Amy nearly tripped. “I was never in the competition,” she chided. “I was only a merchant’s daughter.”
“Tsk. They’re deluding themselves, anyway. You may be out of the competition for marriage, but at Charles’s court, it’s assumed one is always available for an affaire d’amour. It’s taken for granted that wives are as unfaithful as husbands; the men here demand fidelity only from their mistresses.”
“Not all the men, I’m hoping.” She looked up at Colin with a sparkle in her eye.
He raised one brow wickedly. “Oh, there might be one or two holdouts.”
In spite of her anxiety, Amy grinned, but the smile faded as her attention was drawn ahead, to where Their Majesties sat awaiting her.
Their thrones were set side-by-side on a raised platform, framed with a swagged canopy of crimson velvet bedecked in silver and gold. But it wasn’t the magnificence of the setting that awed Amy.
It was the king himself.
The most compelling figure she’d ever seen, His Majesty sat tall on his throne, dwarfing his queen, his long legs sprawled carelessly before him. Though he’d already reached the advanced age of thirty-seven, his long, shiny black hair held nary a hint of gray. His face was lean, with a thin, curly black mustache over a generous mouth.
The prospect of actually meeting him was terrifying.
The magenta-garbed lady rose and moved out of the way, swishing her fur-edged train behind her. When Charles looked up, his heavy-lidded black eyes settled on Amy. A small smile twitched at his lips, and Amy’s heart clenched in her chest.
Colin drew her forward. He walked with the sure steps of a man greeting an old friend, while Amy’s feet hesitated along the carpeted approach. When they reached the dais and Colin knelt down, Amy tore her gaze from King Charles and dipped into a deep curtsy.
She looked back up into the large, liquid brown eyes of Queen Catharine of Braganza.
Queen Catharine’s olive-tinted features were pleasant rather than pretty. Tiny and dark, with a long nose and high forehead, she looked very, very foreign. She smiled at Amy, revealing small teeth that protruded slightly.
“Lady Greystone,” she said, her Portuguese-accented voice beautiful and melodious. Her eyes were compassionate, as though she understood Amy’s nervousness. They flickered toward the king and back; though theirs was an arranged marriage, Amy thought she looked very much in love with her husband.
Catharine was dressed in soft yellow, an unfortunate choice of color that did nothing for her naturally sallow complexion. She proffered a slim hand for Amy’s kiss, smiling graciously at her and down to her rounded belly. Was that a trace of envy that fluttered in Catharine’s welcoming expression? Sadly, in five years of marriage, the queen had not proven able to present Charles with any royal children. There was constant talk of Charles setting her aside to replace her with a queen who wasn’t barren.
She was brave and kind, and Amy decided she liked her very much.
“Ah, the new Countess of Greystone,” she heard King Charles say. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my dear.” He held out a shapely hand, and Amy moved closer to kiss it. “A pleasure,” he repeated, holding on to her hand a bit longer than was necessary.
“It…is my pleasure, Your Majesty,” Amy replied after she found her voice. Charles’s eyes locked with hers, signaling a warm welcome, and she decided he wasn’t frightening after all.
“You’ve done well for yourself, Greystone,” Charles drawled with a wink in Colin’s direction.
“Then you’re not…displeased?”
“Displeased, Colin?”
“I assumed, when I received the summons…”
“Od’s fish! What an idea. No, I asked you here for quite another reason altogether. Later, when all this”—he gestured impatiently—“rigmarole is dispensed with, we’ll discuss it.”
Amy smiled to herself. Colin had told her that Charles was notoriously intolerant of court ceremony, considering it a waste of time. He much preferred to be out among his people, and made it a point to be available to them casually as often as possible, in public places such as parks.
Their exchange left Amy curious, but at least reassured as to Colin’s relationship with the king. It didn’t sound as though Charles were perturbed with him in any way. With another curtsy and a quick bow, Amy and Colin relinquished their positions to the next in line.
Colin drew her into the crowd. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
“I expect I survived.” Amy turned in a slow circle, taking in the splendor of her surroundings. The Presence Chamber was lit by hundreds of candles in wall sconces and liveried yeomen holding flaming torches. Dressed in every color of the rainbow, lords and ladies shimmered in the blazing light. “Look at everyone! Sequins, fur, pearls, gems, ribbon, braid, embroidery…on men and women alike!”
“You can tell which are the ladies, though. They’re the ones fanning themselves with those absurd painted creations.”
Amy laughed. “You surely cannot judge gender by who is wearing the gems.” Ornaments of every description glittered from necks, wrists, waists, fingers, and ears. Seeing it all, Amy’s fists tightened against her ever-present longing for a jeweler’s bench.
One tall, pale lady emerged from the throng to tap Colin on the arm with her folded fan. He started and turned to her, wondering briefly why he was surprised to see her there. Thankful that Amy was engrossed in watching the extravaganza, he pulled the girl a few feet away.
“Priscilla.”
“Greystone,” she said coolly. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence at court? I was under the impression you abhorred this type of gathering.”
“I was summoned by Charles,” he said smoothly, refusing to rise to her bait. “Did you receive my letter of apology? I regret—”
“Well, I do not,” she interrupted. “Buckhurst is courting me now—though I’ve yet to decide whether I want him.”
As though she were the one who did the deciding, Colin thought. Her father
