Hadley opened his mouth as if to speak, but she didn’t allow it and carried on. “But I will say that I have observed your king both in London and here since my arrival, and I can see that he and his family truly do care about their country. About its people.”
Hadley’s lips pursed. “Its people.”
“What is a nation if not its people? The humblest of them make up the entire backbone of a place. They sail your ships and make your goods, they plow your fields and serve your supper. They create all the wealth and yet benefit only a fraction from it. Ignore them and crush them at your own peril, Count Hadley.”
There were a few smiles amongst the others as well as some serious expressions, as if what she’d said sank in a fraction. Grantham watched in amazement at how easily she could captivate a room, turn its inhabitants in her direction without having to shout or bang her hand on a table.
She truly was a marvel.
“It seems you have been talking to our king,” Hadley said after a pause.
“How so?” she asked, smiling up at the footman who placed a plate before her.
“You and he are in accord about this matter, it seems,” Hadley said. “I suppose time will tell if you…and he…are correct.”
“That is always the way of the world,” Ophelia laughed. “Now, I must ask you, my lord…I have heard that your part of the island, the eastern part, is home of a most unusual fox, is that true?”
Hadley’s nostrils flared at the change of subject, but the man had been in politics long enough to know when he had been beaten. He shifted and forced a smile. “Indeed it is, my lady.”
He proceeded to talk to her about the silver fox that was often seen in the woods in his portion of the island. Which led to discussion of the other fine and rare things that were to be found in all the corners of this place Grantham loved so deeply. He watched as the dignitaries lit up as Ophelia asked them about their people and land. And in the end, all the tension was gone. Even Hadley was smiling when the plates were cleared away and the time had come for the official departures.
Ophelia joined the family at the front stair, waving goodbye to the carriages and horses as they rode away. Queen Giabella smiled at Ophelia.
“You handled them with great aplomb, my lady,” the queen said. “As one who was once a stranger to this land, who also had to manage men with little thought to my assets beyond the physical, it was something to see.”
Ophelia bent her head at the praise. “Thank you, Your Majesty. If I am compared to you in any way, that is the deepest compliment.”
Giabella shot Grantham a look and then went back inside, which left him alone with Ophelia on the stair. He reached for her at last, touching just her hand and wishing he could do more. “Good morning,” he said.
She smiled. “Good morning to you, or what is left of it.” Her smile faltered. “I can see how much their presence weighs on you, what they want and drive for.”
He shrugged. “It isn’t something to concern yourself with.”
Her expression hardened and she slid her hand from his. “I suppose not. I wish I could stay and talk more, but I promised Priscilla I would walk with her in the garden this morning, so I should go see if she has managed to rouse herself from their tower.”
He inclined his head. “I have things to do, as well.”
She started to go, but he caught her hand again, keeping her in place. She stared up at him, blue eyes wide and filled with desire and peace and passion.
“What is it?” she asked gently.
He drew in a shaky breath. “As much as I enjoyed having you at my table this morning, I recall you saying someone directed you to join what was meant to be a private political gathering. Who was it?”
She shook her head. “I fear I don’t know his name. But it was one of your courtiers. Tall man, blond hair. I knew I interrupted the moment I came into the room, so I do apologize again.”
He lifted his hand, tracing her cheek briefly. “No apology needed. You were a very welcome addition. Next time I would invite you myself.”
Her cheeks flushed and there was no mistaking the pleasure in her gaze even as she stepped away. “I hope to see you later, Your Majesty.”
“And you,” he said. She slipped into the palace and he stood on the steps alone for a moment, looking out at the carriages exiting the gate in the distance.
How he wished he could stay in the pleasant world that Ophelia created with her mere presence. To pretend he was just a man enthralled with a fascinating woman. But he wasn’t. And he had something to address.
Now.
He strode back into the house and found Blairford already waiting in the foyer, scratching notes on a paper. Grantham stopped and stared, taking in the man who had helped run this household, this country, this family, for most of his life.
“I need to speak to you in my study,” he said, motioning Blairford to follow as he paced past him.
The courtier did as he had been told, following him wordlessly. When they entered the study, Blairford closed the door behind himself and stood at the ready, watching Grantham carefully. “What can I do, Your Majesty?” he asked at last.
Grantham put his hands behind his back, widened his stance. “I found it interesting that Count Hadley was using almost the exact language today as you do to discuss the problem with the uprising.”
There was not even a flicker of concern across Blairford’s expression as he shook his head. “I think it is a common concern amongst the leaders of this country. If we all repeat the same sentiment—”
“Stop.” Grantham held up a hand. “Blairford, you have served this country and this family for many years. And I do not wish to be reductive when it comes to your role and how appreciated it has been. But you are not a leader of this country.”
Now there was a reaction. Brief but powerful hatred washed across every feature of the man before him. Then it was gone. Only Grantham had seen it, had felt it. And this time he couldn’t ignore it anymore.
“You were the one who called Priscilla’s parents here, weren’t you?” he asked.
Blairford shifted. “I think we have discussed this, sir—”
Grantham took a step closer. “You wrote the letter that inspired them to sail to Athawick. And once they had arrived, you sent them to her room purposefully, in order to sow chaos and discontent between my brother and me. In order to keep me from turning to anyone but you for counsel.”
“I assure you that isn’t true, Your Majesty.” The courtier was shaking his head now, his gaze darting about as if he were trying to find some answer, some exit that would appease Grantham.
Only now there was none.
“How many times have you gone behind my back since I took this crown?” Grantham asked softly. “How many times have you spoken out of turn in order to steer the agenda of this institution in the direction you have decided was best? Is that why you had one of your lackeys send Ophelia into the breakfast room this morning? More disruption?”
Blairford’s jaw had tightened with every question. “Protecting your interests and what you father and all the kings before him built is my duty, Your Majesty.”
Grantham heard the disdain in the title. Had it always been there? Had he just ignored it because he saw no other way forward?