Lady Marchwell’s hand crept to her throat. “What did you find?” she asked, her eyes a little wide.
“Jack.”
“Jack? But that’s not possible, he never leaves the park, and certainly would not have ventured anywhere at night in that awful winter, let alone all the way to St. James’s. And anyway, how on earth would he have known where you were?”
“It was he, make no mistake, for how many one-eyed magpies are there that also reek of sherry? Not many, I fancy. What’s more, he had the wedding ring in his beak, so it could not possibly have been any other specimen of Pica pica.”
As if knowing what Charles was saying, Jack claimed full responsibility from the niche. “Chak-chak-chak-chak.”
Charles continued. “He stood on the thick crust of ice and snow on the window ledge, just looking at me, then he put the ring down and flew off. Ever since I have worn the ring on a ribbon around my neck, and it has been my constant wish to one day see it returned to Juliet’s finger.”
“Chak-chak.”
Lady Marchwell recovered a little from the tale of her pet’s extraordinary conduct, and regarded Charles thoughtfully. Had he turned he might have seen the compassion in her eyes, and the gentle sympathy playing upon her lips. She was not by any means set against him; indeed it was her opinion that his estrangement from Juliet had gone on for far too long. He had done wrong, but should he be punished forever? Ah, that was the question. “What did you do in India?” she asked suddenly.
“Do?” He smiled. “I made my fortune, or at least I made another fortune. I rival Croesus now.”
“How lucky you are.”
“Maybe, except that like Croesus I am cursed. Outwardly I seem to lack nothing, yet in truth I lack everything, because the person I yearn for, hunger for, has rejected me these past six years.” He turned. “Is she here?” he asked directly.
Lady Marchwell hesitated, and then shook her head. “No.”
His heart sank. “Please do not play me for the fool again by saying you do not know her whereabouts.”
“Oh, I know, but I am in a quandary.” Lady Marchwell rose from her chair and carefully tweaked her voluminous Queen Elizabeth skirts. Then she held up a hand for Jack to fly to her, which he duly did, rocking for a moment before gaining his balance. The bird’s handsome head cocked to one side as for the first time he perceived the wedding ring. Opportunist magpie thieving was the last thing Charles desired right now, and as he pushed the ribbon hastily back inside his shirt, Lady Marchwell continued to speak. “You see, Charles, although you have convinced me that you deserve another chance to see Juliet again, I—”
“You have?” Charles was so delighted he could have rushed to hug her, but given the circumstances, such familiarity was hardly fitting.
“Yes, I have,” she confirmed. “Six years ago I was dressed as a fairy godmother, which I fancy was well suited to the granting of a wish. Queen Elizabeth may not carry a wand, but her royal power will no doubt serve the same purpose. I will do what I can for you, Charles, but have to warn that I do not think Juliet will want to see you. She has become settled, and—”
“Settled?” he broke in quickly. “There is someone else?”
She smiled. “No, not with someone else. She is her own woman, no one else’s. But I will approach her for you.”
Relief almost swamped him. “Tonight?” he said quickly, wanting to rush her.
“Certainly not. It’s Christmas Eve, for heaven’s sake. You will have to contain your impatience.”
Where was he expected to stay in the meantime? he wondered as visions flashed before him of disgruntled postilions, icy roads at night, and every Windsor inn filled to overflowing.
Lady Marchwell went toward the door, then halted. “I am not cruel enough to send you away again while I deliberate, but I fear the house is already too much of a crush with guests. However, there is room at the Retreat.”
He was taken aback. “But . . . isn’t that considered Juliet’s territory?”
“If she were here, yes. But she is not.”
“I saw no lights there as I arrived, and presumed it was closed for the winter.”
“Not closed, exactly, but rather in a state of readiness. Guests were expected, you know them actually, my grandniece Rebecca, her noisy husband, and singularly ill-behaved brood. For the sake of my other guests I decided such an undisciplined faction should be confined to the island, and until this evening I still imagined they might still arrive. Then a message came a short while ago to say that young Theophilus has the measles, so they are all staying at home in Daventry. I haven’t yet had time to send word to the servants at the Retreat, so right now they still expect to have work to do. So they may as well attend to you instead. If, that is, you find yourself able to stay there. After all, it is full of memories.”