Chapter 28: I Can’t Do This
Madeleine turned to face her, disbelief flashing in her eyes. "I didn’t sign up for this. Father asked me to come here to be queen, not to embarrass myself for some royal witch to walk all over me."
Sophie glanced cautiously around to ensure they were alone before responding. "Your Highness, the Queen Mother is a formidable woman, everyone knows about her but she is also fiercely protective of her son."
"Two problems," Madeleine muttered, holding up her fingers. "Two problems barely twelve hours since my arrival. First, the king already has a child. And now this—being told that I must submit like some courtly simpleton. I can’t do this... I can’t take it!"
Sophie stepped forward. "You have to, Princess. Your father trusts you to navigate these challenges with grace and resilience."
"Then I want these distractions gone, Sophie. The son first, then I will deal with the Queen Mother. The throne belonged to France the moment I stepped my feet on this soil," Madeleine snapped.
"Your Highness," Sophie said gently, "such matters must be approached with great care. England is not France."
"Well, the Queen mother should be thankful it isn’t." Madeleine resumed her walk toward her apartments. Despite her outburst, she intended to comply—at least outwardly—with the Queen Mother’s instruction to change for tea.
*****
Nicholas Beaumont’s establishment continued to thrum with life. Livia stood on the landing above the main hall, her hands resting lightly on the banister as she observed the other girls. She studied their movements carefully. Determined to secure her future, she absorbed every detail, hoping to master the subtle skills that captivated the men below.
"So I hear you are out of bounds."
Startled, Livia jerked around to find a man standing behind her. It was the same gentleman who had earlier been speaking with Nicholas. She had been so engrossed in her observations that she had not heard his approach along the steps.
"You heard right," Livia replied cautiously, stepping backward.
"I should think you would be."
Livia’s brow furrowed. "Why would you think that?"
"Of all the women here," he explained, "you are the only one who seems not to have accepted her station. And also, absolutely stunning."
A faint blush touched Livia’s cheeks at the unexpected compliment, though her wariness remained.
"Sir, if you are trying to go behind Mr. Beaumont’s back and get to me personally, I’m afraid you have just wasted your time coming up those stairs."
He leaned casually against the banister. "Oh, I didn’t come up here for you," he replied lightly. "I merely wished to see whether the view from up here was better. You seemed so... invested in it."
Livia’s brows knit together slightly. She followed his gaze toward the bustling tavern below, where laughter and music filled the air. The girls danced gracefully among the patrons, their skirts swirling as the lively notes of a fiddle carried upward. "Enjoy the view, sir," she said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the staircase. "I’m afraid you will have to do it alone now."
She turned to leave.
"I’ll see you next month," the man said casually.
Livia paused mid-step, confusion flickering across her face. She turned back to him. "I don’t understand."
"Well," he continued, pushing himself away from the banister, "the tavern owner informs me that you are booked for this month. Therefore, I shall simply return when you are available."
"Who are you?" Livia asked, unable to contain her curiosity.
"I’m Richard Montague, Duke of Kingsmere."
Livia’s brows lifted slightly at the introduction. Titles and ranks meant little to her beyond the knowledge that they signified power—power that often dictated the fate of women like herself. Still, the certainty and ease with which he carried his name marked him as a man accustomed to authority.
"I don’t know much about English nobility..." Livia began, only to be interrupted.
"I knew there was something special about you," Richard said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "There is barely any accent in your words. Most who arrive from the Continent carry their homeland in every syllable, yet yours is softened. Let me guess... Spanish?"
Livia regarded him with a bored, unimpressed look, offering neither confirmation nor denial.
"French? Dutch? Russian?" he continued, clearly enjoying the game. He tapped his chin thoughtfully before his eyes lit with realization. "Ah... hang on... Italian."
The subtle shift in Livia’s expression was enough to confirm his suspicion. Richard’s smile widened, pleased with his deduction.
"Italian," he repeated, savoring the word. "A land of art, music, and formidable beauty. That explains the grace with which you carry yourself."
Livia sighed inwardly, already weary of the conversation.
"How about a bet?" Richard proposed. "If I guess your name correctly, you spend five more minutes with me."
"Why would I want to have a bet with you?" Livia asked, crossing her arms.
Richard, however, appeared unfazed by her reluctance. Ignoring her question entirely, he began his guesses. "Nora? Lita? Agnese? Aurelia?"
Livia could not help but roll her eyes, the corners of her lips threatening to betray a reluctant amusement. "Give it up, sir," she said, turning away from him. "Good night."
"Cecilia?!" he called after her.
Livia did not turn. The soft rustle of her skirts was the only response as she continued up the next flight of stairs toward her room. The duke watched her retreating figure with an amused smile, clearly enjoying the mystery she presented.
"I’ll just call you Diana for now." He yelled louder. He wasn’t even sure she heard him. With a quiet chuckle, he turned back toward the lively tavern below. The music had grown more spirited.
Richard rested his hands on the banister for a moment, contemplating Beaumont’s earlier suggestion. Perhaps he should settle for one of the other women. After all, England was celebrating. It would be only fitting to partake in the revelry. With a final glance toward the staircase where Livia had disappeared, he descended to join the festivities, prepared to end the evening in suitably celebratory fashion.