An Uncrowned King Chapter 5 Part 4

“But how can it signify what I thought of you? How can my conscience judge for yours? Oh, I have been thinking often since we have been here that I may have led you wrong. I ought to have advised you to see which was the harder to do—to accept or decline the crown—and to choose that.”

“But this is a new standard!” cried Caerleon. “Is it to take the place of the measuring of the responsibilities?”

“Not exactly; only to be used with it. Don’t you see? Perhaps you prefer a responsible position, and then it might be better for you to take a lower place.”

“I don’t quite see it,” said Caerleon; “but no doubt it’s all right, since it satisfies you.”

“Oh, don’t follow me!” she cried, passionately. “I may have led you wrong already. Is it too late to do anything?”

“Quite too late, I’m afraid,” said Caerleon. “I am as much King of Thracia as I can be before I’m crowned, I suppose. Won’t you congratulate me on my elevation, since I owe it to your influence?”

He held out his hand, and Nadia took it, but to his horror she stooped and touched it with her lips. “May God grant your Majesty a long and useful reign!” she said, and turned to fly, but Caerleon caught her wrist.

“Nadia, are you joking?” he said, angrily.

“Let me go! let me go!” she panted. “Oh, please let me go!” The cry seemed to be wrung from her by some sudden sharp pain, and Caerleon saw that her lips were quivering and her eyes full of tears. He loosed his hold, and she made her escape, leaving him gazing stupidly at the hand she had kissed.

“Oh, this little fool!” groaned Madame O’Malachy, at the partially open door of her room, whence she had witnessed the whole scene. “She might have had him at her feet at this moment, and now he may not be able to declare himself for weeks. And for what? A trifle, a caprice, a nothing! I snap my fingers at it! Will nothing but a crowned king serve you, mademoiselle? Surely it is as well to receive a crown with your husband as after him? Ah, these niceties of lovers’ etiquette! Who cares whether the marquis thinks that his prospective kingdom has induced you to accept him, or not? You know, and I know, that you have been in love with him since the second time you saw him. Fool! I have no patience with you,” and hurling these words through her clenched teeth at the absent Nadia, her mother hurried through two or three intermediate rooms and came upon Caerleon through a door at the end of the balcony.

“What, my dear marquis, is it you?” she cried, with a start. “You are early this morning. But perhaps I ought to say ‘your Majesty’? One cannot pretend not to know the reason of M. Drakovics’s presence here.”

“I hope M. Drakovics is happy,” returned Caerleon, in a tone which showed pretty plainly that he himself was not. “I have accepted the offer of the Thracian crown.”

“Then I congratulate the Thracians,” said Madame O’Malachy, heartily. “My dear marquis (you really must excuse my employing the old title), I have seldom heard a more delightful piece of news. The Thracians could not do better, and for yourself it is a situation exactly adapted to your character and talents. You have your opportunity now.”

“I thought so myself until a minute ago,” said Caerleon, gloomily; “but now I begin to doubt it. Nadia will have nothing to say to me.”

“Nadia—my daughter?” with a slight elevation of the eyebrows.

“Yes,” said Caerleon, scarcely noticing the touch of hauteur which the lady had infused into her tone. “She seemed so much disappointed about my having refused the crown before that I thought she would certainly be pleased now, and she—she spoke as if she had never met me before in her life.”

“But that may be quite as well,” returned Madame O’Malachy, gracefully determined not to be baulked of her point. “You must remember that the friendship à l’anglaise which has subsisted hitherto between your Majesty and my daughter cannot continue under present circumstances. You will now occupy very different positions.”

“Is that what Miss O’Malachy is thinking?” asked Caerleon, quickly.

“I have not spoken to her on the subject, but I have no doubt that she has that in her mind.”

“Then might I beg that you will have the kindness to let me see her again at once, madame? I will do my best to disabuse her of the idea.”

“But what will you do, my dear marquis?”

“Ask her to share the throne with me.”

