Chapter Sixteen A Royal Audience

Chapter Sixteen

A Royal Audience

P rince Carlo, Felicity, and the children arrived on schedule, just in time for the garden party in their honor. August had warned Elizabeth the royals’ ocean journey might run late, that they might have to have the party without the guests of honor, but Elizabeth only shook her head and said she could “feel them near.”

Of course, it would have been fine to mount a garden party without them, but he was pleased for Elizabeth’s sake that the Italian contingent arrived without unforeseen delay.

And it would be a contingent, if past visits were any indication, a veritable army of footmen, guards, maids, nannies, cooks, valets, and grooms, all of whom were to take up residence at Buckingham Palace at the king’s invitation. The Lockridges delivered Elizabeth’s garden party invitation when they went to greet their daughter, and Felicity wrote a personal note to her in return, thanking her and expressing the family’s excitement to attend. The note arrived just at dinner.

“She says they will be thrilled to attend.” Elizabeth looked up from the monogrammed notecard to smile at him. “Those are her words. Thrilled. ”

“Of course she’ll be thrilled. It was kind of you to think of them.”

She scoffed, pushing aside her plate to scan the note a second time. “To think of them? Why, they’re so estimable and royal. It’s kind of them to hobnob with us.”

“It’s only Felicity, darling. Yes, she’s royal now, but she used to carry you about when you were a baby, and let you sit at tea with her dolls.”

“She’s seemed impressive to me since I was a child.” Elizabeth laughed softly. “She was older, and so beautiful. It made sense to me that she married a prince, though I suppose…” She slid a look at him. “I’m sorry it made you so sad.”

“It made all of us sad.” At the time, he’d been gutted. Inconsolable. “Mostly because she was going so far away. I worried for her. We all did, even her mama and papa, though she’s built a marvelous life. But you, too, are marvelous.” He reached for his wife’s hand. “You’re the Countess of Augustine. No small feat.”

She burst into louder laughter. “It was a small feat, accomplished because you were kind enough to marry me.”

“But you’ve grown into the title with such elan.”

He was not teasing. In truth, he was proud of her. Since the Season had started, she’d endeared herself to many and impressed those who might have disparaged her with gossip. She’d been unerringly brave and faced the ton with such unruffled composure that any talk about oddness or her failed betrothals had been scuttled before it began.

And now, with her meticulously planned garden party, she would be rewarded for her efforts. He prayed it was a triumph. She deserved a triumph after her ups and downs the last few years.

The day of the party dawned bright and cloudless, with a lilting breeze, so the stultifying stench of London seemed drawn up and away. Elizabeth wandered the house and grounds in a panic, tending to last minute tasks, but his servants had things well in hand. They’d been waiting many years for him to take a wife, so the house might be opened to parties and guests.

Well, proper guests, not bachelor guests. That was a different sort of entertaining, one the servants didn’t always like.

And he didn’t miss it. In his youth, he’d feared marriage would leave him yearning for the courtesans at Pearl’s, his rollicking late nights, and his freedom. Now he watched Elizabeth run about, creating a dignified social event to show off their home and gardens, and swelled with a sort of domestic pride.

Amid other swollen feelings.

“Elizabeth.” He caught his wife as she hurried past him in the downstairs hall. “The party’s not for hours yet. Perhaps you’d like to take a break…”

“A break?” She pushed back some wisps of dark hair that had fallen from her unruly bun. “The refreshments are…well…I know cook has that in hand, and the footmen are deciding where to stand to direct the arriving guests, and Mr. Donovan has promised two tents—”

“Which they are setting up now.”

“And I shall need to get dressed, and have Meryl do my hair—”

“How long will that take?” He pulled her closer, dropped a kiss on her forehead, then her neck. “No more than an hour, I suppose.”

“Oh.” Her hands crept up his chest as she perceived his amorous mood. “No more than an hour. Yes.”

“So you have a little time to rest. Or do other things.”

“Other things?” She looked about, going pink.

“Relaxing things. Come. I’ll play the piano for you, darling. I’ve been neglecting my music of late.”

