Chapter 326: I Beg Of You

Henry was in the corner of the bed.

Cowering.

He had drawn himself against the bedpost, one hand pressed to his head, the other gripping the coverlet. His breathing came harsh and broken, leaving him in whimpers.

Lionel stopped dead at the entrance to the bedchamber. Never in his life had he seen Henry like this.

This was not the king.

Stephen, however, rushed forward like lightning. "Your Majesty."

Henry’s head snapped up. His eyes were wild, filled with terror so naked that Lionel looked away. "Go away!"

"Your Majesty, I shall not."

"Go away," Henry pleaded. "Please. I beg of you."

Stephen sank to his knees before him. "Where is Lady Livia?" he asked.

His face crumpled. "She’s gone too."

"No, no, sire," Stephen said quickly. "She is in the palace. Surely she is."

Henry shook his head. "She is gone," he whispered. "I am a monster."

Lionel stepped forward. "Your Majesty," he said carefully. "Shall I bring Lady Livia to you?"

Henry’s head snapped up. "No. No, no." His breathing quickened again. "She cannot see me like this."

Lionel kept his voice steady. "Then I shall send for her while Your Majesty gathers himself."

Henry looked down at himself. It was as though he saw the ruined state of the room, and of himself, for the first time. His robe hung open at the throat. His hair was disordered. His hands trembled. The great King of England. "She..." Henry swallowed. "She is still here?"

"Where would she go?" Lionel asked. "She is quite besotted with you, sire."

"But..."

Lionel turned to Stephen. "Set the chamber to rights. Let His Majesty rest. I shall bring Lady Livia back here."

Stephen nodded at once, gratitude bright and startled in his eyes. "Yes. Please," he said softly, turning back to Henry. "Get into bed, Your Majesty."

Henry nodded. He climbed onto the bed and lay down. Stephen drew the coverlet over him. His eyes remained open. "Wake me when she returns."

"Of course, sire." Stephen stood beside the bed for a moment, watching him breathe. Then he turned to Lionel.

Lionel shrugged. "I had a kinsman. Some experience."

"I see."

Stephen gave a faint smile. Perhaps keeping everything to himself had not been the wisest approach. He had spent years guarding Henry’s secret. He looked around the chamber and sighed.

There was the overturned chair. The torn curtain. The shattered cup. A candle leaning dangerously in its holder.

How was he supposed to tidy all this without waking Henry?

*****

Richard arrived at the Morley house for tea the next morning. It was not a visit he particularly wished to make, which meant, naturally, that propriety required it. Countess Morley had extended the invitation after the ball.

So he came.

The Morley residence was handsome. A servant took his hat and cloak. Another led him through a passage. By the time he reached the parlour, Richard had already prepared himself for Earl Morley and Countess Morley.

Instead, the room held only Seraphina. She sat with a book closed on her lap, dressed in soft morning colours, her fair hair pinned neatly away from her face. Tea had been laid.

Seraphina looked up. "Your Grace."

Richard stopped just inside the room. "Lady Seraphina."

"My parents send their regrets. They discovered an urgent matter."

"How convenient."

A silence settled between them.

Seraphina gestured to the chair opposite her. "Will you sit?"

Something in the way she held herself told him she was not a willing participant in this arrangement either. There was no fluttering delight, no breathless awe at being left alone with the Duke of Kingsmere. She did not look like a girl awaiting romance.

Servants moved quietly about the room, pouring the hot spiced infusion and arranging a small spread of wafers.

Richard took the chair opposite Seraphina. She picked her book back up and opened it, as though the arrival of her future husband was a mild interruption to more important business. It was, Richard supposed, an attitude he deserved. Still, he found himself curious despite the irritation.

The servants withdrew. Silence entered and made itself comfortable. He began to question why, exactly, he had accepted the Countess of Morley’s invitation.

He knew why.

His father.

Richard had understood immediately that refusal would be noted, and used against him in the next paternal lecture. "You do not seem to want me here,"

Seraphina turned a page. "Has it ever mattered what a woman wants?"

"It matters to me."

At that, Seraphina shut the book. She looked up at him fully now, and Richard realised again that Geoffrey had not chosen a fool. Her eyes were clear and far too direct for his comfort.

"Does it?" she asked.

"Yes."

"How encouraging."

"You doubt me."

"I know very little of you, Your Grace, except what was displayed last night. Tell me what is supposed to happen here, then. The charming Duke of Kingsmere has shown me the once-in-a-lifetime honour of requesting my hand in marriage." Her mouth curved faintly. "Request is, of course, still under review, since we both know this is an arrangement of your father’s making."

"And then," she went on, "he embarrasses me by discarding me throughout the ball so he might feast his oh-so-adoring eyes on the king’s intended."

When she put it like that, he did indeed sound like a complete bastard.

"I behaved badly," he said. "I should have paid more attention to matters concerning you."

"I am not asking you to love me, Your Grace," Seraphina said. "I know better than that. But give me some respect. There may be nothing between us now but arrangement. But if we must walk into this marriage, I will not do it as a woman you may publicly diminish while privately mourning someone else."

"I did not intend to diminish you." Richard stared at her.

for the first time since Geoffrey had told him of the arrangement, Seraphina Morley seemed less like a punishment and more like a person. A sharp-tongued, proud person.

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