His Secret Slave to Scandalous Queen

"Your Majesty!" he gasped. "Welcome, sire."

Henry stopped just inside the doorway. "I hear I have you to thank for Miss Valenti’s life."

"No thanks are necessary, sire. Lady Livia has been quite good to me since she arrived at Whitehall. Most people here forget I exist."

"I shall visit you more often, then," Henry said.

Hartwell went pale. "My lord, surely, I did not mean—"

Henry raised a hand to stop him. The poor man fell silent at once. Henry stepped closer to the desk. "Ask whatever you need, Master Hartwell. I owe you my life. You saved hers...That is the same thing to me. I should like to repay you."

"Heaven forbid that I request payment for being a human being," Hartwell said.

"You are a rare man, Master Hartwell," Henry said.

Hartwell gave a startled little laugh. "I am a librarian, Your Majesty. We are rarely rare."

"You saved the life of the woman I intend to marry."

Hartwell lowered his gaze. Praise seemed to sit on him like a borrowed cloak. "I did what was necessary."

"Yes," Henry replied. "That is exactly why I wish to reward you."

Hartwell looked almost pained. "Your Majesty—"

"Do not consider it payment," Henry said. "Consider it an opportunity to have your heart’s desire granted."

The librarian looked around the room, perhaps to consult the shelves. "I am not certain my heart is organised enough for sudden royal generosity, sire."

"You are very determined to refuse me. There are men in council who would call that a tragic lack of ambition."

"Your Majesty," Hartwell said, "I am simply glad you are finally happy."

It sounded too fragile when spoken aloud. Happiness, in Henry’s experience, was not something one declared too firmly. It startled easily. It attracted envy. Still, he could not deny it. He was happy.

Henry looked down briefly, then back at Hartwell. "If you ever think of something, you know whom to ask."

Hartwell bowed. "Surely, Your Majesty."

Henry allowed the matter to rest, though only for the moment. "What projects has Lady Livia assigned to you recently?" He asked.

Hartwell brightened at once. "I am done with all of her work...I was going to have the materials delivered today. She has not had time to come here since..." He paused, his expression sobering. "Well. Since everything happened. She did send Mrs Crowe to express her gratitude," He added.

Henry glanced at the desk. It was covered with stacked notes, and several books marked with slips of ribbon. "I think Lady Livia has kept you busier in Whitehall than all of us combined."

Hartwell laughed softly. "I do not mind, Your Majesty. I share her passion for books."

"So I gathered." Henry smiled.

It was easy, strangely, to speak with Hartwell. Perhaps because the man expected nothing. He was one of those overlooked people.

"There is going to be a ball at the Langford estate," Henry said. "Lord Langford means to introduce Lady Livia properly to society as a member of his family. I would like you to be there."

Hartwell’s smile vanished into surprise. "My lord?" He touched his own chest. "Your Majesty, it would be my honour, but I am not certain such an event requires the keeper of the library."

"It requires someone Lady Livia likes."

Hartwell coloured. Henry watched with open amusement. The poor man blushed.

"Surely I am not that important to her," Hartwell said.

"Master Hartwell, you truly have no idea."

The blush deepened. It was ridiculous. Rather charming too.

"Let us say you are my gift to her," Henry said.

Hartwell blinked. "Your gift?"

"You are not being presented in a ribbon. I simply mean your presence will please her. She will be surrounded by people judging her gown and perhaps even the way she breathes. She deserves at least one person in the room who will ask her something she cares about."

"In that case," Hartwell said quietly, "I would be glad to attend."

"Good. I shall send you an invitation."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

Henry gave a small nod and turned to leave. He had not been trying to flatter Hartwell. Hartwell was indeed his gift to Livia for the day. He wanted her to have the opportunity to hold a constructive and intelligent conversation with at least one person, so she would not notice his own absence at the ball.