The music hall was just a couple doors down from where they stood. It was smaller than the grand music chamber at St. Pierre, where he’d given her illicit piano lessons and spanked her for being an irresistible tease. But somehow this intimate space in town was just as resonant. The piano was newer as well. He dismissed the footman on duty in the hallway before firmly shutting the door.

She sat beside him on the bench and fidgeted now and again as he played. Perhaps she thought he meant to spank her as he had at lessons. He had a habit of turning her over his knee whenever the mood struck him, and she acceded gracefully, but at this moment, he wanted something more. He wanted to perform beautiful songs for her before he fucked her. And yes, he did intend to fuck her, in this room where he’d played the piano so many lonely hours as a bachelor.

Beautiful wife , he thought. I love you. I want you. When Felicity roams our garden a few hours from now, you’ll know I only desire you.

He played a meditative piece, with repetitive chords and phrases, then a grand, sweeping overture. She watched his hands, her side pressed against his.

“You feel the music so deeply,” she said when he finished. “I can sense it in your body. In your fingers and hands.”

“I feel something else right now.” He helped her discover the thick evidence of arousal in his trousers. “Speaking of fingers and hands…”

She began to stroke him through the fabric. He tried to be casual, restrained, but she soon awakened the animal inside him, along with its uncivilized groans and growls.

“Now,” he said, opening his trousers. “I need you now, darling.”

“Here?”

“Here. No one will come.” He guided her hand along his sensitive length. “They’re all busy preparing for your party.”

“Oh.”

“Come on then.”

He lifted her before him on the bench, so she straddled his lap. Her arse came down on the keys, hitting a dissonant chord that echoed loudly in the small space and had them both laughing. He slid the bench back while she struggled with her skirts. He tugged aside her pantalettes and slid a finger inside her, then another. Thank God, his naughty faerie was wet.

“Are you sure no one will come?”

“If they do, they’ll leave before we notice them, you may be sure.”

He held her tensing buttocks with one spread hand and used the other to wedge himself into her hot, welcoming pussy.

“Oh, August.” She clung to him, her fingers twisting in his hair. “ Ohhh. ”

Her guttural sigh was all the permission he needed to take her hard and fast. Each thrust was ecstasy made real, resonating deep in his balls. He gave her pleasure in return, freeing her breasts from her low bodice, sucking the tips, making her moan. He ground against the sensitive button at her pussy’s apex, teased and buffeted it to make her gasp. He wanted that button in his mouth, under his tongue. He wanted to be everywhere inside her, all at once. He wanted to do everything to her, but also just one thing—fuck her senseless.

“Please, harder,” she whispered as he squeezed her hips. “Harder.”

He bottomed out inside her, bouncing her on his surging member. She arched her back and met him thrust for thrust, until her backside hit the keys again, and again, and again…

The resulting, rhythmic din was the perfect accompaniment to their gasping finale. She fell apart, reaching her completion, going wild in his arms. He held her close, held her safe, and finished just after her, the piano’s notes still ringing in the aftermath. He realized his foot was braced upon the damper pedal, sustaining the jarring chord.

“By God, I ought to make that into a song,” he said, letting out a harsh breath.

“A song I’ll play with my arse cheeks?”

“Yes. And we’ll practice it at least once a week.”

She laughed, still impaled, then shifted gingerly. “That was very loud.”

“Loud enough and measured enough that the servants knew to stay away.”

“Oh, my goodness.”

His sweet wife was entertained. Her merriment was infectious.

“You see, pianos are good for much more than meting out spankings.” He lifted her carefully from his softening cock and turned her over his lap. “Although they remain useful for that purpose as well.”

She squealed as he treated her to a few wild wallops before righting her. Then she set about demurely smoothing her skirts as if she wasn’t the most well-fucked wife in Christendom.

“I shall think of this in the garden, when the guests are all around us,” she said, her cheeks still flushed from pleasure. “I don’t think I’ll be able to suppress the memory.”

He did up his trousers with a grin. “Whenever our eyes meet, I’ll know exactly what you’re thinking about.”