“But it is impossible!” cried Madame O’Malachy. “I cannot hear of such a thing. Your Majesty’s chivalrous sentiments have carried you away, and you are willing to atone for a slight mistake by a lifelong sacrifice. Your friendship was a mistake—I admit it freely, in view of the events which have since come to pass—but we will not make matters worse by overestimating it. I sympathise with you, but I assure you that you need fear no trouble from us. Suffer us simply to retire quietly—we will not force ourselves upon your notice, and my daughter is far too proud to exhibit any regret for what has happened.”

“But you don’t understand, madame,” cried Caerleon, impatiently. “There is nothing to regret in our friendship—on my side, at any rate. Of course I can’t answer for Miss O’Malachy’s feelings, but I am only anxious to replace the friendship by—by something stronger.”

“My dear marquis, I honour your chivalry, but your future is not in your own hands. M. Drakovics will have something to say about it.”

“M. Drakovics will have nothing to say on the subject of my marriage. That is a question I shall settle for myself.”

“But you must consider your kingdom. Much may depend on your marriage, and an alliance with a penniless girl not of royal blood—in modern times, at any rate,” she laughed, “might do you a great deal of harm.”

“I don’t think I am called upon to consider my kingdom to such an extent as that,” said Caerleon. “I am anxious to have the matter settled before I am crowned, so that if the Thracians think themselves entitled to complain, they may do it before I am irrevocably their king.”

“But there is no need to publish your determination,” said Madame O’Malachy, anxiously. “It would sound as though you wished to defy M. Drakovics and his party. And there is another reason why you must proceed very cautiously, and that is Nadia herself. You may trust me—I am an old woman, old and experienced, and Nadia is very young and foolish. As a woman of the world, I can appreciate your willingness to jeopardise your position for her sake; but you know what she is—an eccentric, a fanatic. I am convinced that she fears being thought to pursue you on account of your kingdom, and thinks also that you may have perceived her feelings towards you, and only desire to marry her out of pity.”

Caerleon stood pondering. He knew that the woman before him was false to the core—that very morning had given him another proof of the fact—but her words sounded so likely to be true, and the state of feeling they described so characteristic of Nadia, that he was bound to believe them. After all, she was Nadia’s mother, and ought to understand her, and what interest could she have in misrepresenting things in this case? It was only natural to suppose that she would be more likely to strain every nerve to forward his wishes than to put obstacles in his way. Moreover, he had now confided in her to such an extent that he might as well throw himself on her compassion altogether.

“But what can I do?” he asked. “You will let me see her and plead my cause?”

“Not at present, if you are a wise man,” said Madame O’Malachy. “Leave her to herself for a little. Let her please her pride with the belief that she has repulsed you effectually—her heart will suffer all the more. Then, when you are in your rightful place at Bellaviste, with all your splendour about you, speak to her again. She must see then that you seek her only because you love her, and she will be thankful to perceive it.”

“But how shall I see her at Bellaviste?” asked Caerleon. “Are you going on there?”

“Have you forgotten,” asked Madame O’Malachy, rather reproachfully, “that it has always been our intention to accompany Louis when he goes to try and obtain a post in the Thracian army? Shall we be less likely to visit Thracia now that we have a friend upon the throne?”

“But why not come on with us now?” asked Caerleon. “May I not have the pleasure of receiving you as my guests? I don’t know the capacity of the palace at Bellaviste; but it must certainly be large enough to accommodate your party, if you don’t mind roughing it for a time in a bachelor’s household.”

“A thousand thanks,” said Madame O’Malachy, with her sweetest smile, “but I am afraid we must decline your hospitable proposition. However, we will certainly continue our journey into your kingdom, and no doubt there will be a hotel at Bellaviste which can take us in. Rely upon me as your friend. I am not an enthusiast, I do not pretend to have no regard for the splendours of a throne, but I wish you well, and what help I can give you with this daughter of mine I will.”

And with this assurance of support Caerleon was obliged to be content.