Masquerade for the King

By Marina Oliver

Sanchia is stranded in Limoges when her father is killed and their money stolen. She is working at an inn to earn money to travel to her uncle in Orleans when she encounters Royalist Sir John Morriss and the arrogant Comte de St Savin (need to check). Rejecting the demands of the Comte and the innkeeper, she flees, and again meets Sir John, who is working for the Restoration of Charles II. Discovering her uncle has moved to Brussels she accepts Sir John's escort, and becomes involved in the plots surrounding the King as he awaits the call from England.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marina Oliver
• Release date: Jan 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466053137

Marina Oliver

Most writers can't help themselves! It's a compulsion. Getting published, though, is something really special, and having been so fortunate myself I now try to help aspiring writers by handing on tips it took me years to work out. I've published over 60 titles, including four in the How To Books' Successful Writing Series, and Writing Historical Fiction for Studymates.I have judged short story competitions, been a final judge for the Harry Bowling Prize and was an adviser to the 3rd edition of Twentieth Century Romance and Historical Writers 1994. If you want to find out more about your favourite authors, consult this book. I once wrote an article on writing romantic fiction for the BBC's web page, for Valentine's day.I have given talks and workshops for the Arts Council and at most of the major Writing Conferences, and helped establish the Romantic Novelists' Association's annual conference. I was Chairman of the RNA 1991-3, ran their New Writers' Scheme and edited their newsletter. I am now a Vice-President.As well as writing I have edited books for Transita, featuring women 'of a certain age', and for Choc Lit where gorgeous heros are the norm.I was asked to write A Century of Achievement, a 290 page history of my old school, Queen Mary's High School, Walsall, and commissioned to write a book on Castles and Corvedale to accompany a new circular walk in the area.Most of my Regencies written under the pseudonym Sally James are now published in ebook format as well as many others of my out of print novels which my husband is putting into ebook format. Our daughter Debbie is helping with designing the covers. For details of all my books and my many pseudonyms see my website.

Book preview

MASQUERADE FOR THE KING

BY

MARINA OLIVER

Sanchia is stranded in Limoges when her father is killed and their money stolen.

She is working at an inn to earn money to travel to her uncle in Orleans when she encounters Royalist Sir John Morriss and the arrogant Comte de St Savin.

Rejecting the demands of the Comte and the innkeeper, she flees, and again meets Sir John, who is working for the Restoration of Charles II.

Discovering her uncle has moved to Brussels she accepts Sir John's escort, and becomes involved in the plots surrounding the King as he awaits the call from England.

Masquerade For The King

By Marina Oliver

Copyright © 2016 Marina Oliver

Smashwords Edition

The moral right of the author has been asserted

Cover Design by Debbie Oliver

From a photograph by Mandie Beckley

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

First print edition published 1978 by Robert Hale.

See details of other books by Marina Oliver at http:/www.marina-oliver.net.

AUTHOR NOTE

After years of exile and poverty King Charles is about to be restored to his throne, an event not everyone on the continent wishes for. He must, with the help of his loyal followers, avoid traps and the many plots of the anti-Royalists as well as those who would prefer his brother James.

MASQUERADE FOR THE KING

BY MARINA OLIVER

Chapter 1

'Sanchia! Sanchia! Where the devil has the wench vanished to?' enquired the harassed proprietor of Le Cheval Blanc, but there was no one with sufficient leisure to answer his query. The inn was busy tonight, for as well as the usual assortment of merchants from the city and travellers passing through Limoges, as well as the better off pilgrims following the Via Lemosina to Compostella, an important party of noblemen had just arrived, and it was of their comfort that Monsieur Renaud thought.

Profusely apologising that he had no private room available, and bowing almost to the ground in obsequiousness when he was told it did not trouble them to eat in the common room, he led them to a table set near to the fire, for the September evenings grew cool, and they had been rubbing their hands to restore the warmth when they had entered the inn. He rattled off a list of the delights his kitchen could provide, and turned away briefly to bellow again for Sanchia.

'Oh, do hasten, I beg!' Sanchia pleaded with the cook, who was laboriously ladling some fish stew into a tureen.

'Pah!' the cook replied. 'You've no call to mind his roaring. It's all to impress the patrons with how busy he is. But here you are, it's done, and they'll appreciate it even if he don't, the tub of lard!'

