Page 25 of A Foreign Crown
Aribella shook her head, growing more alarmed. “I won’t.”
“I know you won’t. You’re so like your mother. She raised you well. And without her here, in my court, I’d never have survived.”
Aribella waited, wondering what was so troubling to Her Majesty. She didn’t have long to wait.
“Oh, it’s the King.”
The King?Aribella gasped and then schooled her features. Had his much-dreaded fits begun anew? She’d been concerned about his fits since she arrived but had yet to see one.
“He is not well. He loses his words sometimes—often—but he covers that forgetfulness well. It’s the fits, the strange bouts of incoherence. He loses his mind, becomes emotional, demanding, thinks the children are in danger, questions even my presence in the house. And then he’s overly affectionate and won’t let me go.” Her face drained of color. “I’m very frightened of him when he’s like that.”
Aribella grew more and more concerned. Her gaze flitted to the door and back. “Oh dear. How many know about his condition?”
“Some, but not Prince George. He mustn’t know.” She squeezed Aribella’s hands so hard they hurt.
Aribella nodded frantically. “I—I won’t tell.” She wondered if the prince really did know. How could the Queen keep anything like this a secret? When the Queen released her, Aribella held her shaking hands steady behind her back. “What shall we do?”
“Just help me try to shield him. That Prince... Layton. He wants to talk to George, but we must make certain the King is in good condition when he does.”
The moaning grew louder from behind the door.
Queen Charlotte’s gaze moved to the door and back to Aribella. “I must leave. I have to go elsewhere. I can’t stand it when he gets like this.”
“Am—am I safe here?” Aribella watched the Queen’s panic and wondered if she should be packing her trunk.
“Yes, certainly. He doesn’t usually worry much over anything but our family. He worries for the children most of all.” She waved Aribella away. “Go. I must determine if we’re off to Windsor this very night or on the morrow. I will send for you.”
Aribella curtsied, but the Queen hardly noticed as she ran into her closet.
The moaning came closer to the door, and the knob rattled.
Aribella squawked and rushed from the room, through the other rooms of the palace, and down the corridor to her door. She stepped into her chambers, hugging herself. She paced to the window and pressed her hand to the glass, then tore off her gloves, their confining tightness too much to bear any longer. She returned her hand to the window; the cool of the glass against her bare palm refreshed her. The gardens beckoned. Every noise in the hall felt like a servant calling for her to return to the Queen. She shook her head, grabbed a wrap, made her way through the house to the servants’ door, and stepped outside. She had much to think over, and the palace walls felt too confining. Her soft slippers made no sound as she hurried out of doors. It had been a long day—and evening—and she craved the night air.
As she rushed into the side gardens, she wrapped herself in the thin fabric and then made her way out of the confining gardens, seeking the open expanse of lawn that made up the park of St. James’s.
The night air filled her lungs with each deep breath, and Aribella immediately felt herself begin to calm. She weaved through hedges and looked up at the night sky. Stars peered through the clouds, and over her shoulder, a partial moon shone, lighting her way.
As she made her way through the last side garden, the trickling sounds of a fountain and the sweet smell of roses asked her to linger, so she moved to a stone bench. She would have sat, but a figure burst through the hedge—a man. She yelped and covered her mouth, turning immediately to run from the place, but a voice stopped her.
“Lady Aribella?”
She swallowed and faced him. “Prince Layton.” Relief washed through her, and she moved closer, halting the urge to embrace the man, so grateful she was to see a familiar face—one she trusted. Eyeing him, she realized trust was important, and she did in fact trust this man she hardly knew. She’d seen his goodness from the moment they’d met; he acted in kindness in every situation.
“H-hello.” She curtsied.
“And to you.” His voice came out in a rich timbre that sent a new kind of shiver through her and a spattering of gooseflesh up and down her arms. He closed the remaining steps between them and reached for her hand. When he bowed over it, his lips caressing her bare skin, she belatedly realized she’d left her gloves in her room. He did not release her hand but held it, his thumb moving softly over her knuckles. “You seemed frightened.” The concern that filled his face warmed her.
She moved closer. “I—I am.”
“What is distressing you? Why have you come out here alone?” His face hardened as he glanced toward the palace.
“I needed the space, the cool air. Before I could sleep, I needed a—a moment.” She couldn’t tell him her worries. Perhaps he’d leave it at that.
He studied her a moment, skepticism showing on his face, but then he looked out across the gardens. “And I as well.” He turned back to her. “I thought I needed to be alone, but upon seeing you, I find company is not unwelcome. Would you be agreeable to a turn?” He indicated the space around the immediate garden.
She dipped her head. “I would, yes. Thank you.”
He placed her hand in the crook of his arm and then rested a large, warm palm over the top of it, patting twice in an almost brotherly fashion. But she felt nothing sisterly. Her hand burned from the attention, her fingers tingled, and she walked as closely as she could to him so their sides almost touched as they moved along over the paths.
