“And yet you never are,” Brimsley muttered.
“How would you know? You never are.”
“I was looking for you.”
Reynolds let out a big huff. It sounded one part annoyed and one part . . . well, honestly, Brimsley wasn’t sure how to interpret it. Finally, Reynolds said, “I am simply belowstairs. That is all. Go attend to your Queen. Coronation Day is a great day for her and the country.”
Brimsley frowned, strangely unready to move. “I’m not jealous,” he said.
“Of course you’re not.”
“I have no reason to be. We made no promises.”
“None,” Reynolds said.
Brimsley swallowed. Did he want a promise? It had never occurred to him that he might be in a position to ask for fidelity. Because what would that even mean? A promise between two men? They could not take it to a church. They could not show it to a magistrate.
And yet, when he looked at Reynolds . . . when they caught each other’s eyes in the hall . . .
It meant something to him.
“Brimsley,” Reynolds said. And then: “Bartholomew.”
Brimsley looked up. Reynolds was raking his hand through his hair. His unflappable demeanor was . . .
Flapped.
“There is no one else,” Reynolds said quietly. “You may be assured of that.”
Brimsley gave an uncomfortable nod. “Nor for I.”
“You should go back,” Reynolds said. “There is much to do today. Too much.”
“Yes.” Brimsley sighed and turned to leave, but then a door opened at the end of the hall. Someone emerged holding medical equipment, and—
Was that the King inside?
Reynolds practically jumped in front of him to block his view.
“Is that a physician?” Brimsley asked. “Why is the King being examined by a strange doctor in the cellar?”
“Brimsley.”
“Why is he not being examined by the Royal Physician?”
“Brimsley.”
There was something in Reynolds’s voice. Brimsley stopped speaking instantly.
“You have seen nothing,” Reynolds said.
Brimsley wanted to say more. He really did. But Reynolds’s eyes were begging him not to, and Reynolds never begged.
Brimsley nodded. “I must attend my Queen,” he said. He turned on his heel and left.
Buckingham House
Near the Royal Bedchambers
3 October 1761
The coronation was splendid. Everyone said so. The King and Queen looked glorious, both. They’d played their roles well. In fact, the only time Brimsley had seen them crack was right when they returned to Buckingham House. The weight of their crowns was quite literal, and they were both exhausted.
So exhausted, in fact, that they’d gone back to their respective rooms and stayed there for the rest of the evening.
On an even day, even.
“How do you think this pact came about?” Brimsley asked Reynolds as they walked down the hall together, each with a silver tray for his employer. It was early evening; the sun was on its way down, and the air at Buckingham House was gold with dusk.
“Even days, you mean?” Reynolds asked.
“Yes.”
“I shudder to think.”
“It is most peculiar.”
“It is not for me to question the ways of the royals,” Reynolds said.
“But . . . ?” Because there was clearly an implied but.
“I shall not finish my statement.”
Brimsley glanced up through his lashes. “You are no fun.”
“I am exactly as fun as I need be,” Reynolds said.
“Precisely my point. Only someone wholly lacking in humor would make such a statement.”
Reynolds gave him a look of exasperation, but Brimsley rather thought there was a bit of affection mixed in with it.
“Don’t smile,” Reynolds said.
Brimsley grinned. “What have you for the King?” he asked, motioning toward the silver tray Reynolds carried.
“Correspondence. And you?”
Brimsley looked down at the papers on his tray. “She is planning a concert. With a child pianist. It seems very strange to me, but she insists she has heard him, and he is remarkable.”
“He is coming over from the Continent?”
“Vienna,” Brimsley confirmed.
“How does one travel from Vienna?” Reynolds pondered. “Overland? Or by sea?”
They were at the King’s and Queen’s bedchamber doors by now, and had been for at least a minute. Just chatting.
“I’m not sure,” Brimsley replied. “The Queen came by sea. Crossed from Cuxhaven. She said it was ghastly. Puked all over her brother.”
“Sisters,” Reynolds said with a knowing chuckle.
“Have you any?” Brimsley asked. He suddenly realized he didn’t know. And he wanted to.
“Sisters?” Reynolds repeated. “Two. Both older. You?”
Brimsley shook his head. “It was only me. My parents had me late in life.” And then, even though Reynolds hadn’t asked, he said, “They’re gone now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” Brimsley said softly. He’d been alone for so long. Maybe it was why he loved palace life so much. It had given him a place to belong.
But he did not want to grow maudlin. He nodded toward the bedchamber doors. “Do you think they will want to see each other?”
“It’s an odd day,” Reynolds reminded him.
“So perhaps . . . a quiet one?”
“The King has already—” Reynolds suddenly clamped his mouth shut.
“The King has already . . .”
“Taken care of his kingly duties.”
Brimsley was positive that was not what Reynolds had been about to say. He also knew that Reynolds would not say more, no matter how tenaciously Brimsley pressed him.
He was a vault, that one.
“Will the King be coming down for dinner?” Brimsley asked.
“I don’t know,” Reynolds replied. His face took on an uncharacteristically pensive expression. “He’s tired. He might wish to remain in his room.”
“If he makes a decision, please do inform me so that I may relay it to the Queen. She may wish to alter her plans accordingly.”
Reynolds turned his head slightly as he quirked a brow. “So what you are saying is: If he stays in his room, she is more likely to eat in the dining room?”
“I honestly do not know. They’re most unpredictable.”
“Royals?”
“Yes.” There was a world of exhaustion in that word.
Reynolds chuckled. Then, after another few moments of companionable silence, he sighed and straightened his shoulders. “We had best return to our duties.”
“Once more into the breach?”
Reynolds gave him another smile—the kind that made his heart flip. “Something like that.”
Reynolds turned toward the King’s chamber and Brimsley turned toward the Queen’s, and they said goodbye without saying a word.
For one brief moment, the world hung in perfect balance.
Buckingham House
The Dining Room
22 October 1761
An even day.
One had to be especially on one’s guard on even days.
The King and Queen had not chosen to dine together the night before, and while Brimsley held every hope that the two would reconcile (which did require that they spend time in each other’s company) even he had to admit that it was nice to have an evening away from the unrelenting tension.
If fury were a solid thing, the entire palace would be swimming in custard.