She crawled back into his lap and put her arms around him, and kissed him with abandon, her thrusting tongue parting his lips. He loved that she could be as bold as she was yielding. Just when he thought he might have to importune her again, she wisely pulled away.

“I really ought to get ready now,” she said, hopping off his lap and quickly moving beyond arm’s length. “I’ll see you in the garden.” She paused a few steps from the door and turned back. “I do hope the party’s a success.”

“Why wouldn’t it be? Everyone’s going to enjoy it. The weather couldn’t be more perfect.”

He saw some wavering anxiety in her gaze, fleeting, then gone. He supposed it was because Felicity would be here, that he’d see her for the first time since he and Elizabeth had married.

“Everything will be fine,” he said in a firmer voice. “I promise. And I love you.”

He emphasized the last part and hoped she got the message. There was only room in his heart for one dark-haired beauty, and it wasn’t the infatuation of his past.

*

Elizabeth took forever to get ready. She changed her idea for a gown four times and asked to have her hair redone twice. She told herself it was not because she feared comparison to Felicity, August’s first love. That would be silly, for that whole situation was done and past. No. She took such great care with her appearance because she was hosting her first party as the Countess of Augustine, and everything must be perfect. She wanted her husband and all her family to be proud.

Elizabeth walked out into the garden and looked up at the sun with a grateful expression. It really was an unreasonably gorgeous day. Not too hot, not too cold, with wisps of breeze to flutter the flowers’ petals just so.

Under these blue skies, August’s servants had done superlative work. One large tent held dozens of chairs and tables decorated with striking floral centerpieces, while a smaller tent sheltered elaborate sideboards laden with tarts, tea cakes, salads, sandwiches, biscuits and pastries for two hundred guests. Elizabeth hoped they wouldn’t all arrive at once. Everyone had wanted an invitation to see Princess Felicity and Prince Carlo—and to see the newlywed Earl and Countess of Augustine holding court at their home.

A few guests, mostly family, had already arrived and were cooing over the refreshments. Children darted about. A couple of her nephews nearly upended her husband as he made his way to her side.

“Darling, you’re an absolute picture.” He hugged her, then dropped a quick, discreet kiss upon her lips. “Truly a picture. I love you in green.”

She’d ended up wearing one of her newest silk gowns, a gift from August, ordered at great expense from the most celebrated seamstress in Paris. Her maid had marveled at the way the green brought out her eyes. Her husband regarded her as if she were a princess, though she must take care not to outshine the real royals. He placed another discreet kiss beside her carefully tamed updo, her ebony locks braided and coiled about her head in the Welsh style her mother sometimes wore.

Then he met her gaze, and she remembered their sultry escapade in the music hall, every bit of it. She tried not to be obvious in her smile, hoped she did not look as libidinous as she felt, especially since guests were starting to arrive in greater numbers.

“Off to do my hosting duties,” he said, releasing her from his thrall. “And your mother told me you must go to her at once, because she misses hugging you. She does give very good hugs.”

As if on cue, her mother appeared at her side, along with her sisters Hazel and Charlotte, and a phalanx of nieces and nephews. Goodness, she’d been so nervous about hosting, but everyone was smiling and jolly, having a wonderful time.

They exchanged hugs and news, then Elizabeth set off to mingle and play the gracious hostess. She knew almost all the guests’ names, except for those visiting from out of town. She kept an eye out for Felicity and her family, thinking how big the children would have grown in the last two years since she’d seen them.

After a half hour or so, there was a commotion at the east side of the garden. Elizabeth saw a formation of the king’s guard—goodness, an escort!—and walked over to greet Felicity and her family with a sudden fluttering of butterflies in her middle.

But Felicity was not there, nor her family.

“Where is Lady Augustine?” asked the head guard.

“Here.” Elizabeth flushed at his strident voice but moved forward. “I am here. Where are our guests?”

“I’m here to fetch you on order of the king.”

“To…fetch me? Are the Italian visitors all right? Prince Carlo? Princess Felicity?”

Her voice faded as the guard took her arm. August materialized beside her.

“Unhand my wife, if you please.”

Her father appeared too, wearing the Arlington frown. “Here, what’s this?” he asked.

