Page 2 of A Foreign Crown
When they returned to the docks, sure enough, the French shipMarengowas 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 theash 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.
