Margaret Moore by Scoundrels Kiss

Author:Scoundrels Kiss
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Very early the next morning, after a night of fitful sleep, Arabella followed the earl and Lady Lippet toward the king’s new tennis court.

She could not remember a time when she had felt less confident of herself, in any situation, even when her father had been at his most unresponsive.

She had come to London hoping to meet Neville, then decided she never wanted to be near him again—and now, certain she had misjudged him, she was anticipating seeing him more than ever before.

Unfortunately, there was also the problem of the king’s alleged interest in her. To believe in that interest might be sinfully vain, yet did not the Duke of Buckingham and Neville know their monarch better than she?

If the king did have an interest in her, what exactly did that presage?

Also, what was she to do about the lascivious behavior of the other men at court? She had very little real experience in dealing with the opposite sex. Her father had seen to that.

And there was the troubling business of the hunt for her husband, something she wished she could call off. She hated being paraded about like a horse for sale.

Not that she did not want to be married. She wanted a husband and a family. She had been virtually alone for so long!

All in all, Arabella was in no very contented mood as she followed the older couple.

Although it was very early in the day, the continually yawning Lady Lippet wore a gown of brown satin and orange velvet; her expression upon seeing Arabella’s much plainer gown had made it obvious that she did not approve of the younger woman’s subdued selection. Remarkably, however, she had said nothing, a restraint Arabella gratefully attributed to her obvious fatigue.

The earl, unfortunately, had apparently decided to step into the breach, for he had been quite loquacious regarding what he intended to say to the king. Arabella had kept her sighs to herself, yet if the earl managed to say even a portion of what he wished, he would surely need at least an hour of His Majesty’s undivided attention.

She was also quite sure that King Charles would not appreciate hearing that every single thing he had done since his restoration was a mistake.

They reached the new court. Most of the spacious interior was a large, bare rectangle. A tasseled rope stretched across the middle between the outer wall and what seemed to be a long, covered stall, for a waist-high wooden partition separated the many spectators from the rectangle where the game was played.

She noted with relief that the Duke of Buckingham was not there, nor Sedley, Buckhurst and Jermyn. This was quite a different group of people.

The king was on the far side of the tasseled rope; the man on the nearer side was Neville.

Attired in an open white shirt, dark breeches, low boots and with his shoulder-length hair tied in a tail, he was all lithe, swift action as he batted a small ball with some kind of paddle over the rope toward the king.

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