Page 9 of A Foreign Crown
I must warn you. Your most important challenge during your time with me, and even now in the carriage, is to say as little as possible to anyone else. Even the most innocuous of information might lead to greater pain for myself and the family. We avoid gossip at the greatest cost. I will say more on this later, but I give you this hint now, as this precaution is necessary even during your travels to London. Say as little as possible of yourself or your relationship with me or your mother. Others may presume what they wish.
I look forward to your arrival. Please destroy this letter.
Yours, etc., etc.
Was Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte, becoming paranoid?
The lady across from Aribella watched her closely. She was a pretty woman a few years Aribella’s senior.
The woman smiled. “I’m Lady Mallory.”
Aribella followed suit. “And I’m Lady Aribella.” Lady Mallory seemed perfectly jovial, pleasant, open. “Thank you for coming to fetch me. The journey cannot have been easy, and you are turning about without rest.”
Lady Mallory flicked her fingers as though it were nothing. “We shall rest in the finest of places. It will not seem too burdensome.” She watched Aribella, seeming to take her measure. “Your mother and I were close, you know. You look like her.”
“Were you?” Aribella warmed toward this woman. She would need to check her notes to see what relationship her mother had had with Lady Mallory. At the moment, she couldn’t remember mention of her.
“Yes, certainly. She was well loved and respected at court. She knew just how to handle Queen Charlotte’s, um, eccentricities. She knew with whom our loyalties should lay.”
Something in that sounded odd. “I’m happy to hear any memories or kind words about my mother. As you can imagine, she is greatly missed.”
“Oh, my darling, my poppet.” The lady’s emotion came on suddenly. “I feel it keenly as well.” She dabbed her eyes. “She will be greatly missed at court.” She eyed Aribella over her handkerchief. “But I am certain you will make an adequate contribution.” She reached over and patted Aribella’s hand, but the gesture only filled Aribella with more uncertainty. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure how she would move forward with her assignment, especially with Queen Charlotte telling her not to trust anyone. To whom could she turn for advice?
Many hours later, when she was certain Lady Mallory was asleep, Aribella reread her letter from the Queen and then tore it into tiny pieces, opened the window of the carriage, and let them blow away on the wind. How odd court must be, how miserable, if she was to trust no one. Her mother, being the Duchess of Sumter, had certainly had her own power and influence, but what did Aribella have? She watched the countryside of her beautiful home blur by her carriage window, knowing she had nothing besides her wits and her mother’s book to advise her. She wanted to reach into her trunk and hug that volume to her chest in hopes that somehow its words would transport her dear mother back to advise her along with the markings left by her quill.
Chapter Five
So far, England had littleto offer Layton by way of enjoyment.
He had arrived on the British shores to more pomp and circumstance than he would have liked. King George III had heard of his coming and had sent servants in livery and also officers to accompany Layton from the docks. The King’s royal carriage and a team of military men awaited Layton as he arrived on shore. With half the population of the Norfolk dockyard looking on, he and his trunks were quickly and safely ensconced in the large and ornate carriage. Though he thought the greeting and fuss at his arrival wasteful and unnecessary, Layton was grateful for the spring in the royal conveyance, for though he could tell by the movement they were on none too even of a road, he felt much less upheaval of his person than he would have in an inferior equipage. He would thank His Majesty when he arrived at the palace.
Rain poured from the sky in a great deluge that was quickly causing a flood like Layton had never seen. The roads became soft and thick with mud.
They had traveled for many hours when Layton was awoken from a doze by the familiar clanging of another horse and more wheels turning over uneven ground. He lifted the fabric at his window as a carriage turned onto the road to St. James’s behind his entourage and joined them. The other carriage had been coming from the north, its side covered in dust and mud—from the English moors, perhaps—and displaying the royal crest.
Just as the other vehicle turned out of sight, its window covering was lifted, and a lovely woman with eyes wide at the sight of him peered out. Her hair was pulled back from her face. Her pert nose lifted on the end; her cheeks were round and her mouth open. He chuckled in amusement as she studied him, realized he’d noticed, widened her mouth, and dropped the covering.
Though he’d protested greatly at the thought of courtship on this trip, seeing that woman again would certainly not be a hardship, if only to watch her pert nose and surprised mouth. His smile broadened. Then he shook his head. His travels had him addled. Or hungry for human interaction, though his valet, Brewer, slept in the corner. An excellent valet but a brooding sort of fellow. Silence in a carriage was not as welcome as silence on his ship; he missed the sounds of his crew working all around him.
But he felt so considerably lighter since seeing the face of another, especially one so lovely, that he left the curtain pulled back, opened his window, and leaned his face out so he might soak in some of the sun. It was rare in its shining, but the clouds appeared to have broken, leaving way for warm tendrils to reach his face.
The early spring mud made travel difficult, however, and the longer Layton stayed in his carriage, traversing ridiculous roads across what he was beginning to view as a heathen nation, the damper his mood became. When the skies clouded over again and the rain drenched everything in sight, he welcomed the thickness of the air as it matched his heavy doldrums. Brown water rushed around them; their pace slowed as the wheels suffered through thicker mud in the ruts.
He felt a pang of sympathy for the escort of men in red uniforms who rode ahead of him on horseback, and he wondered if the other carriage still rode behind him. Six men rode ahead and, he assumed, six behind the second carriage. The men would not fit inside even if both carriages were utilized in their behalf.
He shook his head. It wasn’t the thing, to be thinking the way he was. The soldiers were doing their job, a job any able-bodied man could be doing. He couldn’t help but think of his crew as he sat back in his comfortable carriage while men around him were stuck in a deluge of water on their heads. On a ship, everyone pitched in. He often found great satisfaction working alongside his crew. But the carriage felt smaller and more confining as he thought of his navy, his men at last able to protect their shores as they were meant to, and Layton shipped off too soon to see any of the action. A great restlessness created an itch in him, an itch to step outside and be of use.
Horses whinnying and a sharp feminine yelp had Layton leaping out of the door before the carriage pulled to a stop, calling for Brewer to join him. His boots barely cleared the river of water running through the carriage wheels. He slipped in the mud on what seemed like a riverbank but regained his balance and rushed back toward another yelp.
The other carriage’s wheels had slid off the road into a ditch, and all efforts of the drenched coachmen, the footman, and the horses were in vain to pull it out. It would rock and then fall farther down into the ditch. Though they weren’t in any danger, one of the ladies inside seemed to be frantic with unease, and her piercing screams sounded with every rock of the carriage.
Layton slogged through the mud to their door and opened it. “I think it best if you join me in the other carriage while the horses work on freeing this one. What say you?”
Two pairs of wide eyes blinked back at him. He was relieved to see that the woman he’d seen earlier seemed to be perfectly composed and was actively aiding in restoring the good constitution of the other, whose face was beaded with perspiration and seemed out of sorts in more ways than one.
But at his suggestions, the discomposed woman sat up. “Oh yes, that sounds like just the thing. Queen Charlotte will thank you.” She moved along the bench, which was tilted at a steep angle away from the door, and reached for his hands. “Do help me, please!”
He stepped aside. “Allow my man to be of assistance.” Brewer offered to lift her.
