Grantham sighed as they entered the parlor. He moved to the sideboard and prepared his mother a sherry. As he handed it over, he said, “What would take the weight fully from my shoulders is doing what will better the country.” He glanced toward Ophelia, chatting with Dash at the window. Her bright smile glowing as usual. “That is all I can think about in whatever future decisions I make.”
Giabella’s expression fell as she reached out to touch Grantham’s hand. “My love, it will work out. I promise you.”
“I know,” he said, thrusting his shoulders back. “Because I will put in all the work I can to insure it. Now let us talk of something else, shall we?”
His mother nodded and they did so, but he couldn’t help letting his gaze drift to Ophelia again. Tonight he would give himself the respite she offered once again. Despite everything, he would take it as long as he could.
But he could never forget that the time spent with her could only be brief.
Ophelia stood outside the ornately painted door that led to the king’s chamber and hesitated. Grantham had asked her to join him here. His looks that lingered ever longer as the evening ended told her he still desired her company. And she certainly desired his. His touch was all she could think about.
But knocking still felt like a huge step. Something she could never take back, something that would yet again change the dynamic between them and leave her on unsteady footing as she tried to determine what this was and how to keep from destroying herself in trade for earthshaking pleasure.
“For God’s sake,” she muttered at last, and rapped her knuckles against the door.
As if he were waiting there, Grantham opened the door immediately. He wore no jacket, no waistcoat. His cravat was gone, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow. He was barefoot. She sucked in a breath at his appearance, though she wasn’t sure why the sight made her heart race so. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen him undone. In the library they’d been naked together, for heaven’s sake. But this felt so casual, so vulnerable.
They were truly lovers. There was a comfort between them that meant he could strip out of more than clothing, but also the formal persona he wore as king.
“You are staring,” he said, catching her hand and drawing her into the room. “An inauspicious start.”
She smiled and looked around the room as he shut the door behind him. They were in the antechamber, and it was massive. A place where he could meet with family or servants. There was a desk on one side of the room, a smaller version of the one he had in his study. Before the fire was a settee and two chairs, all positioned to face the warmth. The walls were papered. There was an intricate carved ceiling with images of boats on the sea.
“Goodness,” she breathed. “You really are the king.”
He choked out a laugh and she glanced at him. When she found him grinning at her, her breath caught again. He was hardly ever so expressive and it made him so much more handsome. It was rather unfair that it was possible.
“I am, or so they say,” he said. “I will admit, I’m still growing accustomed the room. After all, I inherited it from the previous occupant after his death.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
He looked around and his brow wrinkled. “I tried to convince my mother that she should keep it. After all, her old chamber was just through that door there.” He motioned to a door on the right side of the antechamber. “But I think she was just as happy to leave her own unpleasant memories behind and start anew.”
“They weren’t happy together,” Ophelia said softly.
He shook his head. “They were not.”
“It doesn’t surprise me. Your mother is so kind, so wonderful, I cannot imagine her being a good fit based on your description of your father.”
“No,” he agreed, then ran a hand through his hair. “And now…well, I’ve begun to notice things that make me question all I’ve believed.”
“Such as?” she asked, moving toward him.
Although she actually trembled with anticipation of what they would do in this beautiful room and the likely even more beautiful bedchamber she assumed was through the left side door, she liked this easy connection. She liked that there was no sense of rush.
He sighed. “I think my mother may…care for someone else. Perhaps she has for a very long time.”
“Mr. Talbot?” Ophelia asked gently.
His eyes went wide. “Now how could you notice it after an acquaintance of weeks when I didn’t see it even though Dash has worked for my mother for over a decade?”
She pondered the question. “I suppose it is like all things when we are close to them. We don’t notice the tiny changes. For example, if I cut just the slightest bit off my hair and I did it every day or every other day, you might not notice until it was very short. But if someone saw a portrait where my hair was long and then saw me after I’d been cutting it a few weeks, they might make note of its length.”
“I rather like your hair as it is, my lady.”
She laughed. “And I have no intentions of changing it, I assure you. In this case, you might have seen the little changes between you mother and her secretary over the years and their relationship just feels…normal. As it always has been. But when I walk in, I mark their closeness differently. The way he…the way he looks at her when she isn’t attending.” She swallowed and forced herself to look away from him now. This conversation felt like it wasn’t just about his mother. “The way she blushes if he grazes her hand.”
He said nothing, but closed the distance between them in a few long steps. He caught her hand, tangling his fingers with hers. She glanced down and they stared together at the clasped hands. Then she slowly looked up into his face and her breath grew shaky because being near him always threw her entire being off balance.
“Do you think she would allow herself to…to explore that connection?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Her position, her past…they make things difficult.”
“Not just for her,” she said softly.
“My father was cruel,” he said. “I already told you that. Perhaps none of us learned how to love easily.”
“And yet your siblings have all found their matches and are happy,” she whispered. “So you must have hope for her…for you.”
“But the expectations are so different for me,” he said, and now he released her hand and stepped away. She felt the distance keenly. “I cannot only pursue what I…what I want, can I?”
“Perhaps not forever, but for a little while.”
He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Yes, I suppose that is true. These small breaks do help me carry the weight that is mine and mine alone.”
She stared at him and for the first time realized just how isolated he was. Yes, because he created scenarios where he forced that. He distanced himself from people. He allowed himself to be an institution before he was a man.
But also because it was true that he was uniquely alone. As king, he had to shoulder the weight by himself. Passing it off was always only temporary. The loneliness of that fact pierced her like it was a blade and she was overwhelmed by a desire to help. To ease. To commiserate.