Chapter Thirty-One
Thirty-One
Sleep eludes me, but I have no one to blame but myself.
When Thomas throws open the curtains of my bed to allow the sun its full-frontal assault on my retinas, I groan and pull the pillow over my head. “It’s too early for me to interact with you, Thomas,” I grumble, my voice muffled by the down filling.
As usual, Thomas ignores my pleas for mercy and plucks the pillow from my arms, before bringing it down on my face with just enough force that I sit up to retaliate, only for him to pull it away from me again.
“This is the second time I’ve come in here to rouse you,” he says, holding the pillow just out of reach. “It’s time for royal princes to be up and about.”
I squint at him as I recall an earlier attempt, which may have resulted in me swatting at poor Thomas’s face in my efforts to foil him.
I hate him a little for waking me. After last night, I bitterly regret ever having to wake up again.
My head is throbbing and my eyes still feel swollen from crying.
Thomas raises a brow at me. “It’s half past eight in the morning, Your Highness,” he says—as if that should mean anything to me. When I don’t answer, he sighs. “Your father is waiting for you in his apartments.”
“Is he?” I ask, alarmed.
“For breakfast.”
“Have I agreed to break my fast with him?”
“Apparently, it was discussed at dinner,” Thomas says as he begins to smooth out the bedclothes. It seems if I don’t get out of bed, he plans to make it up with me still in it.
I grumble and reluctantly move to slide off the mattress.
As always, Thomas dresses me efficiently while still somehow making it feel like a sacred ceremony. Every button and lace is meticulously checked and perfected, and then he sends me to sit with my tea while he folds my sleeping shirt.
I’m pouring myself a second cup of tepid tea when he approaches with a length of blue silk ribbon between his fingers. “This isn’t yours,” he says curiously as he holds it up for me to see.
I set the teacup down with a bit of a clang, gaping at the ribbon. Curse you for a son of a bitch, Captain Sharpe. I reach out to snatch it from Thomas, but he pulls it away and shoots me a harassed look.
My reaction, more than the discovery of such a ribbon, has clearly shocked him.
I get to my feet. “Give it to me,” I demand, holding out my hand.
He watches me for a moment, then steps forward to set the ribbon in my palm. Before I can squirrel it away, however, he snatches my wrist and holds me there. “I am your valet, Your Highness,” he says in earnest. “Your secrets are my secrets. I would never betray your trust.”
I swallow hard as I stare into his deep blue eyes—then nod, because if I speak, I’m afraid my voice will crack.
He releases my wrist, and I stare down at the blue ribbon with a frown.
I wonder if Captain Sharpe left it behind intentionally or by mistake.
If the former… was it an act of defiance?
Or a token of affection? I hate that I don’t know, but either way, my chest aches at the thought.
I sink back down into my chair and bring the ribbon up to my lips, pressing the salt-roughened silk to them and inhaling the scent of his hair. What a fool I am. No matter how it hurt to listen to his claims, how could I have sent him away like that?
Viscount Falmouth was right about one thing: I am cursed to be loveless.
Thomas says nothing as he tidies my hair. I’m still holding the ribbon against my lips when he reaches out to pluck it from my hand. For an instant I think I won’t let him—but he’s watching my face in the mirror, and I release it, allowing the silk to slide between my fingers.
With the deference of one leaving an offering in prayer, he weaves it carefully into my plait and ties it into a perfect bow.
I am moved by his silent act of kindness.
We lock gazes in the mirror, and I swallow hard as I offer him a nod of appreciation.
Thomas squeezes my shoulder, and bless his tender heart, he doesn’t say another thing about it as he crosses the room to fetch my shoes.
No matter what kind of man Henry is, I will be forever grateful for the gift of someone like Thomas as my valet and companion.
The drawing room of my father’s private apartments is warm, with a fire in the hearth and a feast laid out for us as I find myself alone with him for only the second time since my return.
I take a fortifying breath before joining King Henry at the small dining table the servants have arranged for us in front of the fireplace.
“Thomas is working out for you, then?” he asks after swallowing the bite of roasted pheasant he took.
“He is,” I say, cutting into my own helping. “Thank you for him. He’s a wonder. I couldn’t function without him.”
Henry laughs. “That I believe,” he teases as he lifts a brass chalice to sip from it.
I lift my own chalice and peer into it as the heady scent of clove and cinnamon wafts into my nostrils. I blow away the steam, then take an experimental sip. Hot mulled wine—it’s delicious.
“Father,” I say experimentally as I set the chalice down.
Henry freezes and looks up at me. I think at first I have made an error, but as my mind scrambles for a way out, I see a smile broaden his face. “Yes?” he asks, his voice quiet.
I clear my throat and blow out a low puff of air. “I… had hoped to speak more of my mother.”
“I thought you might,” Henry says. “I fear I won’t have a great deal to tell you. I knew her barely a year, and most of that time she was married to the viscount and living in Falmouth.”
I was afraid of that, but I nod. “She was a follower of Islam, was she not?” I ask.
Henry pushes out his lips as he considers that. “I imagine she would have been, yes.”
I’m surprised by that answer. If he loved her so much, would he not know?
“Did she not convert to marry my fa—the viscount?”
“Ah, yes. We had a small ceremony to christen her beforehand, so you could be christened yourself.”
“And she was willing?”
Henry chuckles at that. “What an odd question, Christopher-Henry.”
I blink at him. Is it an odd question? Is it not obvious? “Forgive me… I just don’t know much about Islam… or about her.”
He waves a hand and takes another bite of pheasant. “She wanted what was best for you,” he says. “She loved you very much.”
I smile at the thought of that. “Did she?” I ask. “I wish I could have known her.”
