Coach and Four: Allisandra's Tale by Linore Rose Burkard Read Free Book Online Page A

peering out the window. He recognized the Langley crest on the vehicle's door.
     
“Your Majesty! The Duchess's carriage!”
     
Silence fell within the royal equipage.
     
And then the king spoke lazily. It took a lot to raise his excitement—perhaps even his interest.
     
“Not likely.”
     
“Upon my honour, Sire! It was the Langley crest!”
     
Another voice spoke: “I saw a glimpse of the livery on a servant. It was not the duchess's colours. She is silver, is she not?”
     
Suddenly opinions were flying from all around His Majesty on whether it was indeed the duchess's coach, or the colours of her livery, and on what she could be about going forth in her carriage when she ought to have been expecting to entertain the King. The monarch grew weary betimes and held up an arm.
     
“Silence!” When his word had been obeyed he said, “Stop the coach and let us think on it a moment.”
     
The carriage soon ground to a halt. This was when, leagues behind them on the straight road one of the earl's servants—wearing secondhand colours so as to maintain secrecy for his master, Dorchester—could see that the royal coach had stopped and alerted his employer.
     
Back in the King's carriage, the atmosphere was still one of puzzlement, but not alarm. “Why would Her Grace leave Langley, just when His Majesty is expected?” one asked. Another said, “That coach was moving betimes! In a hurry, I'd say.”
     
“And, knowing of the royal visit, why did she not stop when she encountered this vehicle?”
     
“Where could she be going?”
     
Suddenly the monarch spoke, and his words, of course, were law. “Her Grace is expecting us. Whatever the cause of her coach being on the road, I am certain it cannot concern us. Let us move on. I'm ready for my supper! And I will see the lady Allisandra, for I've momentous tidings for her.”
     
The royal equipage resumed its journey.
     
“How much farther is it?” asked the king.
     
“We should be arriving within thirty minutes o’the clock, Your Majesty.”
     
“Good.”
     
     
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Back in the duchess's coach, there was silence while Allisandra marveled secretly at Lord Dorchester's patience. She was doing everything in her power to make herself difficult to convey, and he was taking it with amazing affability. If she hadn't long known how evil his past was, she could almost find the man agreeable. It was irritating.
     
“Would it help,” he said, suddenly, “if you understood that it is your 'guardian' I am rescuing you from?”
     
“His Majesty?” she asked, incredulous. She was fully confident of his being in error. There were many things he could have said that she might have believed, but this was not one of them. “He protects me!”
     
“His Majesty,” he repeated, “has finally found a suitor for you that meets with his approval. He is anxious to have it done before you reach your majority, so the Comte, therefore, came along quite conveniently.”
     
“What do you mean?” she asked.
     
“The King, to his credit, almost let you decide for yourself on your marriage; he was loathe to take advantage of you for his own benefit, which, in itself, is remarkable in him; but the Comte de Puillon, that sickly old rattle-bag slowly dying of consumption, made him an offer he dared not refuse.” He was eyeing her compassionately and he spoke gently, but no amount of gentleness could disguise the horror of what he was suggesting.
     
Her eyes narrowed. He continued, “It turns out that our emaciated friend happens to own a great deal of land which produces a vast income. What's more, he has long desired to settle in England. He offered the King 100% of the proceeds of the sale of his land in France—land which the Queen of France has long had her eyes on and will no doubt pay double its value to possess—in return for an estate on English soil—and you.” He fell silent, watching for her reaction.
     
Allisandra digested the information,