Devilish Page 0,10
health. Very pleased."
As a stir ruffled the air, Rothgar bowed. "Your Majesty is gracious as always. May I present Sir George Ufton, of Ufton Green, Berkshire, and his son George."
From there, all went smoothly. Sir George spoke briefly and sensibly of conditions near his home. The king then inquired of young George as to whether he was enjoying his visit to London and received a nervous, "Yes, sire," in reply.
Then he moved on.
Sir George wooshed out a big breath. Rothgar restrained himself from any similar sign of relief. He allowed no sign of victory to show as he returned the bows of the passing Ministers of the Crown, even though some of them persisted in viewing him as a rival.
Though it was perfectly permissible to leave when the king had passed by, Rothgar gave the Uftons a moment to recover from their experience before guiding them out into the fresh air. Carruthers awaited to pass them on to a liveried footman who would take them on to yet more delights, but he stepped aside to tell Rothgar that the king commanded him to a private audience.
"Ah, so I have not escaped entirely," Rothgar murmured, summoning a wry look even from his discreet secretary.
He made his way to the King's Bedchamber, now used only for audiences, knowing that in fact he would not be scolded, but fussed over, then put to work advising the king on the many complex matters on hand.
At times he tired of the role. At times he even wished to be like Sir George, responsible only for a small estate and his family. He was born to his duties, however, and God had given him talents of use to his country. He could not, in honor, hold back.
Upon his return to Malloren House, Rothgar stripped out of his stiff court dress with relief, and put in hand a number of matters arising out of his time with the king.
Though the peace treaty with France had been signed, there were still those in Paris who longed to return to war, to wipe out defeat. It was necessary to know what they planned, and to watch for their spies in England. He could often discover things that more official investigators could not, especially as he maintained a spy network of his own.
Next, he attended to a pile of documents requiring his seal and signature, then he turned to idle matters - to letters and catalogs from people hoping for his custom or his patronage. He flipped through them, in no mood for such matters, but he paused at a package sent by a publisher.
It contained a variety of poems, and he glanced through them, putting a few aside as of interest. Then he came upon some sheets entitled, Diana, a cantata. It was attributed to Monsieur Rousseau, but translated into English. A light piece, but intriguing because another Diana came immediately to mind.
The sun was now descended to the main, When chaste Diana and her virgin train...
Lady Arradale. Straight of spine, clear of eye, and a body made for love. She was, however, almost certainly a chaste virgin, and somewhat irked by the fact.
A copy of this could make an amusing gift.
He understood her choice not to marry, but that decision carried costs, especially for a woman. There would be no easy way for her to satisfy her sexual nature, and to many people, an unmarried woman was an affront against heaven, destined in fact to lead apes in hell.
Today, for some reason, the king had asked about her, and he was clearly one of the ones affronted. George was even more affronted by the notion of a young single woman in the peculiar position of being a peer of the realm.
Rothgar had given bland responses hoping that the conventional monarch forgot her existence entirely. The kings of England were constrained by many rules, but they still had teeth.
He read quickly through the cantata. It described an attack by the goddess Diana on Cupid, and thus on love. The countess, he thought, would appreciate that. Would it also serve as a warning? In the end, one dart is missed, and Diana succumbs to love.
Perhaps, he thought, as he put the sheets with those of interest, he should keep a copy close to hand himself.
He was aware - he was always aware of such things - that Lady Arradale could be a lurking arrow. She was pretty and lively, but those were the least of her charms. From her