great cost to her good name.”
“What’s my mother have to do with this?” Madelaine asked as she descended the stairs.
“Privately, Sara blamed her misfortunes on the king and therefore the queen. Your mother staunchly stood by Sara and never did take to the queen. Your mother was very beautiful. Beauty has power and the queen did not like coming newly to our Court only to have a beautiful woman who did not trip over herself to serve her. And your mother was clever. She never said an outright unkind word. Yet daily she pointed out to Her Majesty the little things of our culture she had not properly mastered.”
“As the queen does to me!” Madelaine stopped before the dining room hall. Everything she had just learned vied for attention inside her head. Ordering her thoughts was difficult, but she forced herself to the task. “Yet my mother was not thrown from Court? How could it be if she openly needled the queen?”
“Because the queen knew better than to demand such a thing from the king. His Majesty and your father were close even then.”
“So the king didn’t know of the trouble between my mother and the queen?”
“No. Never.”
That explained why Madelaine’s father insisted she come to Court to find a proper husband even if it didn’t necessarily explain why her father seemed to want to have her married off so quickly. She had thought to have a Season when their mourning was over, but he had been steadfast that Court was where she should be. He’d said she would not be one of many debutantes here, but one of a few honored ladies-in-waiting, therefore she should be betrothed right away. He had no inkling the men at Court would rather seduce than propose nor did he know the queen had hated his wife.
If he only knew. Madelaine pushed the errant thought away. She could never tell her father. It would devastate him to think the queen had hated Mother and Mother had deceived him by never telling him. It didn’t matter anyway. She had a debt to pay to her parents and a duty to fulfill. “My mother’s lack of punishment must have eaten at the queen all these years.”
“Now you see. The queen never got retribution as she wished, so now she punishes you.”
“It’s hopeless.”
“You give up too easily,” Helen chided.
“What must she do?” Lady Elizabeth asked.
The dining room door opened suddenly and the noise from within rolled into the corridor like the hum of a thousand birds’ wings flapping in unison. Lady Helen faced Madelaine. “Prove your loyalty to the queen above everyone else, and then you will have her forgiveness and her loyalty.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” Madelaine called to Helen’s departing figure.
Helen paused and turned back to her. “I don’t have all the answers. Bide your time. It will come. It always does if one is patient enough.”
Madelaine trudged behind Elizabeth to their appointed table. As Elizabeth took a seat across from Lord Thorton, he grinned lecherously at Madelaine and patted the seat beside him. She sat and his hand immediately found her knee under the table. She retaliated by swatting him away as discreetly as she could.
She didn’t have a single moment to bide. She needed the queen’s favor. Without it, she dare not whisper a word of Lord Thorton’s attempts to take advantage of her. If the queen disliked her, that bit of information could easily be manipulated to make her look like she lacked morals.
When Lord Thorton’s hand found her leg again and massaged her knee, she picked up her fork, discreetly slid it under the bench and pressed the prongs into his flesh as hard as she could. His hand ceased moving. She raised her gaze to meet his—sure he would be glaring at her, but the man stared as if she were the choicest piece of meat he’d ever seen. Disgust rolled through her. Immediately, she released the fork and the pressure of his hand lifted from her leg. If only she had her dagger then maybe he would see her as a danger instead of a conquest. Tomorrow, she would secure it under her dress in case she encountered him again.
As she took a large sip of wine from her goblet, he pressed his lips by her ear. She darted a quick gaze around. Thank God everyone was busily engaged in their own conversation. “I like feisty women,” he said in a slur of already consumed wine.
“You’ll find me deadly, not feisty,” she hissed, meaning every word. She quickly stuffed a chunk of bread in her mouth to avoid more conversation with him. But as she chewed, he slid closer. The sticky heat of his body enveloped her. Her stomach turned and she could not swallow the hunk of bread in her mouth.
She couldn’t wait any longer. Time was her enemy. If things stayed as they were, she would be forced to drastic measures. She had excellent aim and had no doubt she could hit Lord Thorton if he tried to corner her alone and ravish her. But it would be deuced hard to fulfill her mother’s wish and not disappoint her father if she was hung for murder. And blast hell with ice, her life may not be all she had hoped so far, but living was far more preferable than death.
Six
Grey awoke the next morning in a sour mood. Who wouldn’t be in a sour mood if they had been forced to go to bed hungry because they’d waited until near midnight to see the king. Grey rubbed his aching back. Someone needed to purchase more comfortable chairs in the king’s receiving chamber. Of course, comfortable chairs wouldn’t be necessary if the king actually granted audiences to those he’d commanded to appear on specific days at very specific times. The most frustrating part of his night though wasn’t the dinner. Dinner he could live without. Lack of food he could quickly amend. And he intended to shortly. Missed opportunities were harder to fix. And he’d missed the opportunity to speak more with Lady Madelaine. But he’d dreamed about her.
His cock hardened in remembrance. He smiled recalling the balmy weather, blue skies and Lady Madelaine’s skillful mouth and hands. The fantasy had been vivid. But when he threw off his covers cold air swept over him and chased away the remnants of his dream. Reality made him frown. The last thing he wanted to do today was return to the king’s chambers to once again wait idly and uncomfortably to be granted an audience the king himself had commanded, but wait he would. Like an obedient dog.
