Page 63 of A Foreign Crown
She remained standing, feeling more comfortable now that she stood over him.
“You are a pleasing sort of person. Beautiful to look upon. Has my son taken a fancy to you yet?” He laughed to himself. “Sometimes I envy my own son his freedoms, his excess.”
“You can’t be serious.” The words escaped before she could bite them back.
Then the King’s laugh filled the room. “Oh, but I am. People say I’m not in my right mind. Think what you’d like; that boy has the world at his feet and makes the most of his power.” The King’s eyes gleamed. Then he jerked around, struggling against the binding.
Aribella backed away.
“Be good to my family! They won’t let me see them. Help them, but do not be too friendly to Prince George!” The King’s earlier charm changed to a cackling sort of maniacal sound, and Aribella hurried to the door, flung it open, and ran out into the corridor.
The Queen stood waiting, tears coursing down her cheeks. As soon as the door shut behind Aribella, Her Majesty gestured that they make their way back. “I trust you will say nothing.”
Aribella nodded.
“He’s not himself.”
She nodded again.
“You know, he’s usually the pillar of propriety.”
“Queen Charlotte, please. I imagine your pain is far greater than my brief discomfort. My respect for you remains, and for the King. I cannot imagine what has happened to create such a transformation.”
“He spends much of his time talking to Amelia, as if she is present.”
Aribella again considered the loss of her mother, the most poignant, sorrow-filled days when all she wanted was to stop the pain. She almost envied King George’s escape. “Spending time with my mother, no matter if it were only in a fantastical dream, sounds lovely.”
“Perhaps he is happier wherever his true self has gone.” They approached the Queen’s sitting room, where the others waited. “I suspect you will be full of happiness when the time comes for you to return to your father.”
She almost readily agreed, but a second look into the Queen’s grief-lined face gave her pause. “Will you be well?”
“I hope so.” She wrapped arms around herself. The image was beautiful in its own way. Her skirts billowed out around her small waist, the black and gray of her fabric bringing a stark contrast to her white skin.
Aribella wanted to say she could stay. She wanted to offer assistance for as long as the strong monarch needed her, but she knew her estate and her father awaited her return. She had responsibilities at home.
When Aribella and Her Majesty entered the room, the other ladies looked on curiously, but Aribella said nothing. They spent the few remaining minutes of their evening in a reasonably peaceful gathering with pleasant conversation.
But inside Aribella, her heart raged with emotion. A torrent swirled in the very air she breathed, one that ran up and down her limbs, evidenced only by the tremor in her legs as she tried to keep every other part of her still and poised and elegantly undisturbed.
The thought of a walk in the gardens in the quiet of night was the only thing keeping her rooted to her seat. Prince Layton. She hoped he’d seek the same moments as she to wander in the dark.
Chapter Twenty
Over the course of thenext week, Prince George had met with the members of Parliament, who had come to talk terms with the English prince and set the regency in motion. Layton found it odd the meeting did not take place at Westminster, but then again, when he considered Prince George, he was more surprised the man hadn’t planned a raucous dinner party at Carlton House in order for Parliament to meet with him. Prince George had finished the legalities, been ceremoniously welcomed by the leaders of the houses of Lords and Commons, and now he was returning to St. James’s as the new ruler of all of Britain, in full pomp and circumstance, accompanied by no fewer than thirty servants.
Prince Layton joined the other people lining the palace entryway who had come to welcome Prince George. He stood with the admiral and his wife, the men he’d met previously while taking their port, ladies of the nobility from all sorts of family lines, and the staff. Prinny would be the new acting sovereign, until his father either became fit once again or passed away. What a historic time to be present in England. Layton could appreciate the importance of the events going on around him, and he tried to record all in memory for his father and brothers.
As Prince George exited the carriage, he swayed with the swagger of the drunken, and Layton cringed in embarrassment for him, for England, for Queen Charlotte, and even for Lady Aribella. She deserved better in her prince regent.
“Come now, what a to-do! Have you all come to see me walk?” He preened and marched. “There, it is quite lovely, is it not?” He stepped to the side, and a man rushed to steady him. “I can walk backward as well.” He turned, and with a large wiggle of his broad backside, he stepped toward them backward.
Everyone in the line bowed, curtsied, and dipped their heads in obeisance. Layton felt the respect due to the Crown more than for the bearer of it. If not for the power of the English navy built up by previous monarchs, Layton would have given up on the whole lot of them days ago, particularly after feeling the crazed hands of the King at his neck. But he knew England was more than this family of royalty. He knew the power of their Parliament, and he had a living respect for their navy.
And he couldn’t bring himself to leave Lady Aribella—not yet. Not until they’d come to some form of understanding, whether it be the kind to make him the happiest of men or that news that would be disheartening for his newly captured heart. He needed to know where they stood before taking further action.
So here he stood, bowing to a ridiculous figurehead of a man, with the hopes still of saving his country and his heart.
When the prince regent walked in front of him, he tapped Layton on the shoulder. “We must converse. Watch for my summons. I’ll send the aid you require.”
