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CHAPTER FOUR

L ady Cassia did not utter a word during their ride through the city. She sat mute as a mouse, eyes ahead, hands folded neatly in her lap. Winifred’s stout form was shoved between them on the narrow seat, making it near impossible for Rolfe to see beyond her.

He thought it a pity—and mildly curious—this quietness from her for he had quite enjoyed their verbal sparring. It had been some time since he’d matched words with a lady so skilled and had found her a worthy opponent. The weeks to come should prove, at the very least, interesting.

One thing was clear. Lady Cassia wasn’t the sort who was often refused. ,Having failed in her efforts to remove him from his appointed duty, Rolfe would wager his favorite bay mare back at Ravenwood that she was now on her way to make an appeal to the king, her lover, for the same.

She may be seasoned at facing down the court fops, men whose cravat strings were starched stiffer than their backbones.

And she may be accustomed to twisting the king around her finger like an errant thread.

It was one of King Charles’s worst weaknesses, his inability to deny anyone anything.

He hated to refuse any request and was known to waste an inordinate amount of time and energy trying to please the many who came to him.

But if she hadn’t already, Lady Cassia Montefort would soon learn that Rolfe would not be that easily manipulated.

He’d been led around and made fool of by the best of them already, and once was enough for any man.

There being no prospect of conversation, Rolfe busied himself with watching the city through the coach window that looked as if it had never seen a cleaning.

The city hadn’t changed much in his absence.

Perhaps the streets were a little more congested, the market at the Cross a bit more crowded, but he put that off as his being more accustomed now to the openness of the country.

Life was simpler in Sussex, less hurried.

A man could walk about without having to worry that his pocket might get picked, or worse, that he’d find the sharp edge of a blade pressed under his chin should he chance to venture down the wrong alleyway.

The vice that ran so rampant in the city, the intrigue and the scandal, rarely surfaced in Sussex, excepting, of course, the occasional tea parlor twitter.

And murder? That was a word that was never spoken of—there hadn’t been the need to—particularly not in relation to a lady.

The coach finally arrived at Whitehall, circling around in order to leave them off at the Public Court Gate.

Though only a short distance separated the palace from Lady Cassia’s residence near Piccadilly, it was midday and had taken them over half an hour for the hackney to navigate its way along the heavy traffic heading to Westminster.

The coach rolled to a stop and Lady Cassia didn’t bother to wait for the driver to open the door for her. She stepped out even before he’d alighted from his seat, with the stout Winifred, bearing the mysterious covered package, in tow.

Rolfe was left behind to pay the hack’s fare.

By the time he managed to catch up with them, Lady Cassia had already managed to gain entrance from the squinty-eyed porter ahead of the lines of citizens waiting to get into the palace.

She did not stop before the two sentries who stood guard at the palace entrance to request an audience, as Rolfe had earlier that morning.

Instead, she simply turned into the entrance of the cobble-stoned Pebble Court with its meticulously trimmed hedges and pink marble fountain depicting Poseidon holding his golden trident with water bubbling from his mouth.

They arrived at the famed Stone Gallery, the palace’s public promenade.

The walls of the lengthy corridor were lined with the valuable collection of paintings that had been amassed by the king’s father, Charles I.

Many of the pieces had only recently been recovered after having been sold off by the Protectorate during its brief, but nonetheless memorable rule.

The gallery was swarming. Courtiers loitering about turned to openly stare as the trio passed by, whispering excitedly amongst themselves.

A suspected murderess made for immediate diversion, but Lady Cassia didn’t seem to notice the stir her presence had created.

Or, if she had, she kept it well-hidden.

She held her head high, greeted no one as they passed, and paused only when they reached the sash door leading to the outside Privy Gardens. She stepped back and waited to allow for Rolfe to open it for her.

Propriety, as always.

“Thank you, Lord Ravenscroft.”

Outside awaited the garden, with its ivy-covered walls and exotic flowers from faraway lands.

It took Cassia only a moment to spot the king who was out taking his midday promenade.

His tall figure stood out amid the vibrant blooms and trimmed topiary bushes.

He threw seed to the birds flocking around him, and was followed after by a cluster of yapping spaniels.