“I still have some of her things,” Henry says, speaking over me. “The viscount sent them to me after your birth. They’re in storage somewhere.”
My eyes widen. “May I have them?”
“I don’t see why not. I’ll have the servants dig them up.”
“Is there a way for us to be in touch with her family?” I ask. “I would love to—”
“Afraid not,” he interrupts. “Her father didn’t approve of the marriage. He left with her sister, and we never heard from them again. It’s best not to dwell on that, Christopher-Henry. They are a… rather uncivilized people.”
I frown at that, thinking back to the kindness of the man in the marketplace when he taught me to smoke his pipe and called me the son of his sister. “I don’t think—”
“In any case, I’m sure they’ve long forgotten about the whole ordeal. That was nearly two decades ago.”
I blink at him. He can’t possibly think people simply stop caring about their loved ones because they disagree with one another. I’m alarmed by this callous way of thinking and annoyed that he keeps speaking over me. “I’d just like to—”
“Eat up,” he says, interrupting me again before I can finish my sentence. “Enjoy the food while it’s hot.”
“Yes, Father,” I mumble, seeing I am getting nowhere. I take a bite and watch him through my lashes. When I am sure his mouth is too full for him to speak, I try one more time. “That envelope with my name on it. What was in it?”
Henry lifts his gaze to meet mine and frowns. “The envelope?”
“The one Renard—er, Mr. Campbell used to turn me in.”
“Ah. You… never looked inside?”
“No. I never had the chance.”
I watch Henry’s face as he considers this and seems to come to some kind of decision. “Ah, it was nothing. Merely a few old letters.”
“From her?”
“From the viscount and me. Nothing to worry yourself with, Christopher-Henry.”
“But—”
“Come now, your wine is cooling.”
I narrow my eyes and lift my cup. If he won’t tell me, I’ll just have to find out for myself.
Thomas makes no complaint when I announce my need for a lie-down. I don’t know how long I slept, but I feel rested when I do wake. The fire in my bedroom is crackling, and Thomas is closing my bedroom door and making his way over to me.
“How long did I sleep?” I ask.
“Quite a while. Your supper is in the drawing room.” He picks up a pair of stockings from where they lie draped on the trunk at the foot of my bed.
“I can eat in my nightshirt,” I say, shaking my head.
“You have company, Your Highness. Lady Katherine and Lord Francis Stuart.”
“Ah—yes, that changes things.” I let him help me into my stockings and a pair of green breeches.
He dresses me quickly, choosing a white shirt and gold waistcoat, with a green cravat to match my breeches.
We don’t bother with a jacket. I slide into a pair of shoes as he makes quick work of smoothing and retying my hair back with Sharpe’s ribbon.
Then I step out into the drawing room to join Kitty and Francis.
Francis jumps to his feet and bows to me. I join them at the table the servants set up in front of the fireplace and reach out to shake his hand. “No formalities in my apartments,” I say. Then I take Kitty’s hand and kiss her knuckles with a smile, before Francis and I both sit.
“You look well,” she says. “Thomas said you were under the weather.”
“Just a headache,” I say as I start in on my dinner. “The king told me he has a box of my mother’s things.”
Kitty perks up and smiles. “Does he?”
“So he says,” I say with a sigh. “But I’ve yet to see them. Or the envelope I told you about the night of my return.”
“Envelope?” Francis asks.
“An old envelope with my name on it. I found it in my fath—Viscount Falmouth’s desk under lock and key.”
Kitty frowns at me. “Can you not ask the king about it?”
“I asked him this morning. He avoided answering at first, then insisted I stop asking.”
“What do you think is inside, Christopher-Henry?” Francis asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “But there’s something my father isn’t telling me. Something he’s going to great lengths to keep from me.”
“You have your father. You have the crown. You’re going to be king someday. Can you not be happy with what you have now?” Francis says.
I know he means well. A small part of me thinks I should be content and let my past remain a mystery for the sake of my own happiness. But I can’t stop thinking about the look in Captain Sharpe’s eyes when he said, “Men like Henry take what they want.”
Those were the words of a man speaking from experience, and they haunt me—just as Billy’s story haunts me. Men like the viscount, and my true father, do take what they want. Men like me take what we want.
But I refuse to be that sort of man anymore. I was wrong to send Sharpe away. I was wrong to doubt him, when he never gave me any reason to. I knew it at the time, but stubbornness and pride made me act irrationally.
And I know with sudden certainty that it isn’t Mr. Kit I can no longer be—it’s Christopher-Henry.
“No,” I say finally, my voice low as I stare into the glass of wine in my hands.
“My whole life, I grew up thinking I had to be happy with whatever I was given.
The viscount hated me; he never bothered to hide it.
He told me I was cursed from birth because I killed my mother.
He refused to touch me, lest my curse should be catching. He neglected me.
“And then I watched as he held Elizabeth in his arms and whispered words of love into her ear. I watched as he cradled Victoria after her birth and kissed her head and taught her to walk. I was forbidden from touching his new daughter. I was never allowed to be in a room alone with her, as if I might damage her. I thought I had to settle for what I had… but then I found my way onto a ship of miscreants, and they showed me that I don’t have to settle. ”
I swallow hard and set my glass down, looking up at Francis and Kitty as they stare at me over the dinner table.
Kitty has tears in her eyes, and Francis is speechless.
I sound dramatic, I know—but I don’t care.
My pulse is racing through my veins, throbbing in my chest and fingertips.
My heart aches from the truth of it. I know now what I must do, even if the thought of it tears my heart asunder.
“I know what love feels like now. I have felt it in the marrow of my bones, and I won’t settle for less ever again.”