Chapter Thirty-Two
Thirty-Two
Thomas, I have a favor to ask,” I say the next morning as he slides my indigo waistcoat onto my shoulders.
“Anything, Your Highness,” he says.
Kitty and Francis stayed late into the night to keep me company as I worked through the immense decision before me.
According to the clock over the tidy desk in my drawing room, it was half past one in the morning when I finally retired myself, after sitting for another hour to write a few letters of my own.
I take one of the envelopes from under my pillow, where I stashed them once Thomas finished making up the bed, and turn to face him as he lifts a Bordeaux-colored cravat.
Before he can tie it on me, I hand the envelope over to him.
“Take this letter down to the docks for me. There are instructions inside the envelope for you. I’ve explained everything. ”
“Your Highness?” Thomas asks as he takes the envelope, as well as the purse I offer. He frowns and looks up at me. “Is everything all right?”
“It will be,” I say. “Do this for me?”
“Of course.”
Bless Thomas—he is truly the most loyal servant a man could ever ask for. I have done nothing to deserve such devotion, but I am appreciative of it all the same. I smile and clasp his shoulder, then drop my arms and tilt my chin back so he might tie my cravat on for me.
I am wearing my wig today, without Captain Sharpe’s silk ribbon. The jacket Thomas helps me into is the same soft periwinkle as my breeches. I take a moment to admire his work before drawing in a deep breath.
“Thank you, Thomas,” I say as I turn to him and smile once more. “Come to me when you return from the docks. I’ll have one more favor to ask of you.”
He nods as he holds the envelope and purse in his hands. “I will come straightaway,” he promises. “Now, your father is waiting for you in his drawing room. Shall I—”
“No, I can find my own way there. This is more important.” I reach out to grasp his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “It’s very important.”
“I understand,” he says with a nod, but I can see by his expression that he doesn’t. Not yet. He will once he has read the note inside, and that’s all that matters. I nod back at him and leave my apartments to join my father for breakfast.
When I arrive, the king’s apartments are a flurry of activity. My father stands over a desk with two of his counselors, men I have yet to meet. I wait for him by the fireplace, fiddling with my cravat until his hand on my shoulder startles me into turning to face him.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” I say—because we are still not alone in the room and I am not yet comfortable enough to call him Father in front of people.
“Good morning, son,” he says with a smile. “Come, let’s eat. There is much to do today.”
“Is there?”
He nods as we take a seat at the table. “Christmas Day is fast approaching. I have twelve days to plan the announcement of you as my heir.”
I grimace but don’t say anything. Instead I bury my nose in my cup of tea as our plates are set down before us. Henry watches me; I can feel his gaze on me as I drink my tea. When I finally lower the cup, he is still staring at me with a queer expression on his face.
“What?”
“That reminds me,” he says, staring at my hand. He snaps his fingers and turns to his valet. “Haines,” he says. “Fetch me the box by my bed.”
“Sir,” Haines says with a nod, then makes his way into the king’s bedchamber.
I am suddenly reminded that once a servant is elevated to valet, it’s no longer appropriate to use his first name.
I should have been calling Thomas “Lancaster” this whole time.
I hope I haven’t offended him by using his Christian name instead.
“What?” Henry asks.
I realize I must have been making a face. “It only just occurred to me… I’ve been calling Thomas by his first name.”
My father chuckles and lifts his fork. “You’re still learning. It hasn’t yet been a fortnight.”
Haines returns after a few minutes with a beautiful jeweled box. I set my fork down as he puts it on the table between the king and myself.
“I do hope you aren’t planning to propose,” I say as the king opens the box. “I’m not sure how appropriate that would be.”
My father laughs and removes a small, blue velvet pouch, before closing the box and handing it back to Haines. “I have something for you.” I watch as he opens the pouch, then reaches for my hand. When I offer it, he turns it palm up and drops the contents there.
Two rings glint in the sunlight. I raise my brows as I bring them close to my face to inspect them. One is solid gold, with the royal seal upon it. The other is a large, expensively cut ruby, set in a bed of small diamonds on a gold band. I swallow hard as I lift my gaze to Henry’s face.
He’s smiling at me. “Those are yours,” he says. “The royal seal for your left hand, and the ruby for your right.”
“You favor rubies,” I observe, because I don’t know what else to say.
