Page 87 of The Favourite

“It is of no matter, Paulk,” Alisander informed. “In truth, I am more desirous of a quiet corner than I am of your master’s company. I have a report to write. If you can furnish me with a desk and pen and ink, I will be well satisfied.”

Paulk led him at once into a small yet tidy chamber and made haste to procure him writing materials and something to drink. Alisander settled at once to dash off his report with his customary verve. They never took him long once he set his mind to the task, and truth be told, he found some amusement sprinkling court gossip with pertinent facts.

He had just completed a paragraph lamenting the ill health of Wymer’s beloved nurse when the door was unceremoniously flung open and Lemarchier stood on the threshold wearing a forbidding frown. “Vicomte!” he growled. “Paulk did not inform me you had arrived. I would have dismissed my visitor at once, had I but known.”

“There was no urgency,” Alisander assured him, waving his most recent page to and fro so the ink would dry. “I did not want you until I had written my report in any case.”

“No urgency?” Lemarchier repeated, coming into the room with his heavy tread and shutting the door behind him. “No urgency? Have you not received my many notes, imploring you to visit?”

Alisander lifted his brows. “But of course, I did, my dear Lemarchier. What other business would bring me to this corner of the city?”

Lemarchier grunted and crossed to the window, where he squinted down at the busy street. “You were not followed?”

“But of course, I was,” Alisander answered blandly. “Why would today be different to any other day?”

“Perhaps if you did not dress like such a peacock,” the other thundered, gesturing to Alisander’s outfit, “you would be more successful in evading Vawdrey’s spies!”

“A peacock? No, no, the palette is all wrong for that,” Alisander murmured, glancing down fondly at his gorgeous burgundy apparel. “You give me inspiration for my next ensemble, however.”

Lemarchier fumed in silence a moment before he started pacing in front of the small fireplace. “His most exalted majesty demands an explanation for your actions of late. I cannot sufficiently tell you, the perturbation they have caused back home!”

Alisander considered a moment with a faint frown. “Which ones? You will need to be more specific, my friend.”

Lemarchier came to an abrupt halt. “You are pleased to jest, even in this? I refer of course to this ill-considered marriage of yours!”

“Oh, that!” Alisander crossed his legs and nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose Wilhelm means to send us a present, but really, His Majesty need not stand on such ceremony. King Wymer has already been so very generous.”

“A present!” Lemarchier seemed to choke on his words.

“Some gold plate, perhaps,” Alisander mused.

“You—!” Lemarchier struggled a moment to express himself.

“Deep breaths,” Alisander recommended. “Perhaps a sip of this ale, Paulk provided. For my part, I found it rather sour.”

Lemarchier remained where he was, nostrils flaring. “By this ill-considered union, you now hold lands in Karadok,” he said stiffly. “You have assumed guardianship of one of Wymer’s by-blows, no less. In short, your loyalty is now under question at the highest level. To which crown is your allegiance now sworn, Vicomte? That is the question which demands immediate answers!”

Alisander tutted. “You should take a seat, Lemarchier, you are turning quite purple.” He smothered a yawn. “In truth, the estate, such as it is, remains in my keeping only for a few years, until the child matures.”

“That is not what the document I have seen posits!”

“Is that not the way of things with all lands?” Alisander asked, arching his brow.

“It is not just a question of land!” Lemarchier spluttered. “You would pass the old and venerated title of your forefathers down, to a-a bastard child of this Argent king?”

“Oh yes,” Alisander agreed. “Why not? After all, my own great-great-grandfather only received the title after he agreed to raise the get of old King Edouard, like a cuckoo in his proverbial nest.” Lemarchier went off in a coughing fit before dropping down into his seat. “You look stunned Lemarchier,” he commented with a faint smile. “Were you not aware that raising bastards is quite the family tradition in my house?”

Lemarchier wiped his brow. “Nevertheless, the Viscountcy of Bardulf is a Lasconian title,” he persisted weakly. “Your behavior, my lord, quite beggars belief.”

“Not really,” Alisander contradicted him, mildly. “In truth, I had not the smallest intention of marrying and ‘passing on’ my title in any way, so it is of no great matter.”

For the first time, Lemarchier seemed to pause. “Then why?” he asked shortly. “Why do such a thing? Why take such a step, and unsanctioned at that!”

Alisander sighed. “The simple fact is,” he said holding the other’s gaze, “that Lady Jane Cecil found herself in need of a husband, and I could not abide the thought of it being anyone but me.”

Silence reigned for all of a minute. “You expect me to report this back as fact?” Lemarchier asked indignantly.

“I can give you no other reason.” Alisander shrugged.