Chapter 33 #2
He stood in thought for a moment, thumb still rubbing gently on the ring he’d placed on her finger. “Yes, I see. You’re quite correct. You’ll have to put up with omniscience, omnipotence, protectiveness, and a devilishly strong will. Can you bear it?”
“I adore it,” she said, and spotting a certain sapphire on his right hand, she moved it to his left, and kissed it there. She longed to drag him off to a bedroom and ravish him, but as he’d said, they had duties here.
And, now she thought of it, she had her courses.
She turned to leave the ballroom with him, hand in hand. “What are we going to do about the king?”
“If he chooses to be offended, so be it. My allegiance above all is to you.” The smile he sent her was astonishing in its warmth. “I hope to have my own small world to cherish soon, so England can go hang.”
She laughed and shook her head. “No one can change that much. I was thinking—you might appease him by giving him the drummer boy.”
He raised their linked hands and kissed them. “We are in accord as always. You won’t mind?”
She shook her head. “It’s a lovely piece, but carries too much pain. Perhaps we’ll make a little drummer boy of our own.”
“Ah,” he said lightly, leading her back through the entrance labyrinth, “but will it end up Lord Arradale or Lord Rothgar? Or both, poor mite? Our problems are never ending.”
It was a practical concern, for she still wanted to preserve her earldom’s independence, but she wouldn’t let it shadow the moment. As they emerged into the brighter corridor, she said, “Our problems are nothing, as long as we’re together. Together, we can rule the world.”
“Don’t say that in front of the king. Come on.” He tugged her to run lightly down the stairs. “Let’s face the lions. You’re right, alas. I can’t let England go hang just yet, at least not while it’s at supper in my house.”
They found excited masqueraders eating, drinking, and reliving the event of the year. Bey and Diana progressed through the four rooms generating even more excitement by formally announcing their betrothal.
More than one man said something like, “You’ll not want to be getting on the wrong side of a wife like that, eh, Rothgar?”
Diana decided it was good to be reminded of the real world. Most of the men here would be frightened by her skills and powers, and would try to mute her in some way in case she eclipsed him. She had found one of the few men strong enough and fair enough to let her fly free.
As Bey had said, sometimes the gods were kind.
A frown from the king, however, reminded her that he was one of the traditional men. Abruptly, he beckoned her over, and a hint of fear flickered. He couldn’t prevent their marriage, but if he’d turned against them, he could make things difficult.
A glance showed that Bey looked unalarmed, but that, she suspected, meant nothing at all. He led her to the king, formally, hand in hand. She curtsied, but Bey raised her immediately.
“Lady Arradale,” the king said, in the suddenly quietening room, “you are a very unusual woman.”
“I fear so, Your Majesty.”
“I spoke to you once on the dangers of women seeking manly skills.”
“You did, sire.”
He frowned, and she began to wonder if he could indeed throw her in the Tower for some reason. Firing a weapon in the royal presence? It might be a crime.
“At that time,” he said, “you remarked to me that a woman is to be admired for defending her children, and I agreed.” After a moment, he said, “The same thing could be said of a woman defending her husband, what?”
She let out her held breath. A peace offering, and not easy for him. Diana curtsied again. “I think so, sire.”
He nodded, but as she rose, he said, “I pray, madam, that you have two sons.”
Bey spoke then. “You will permit us to keep the titles separate, sire? We thank you. But what if we have only one son?”
Diana tightened her hand on his. He was asking the king to agree to the possibility of another countess in her own right at Arradale, pushing the king’s tolerance, here in public.
Eventually the king nodded, but coldly. “If it is God’s will.”
Bey bowed deeply. “You have our most sincere thanks, Your Majesty. May I repay you with a gift?”
“A gift?” said the king, brightening.
“Lady Arradale owned an automaton based on herself as a child, but it was broken, so she gave it into my care. Now, we would like to give it to you, sire, as a sign of our eternal devotion and loyalty. If you would be so kind as to step into the hall, it can be demonstrated there where all can see.”
The king rose enthusiastically, and the word spread so everyone packed into the hall, up the staircase, and around the landings above.
The drummer boy was wheeled out. “’Pon my soul, Lord Rothgar,” the king exclaimed, “this is a fine piece! Let’s see it work, what?”
Bey switched it on, and the drummer boy went through his paces perfectly, charming the king and everyone there. After three windings and repeats, people still clamored for more, but the king ordered it taken on its way, promising a further display at the Queen’s House soon.
Diana was pleased to see it go. Not only was it a reminder of her family’s hurts, but now to her it seemed trapped, like a child of her own forced to perform in a limited way, as she had been threatened by so many limitations.
That seemed morbid. Perhaps she was just tired. Bey left her to escort the king out of the house, and the other guests began to leave, clearly happy with the event even though it had been cut short.
She was tempted to seek her room—to explore her happiness and relive the dangers and death, but she longed for Bey too, so she waited, but out of the way, not wanting more avid speculation. Alas, after this she would probably always be an object of curiosity, but she could bear it.
With Bey at her side.
But one guest did approach her—a woman in a beautiful shell-pink gown who had made little effort to disguise herself, for she wore only a narrow black mask.
Before she could speak, Bey appeared and took Diana’s hand. “You must have had a sorry evening, Monsieur D’Eon.”