“Lady Augustine is to be presented before the king. His orders,” said the guard.

“Presented for what?” asked August.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, I do the king’s bidding, and I don’t ask why.”

His tone communicated that August should not either. The party had gone quiet. Elizabeth felt she might faint with so many questioning eyes upon her.

“If you’re ready to go, ma’am…” The guard took her arm again.

“Go where?” she asked. “And why?”

“To Buckingham Palace. King’s orders.”

She looked at August and her father, both of whom appeared flabbergasted. “I’m going to come, too,” said August. “I’m her husband.”

The guard looked about to refuse, then relented. “As you wish.”

“If you need help, send for me,” said her father in a hushed, intent voice that scared Elizabeth more than anything that had happened yet.

“You must still have the party,” said Elizabeth, as the guards led them away. “Papa, tell the guests they must enjoy the party. I suppose Felicity will arrive any moment.”

She saw her mother’s face, her sisters, her friend Rosalind with her mouth agape. Her first event as a society lady, her enchanting garden party, and she was being hauled away by a formation of guards before everyone.

For what? She could not be in trouble, had not done anything remotely criminal. But her father had whispered, if you need help … The king was often rumored to be mad. With all the gossip surrounding her, perhaps she’d gained his unwarranted attention. Did he mean to keep her under arrest?

She and August were deposited in a black coach led by four sturdy horses. At the head guard’s order, the coach departed, rolling past the carriages of more guests arriving to their home.

“They will have missed the excitement,” she said quietly. “Oh, I hope the party isn’t ruined.”

August said nothing, only frowned. The party was certainly ruined, but she didn’t want to think about that.

“I haven’t done anything against the king,” she said as the silence strung out. “I don’t know why he would summon me.”

“No one has accused you of doing anything against the king. Nor will they.”

She took his hand where it lay beside hers on the hard cushion, and noticed her own palm was sweating within her glove.

“I don’t know why this might be happening.” She didn’t wish to keep talking, especially in light of August’s taciturnity, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m sure I don’t know what this is about.”

“Don’t worry.” He squeezed her hand. “Everything will be straightened out.”

“The entire ton saw me leave, didn’t they? Dozens of guests?”

Too much to hope they remained distracted by the food or flowers. Too much to hope that society’s gossips might stay silent about this, after she’d finally seemed to overcome the whispers about their marriage. This was a debacle. A disaster.

It was so unfair.

And she was afraid.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said, partly for the glowering guards who sat across from them, their legs nearly touching. “I’m sure the king cannot even know who I am.”

“He knows your father,” said August. “So perhaps he knows you. But you mustn’t worry.”

“Is it because I married in Wales instead of England? Is that permissible? Is it because I threw a garden party so early in the Season?”

“Darling, you’re blameless. Try to be calm.”

They arrived at Buckingham and were greeted by more guards as their coach rounded a newly constructed portico. Well, not greeted . The men held stern expressions as she and August were escorted down a corridor to the king’s reception room. They were in the older, gloomier part of the recently expanded palace. Her perceptive senses were sharpened in her state of anxiety. Ghosts of memories bombarded her, unrest within the walls, in the air. King George IV and his wife had not enjoyed a harmonious marriage or satisfying family life.

When they were admitted to the king’s presence, these old echoes fled in the face of present anguish. The chamber was thick with it, so much that she recoiled a moment at the doorway. A guard urged her forward. August made a harsh noise in his throat at the servant’s handling, but she squeezed her husband’s arm, willing him to stay calm.

For there was little calm here. Elizabeth had not seen the king in years, aside from drawings in books and papers. His poor health and suffering were evident. He sat stooped and stiff, a great bulk of a monarch upon his throne. His skin had gone florid and patchy-red in his decline. His extremities looked unnaturally swollen, his fingers like sausages. She recollected herself in her shock and dropped into a deep curtsy while August bowed. The king’s reddened eyes raked her and August as he looked down his mottled nose.

For a moment he seemed unaware of who they were, why they were there. A guard intoned, “The Lady Augustine and her husband, Lord Augustine.”

