Page 80 of A Prince Among Pirates
“I’m ready,” I say with a sigh.
“Are you?”
I give a humorless laugh and turn to face Thomas. “Am I?” I ask ruefully, holding my arms out for inspection.
He smiles. “You look ready to cause a scandal tonight.”
At that, my smile turns genuine. “Perfect.”
Though it is thrown in honor of Saint Nicholas Day, the ball is clearly an excuse for King Henry to show me off like I’m a shiny new jewel gifted by a foreign sovereign. I am formally announced on my own merit as “the Honorable Christopher-Henry Davenport.” Notably, my father’s viscountcy is not mentioned.
My ex-father…?
I step into the Orangery in my indigo suit, with a gold silk cape draped across one shoulder, clasped with a chain of rubies that would sink me were I to jump into deep waters. Christopher-Henry might have marveled at his reflection in it. He might have felt powerful. He might have felt dashing. Instead I feel the weight of my shame in this cape. Not only because my initial reaction was to marvel at it as it was presented for my approval, but because this display of wealth and finery is, in itself, deeply shameful. I did nothing to earn these jewels—and neither did Henry. We were merely born to them, by sheer happenstance.
King Henry sits atop the throne in his wig and crown, Queen Eleanor on his right in a gold silk gown and a crown of holly and rubies. Both are swathed in ermine fur. Neither of them earned that, either.
I kneel before the king first, and as he stretches out his hand, I rise and approach the dais to kiss the ruby ring on his finger. I stand and turn to Eleanor, then bow to her as deeply as I bowed to her husband. “Your Majesties,” I say in greeting. “Happy Christmas.”
Henry, for what it’s worth, smiles dotingly at me. Eleanor isunimpressed, which shouldn’t come as a surprise if she’s newly discovered the same truth as I, but I feel a pang of loss for the love she once had for me nevertheless.
I want to ask once more about the fate of my crew, but I am quickly crowded by another dignitary waiting to be announced to the throne. For a moment I say nothing. I watch as he bows and makes his introduction, and then, all at once, I can no longer stand aside. I step forward and look at Henry. “Your Majesty, I beseech a moment of your time.”
Eleanor’s gaze jerks to my face with a mix of horror and fury, but she schools her features well and turns to Henry, who is smiling as calmly as ever. “We will speak later.”
“But—”
“You would disobey your king?” Eleanor demands.
More than a few heads rise to glance my way, and my face is instantly aflame with humiliation. I clench my teeth and shake my head, bowing deeply to them both. “Forgive me, Your Majesties. Later is fine.” Swallowing down my grief and shame, I duck away into the crowd.
I find champagne first and Kitty second. She kisses my cheeks and takes my arm as she leads me over to Francis. Thank Christ for Katherine Stuart. I brace myself against her strength, her sweetness, and take a moment to calm my battering pulse before fixing on my social smile.
“Francis, you remember Kit.”
“Christopher-Henry,” he corrects her, a small reminder to be less familiar with me. I don’t blame him; if I were him, I toowould feel threatened by me. Especially as I am now, with his wife on my arm.
I bow my head, but I am not sure how deep I am meant to bow to him. He outranks me as a marquess, but only if I am still in line to be a viscount. Henry hasn’t told me where I stand. “A pleasure, Marquess.”
“God, please don’t,” he mumbles. “Francis is perfectly fine.”
Well, he’s not a humorless ass after all. I’m relieved to have found him and Kitty so I needn’t socialize without them at my side. We move around the Orangery together, and I do my best to engage in polite conversation. I have always hated small talk with the peerage, but now it is agonizing torture. Every shallow compliment I receive makes me grit my teeth and sets my pulse racing. Kitty saves me more than once from saying something unsuitable.
“God,” I mutter when we are finally alone with fresh glasses of champagne. “Would this have been our life if we’d married?”
“You’ve always been quite good at it,” Kitty reminds me.
“That was then,” I mutter.
“Are you so different now?”
I don’t know how to answer that. Yes! Yes, of course I am. And no, I suppose I’m not.
At that moment I seehim. Despite everything I have been through, despite everything I have learned, despite the nine-month chasm that lies between us, the sight of my once father, Viscount Falmouth, still strikes fear and inadequacy into my heart the instant our gazes meet.
If I could run, I would—but somehow Kitty and I thought it was a brilliant idea to trap ourselves in this corner of the Orangery.
“Damnation,” I whisper.
