His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

"Is there a reason you are suddenly thinking about marriage?" Geoffrey asked.

"Uh... no," Richard said. "It’s just that the king is planning to get married. Most of the men we learned with are all married now, some with children, and I thought, maybe it’s time for me also."

"You are telling me the King of England’s marriage treaty stirred domestic longing in you?"

"It could happen."

"To someone else, perhaps....Kingsmere does need a duchess. A woman’s presence would do that house good," Geoffrey continued. "Not simply for heirs, though God knows the family line cannot continue on your charm alone. But balance. Warmth."

"I run Kingsmere well enough."

"You do," Geoffrey said. "Better than I expected, if I am being honest. You have done good work there. The tenants speak well of you. The accounts have improved. The estate is stable. But a duchess would give it roots. A household is not merely land, rents, and ledgers. It needs a woman’s touch."

"I guess..." Richard sighed.

"Do you have any lady in mind? I can send an envoy to her family."

That was when it occurred to Richard. Diana had no family. No father worth naming. No mother living to vouch for her. No brothers to negotiate terms.

He could change her name. He could change her look. But he could not change the rest. He could not erase Beaumont. "She’s uh..." Richard cleared his throat. "She’s Italian."

Geoffrey’s expression eased slightly. "Ah...Italian nobles are actually well behaved."

"Yeah," Richard said. "She lost her family and, um... relocated."

Geoffrey’s brows lifted.

"But Father, it’s nothing really," Richard continued. "I haven’t even spoken to the lady."

Geoffrey blinked. "You are considering marriage to a woman you have not spoken to?"

"I have spoken to her," Richard corrected. "I meant I have not spoken to her about marriage."

"Ah."

"She has no idea of my intentions toward her, so all of this may not even happen. I am merely bouncing ideas back and forth."

"Still, it is good that you are thinking more responsibly at least. I am glad. The you I know would be balls deep in said lady already," Geoffrey said dryly. "This woman must be something special."

Special did not seem large enough for Diana. Special was a pretty word for pretty women. Diana was something else, wounded, stubborn and impossible to put down once she had entered a man’s thoughts.

"She is," he admitted then cleared his throat. "Another random question. What if... and this is a big if now... what if someone else lays claim on her?"

Geoffrey laughed. "You are a duke. Your title should, in itself, scare off most competition...unless she does not choose you," Geoffrey added thoughtfully, "which is highly likely considering your history, if she knows about it."

Richard winced. Everything about that response was wrong. Henry was not "most competition." Henry was the bloody king. A duke’s title did not scare off a crown. And Diana’s choice was not simple either. She did not even know the man she had promised herself to was the most powerful man in England.

But Richard did not pursue it. He let it go so as not to arouse suspicion.

"I should head back to Kingsmere."

"Don’t be a stranger," Geoffrey said. "You only ever stop by to see the king."

"One more thing..."

Geoffrey gave him a tired, amused look. "Aren’t you on fire today?"

"His Highness’s betrothal to the French princess," Richard asked carefully, "is it set in stone?"

"I believe so," Geoffrey said. "The treaty is advanced. France expects it. England expects it. The princess is already here. The king, at least, has not expressed any reservations."

Richard’s jaw tightened slightly.

"Do you not agree with the match?" Geoffrey asked.

"No, no..." Richard said quickly. "I just worry about him, that’s all."

Richard stepped back. "Goodbye, Father."

*****

Livia had arrived at the Cresswells’ earlier that morning. The house was not as grand as Kingsmere house but it was sufficient and homely. She had introduced herself perfectly to the heavily pregnant Baroness Cresswell. "Miss Diana Bellamy, my lady," she had said, dipping into a modest curtsy. "His Grace, the Duke of Kingsmere, recommended me for the French lessons."

The baroness, round with child and clearly exhausted by the existence of daughters, had looked her over. "Can you manage four children?"

Livia thought of Beaumont’s and all the hard work she had done for the past three years. She smiled. "I believe so, my lady."

Within minutes, she had been swept up by the girls. There were indeed four of them: bright-eyed, restless, curious, and already convinced that speaking French meant they were halfway to becoming queens.

By the end of the day, she was tired, but not defeated. She had managed well with the lessons, correcting pronunciation, and teaching them how to request tea or coffee respectably in French.

"Je voudrais du thé, s’il vous plaît," the eldest repeated proudly.

"Good," Livia said.

The girls giggled. She was quite proud of how much she had done in one day. More than proud, really.

Livia had ended a work day without feeling used or sold by the hour. She had worked. Properly worked. She tucked her gloves properly, adjusted the small veil over her face, and made her way toward the drawing room to announce her departure. She reached the drawing room and stepped inside.

The Baroness was not there. Instead, two women occupied the room. An older woman sat, stiff-backed and pale with worry, while a younger one cried into her arms. The younger woman’s shoulders shook beneath a black gown, and her hair, though carefully arranged, had loosened slightly around her face.

She cleared her throat gently. The older woman looked up. "Pardon me," Livia said, dipping her head. "I am looking for the Baroness. I thought she would be here. My apologies."

The younger woman wiped at her cheeks.

"Who are you?" the older woman said.

Livia straightened slightly. "I’m Diana Bellamy. The children’s French tutor."

The older woman’s expression eased a little.