Page 70 of The Duke of Ice
He was one of the first to arrive at 93 Sydney Place, where he was shown into a sitting room to await the time when the Queen would receive visitors. A scant quarter hour later, he was treated to a sight that took his breath away.
Violet appeared in the doorway. She wore a gown of bishop’s blue velvet made wide and full with hoops. Snowy lace trimmed in gold fell from her sleeves, and several ostrich feathers stood high atop her head. Her blonde hair curled gently around her face, and sparkling sapphires adorned her ears and neck. She swept forward, and he couldn’t take his eyes from her.
She was intercepted by a few people, but her gaze found his, and her lips teased into a soft smile. Impatient, he went to her. It was then that he realized the embroidery on her dress was also lilies of the valley.
They exchanged pleasantries until the others moved on, leaving them alone, if only for a moment.
Moving to her side, he leaned close to her ear. “You look stunning.”
“Not as fine as you.” She raked his body with a lingering stare, causing his blood to heat and his body to harden in highly inappropriate places.
“Stop regarding me like that. We’re due to see the Queen at any moment.”
Violet gave him a saucy smile just before the footman announced the Queen was ready. There were several peers in attendance, but Nick outranked them all, save the Queen’s son, the Duke of Clarence, who was already with her. Of the guests in the sitting room, Nick was admitted to her presence first.
Queen Charlotte sat in a wide gilt chair. She looked a bit pale, but then she’d come to Bath to take the waters in an effort to improve her health. Though seventy-three, her large, dark eyes were still sharp.
After he bowed, she gestured for him to come stand beside her. “You do not come to court very often, Kilve.”
“I do not, Your Majesty. I beg your pardon.” He offered another bow.
“I know you were in mourning for a while. Presumably you aren’t any longer?”
“No.”
She nodded. “Good.”
Others were shown in, and they bowed and curtsied, answering the Queen’s questions with poise and grace. Violet came forward and dropped into a deep curtsey.
“Are those lilies of the valley, Lady Pendleton?” the Queen asked before turning her head to look at Nick. “And you are wearing them too,” she noted. “Do I need to be aware of a forthcoming match?” she asked him.
“No, Your Majesty. It is simply a coincidence.”
Charlotte’s full lips curved into a delighted smile. “A charming one.”
Once everyone had paid their respects to Queen Charlotte, she motioned for Nick to come closer. “I would be remiss if I didn’t thank you for your service. You fought at Badajoz, did you not?”
“I did, Your Majesty.”
“Such a terrible battle. Wellington has told me all about it—as much as I can bear.” She looked at him intently for a moment, then seemed to recall something, her eyes flickering. “You fought alongside your brother. Wellington told me that too. He was about to be discharged so that he could return home and inherit.”
That wasn’t quite right—Uncle Gil had still been alive at that time—but Nick didn’t correct her.
“So awful to have lived through such an ordeal and to lose your brother at the same time. I’m sorry for your loss, and we are deeply grateful for his sacrifice.”
Nick inclined his head. Misery and despair coursed through him while the old tang of terror soured his mouth. Ordeal wasn’t an adequate word. It had been hell on earth, and after Maurice fell, Nick hadn’t cared if he lived or died. He’d protected his brother’s body, fighting everyone off with a rage that some had later described as otherworldly. Nick couldn’t say because he didn’t remember the specifics after Maurice had taken his last breath.
His eye caught Violet watching him. She stood nearby, probably close enough to hear what the Queen had said. Observing the creases in her brow and the troubled set of her mouth, he’d say she had.
The audience ended a short time later, and Violet found Nick in the sitting room as people were departing for their coaches. His body thrummed with tension—the conversation with the Queen had unsettled him, and the confines of the reception room had made him restless.
“Are you—”
Nick cut her off before she finished. “I need to walk.” He abruptly turned and stalked from the house, taking to the sidewalk and devouring it in long strides.
He tried to push the distressing thoughts to the back of his mind, as he typically did, but for some reason Maurice’s face kept appearing to him. Teasing when they were boys, laughing before he’d bought his commission, gray and lifeless in the midst of battle.
The pernicious tendrils of despair wound around him. He clenched his fists at his sides as he walked, moving faster as if he could run from the fear that threatened to send him to his knees.
