Page 23 of Rogue’s Holiday

“Indeed,” said her great-aunt. “And once Princess Charlotte was born, Prinny, who had come to hate his German wife, left her to pursue Maria once more.”

“And she took him in?” Chastity asked, aghast.

Aunt Agatha nodded.

Chastity screwed up her face in a grimace. “How could she deign to take back that… that man?”

Rose inhaled sharply. “Chas, you speak of the king…”

“You must understand,” explained Aunt Agatha, “in the Catholic Church’s eyes, they were still married. Maria is a woman of faith. She only returned to the prince after consulting with Rome and was advised that she was the prince’s true wife.”

“So she went back to him,” said Rose under her breath. “Imagine!”

Chastity stared into the fire trying to imagine what it must have been like for Maria Fitzherbert, not to share the name of the man she loved, not to be acknowledged as his wife.

“I think they were happy for the next years they were together,” said Aunt Agatha. “But nine years ago, she broke it off.”

“Why?” asked Rose, her brows wrinkling.

Aunt Agatha shook her head. “Because of his philandering. It was quite outrageous, you know.”

“The poor woman,” said Rose.

“Another victim of a rogue,” added Chastity, remembering her own painful experience.

“Maria prefers the quiet life,” said her great-aunt. “Like you, she was a squire’s daughter, a country lady. Though she does not say, I think she still loves the king.” Concentrating on her embroidery, Aunt Agatha said, “She often wears that diamond-studded locket the prince gave her, the one containing his picture. He was a very handsome youth.” She raised her head, staring into the distance as if seeing the young prince. “Tall with magnificent blue eyes, light red hair, clear skin and rosy cheeks.” She looked back at her stitchery. “Oh, yes, quite handsome. And charming.”

“Rogues are invariably handsome,” put in Chastity, an image of Sir Robert coming into her mind unbidden. “And charming.” She determined right then not to allow herself to be charmed by him. She did not wish to end up brokenhearted like Maria Fitzherbert.

Aunt Agatha glanced up from her needlework. “The worst of it is that even though he married her before a priest and spent nearly twenty years of his life with her, he allowed the world to think she was no more than his mistress.”

“Why?” asked Rose.

“Because of her commoner status and her Catholic faith, of course.” Seeing Chastity’s frown, she added, “He wanted the Crown, you see.”

“A rogue, indeed,” pronounced Chastity, stiffening her resolve to resist the allure of Sir Robert, for she remembered his kiss. Any woman would.

Robbie was aware the instant the king arrived at the Pavilion. Servants straightened at their posts, tugging their waistcoats into place. Fires were stoked to a blaze. And the servants attending the king’s suite of rooms hurried in for a last check.

Robbie had persuaded Jack to join him in the Long Gallery where they now stood awaiting the king’s appearance. Soon, Prinny strode into the Gallery, his long legs quickly eating up the carpet. Covering his hair was the same curled auburn wig Robbie had seen him wear in London. On the left breast of his coat the large diamond star of the Order of the Garter flashed in the light of the lanterns above him. Behind him, his entourage of servants hurried along in an attempt to keep up.

As he was about to pass Robbie and Jack, he came to a sudden halt. “Sir Robert! How do you find my Pavilion since your last visit?”

“Magnificent, Your Majesty,” he said bowing. “As is the pair of grays you generously bestowed upon me.” With a glance in Jack’s direction, Robbie said, “May I present my uncle, Jean-Jacques Henri Donet, vicomte de Saintonge?”

Prinny regarded Jack with a curious expression. “A French vicomte has come to visit us?”

Jack bowed. “With your gracious permission, Sire.”

The king’s face broke out in a wide grin. “We are glad the French monarchy has regained its titles, young man. You are welcome to join your nephew at the many entertainments to which he will be invited.”

The king took a deep breath and exhaled. “I am weary of London and alive, once again, now that I breathe Brighton’s air.”

Without another word, he marched off toward his apartments, his entourage acknowledging Robbie and Jack with brief nods before scurrying off to join the king.

“He cuts quite a figure,” remarked Jack. “A royal presence even if he had not donned his splendid attire.”

“I have always thought so,” said Robbie. “And he appears to be in a happy mood. Meanwhile, let us see to our breakfast. Tiller told me it’s being served in the South Galleries.”