“We’re getting there, dear. This is the Guard Chamber.”
She might have guessed. Military trophies covered every inch of the walls: helmets and drums, shields and armor, guns and lancets, swords and knives. “Are there any weapons left for the army?” she whispered.
Mum’s laugh broke the hush of the chamber. “I certainly hope so!” She met Rose’s gaze, her eyes glittering. “It’s an impressive display, but all the same, I expect we’re still well defended.”
The painted ceiling featured Jupiter and Juno seated on thrones at either end. In the center, a glassed octagonal opening provided a view of the stars and, Rose imagined, a great splash of natural light in the daytime.
Reaching the door at the far end, Mum paused. “Lady Trentingham and Lady Rose Ashcroft,” she announced, her voice laced with quiet dignity.
Finally. As one of the six guards bowed and opened the door, Rose lifted her satin skirts.
But the next room was deserted, save for an usher at the far end.
“What’s this?” Rose demanded.
“The King’s Presence Chamber.” Mum curtsied in front of the sumptuous red velvet throne, taking Rose’s hand to make certain she did, too.
Thinking it the most ridiculous thing she’d ever done, Rose pursed her lips as she straightened. “Despite the name of the chamber, the king,” she said pointedly, nodding toward the empty throne, “does not seem to be present.”
“Come along,” her mother said with a half-concealed smile.
Rose looked to the heavens for patience, seeing instead an elegant painted ceiling where Mercury was presenting a portrait of the king to the four corners of the world.
A red-and-white-garbed usher grandly opened the next door. By now, Rose wasn’t expecting to see Their Majesties on the other side. She’d probably be a wrinkled old crone by the time she actually met them.
“The Audience Chamber,” Mum intoned softly. “You’ll curtsy to this vacant throne as well.” She glided toward the canopied seat. “Charles does sit here to receive visitors in the daytime.”
“Does he never sit in the other throne?”
“That throne is only symbolic, dear. Ceremonial.”
Rose was still questioning the necessity of all the empty chairs when she glimpsed the next chamber. Her jaw dropped open—and it had nothing to do with the elaborate ornamentation, or even the spectacular clothing and jewels that adorned all the lords and ladies milling about.
Unable to avert her gaze, she drifted slowly through the room by her mother’s side. There, in that dark corner, a woman sat sprawled on a man’s lap, her head thrown back in laughter. Across the chamber, a fluttering curtain left the distinct impression that action of some sort was going on behind it.
Nearby, another couple was kissing with what one might call great enthusiasm. Rose’s cheeks heated—and it took a lot to make her blush. She’d always pulled faces at her parents’ shows of affection, but they’d never behaved anything like this…
Gemini!
The man’s gaze had met Rose’s for a moment. Or at least she thought it had—she couldn’t be sure, given how quickly she’d shifted to focus on the ceiling overhead. But the artwork above did nothing to erase the shocking images in her head. There, the painted King Charles rode in a chariot, entirely surrounded by naked—
“They’re angels, dear. You needn’t gawk.” Her mother’s hand squeezed her arm. “We’re about to be announced.”
“Announced?” Rose had been so distracted, she hadn’t even realized she’d finally made it to the chamber where Their Majesties waited.
Rose had always considered herself unshockable, but quite suddenly she felt like an innocent country mouse. Father had been right all along, she thought. Court was no place for a well-bred young lady.
Good thing she wasn’t so young anymore.
The couple in front of her bowed and curtsied and moved out of the way, and she found herself approaching a red-canopied dais.
“Lady Trentingham!” the stuffy usher called. “Lady Rose Ashcroft!” Rose held out her skirts—so plain compared to the jewel-encrusted gowns of the other ladies—and dropped into a deep curtsy. When she came up, she managed to smile at King Charles, a bit startled to find that he seemed to be an actual human being.
She’d seen paintings, of course, but of a younger man, and somehow not such a real one. The king was forty-seven now, and a bit of gray-streaked hair peeked out from beneath his long, curled black periwig. His dark eyes were as sharp as ever, though—or at least as sharp as Rose had always heard. They swept her from head to toe, a gaze both approving and more than a bit flirtatious.
Well, he was known for that.
In contrast, Queen Catharine’s eyes were a warm, liquid brown. She wasn’t a beauty, but her appearance wasn’t displeasing, either—she looked sad, and a little world-weary.
After fifteen years of marriage, she had yet to present her husband with a child.
Standing before Catharine, Rose imitated what her mother was doing with Charles and lifted the queen’s hand to press a kiss to the back.
She was rewarded with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Catharine told her in flowing, Portuguese-accented English.
“The pleasure is mine,” Rose returned sincerely. Really, she couldn’t imagine why her sisters had gone all fluttery over the prospect of meeting the monarchs. They were just people!
She switched sides with her mother and bent her lips to the king’s hand.
He surprised her by gripping her fingers. “You’re as lovely as your mother.”
Mum blushed. Rose grinned at Charles. “Your reputation is well deserved, Your Majesty.”
Still holding her hand, he grinned back. “My reputation, my dear?”
“As a ladies’ man.”
Mum gasped. When Charles threw back his head and laughed, Rose shot her a triumphant smile.
Charles glanced around the room. “It seems you’re the last to be presented,” he said, looking not displeased by that fact. “Would you honor me with a dance?”
Now it was Rose’s turn to gasp. She knew the protocol was for ladies to ask His Majesty to dance, not the opposite. Feeling light-headed, she curtsied
