“You would not like that,” he said.
“I did not say that I would. In fact, I’m quite certain I would hate it.”
His nose crinkled, and he glanced over at the window. But Charlotte did not get the impression he was looking at something so much as he was not looking at her.
Especially since it was night, and the curtains were drawn.
“And yet,” she said, almost thinking aloud, “there were no doctors for me. Even though I’m the one who has to carry the baby.”
“I’m not sure—”
She cut him off. “Instead there are doctors for you. In the cellar, of all places.”
“It seems important to you that we were in the cellar.”
“Because the cellar feels like a secret.”
“The cellar is where his examination room is.”
“His examination room is in the cellar,” she repeated.
“That is what I just said.”
She shook her head. “It seems very strange. Why would a doctor be in the cellar?”
“I do not know who assigns such spaces,” he said with a shrug.
“No, of course not,” she murmured. He was far too busy to take responsibility for such mundane tasks. And then, just when she would have normally donned her dressing gown and headed back to her own room, she asked, “Why will you not let me know you?”
“What?” He looked startled.
Wary.
“What are you about?” she asked. “You refuse to hold court. You will not go out.”
“I have duties to attend.”
“Your duties are not like any king I have known. How do you spend your days?”
He gave a little shrug. “Farming.”
“Truly?” It seemed impossible to believe, despite what she’d seen with her own eyes. What sort of king chose to spend his days in the dirt? Perhaps as a hobby, an hour here or there . . .
He nodded.
“And you find that satisfying? To spend the entire day in the garden?”
“I rarely get to spend the entire day there. I wouldn’t mind it, though. I told you that I enjoy science. Part of that science is agriculture. I enjoy farming.”
“So King George is Farmer George.”
“Yes,” he said, almost as if he were daring her to mock him. “Farmer George. I am Farmer George. These are the hands of a king and farmer. A farmer king.”
He held them out. His nails were square and neatly manicured, but one had a dark line of dirt underneath. She smiled. He must have somehow missed that one when he’d bathed.
He truly did love to work with his hands, she thought with some wonder. Not everyone did.
She traced that little line of dirt with her thumb.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I—”
“No,” she said, covering her hand with his. “I like it. It’s honest.”
It felt like him.
Just George.
What would his life have been if he had not been born to be King? Would he have been happier?
The clock chimed.
Midnight.
“It is no longer an even day,” George pointed out.
“It is not. It is decidedly odd.”
“What is going on, Charlotte?” he asked. “Why are you asking so many questions? You usually leave after . . .” He tipped his head toward the bed.
“You live for the happiness and the misery of a great nation,” she said softly.
“Charlotte—”
“No.” She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I am saying I understand. You live for the happiness and the misery of a great nation. That must be exhausting. And lonely. You must feel caged. No wonder you spend so much time in the garden.”
“In the garden I am a regular man.”
“Farmer George.”
“Do not feel sorry for me. I do not know anything else. I have always been this. An exhibit instead of a person.”
It sounded awful. It was awful. She knew this because it was what her life had become. She, too, had become an exhibit. She was never alone. Even when there was no one to talk to, when she sat at a dining room table with a dozen empty chairs, she was not alone. There was always a small horde of servants standing at attention, watching her every move.
When she was a child, though, she’d run free. She’d run wild, even. He had never been given such autonomy.
The irony. A king with no freedom. What a life he led.
She took his face in her hands. “You are a person to me. You can be a person with me.”
His eyes met hers, and for the first time in weeks, she forced herself to truly look into those depths. She saw caution, and wariness, but she also saw hope.
He touched her cheek.
“Will you kiss me?” she asked softly.
He nodded, and his lips brushed against hers. It was gentle, and it was real.
“No more even and odd days,” Charlotte said.
He smiled and rested his forehead on hers. “We shall just have days.”
“Days,” she murmured. Days sounded lovely. Just Charlotte and Just George.
He took her hand, rubbing his thumb lightly over the backs of her fingers. “Can I ask, what brought this on?”
“I picked my own orange.”
“You picked your own—”
“Do not ask. I could not possibly explain.”
He nodded. “Very well.”
“George,” she said. “I know you do not owe me anything after how I have behaved. And I know you do not like social events. But I need us to do something.”
“What do you need?”
She thought about Agatha Danbury. And all the new nobles whose lives and positions hung in a balance for which she held the scales. It was not difficult, what she had to do. In fact, it was almost laughably easy.
She turned to her husband and said, “Our palace walls are too high.”
Danbury House
The Ballroom
6 December 1761
“Are you ready, Your Majesty?”
Charlotte turned to her husband and beamed. “I am, Your Majesty.”
They had dressed in their royal finest, George in silvery white brocade and Charlotte in an intricately draped gown of the palest of pink. The fabric had been studded with hundreds of crystals, and she sparkled like the night sky.
George nodded to the Danbury House butler, who boomed, “His Majesty King George III and Queen Charlotte!”
The ballroom, which had been a hive of activity, went silent in an instant. Charlotte swallowed her nerves; she was going to need to get used to this sort of thing. She stepped forward, her arm linked with George’s.
She looked to the left side of the room. The old ton.
She looked to the right. The new ton.
Utterly separate.
“This will not do,” George said quietly.
“No,” Charlotte said. “It will not.”
Together they made their way to their hosts.
“Lord and Lady Danbury,” George said, his voice perhaps a little louder than it needed to be. “Thank you for having me.”
Lord Danbury swept into a bow. “Your Majesties.”
Charlotte met Agatha’s eyes. Silently, she said, I am here. We will not fail.
Aloud, she said, “Your home is exquisite, Lady Danbury. We are so grateful for your invitation.”
“Indeed.” George kissed Agatha’s hand, then turned and smiled at Charlotte. “I think every Season should begin with a Danbury Ball, don’t you, my love?”
“I do,” Charlotte agreed. She returned her attention to Lord and Lady Danbury but said loud enough for everyone to hear, “We command it.”