“Ah.” The king’s drooping eyes sharpened. “My good earl. I thought you were your father for a moment…the resemblance…”

“Your Majesty,” he said, with another bow.

“Why are you holding our lady so?” the king asked his guards. “Brigands, you offend her. Release her.”

The guards bowed. There was so much bowing at court, thought Elizabeth.

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,” said the lead guard. “You ordered her detained…”

“Detained?” The king scoffed. “Did I say detained? I meant obtained, you idiots. Obtained for my company. Detained, obtained.” He made a confused, dismissive gesture. “I wished to visit with the lady, and you bring her here under arms, like a traitor or thief.” His rheumy, red eyes returned to Elizabeth. “I meant obtained , my dear.”

“Oh, yes, Your Majesty. Of course. Anyone might make that mistake.”

The guards, who’d now released her, murmured apologies before they scuttled backward and away. Elizabeth bit her lip, thinking how panicked she’d been at her “arrest,” and remembering all the guests who’d seen her taken from the garden party by the stone-faced guards.

Obtained.

Detained.

The difference meant her renewed disgrace within society, the gossip spreading through the ton ’s parlors even now as she stood here before this suffering king.

“Well, my dear lady, come closer, please. My eyes are not what they were.”

Elizabeth tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage. Nervous irritation warred with lingering fear, but as she went to stand before King George, her feelings transformed to sympathy for the aging ruler. He was in terrible health.

He wore a white waistcoat of fine silk topped with a striking scarlet coat that stretched tight across his arms and chest. His cravat was clean but wrinkled, probably because he tugged at it with regularity. He smelled of sweat and a stronger, cloying scent that might have been laudanum. He sized her up with eyes that betrayed his rumored addiction.

“You are the Duke of Arlington’s daughter, yes?”

She curtsied again. “I have that honor.”

“Yes, your father is a fine man. Sit beside me, young lady.” He beckoned one of the liveried footmen. “Here! Bring her a chair, you oafs.”

A padded, gilt chair was produced, though August, standing some yards away, was not offered one. She settled into it, watching the king warily as he steepled his hands.

“We hear that you are newly married, Lady Augustine, and attending many balls and parties with your husband.” He flicked a glance at August. “Does he suit you?”

“Very much, Your Majesty.”

“You have a look of happiness about you.” He spread his hands, his great swollen fingers. “It’s a fine thing to be married. A fine thing.” His mind seemed to wander a moment before he remembered himself. “Marriage brings children, and they are a blessing. The biggest blessing in life.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she agreed.

“Do you have children?”

His loud, abrupt query startled her. She glanced at August. “N-no, Your Majesty. Not yet. We only wed at Christmas.”

“I see.” He paused, staring across the great chamber a moment before turning back to meet her gaze. “I have heard whispers, young lady, even before this Season, that you possess some certain…powers.”

“I—” She swallowed hard. “I do not claim to be more special than any of Your Majesty’s subjects.”

“But you do have these powers. I’ve heard it whispered more than once! Don’t flush so, my girl. You are not in trouble.”

It was impossible for her not to flush beneath his continued scrutiny. First, he’d pulled her from her party, and now confronted her with this sensitive topic. All the while, the haunted, oppressive air in the chamber seemed to choke her.

The king’s next words came slowly, with some effort.

“I have called you here to help me with something. Some pain I feel.”

“Perhaps your physicians—”

He waved a hand. “It’s nothing those cretins can cure.” His voice grew maudlin, and his eyes closed. “You know my Charlotte?” he asked quietly. “My one child, my beloved daughter? She passed, oh, nearly ten years ago now, in childbed.”

“I remember, Your Majesty. We grieved for her.” Despite her irritation, tears rose in her eyes at the king’s apparent sadness. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“And her baby, my grandson and heir, a fine boy, the Lord took him as well! One can never understand why, but they are in the afterlife now, in Heaven.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Even so, I wish sometimes I could speak to them. Speak to my daughter.” His eyes bored into hers, intent with his famed obstinacy.

“How many of us wish we might speak to those who have gone before us,” said Elizabeth. “It’s a common longing.”

