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 mimicked 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.”
Chrystabel 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.”
Chrystabel gasped. When Charles threw back his head and laughed, Rose shot her a victorious smile.
Charles glanced around the room. “It seems you’re the last to be presented,” he said, not looking at all displeased about that. “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 again. “It would be my honor, Sire.”
“The second dance, then,” he said, rising from his throne. He held out a hand to Catharine, and she rose as well and allowed him to guide her to the dance floor, the jewels on her gorgeous lavender gown twinkling as she moved.
The incessant chatter in the room ceased as everyone turned to watch the king and queen dance the first dance. Rose drifted to join the small crowd that surrounded the dance floor, hugging herself with excitement. After the king danced with her, surely other men would want to do the same. Maybe one of them would end up her husband.
In fact, before the first dance even ended, she felt a light tap on her shoulder and turned to see a handsome specimen. The man was tall and fair, his clothing dripping with lace, his manner oozing aristocracy.
He struck a pose, one hand resting lightly on the jeweled hilt of his court sword, the other on the head of his high, beribboned walking stick. “Lady Trentingham, may I have the honor of an introduction?”
Rose wasn’t surprised the gentleman knew her mother’s name. Mum was known far and wide as an amateur matchmaker—and a very successful one, at that. Could the request for an introduction mean he was looking to find a wife?
Chrystabel laid a hand on Rose’s arm. “Lord Rosslyn, may I present Lady Rose Ashcroft. My daughter,” she added meaningfully. “Rose, this is the Earl of Rosslyn. And how is your wife, my lord?” she asked in pointed tone.
“She’s well,” the man replied blithely. He inclined his head toward the left, where Rose saw a woman half entwined with a man who had to be a decade her junior. “Like most here at court, we have an understanding.”
Rose was half tempted to bash him over the head with his own walking stick, but before she could react, Charles appeared by her side. He bowed and held out a hand. “My lady?”
Rosslyn’s eyes widened, making Rose feel rather triumphant as she joined the king on the dance floor.
It was a country dance, performed in two lines, one of women, one of men. When it was her turn to parade down the center with Charles, their joined hands held high, Rose felt the eyes of the entire chamber on her.
The king’s eyes were on her as well. Dark and glinting, they captured hers quite effectively. The fabled Stuart charm. “It’s a pleasure to have a new face at court, my lady. Especially one as lovely as yours.” Charles danced superbly, very graceful for so tall a man. His voice was just as smooth. “Why have you never graced us with your presence before, my lady?”
She blushed—becomingly, she hoped. “My father thought me too young.”
“Young?” he echoed, sounding puzzled.
And then they had to return to their respective lines.
As she executed the simple steps, she furtively glanced around. There were ladies of her mother’s age, certainly, but there were also girls of fifteen and sixteen. Or perhaps she should think of them as women, since they hung on the arms of grown men, flirting madly.
Clearly, she wasn’t too young.
The next time she met up with the king to parade down the center, she had a more plausible reason. “I’ve come to court to find a husband.”
“Ah.” His dark eyes glittered speculatively. “Interesting choice of word, my lady. Husbands we have, although many are already wed.” He smiled at his own jest. “Take me, for example—”
“I won’t be,” she interrupted archly.
Though she immediately worried that he might be offended, he only laughed. “You are your mother’s daughter,” he conceded good-naturedly.
Among this social circle filled with promiscuous spouses, her parents were known as uncommonly devoted.
When the dance came to an end, the king raised her hand to his mouth, pressing warm lips to the back. “It was a pleasure, my lady. I wish you every success here at court.”
For a moment, while he still held her hand, Rose found herself suffused with wonder. Here she was, in the King’s Drawing Room at Windsor Castle, with none other than Charles himself. An experience like this could go to a woman’s head, she thought giddily.
Then he led her from the dance floor, and she watched him go straight to a girl of no more than seventeen and kiss her soundly on the lips. Rose couldn’t help but notice his queen was studiously gazing elsewhere, resignation etched on her small, foreign-looking face.
Apparently all was not lightness and fun here at the castle.
But this was Rose’s first evening at court, not a
