To Beguile a Beast (Legend of the Four Soldiers #3)(80)

“Maybe he did once, but not anymore,” was the reply.

Helen looked at the girl. “Why?”

“That’s Reynaud St. Aubyn, Viscount Hope,” Miss Corning said. “He should’ve been the Earl of Blanchard, but he was killed in the Colonies by Indians in the massacre at Spinner’s Falls. I suppose I should be grateful—my uncle would never have become the Earl of Blanchard otherwise, and I wouldn’t be living in Blanchard House. But I can’t find it in myself to be happy at his death. He looks so alive, doesn’t he?”

Helen turned back to the portrait. Alive. That was the word she’d thought of, too, when she’d seen the lounging young man.

“Pardon me,” Beatrice Corning said apologetically, “but I’ve just realized who you are. You’re connected to the Duke of Lister, aren’t you?”

Helen bit her lip, but she’d never been very good at lying. “I’m his former mistress.”

Miss Corning’s lovely eyebrows rose. “Then would you mind telling me what you’re doing here?”

HIS PLAN WAS a risky gamble. If he played this wrong, he and Helen might lose the children forever. On the other hand, if he did nothing, they were as good as already lost.

Alistair laid his hand gently on the closed dining room door, took a breath, and pushed it firmly open. The Earl of Blanchard had spared no expense in this royal luncheon. Flowers were massed in vases along the sideboard, sumptuous swags of gold and purple fabric draped every surface, and carved sugar swans sailed the middle of the long dining table.

There were as many servants as guests, and a bewigged fellow near the door held out his hand to halt Alistair. “Sir, you can’t—”

“Your Majesty,” Alistair called in a deep voice. He made sure his tone carried to the far end of the table, where King George sat next to a florid little man, presumably the Earl of Blanchard. He strode toward the king, moving fast and with enough assurance that no one gainsaid him. “I beg a word, Your Majesty.”

Alistair reached the king and bent in a low bow, arms outstretched, leg pointed before him.

“And who are you, sir?” the king asked, and for a moment Alistair felt his heart go still. Then he looked up, and the young king’s face lit. “Ah! Sir Alistair Munroe, our fascinating naturalist! Blanchard, bring a seat for Sir Alistair.”

Blanchard frowned but snapped his fingers at a footman, who leapt to obey. A chair was brought and set at the right hand of the king.

“Do you know the Earl of Blanchard, Munroe?” The king gestured to his host.

“I haven’t had the pleasure.” Alistair made another bow. “Forgive me, sir, for bursting into your party so precipitously.”

Blanchard’s expression was sour, but he could hardly demure now that the king had welcomed Alistair. He nodded curtly.

“And these gentlemen are the Duke of Lister; his son and heir, the Earl of Kimberly; and Lord Hasselthorpe.” The king indicated the men sitting across from him and to his other side.

Hasselthorpe sat to the king’s left. He was a distinguished-looking gentleman of middling years. Lister and his son were across from the king. Lister was of an age with Hasselthorpe. He wore a wine-colored coat with a waistcoat beneath that curved over his sloping belly. His heir was a brawny young man who wore his own brown hair clubbed back and unpowdered. He was frowning slightly as if in confusion at Alistair’s abrupt entrance. Lister was eyeing Alistair narrowly beneath a curled gray wig.

Alistair bowed and sat. The fact that Lister’s heir was present was an unforeseen bit of luck. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty, gentlemen, but the matter I come about is most urgent.”

“Indeed?” The king was a fair man with pink cheeks and prominent blue eyes. He wore a snowy white wig and strikingly brilliant blue coat and waistcoat. “Have you finished your opus on the flora and fauna of Britain?”

“I am very near the end, Your Majesty, and if it pleases Your Highness, I beg the favor of dedicating my book to you.”

“Granted, my dear Munroe, granted.” The king’s color had risen in pleasure. “We look forward to reading this tome when it is finished and published.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Alistair replied. “I hope to—”

But Lister cut him off with a loud cough. “Pleasant as the information of your book’s progress is, Munroe, I do not see why you need interrupt the king’s luncheon to tell him of it.”

A very slight frown appeared between the king’s eyebrows. At the far end of the room, the door opened again and a blond young lady entered and seated herself in an empty chair at the table. She cast an inquisitive glance at them.

Alistair turned to Lister and smiled genially. “I do not mean to bore you with the details of my studies as a naturalist. I realize that not everyone is as fascinated by the oddities of God’s world as His Highness and I.”

Lister’s face went blank as he understood his faux pas, but Alistair continued. “Actually, the business I come about involves you as well.”

He paused and took a sip of the wine that had been placed at his elbow.

Lister’s eyebrows rose. “Do you mean to enlighten us?”

Alistair smiled and set his wineglass down. “Naturally.” He turned and addressed the king. “I have been studying the habits of badgers recently, Your Majesty. Amazing what secrets are hidden in even the most mundane of animals.”