Sanchia grasped the tureen, and almost ran from the kitchen. The cook might scoff at the innkeeper's rages, but she could afford such a luxury, for she knew there was no other cook with her skill in all Limoges, and Monsieur Renaud would never turn her off. But there were dozens of girls, many of them more experienced than Sanchia herself, who could do her job, and it was hers only so long as the innkeeper heeded his wife's remonstrations. One day he might well decide that Sanchia's services as a waiting maid, or in the kitchen, were not sufficient, and if that happened, where would she be able to earn her living?

The kitchen door opened onto a short, wide passage, and the eating room was on the far side. In her haste, Sanchia did not see the man standing in the passage until she had almost collided with him. She gasped, tried to halt, and as he swung round to face her, saw with dismay that a blob of the soup had splashed onto his cloak.

'Oh, dear, I do beg your pardon, sir! I'll get a cloth!'

He stretched out one hand to restrain her as she would have turned back, and with the other calmly scooped up the soup and sucked it from his finger.

He eyed her appreciatively. Her gown, shabby and well worn, was clean and neatly mended. It was black, matching her raven hair, but a delicate lace collar relieved the severity, as did the thin gold chain visible round her slender neck, rising proudly and palely to support what he thought was the loveliest face he had ever seen.

Her black curls seemed unruly, and several had escaped from the cap she wore to lie, temptingly, against her cheeks and neck. The face was oval, with delicately arching brows above eyes of an unusual green. The eyes were wide set, large, and sparkling, fringed with unbelievably long lashes. High cheek bones, a straight nose, and a wide, generous mouth, now partly open to disclose small white teeth, completed an enchanting picture.

'Delicious,' he commented, and Sanchia flushed angrily. Even after three months of working at Le Cheval Blanc, she had not become accustomed to the freedoms taken by the customers. Their comments, veiled as this one had been, or open, always flustered her, although she had learned to respond to their more brazen suggestions or invitations with a freezing disdain.

'There is more of this soup in the kitchen if you care to order it, sir,' she said with as much coolness as she could achieve, for his steady regard, and the deep tones of his voice in that one word had affected her more than usual. 'I am sorry, are you sure I cannot get a cloth?'

'It's no matter.'

'Sanchia!' roared Monsieur Renaud, and Sanchia thankfully tore herself away.

'I must go,' she said hurriedly, and passed through the door into the eating room.

Sir John Morriss smiled, inspected his finger to ensure no trace of the fish stew remained, and passed through after her.

Inside the room he paused, and surveyed the occupants. At a table near the fire four men, clearly of the upper classes, lounged. Sanchia stood nearby, and seemed to be taking orders from a large, red faced man who appeared to be the innkeeper, for he frequently bowed to his customers, gesticulating as he spoke, and nodded in agreement when they replied.

Sir John's attention was caught by the man sitting directly facing the fire. He had swung round on his stool, and while negligently stroking his thin black moustache was watching Sanchia closely. As she nodded to the innkeeper and began to move away, this man appeared to speak to her, but Sir John was too far away to catch the words. He saw, however, Sanchia's quick glance back towards the table, and observed her heightened colour as she came past him to the door.

An irrational feeling of anger seized Sir John, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. Then he relaxed, inwardly laughing at himself for being concerned about a tavern wench, and set his mind to considering the fare the innkeeper was offering him.

It was late, and the merchants gradually drifted off to their homes, while those travellers who needed to make an early start on the following day went to their beds. Soon, besides Sir John and the group near the fire, only a couple of other customers remained. Monsieur Renaud, relieved of the apprehension that his food would not be appreciated, became jovial and expansive, and as all the men drew nearer the fire the talk became general.

'You travel southwards?' the innkeeper asked, and the man with the moustache nodded.

'We go to the peace negotiations. I am the Comte de St Savin, you may have heard of me?'

The innkeeper mumbled indistinctly, and one of the Comte's companions grinned openly. The Comte threw him a glance of dislike.

'I have, in the past, been of some use to the Cardinal, and he takes heed of my advice,' he went on quickly.

'Ah, yes, the Cardinal,' the innkeeper replied, anxious to demonstrate that here was someone he knew of. 'I saw him once, many years ago now. A handsome man, and a clever one.'

'Tricky,' one of the others contributed.

