The Mortality of Queens

4 Dare you lay a Queen

She slipped into the space between them. So close that he observed the first flaw in her glamour, her eyebrows were jaggedly wild; so close that he felt he must either retreat a pace for propriety's sake or plunge forward risking all.

'I mean, of course I knew you were a lady, a woman, never was any more so...' Stanton had beached upon his own words. He was gabbling himself into unknown depths of social faux pas. He pressed his lips again to her hand desperate to stop his wayward tongue.

A touch upon his other arm moored him back into the morning room, preserving him from the mesmerising maelstrom of swirling red-black hair.

'None more so, indeed,' came Isabella's rescuing voice from behind him, where an agog Goldry still held the door. 'Forgive my husband, Lady R, he is not used to having such female beauty about him.'

Lady Rochester took a half-pace back and studied Stanton. No, naturally, of course he isn't, her expression seemed to imply before she retreated into a smile, 'Nonsense, Isabella, for he has you.'

Stanton wished he could start this encounter afresh but attempted to explain himself, 'We received the note late last night that you would attend me here and, I am ashamed to say, I expected some military phantom to appear at my door.' He showed her to a chair. 'I am intrigued to learn what dangerous mission you must have that requires such a burden of secrecy.'

Lady Rochester quieted her frock into the indicated chair, flowed herself in after it and shook her head. 'Now, Sir, you have quite captivated me. What can you know of my mission here? Can there be more secrets still for us to share?'

'Sebastian,' Isabella took full hold of her husband's arm, bolstering him against the powerful current of his guest's intoxicating proximity. 'Lady R is not your mysterious guest. She has come today to visit me.'

'Ah, oh, yes, of course,' relief swamped Stanton's embarrassment.

'Now I confess, I wish I were your secretive guest,' said Lady Rochester. 'Indeed, I am confounded to find that there exists in all England anyone more mysterious and bewitching than I. There is certainly no-one plus dangereux.'

'It was Lady R's party I was at last night, Sebastian. She is a long-time friend to me and is also our neighbour – with her stepson, Lord Strathearn – across the square, remember?' This last with a nudge of steel that set Stanton nodding.

'Quite so. It is upon the untimely demise of Countess Alnwick I wish to touch.' Lady Rochester clasped her hands together, 'It leaves another vacancy in next year's edition of The Book of 500. I feel you are both sure to be on the list of names who might replace her.'

'There must be worthier candidates than I, surely,' Stanton said.

'Not at all, my dear,' said Isabella, 'I can think of none finer; none, who stand likely to do our country better service. If I am privileged enough to be invited, I will directly stand aside for you.' She set down her Umbra, Twoshrews, atop of a sofa of the design made popular by the Earl of Chesterfield.

'You shall do no such thing, Izzy. Your father would ne'er forgive me.'

'I will champion both your causes,' Lady Rochester said, 'and you are to give of it your best. Your former acquaintance Viscount Exeter will be on the list, Isabella, and we can't have that haughty noble entered into the pages of The Book, before you, can we? Either of you would be far more worthy and many times more cordial. The youngest English Minister since Pitt, and the charming progressive daughter of Lord Lisle. And Twoshrews would be the giddiest Umbra among its pages. Who could be better?'

Twoshrews executed a sweeping bow on Isabella's shoulder and said something that made Isabella's expression crease in surprise.

There was a knock upon the door and Goldry put his head around it, coughed awkwardly and said that the Minister had another visitor. 'A Mr er...' – Goldry was uncertain – 'Lambswink? Penny has admitted him to the scullery, sir, where he awaits you.'