High society, Henry had long decided, had very little imagination. It claimed to adore music, wit, poetry and the occasional duel, but when stripped of decoration, it usually had only two subjects worth exhausting: matters of state and marriage. Who had offended France. Who had pleased the council. Who was rising. Who was ruined. Who had been promised to whom, who had been denied and which marriage match would be the talk of the season.

Livia would hate it. Henry knew that with absolute certainty. A ball at the Langford estate might be necessary, and politically useful, but it would also trap her among vain noblewomen. They would test her until the poor woman began longing for poison again.

Those things were sure to bore the life out of her. They bored him too, and he had been born into the misery.

That, Henry thought, was why Hartwell would matter. Livia needed one person at that ball who would speak to her about the sorts of things that made her eyes brighten.

Satisfied with that decision, Henry headed towards his private chambers. Stephen was already there, arranging papers on the side table.

"Stephen," Henry said as he entered. "Would you fetch Livia? We shall dine together in the great chamber tonight."

"My lord," Stephen said carefully, "she has not yet returned."

Henry turned so quickly his cloak shifted sharply around him. "What?"

"Lady Livia has not yet returned from the Tower."

"What do you mean she has not yet returned?" Henry demanded. "Did she go to France? Why is she still away?"

"I am certain everything is well."

"Do you think my mother has done something to her?"

"If anything had happened," Stephen said, "Lord Ashcroft would have sent word."

Henry knew that. Of course he knew that. Lionel would not stand by if Livia so much as stumbled too near danger. Lionel would send a messenger. The man had many sins pressing upon him, but negligence was not among them.

Still, reason did very little for a heart that had nearly watched Livia die.

"But if it would put Your Majesty’s mind at ease," Stephen continued, "I could send a messenger."

"No. No," Henry repeated. "I do not want her to feel as though I am smothering her." He sat down in the nearest chair. To distract himself, he reached for a book from the table and opened it. He stared at the page.

The words sat there uselessly. He turned a page.

Still useless.

He frowned.

His attempt at patience lasted all of fifteen seconds. "I mean, how long does it take to check on a shrew?"

Stephen made a strangled sound. Henry looked up sharply. Stephen covered his mouth and turned the sound into a cough with admirable speed. "My apologies, Your Majesty."

"What part is amusing?" Henry asked. "My distress? My discomfort? My fear?"

"The shrew part, sire."

Henry glared at him. Stephen lowered his gaze, though his shoulders suggested treasonous amusement remained alive within him. Henry shut the book. "Yes, a shrew. Trying to kill herself. Did she think she could guilt me? Perhaps I should have gone myself. If I had gone, Livia would have had no reason to be near her."

"She wished to go, sire."

"Yes, because she is stubborn and...and infuriating." Henry rose, then sat again because standing implied he might go after her, and he was still pretending to respect her independence. It was a wretched performance. "Why does she do this to me?" He demanded. "She knows I will worry. Is she punishing me?"

Henry stood again. This time, he began to pace. Stephen watched him. The movement was not ordinary impatience. It began with irritation, but beneath it something darker stirred. Henry’s hand went to his mouth, then dropped. His gaze moved to the door. Then the window. Then the door again. His thoughts were gathering speed, and not in any direction likely to comfort him.

"She should have returned by now," Henry said.

Stephen drew in a slow breath. "Your Majesty, Lady Livia is not alone. She went with guards, with Lord Ashcroft."

Henry resumed pacing. His mind did not stop. What if Theodora had planned it? What if the attempted suicide had been a lure? What if she had known Livia would come? What if some maid still loyal to his mother had passed a needle? What if Lionel had been delayed? What if Livia had dismissed caution because she wanted to prove she was not afraid?

"She is punishing me," Henry said again. "She knows I hate this."

The valet had begun to notice the signs. The quickening speech. The circling steps. The way Henry leapt from one thought to another, each darker than the last. It had been a while since there had been an episode, but Stephen knew the beginning of one when he saw it.

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