He smiles a little wider. “Of course,” he says. “They are your birthstone.”
At that, I am stunned into silence. I am moved by the knowledge that he has chosen my birthstone as the symbol of his reign. I swallow down my heart and slide the rings carefully onto my fingers. “I don’t know what to say…,” I whisper.
“I have loved you from afar your entire life, Christopher-Henry,” he says as he clasps my hand. “I would have recognized you as my heir from the start if I could have… but in those days I did not have my father’s favor, and I could not risk falling out with him.”
I nod, because I cannot speak.
“I am sorry it took me until now. I had to hold out hope that Eleanor would grant me a legitimate heir, but when it became clear that she could not…”
A wave of sadness washes through me. I think back to what Captain Sharpe said about Henry wanting me now only because I am useful to him.
He was right; of course he was right. But I cling anyway to Henry’s promise that he loved me from the start, even if he didn’t show it. Even if he didn’t come for me.
Maybe he really did love me when I was born. It would be pretty to think that someone did.
“Thank you, Father,” I say, reaching out to take his hand and squeeze it. His gaze falls to the ruby on my finger, and he seems to swell with pride. I have never had someone look at me this way, and it breaks my heart to see it now.
He clears his throat and releases my hand. “It suits you,” he says as he lifts his fork.
“May I ask you for one more thing?” I ask. “Even though you’ve already given me so much.”
Henry’s expression turns wary, and I know he thinks I mean to ask again about the envelope with my name on it. But that’s not what I want from him now. I may never see the contents of that envelope—but maybe, just maybe, they don’t have to matter anymore.
“I’d like to see my mother’s things,” I say instead. “You said you would look for them. Have you been able to find them yet?”
Henry clears his throat again and gives a sigh, as if relieved. “Oh, that,” he says. “Yes, Katherine asked me about them this morning. I had no idea you two had become so close.”
“She and Francis have been kind enough to keep me in check.”
Henry laughs and nods. “She is good at that. I will have them sent to your rooms later. There isn’t much, but perhaps you’ll find something in there that you can wear in her honor at Christmas.”
I smile and return to my breakfast. “A token in her honor would be just the thing.”
By the time I finally leave my father’s apartments, I am frustrated, tired, sad, and… determined. I have never been very good at crafting well-thought-out choices; split-second, reckless decisions have always been my forte. But in this case, I can’t quite tell which is which.
I can’t stop thinking of the expression on Sharpe’s face when I ordered him from my rooms—of the betrayal there. A shiver runs through me as I remember the cold fury in his eyes, and I am so distracted, I very nearly collide into another body in the halls.
I stop short, and so does he. For a moment we simply stare at each other, him towering over me—though not quite as much as he used to. Instinctively, I straighten my back and tilt my chin up. “Falmouth,” I say with an air of such casual contempt that I impress even myself.
Distracted as I was, I am proud of how quickly I regained control.
His brow twitches. I know he hates that I outrank him now. I know he hates that I can speak to him without his titles. That I can take whatever I like from him.
My ex-father bows at the waist, and it’s almost a perfect bow. I suspect some defiant part of him is so revolted at the idea of obeisance to me that he finds proper form difficult.
Good.
“You’re looking well, Christopher-Henry,” he says.
“You mean ‘Your Highness,’ ” I remind him, and I revel in the way his eyes darken and his shoulders tense.
“Of course. Your Highness.”
I smile a little and hold out my hand, freshly ornamented with the ruby of my father’s reign.
I wait in silence for him to react. When he does, I can see that it pains him to do so.
He takes my hand in his and touches his lips to the ring in a kiss so brief that perhaps he can convince himself it did not actually happen.
But it did.
I take my hand back and make a show of brushing my thumb against my first and middle fingers, as if to shake off the lingering filth of his skin touching my own. I say nothing as I do it, but I can see the change in his demeanor: the darkening of his features and the furrowing of his brow.
“On your way to grovel before my father, are you?” I ask.
His eyes widen a little, and I can see that he’s searching his memory for some insult he might have paid to his dear friend King Henry.
I smile slowly. “I haven’t told him yet about how well you raised me,” I say—and there is a clear threat behind my words. He knows it, and I know it. “He’s having a box of her things sent to my rooms tonight. I don’t imagine there will be anything inside it you’d have an objection to my seeing.”