A group of courtiers attempted to keep up with his swift gait while vying for a forward position.

Rather than attempt to weave her way through the throng, Cassia cleverly circled around near the center sundial, to where they would meet the small congregation head-on.

Rolfe watched her put on a brilliant smile as the king drew near, and lowered into an elegant curtsy, acting as if it were any other day—and, Rolfe thought privately, as if she had no ulterior purpose for being there.

“Ah, good morning to you, Lady Cassia,” said the king when he noticed her. “What a delightful surprise.” He eyed Rolfe, then added, “I had not expected to see you about Whitehall this morning.”

Charles pushed a fat black curl from his shoulder and kissed the slender fingers of her outstretched hand. Rolfe wondered how he hadn’t noticed her deftly removing her glove.

“Ah, and I see you have brought Lord Ravenscroft with you!”

Though veiled in friendly surprise, Charles’s meaning was not so readily hidden. He’d sent Rolfe, his chosen man, to take her, his mistress, off and away quietly, and that man had obviously failed in his duty. The sharp rise of his brow seemed to underscore his feelings.

Lady Cassia rose from her curtsy, her skirts rustling along the graveled walkway.

“Good morning, Your Majesty. As you are aware, I have been away from my duties at court out of respect for my father’s passing.

” She shot a glance at Rolfe. “Under normal circumstances, I would not have come, but I have need of a word with you, if I may?”

Charles smiled, motioning with a gloved hand toward a nearby doorway nearly concealed by its canopy of ivy. “But, of course. You know I am always available to speak with you, Lady Cassia, at any time. Come, let us retire to the Withdrawing Chamber.”

He glanced at the group of courtiers who were standing behind him, hanging on his every word. “I find that my walk this morning has parched me and I am in need of some refreshment.”

The king presented his arm to Lady Cassia, which she took, sweeping her skirts outward as they turned.

The motion and the yards of silk served to keep Rolfe a space behind them.

He noticed she smiled, looking quite satisfied with herself.

He followed silently behind the regal twosome, with Winifred, still bearing the mysterious package, at his side.

Charles handed his plumed hat to a waiting footman, delivering the pouch full of bird seed to still another. “My wife, the queen, was just telling me this morning when I went to visit her how very much she misses having you at Whitehall, Lady Cassia.”

“I, too, miss seeing Her Majesty. I so enjoy our chats together. I trust she is well?”

“In a matter of speaking, yes. She has been feeling a bit out of sorts, especially in the mornings. We are hoping it is a result of our recent sojourn to the waters at Tunbridge Wells and perhaps, saints willing, we will finally be blessed with an heir.”

Cassia nodded. “I do pray Your Majesty’s suspicions prove correct.”

“I shall convey your consideration after Her Majesty’s welfare to her when next I see her.”

Rolfe felt quite as if he was viewing a play, a parody put on solely for his benefit.

Surely Lady Cassia had not come all this way merely to inquire after the health of the queen?

No, he thought, remembering her reaction to him earlier, it was more likely she was simply setting the mood before she broached her true reason for coming there.

Once inside, the door barred from anyone other than themselves, the king took a seat on an elegant gilt settee.

He motioned for Cassia to sit beside him while the dogs who had been walking with him in the garden now deposited themselves around his feet.

Cassia bent down and stroked one gently behind its full ears.

Charles waited until the servants had quit the room before speaking. “I see you have met Lord Ravenscroft.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. We have been acquainted.” Cassia arranged herself gracefully on the settee, folded her hands in her lap. She bowed her head demurely, the picture of serenity.

“Good. Now what is it that brings you to grace this setting with your lovely presence today?”

Cassia eyed Rolfe who stood waiting—and listening—beside the marble hearth before continuing. “I was rather hoping for a more private audience with you, Your Majesty.”

Charles smiled. “I suspect Lord Ravenscroft may have something to add to the conversation, so, if it is not too much to ask, Lady Cassia, I would that he remain.”

In that, Cassia gathered that she should not immediately press the removal of Rolfe any further. She wisely shifted course. “Very well. Firstly, I have been going through my father’s effects and I came across something that I knew he would have wanted you to have, Your Majesty.”