Richard’s eyes widened, then his brows lowered. “But you have no reason to object.” He was not asking her; he was telling her.
Instead of replying, she simply lowered her head, a cross between a bow and a nod. She steeled herself against looking at Lord Shiveley. She did not want to see whatever expression he might have at her reluctance to acquiesce to their wedding on the morrow.
“Very good, my dear cousin. Now tell me how you have fared. Are you in good health? Have the servants been treating you as they should?”
“Yes, I have been in very good health, and the servants have been as dutiful and obliging as they have ever been. And you? How has Your Majesty’s health fared?”
“Very well, except for a fever I suffered for a few days. I am quite restored now. Shiveley had some lemons sent to me, and they quite cured me. Lemon juice and honey will cure nearly any ill. I am convinced.”
Yes, Lord Shiveley was quite the perfect friend and ally, no doubt. And now he must be rewarded. He must get whatever wife he wished, even though he was old and disgusting and—
“How is the hunting this time of year?” the king asked.
“I do not know. Your steward often provides us with venison and pheasant, so I believe the hunting is good.”
“Have you still not taken up falconry and hunting stags, my dear?”
“I do not wish to disappoint you, my king.”
Richard laughed. “You always did have a mind of your own. Behind that pretty face, you have the mind of a man—though not a man’s taste for hunting, I see.”
She cast her gaze down at the floor to hide her rebellious eyes in the hopes of looking demure. “I hunt as often as I am allowed to, Your Majesty.”
“Evangeline, if I may ask,” Lord Shiveley said, his voice as smooth and oily as his hair. “What do you enjoy doing, if not hunting? I know you sing beautifully. Do you also play an instrument? Or perhaps you prefer painting or embroidery?”
It was probably regular and polite conversation, but somehow Lord Shiveley sounded as if he were placing her beneath him by naming these strictly feminine pursuits.
“I do not paint.” She disdained telling him that she rather enjoyed embroidery. “I play the lute, and I sing for the servants every Sunday evening.” Shut away here in this stone prison. “When I am fortunate enough, the steward allows me to roam the gardens, where I enjoy identifying plants and small animals and insects. Muriel helps me by drawing the specimens, and we have started compiling them into a book.”
“I see. That is most interesting.”
“But I am planning to start training in sword fighting, archery, and knife throwing.” She could not resist the rebellious declaration, even though she knew she should pretend to be demure.
Lord Shiveley peered at her while stroking his thin black goatee.
Richard suddenly laughed. “She has quite the humorous streak, Shiveley. A bit of rebellion, perhaps, but Evangeline is as sweet as honey. Aren’t you, my dear?” Richard’s lip quirked up in a smirk, but a brittleness shone in his eyes.
Heat rose into Evangeline’s cheeks. Thinking of her half-packed bag in the bottom of her trunk allowed her to smile. “I enjoy music, my lord. And decorative sewing and reading. I am afraid I have no other talents.”
Lord Shiveley lifted his thick lips in what must have been an attempt at a smile. “Your modesty becomes you. And if you wish to learn archery, I am sure that can be arranged.”
How magnanimous of you.
“And His Majesty has graciously agreed to allow you to bring any servants you wish to take, anyone you are attached to, and of course, as your personal companion, Muriel will accompany you.”
They carried on a three-way conversation until Richard began talking with Muriel. He had known her since he was a child and always remembered her name. Most of the other servants would have been struck speechless, and possibly senseless, if the king spoke to them. Muriel was amazingly unintimidated by him. She spoke with the confidence of a duchess, and he seemed to like that.
“You will enjoy my country home,” Lord Shiveley said quietly, bending his head toward Evangeline. “I will not require you to travel with me when I am with the king, but you may join me at the king’s favorite residence, Sheen Palace, when I accompany the king there.”
His gaze dipped to her chest. Evangeline cringed and leaned away from him, but he did not seem to be bothered by her reaction. His small, alert eyes did not seem to miss a thing, in spite of how low his eyelids hung.
“I hope you are as eager for the marriage as I am. The king has said no one else has asked for you, no doubt because your birth was illegitimate.”
Evangeline’s face burned. “I should be thankful you are willing to marry me, then?”
His smile disappeared. “Marriage to me will greatly improve the way you will be remembered. Any woman in England would be glad to marry the king’s closest advisor.”