Page 20 of A Foreign Crown
As they walked through the rooms, Aribella following the Queen’s lead, Queen Charlotte muttered, “This house is like a menagerie—so many coming and going, no one knowing who belongs with whom. I’m happy not to stay here too often.”
After a moment, they arrived at the entrance to a great room where people appeared to be gathering to go in to dinner. The master of ceremonies announced them, and Aribella watched in amazement as everyone in the room lowered themselves in a curtsy or bow.
As Aribella rose from her own curtsy, they were led by an attendant through the room, the Queen greeting people with a nod here and there, until they stood at the entrance to the dining hall.
Queen Charlotte said under her breath, “King George should be here.”
Aribella started. Somehow, she’d forgotten. She glanced over her shoulder and around the room. Should she offer to try to find him?
But then a restless murmur carried through the crowd, and Aribella turned toward the entrance. “Oh, he’s here.”
The Queen followed her gaze just as the master of ceremonies called out, “George the Third, by the Grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith, Arch-Treasurer and Prince-Elector of the Holy Roman Empire, Duke of Brunswick-Luneburg.”
“Why did he have them announce all of that?” Charlotte sighed, and the pinched, nervous expression about her lips concerned Aribella somewhat.
Again, everyone in the room showed their respect, including Queen Charlotte in a deep curtsy. When at last King and Queen stood together at the entrance to dine, Aribella sighed in happy relief. She was about to step away until the Queen whispered, “You will enter with us.”
“Oh, of course.” She stepped back in line behind the Queen. She felt incredibly out of place, but perhaps the Queen liked to do things in this manner.
Then a voice at her side made her smile. “Lady Aribella.” Her name rumbled through her as his quiet, deep voice reached her ears.
Prince Layton! She turned to him.
He bowed. “Might I escort you in to dinner?”
Her small gasp was obviously heard by Her Majesty, who nodded with a small smile.
“Yes, thank you.”
He held out his arm, which she took. They said nothing but kept glancing at each other and smiling. After the fourth time, Aribella giggled.
When the King directed a glance in her direction, she curtsied. “Beg pardon.”
“We appreciate good humor of all kinds, though in public we are more quiet about our expressions of such.” He faced the front again.
Aribella bit her tongue.
The doors were opened, and as people lined up behind them by rank, the King and Queen’s party entered.
Chapter Nine
Layton accepted a refill ofhis wineglass but only pretended to drink from it.
“A toast!” Prince George raised his glass again, toasting the plump waistline of the woman to his right or women in general; Layton couldn’t be certain, because he’d begun to ignore the specifics of the prince’s conversation hours ago. The more Prince George drank, the more unsuitable for respectable company he became, in Layton’s opinion, and the less hope Layton had of ever receiving the help he needed for his own country. What kind of nation nurtured men such as this one as its leader? What must George III be like to allow such behavior in his son?
Layton’s gaze traveled once again to the King’s table, where the sovereign sat with his wife, the pair jolly enough but perhaps more subdued in their celebrations than their son. Layton couldn’t know, because he’d been barred entrance to his company time and again. Once he’d escorted Aribella to their table and nodded to the others, he’d been escorted to his own table by a footman. Surely they meant it as a measure of respect for his own title, but he felt it more poignantly as a dismissal since he wanted so badly to converse with the King.
He clasped the prince’s shoulder and nodded at King George. “Perhaps an introduction to your father?”
Prince George raised an eyebrow. “Settle in; you are too anxious to get to business. You just arrived. Surely you must recover from your journey.” Prince George eyed his father again, a nervous flash in his eyes that Layton caught before the prince looked away. “Father is looking well and in good humor.” He sighed, then turned a semisober expression to Layton. “Come to Carlton House this week. We will travel together to Windsor and see him.”
Layton eyed him, gauging the reliability of the prince’s promise, then nodded. “Thank you. I will be there Monday.”
The prince groaned. “No, Monday is too soon. Come Tuesday.”
“Tuesday it is.” Layton returned his gaze to the King, where it had not left for much of the evening, except briefly to notice Aribella’s whereabouts. For the moment, she had left their table. He made a quick perusal of the room from where he sat but could not see her in the room.
He and the prince continued talking in a lighter vein for many minutes, Layton feeling much relieved for hope on the horizon—hope that he would be able to return to his country with the force of the Royal Navy at his back.