'An astute man,' the Comte corrected. 'He's brought the Spaniards to where he wanted by pretending to make a match with Savoy. They soon offered him the Infanta when they thought they might lose him.'

'I'd rather he married Savoy. After all, the Regent is his father's sister,' the one who had grinned said slowly.

'And his mother is sister to the King of Spain. So both are his cousins.'

'But the Queen might have more influence over her own niece.'

'The poor woman has no influence. She dances to Mazarin's tune.'

The Comte frowned. 'A woman should be guided by a man, and he has protected her and the King during some difficult times. Louis has reason to be grateful to him. Without the Cardinal, he might have lost his throne.'

'I wonder if there is aught in the rumour that Louis is his own son?'

'Nonsense, malicious rumour,' the Comte stated firmly.

'But odd, the Queen barren for over twenty years, and then, suddenly, two sons!'

'She'd have done better with just one! Philippe will be no credit to France.'

The innkeeper sighed. 'Is it true, what we hear, that the King is madly in love with the Cardinal's niece?'

'A young man's romantic dream! First it was Olympe who had to be married off to the Comte de Soissons, now her sister Marie! The Mancini girls have been encouraged to think too highly of themselves. But Louis will soon get over it when he's married to the Infanta.'

'We heard he'd been to see her at St Jean d'Angely,' the innkeeper persisted, his romanticism emerging as he imbibed more of his excellent wine.

'And the Cardinal was furious! He'd sent her and her sisters to Brouage to be out of the way, and what must the Queen do but allow Louis to meet the girl when Mazarin was safely out of the way in St Jean de Luz.'

'You'd think the Cardinal would like to see his niece Queen of France.'

'The people would turn against him then, and besides, he needs this peace with Spain.'

'So the poor King must leave the one he loves and make a marriage of state! Poor young man. There are disadvantages in being a king,' the innkeeper said sentimentally. 'At least we ordinary men may wed where we will.'

The Comte laughed. 'You may, my friend, but not all of us are in such a happy position. Take myself. I'm ruined after fighting for ten years. My chateau is falling about my ears, and mortgaged into the bargain. I'll only restore my fortunes by a wealthy marriage, and I'll have to put up with a squint-eyed, ugly heiress, so long as she's rich and can breed! Fortunately there are plenty of consolations!' he added, his eyes following Sanchia as she came into the room bringing another flagon of wine.

Sir John, who had taken little part in the conversation, forced himself to relax, unclenching the fists that had been ready to smash themselves into the Comte's self-satisfied face. He glanced around, and surprised an anxious look on Monseur Renaud's face. He too was watching Sanchia, and he rose to take the flagon from her, frustrating any designs the Comte might have had of furthering his acquaintance with the girl.

The talk turned to reminiscences of past events, and Sanchia, with two other maids, was busy removing the platters from the tables. Sir John noted Sanchia kept well away from the table beside the fire, leaving it to the other girls to clear that. This they did, and far from rejecting the advances made to them, appeared to welcome them. There were a few whispers and giggles, and it was no surprise to Sir John when, soon after the girls had finally left the room, two of the men excused themselves and slipped away.

*

Sanchia retreated to the kitchen, where she was washing up the dishes they had brought out of the eating room.

She was alone, for the cook had long since gone to her bed in the attics. When she had first been employed at Le Cheval Blanc, Madame Renaud had objected to this part of her duties, saying the kitchen maid could do it, but Monsieur Renaud had retorted that since she did not do her full share in keeping his customers happy, as the other girls did, she could help in the kitchen or do without the job. Sanchia had agreed happily enough, for she knew that she was fortunate in not having to sell her body in order to keep alive, but it made it very late before she could take her cloak and slip like a shadow through the narrow streets and alleys of La Boucherie to the room she rented from Madame Renaud's sister.

She was trying now to recite all the fortunate things that had happened to her, counting her blessings, as the priests advised, but somehow it was extremely difficult. The face of the customer she had splashed with the soup kept appearing in her thoughts. It was a strong, hard face, indicating that the man had known suffering or sorrow. Sanchia guessed he was in the early thirties, and she recalled the dark brown hair, with a hint of red, that curled crisply away from his wide forehead. His eyes were a piercing blue, and she blushed as she recalled the look of admiration she had seen in them, and the gleam of amusement as he had watched her discomfort. It had been a friendly amusement, and she