Page 64 of A Foreign Crown
“Thank you.” Layton’s mind skipped with hope. Here was another ruler promising aid, though this one might have more power and just might be more reliable, despite his current drunkenness. With that one promise, the prince regent was almost forgiven his ridiculous nature. “Your aid is what I most desire.”
“Most?” The regent’s eyebrow rose. “I think not.” His annoying chortle followed him as he moved along the line, offering his hand for kisses from the nobility.
Layton endured the rest of the day surrounded by news of the regent and more news of the regent. Even the very smell of the regent from his inordinate use of scents and waters filled St. James’s, until Layton had had so much of the regent that only the thought that the man might grant him protection for his country kept Layton in England, waiting—along with a myriad of others in the court—to be summoned.
After a full day of waiting, making conversation with strangers, and never receiving such a summons, Layton left for his quarters and a fresh set of clothes—something comfortable, something that reminded him of home.
Godfrey raised his eyebrows at Layton’s selection: simple trousers, a broad-necked shirt, sailor boots, and a jacket of sorts. But Brewer grinned as he prepared the clothing.
“I just need to feel like myself again, Godfrey. No one will see my walk through the gardens in the dark, and then I’ll stick to this room to write my correspondence.” Only under strict promises would Godfrey allow him to leave his room in such a state.
With the fear of the royally appointed valet in him, Layton snuck out the doors through servants’ passages in an underutilized part of the palace. At last, in the cool of the night air, he breathed deeply and stretched his arms out to his sides. The stars were out on this remarkably clear night. Layton drew comfort from their twinkling brightness and tried to pretend he was on the deck of his ship, not docked but out on the water, with sky all around. The feeling was immeasurably comforting, and a smile spread across his cheeks without him even forcing it there. How refreshing to be out of doors.
“Yours is the first smile I’ve seen in many hours.” Lady Aribella’s voice, like nectar, flowed through him, and his smile grew.
“Aribella.”
She sucked in her breath but did not rebuke his use of only her first name.
“I hoped you would be here,” Layton said. “I knew not when such a thing might be possible, but I planned to wait until you made an appearance.”
“And what if that had been days and days more?”
“The ground is welcoming, the peace a balm.”
She approached and placed her hand on his arm. “It sounds as though you and I have had similar circumstances.”
“I would wager yours are even more taxing than mine.”
The ragged breath that passed her lips made him wish to pull her into his arms. But he would wait, perhaps until they were farther from the house. “Shall we walk?”
“Yes, please; would that you could take me far from here.”
“Would that I could. Let’s walk farther into the gardens and pretend we are far away. I’m growing concerned.” They walked a few more steps, her face drawn and tired. “I wish to take whatever burdens you carry. Whatever I may do to alleviate your concern, I will attempt.”
“I assume you have had a similar time of it. Everything is taxing, and all conversations are difficult.”
“So true. Your face is my first balm in days.”
They made their way in a different direction than they had before and crossed beneath an arbor of roses. The smell sweetened the air.
Aribella reached out and ran her fingertips along the soft petals.
“I enjoy you without gloves,” Layton said.
Her smile turned shy as she looked down. “I seem to remember such a thing.”
He brought the tips of her fingers to his lips, then placed her hand back on his arm.
The arbor led them into a rose garden, hedged in, with a fountain in the center.
“This is lovely,” Aribella said.
“I agree. Perhaps we can sit there, on the opposite side.” A bench awaited them, as happily situated as any he’d seen.
When they’d both sat and Layton carried her hand in his own, running his fingers along the softness of her palm, he said, “Tell me. Tell me all about your week.”
He watched her face, searching for clues as to how she was doing, how she managed all that must be required of her. Her eyes looked more tired than he’d seen them, but she also carried an air of satisfaction, perhaps confidence, that he found intriguing.