He sat up straighter. “I saw her once. Charlotte. I know it was her. She wore a green gown, deeper green than yours, her favorite gown in life. I called her name and she faded away. Do you believe in ghosts, Lady Augustine?”

“I—Yes. Perhaps. I believe they exist in some form.”

“People have told me that you see ghosts.”

“Your Majesty, I—”

“They’ve told me you have the ability to commune with the dead. I’ve heard it whispered by more than one courtier. By many!”

Elizabeth bit her lip, wishing she could look over at August, wishing she could run to his arms and escape this sad, awkward audience.

She’d never once in her life “communed” with a dead person, but to deny what the king said would be seen as an affront to a monarch known for his erratic rages. She feared to anger him, but agreeing would be untruthful. She squeezed her hands in her lap.

“What—What is it you wish you could say to your daughter?”

At this, to her horror, the king burst into dramatic tears. “I wish to know that she has found eternal happiness,” he cried. “And to—oh God—to apologize to her, and beg forgiveness. I was a poor father while she was on this earth. Profligate, selfish, preoccupied by my royal duties. I never thought she would die birthing my grandson.”

His agonized voice rang out in the awful silence. He struggled to pull a handkerchief from his pocket, which he then used to cover his face. She took the opportunity to look back at August, who appeared as unsettled as she felt.

“Dear lady, you must speak to her for me,” he pleaded from behind the silken cloth. “I command it. I know you have the power to do so. It’s not the devil’s work to possess such talents, not in one as innocent and kind as you.”

“No, it is not the devil’s work,” she agreed. “Not to wish a loved one well.”

“It is the Lord’s work.” He blew his nose into his wrinkled handkerchief, then shoved it back in his pocket. “If you could commune with them for me, with my daughter and her sweet son, we should consider it wholesome and good, and a great service to your king.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. Though I am not very practiced at such activities. My powers are paltry, I’m sure, compared to some.”

His grief turned to suspicion.

“If they are paltry, why are you known for your abilities? Why do people speak of your perceptions and visions?”

“Your Majesty, as you know, gossip is often embellished.”

“How argumentative you are, Lady Augustine. I am your king.”

“I—”

“Do you argue like this with your husband? He ought to punish you for it. Here!” He gestured to August. “Come discipline your wife, Augustine. Give her one of those spankings you’re rumored to mete out anytime the opportunity presents itself.”

If she hadn’t already lost her composure at the sudden turn in the conversation, she would have lost it at the look on her husband’s face.

“I will do so, Your Majesty,” he said. “Later, though, in the privacy of our household. That is where discipline belongs.”

“You swear it?” The king scowled, shifting his large bulk. “You ought to do it here, now, while she is hemming and hawing at me in my own royal receiving room.”

“It is better done at home,” August repeated. “But I do swear I shall discipline her. As a loyal subject, I would never disregard a royal command.”

He said these words pointedly, while looking at Elizabeth. The king had commanded her to help talk to his daughter. August was telling her she must play along and give this mad king, the son of a mad king, what he wanted. She did not think it very reasonable, though, that the monarch would entreat her for help at the same time he consigned her to corporal punishment from her husband.

“I would spank her myself,” the king groused, “but for the blasted effort. Here your monarch sits in grief, only asking a small favor…”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” said Elizabeth. “Here, give me your hands.”

The last thing she wanted in her quest to abate gossip was to become the king’s personal medium. But there seemed to be no help for it.

The king’s hands were sweaty and slack, and barely fit within hers. She pretended to go into a trance, feeling his gaze fixed hard upon her even though her eyes were closed.

“Are you speaking to her now?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’m trying.”

“Does she know I’m here?”

“Those who have passed to the other side always know. Please, let me listen.”

“And speak! You must tell her—”

“I already have.”

Elizabeth only pretended to commune with the late princess, but in truth she could feel many things. The king’s anguish, the empty place in his heart where his healthy daughter and grandson would have been. After a few more moments of quiet, she spoke from her “trance.”

“Your daughter says you needn’t apologize. She says her passing was sudden, but not painful.”

“Indeed! It was sudden!”

“She says there is nothing to forgive, that you did your best with all the responsibilities thrust upon you after your father died. Even before he died.”

“Yes. My father was mad, you know. Mad as hornets. It was up to me to do everything.” He made a grieving sound. “I have tried.”

“She says you must not feel lonely.” She pretended to speak Princess Charlotte’s thoughts, but they were hers, meant to comfort the addled regent. “And that you must not blame yourself for what happened. Sometimes people leave before we wish it, but she promises she’s with you, always part of you.”

“Oh!” The king began to cry again, heartrending tears. “That is why I saw her that once. Why I feel her near. It’s so hard not to feel sadness, not to feel regret.”

Elizabeth opened her eyes and looked up at August as the king mopped at his tears. He gave her a sympathetic nod. This was not a typical royal audience. As the king’s sobs increased in intensity, she stood from her seat and offered the monarch an embrace.

It was not court protocol, but he didn’t seem to mind. He locked his arms around her middle and sobbed into her chest, releasing grief and guilt which had festered too long within him. After several minutes of weeping, he lifted his face and seemed to gather himself.

“Do you know, I half believed you couldn’t do it, that the gossip wasn’t true. But you are miraculously talented, Lady Augustine. You have made me feel so much better. It may not seem so now, but I am much better. I am only overwhelmed.”

“It is a natural reaction. But I fear…” She tried to breathe within his vise-like grip. “I fear I must beg leave of you soon. Communing with the other side is an exhausting endeavor.”

“My dear, I can only imagine.” He finally released her. “Thank you for your efforts. I will not forget.”

“Nor will I forget your daughter’s loving spirit. Goodness, though, I shall need to rest for hours. If I may ask a favor…” She blinked at him, trying to elicit his pity, if not his sympathy. “I must entreat Your Majesty not to tell anyone what I’ve done for you here today. In fact, if anyone speaks in court about my talents or abilities, it would help me greatly if you’d deny they exist.”

“Deny they exist?” He blinked at her. “When you’ve shown such amazing powers of divination?”

“I beg you, as a loyal subject. Such sessions are so draining for me, so debilitating that it may endanger my life if too many others request my assistance. Please, Your Majesty, let it be our secret. Yours and mine.”

“Oh, I see.” He gazed upon her with fatherly concern. “We must not endanger such a great lady. I will do as you ask. It is best we reserve the use of these intensive powers only for me.”

“Certainly. But not too often. Perhaps twice a year.” She sat heavily in the chair. “I wish I could manage more, but even now, I shall need to sleep for a week to recover.”

“I pray, then, you have a comfortable bed, and that your husband shall not trouble you when you need your rest.” In one of his trademark mood swings, his concern changed back to irritation. “You will still spank her?” he said to August.

“I’ve sworn upon my honor,” he assured him, as Elizabeth turned away to roll her eyes.

“Here!” he said, beckoning a footman. “I shall send you home with a stout piece of ginger to help gentle this spirited filly of yours.” He winked a rheumy eye. “I’m certain you’ll know what to do with it.”

Elizabeth’s mouth fell open. The nerve of him—

“Thank you so much, Your Majesty. Indeed, I’ll know how to use it,” said August. “Now, though, I must take my wife home to recuperate.”

“Of course.” The king took Elizabeth’s now-limp hand and squeezed it. “And I promise I shall herewith deny to any lord or courtier that you have any powers whatsoever, my lady. Why, such gossip has gotten out of hand,” he added with a wink.

“I agree completely,” she said, forcing a tired smile.

Her husband helped her stand, and she pretended to sway on her feet as she curtsied to the king.

“Oh, take care,” he said, alarmed.

August swept her into his arms, cradling her against his chest to the king’s mutters of concern. As they passed from the chamber, a court physician went in to the king with more laudanum. Elizabeth felt sad for the monarch, and guilty for deceiving him.

Though she did truly feel exhausted.

And irritated.

“How dare he ask you to spank me?” she said beneath her breath. “And after I have helped him to such an extent. What gives him the right?”

“He’s your king,” August teased. “And he did not ask, he commanded it. Now be quiet, my limp, exhausted darling, until we make our escape.”