“He was affable,” he continued. “And full of good humor. He put on no airs. I was perhaps the first to recognize his . . . peculiarities. But I liked him no less. I was the closest thing he had to a friend, so I kept his secret. I sang distracting songs when he lost control of his thoughts. Held his arms down when they trembled.”
He looked at Brimsley more directly. “I hid him from his monstrous grandfather.”
“That was good of you,” Brimsley said quietly. He had heard about George II. He had not been a kind man.
Reynolds nodded slowly, the kind one did not when one is agreeing, but when one is remembering. “When it came time to follow my father into the Goldsmith’s Guild, I asked to stay with George instead. It would not be as lucrative, but I made the choice gladly. Because he needed me. And because—”
He swallowed.
“Because he knew my secrets, too. My own . . . peculiarity. And he did not care. He kept my secret as I kept his. As I had to. Even from you.”
“I’m sorry I was so angry with you,” Brimsley said.
“I would have been the same way,” Reynolds admitted.
“It was just . . . the Queen . . .”
“I understand.”
“It is my sworn duty to protect her.”
Reynolds gave him a little smile. “It is my sworn duty to protect the King.”
“What odd lives we lead,” Brimsley mused. “When do we get to protect ourselves? Or each other?”
Reynolds kissed him on the cheek. “Hopefully every day. But we never come first.”
Brimsley faked a dramatic sigh. “I suppose if I have to come second, it might as well be to the King.”
Reynolds chuckled, but he grew serious soon after. “His secret is no longer just ours. I could not keep it. I tried. But first there was his mother, and then Bute and Harcourt. Every damn chambermaid around here whispers of him now. Then that doctor.” Reynolds grabbed Brimsley’s hand. Tightly. “You understand now why I begged you to keep him away from the Queen.”
“Yes,” Brimsley said quickly. “I cannot even imagine. It makes me sick even to think of it.”
“His Majesty has suffered so much. I could not begin to describe it.”
“The little I saw . . .” Brimsley said.
“I tried to intervene,” Reynolds said. “I could have tried harder, I suppose.”
Brimsley could take it no more. He could not bear the pain in Reynolds’s eyes. He just wanted to make it go away, even if only for a moment. Reaching up, he took his face in his hands and kissed him.
Tenderly.
With love.
With a promise he did not know if he could keep.
Kew Palace
The Queen’s Sitting Room
1 June 1762
The Queen was doing embroidery, which Brimsley always found odd. He’d never thought she had the temperament for such a repetitive pastime, but she seemed to like it, and he liked that she liked it, especially since she had told him he could sit in a chair by the door rather than stand at attention the entire time.
But then the King came bounding in, which meant that Brimsley most certainly had to rise to his feet. Reynolds arrived five paces behind and stood next to him.
“I am off to work in the fields,” the King said, and indeed he was dressed for farm work, with none of his usual finery. “We are cycling millet.” He leaned down and gave the Queen a kiss on the top of her head. “Would you like to join me?”
“Never,” she said with a chuckle. “I shall stay here and grow our little King.”
He kissed his fingers, then touched her belly, and made off to leave.
“George!” the Queen suddenly called. “I almost forgot. You received a letter. Where is it?”
“Right here,” Brimsley said, stepping forward. He retrieved it from a side table and handed it to the King. “It is from Princess Augusta.”
“My mother is writing to me?” The King rolled his eyes and tossed the unopened letter into the fireplace. Brimsley didn’t know whether he was horrified or delighted.
But the King’s happiness was certainly infectious. He strode back to the Queen and kissed her again. “You are beautiful!” he proclaimed. “My wife is beautiful!”
And then off he went.
Brimsley blinked. It was as if a whirling ball of sunshine had just rolled through the room. It had been some weeks since the Queen had rescued him from that horrendous doctor, but still, the difference was nothing short of miraculous.
He turned to share a smile with Reynolds, who had not yet left to follow the King, but Reynolds was regarding the Queen with a contemplative expression.
“Did you want to say something, Reynolds?” she asked.
“No, Your Majesty.”
Brimsley watched the exchange with interest. Reynolds clearly wanted to say something.
The Queen looked up again from her embroidery to find Reynolds’s eyes still on her. “Speak,” she said.
He cleared his throat. “His Majesty has good days. And down days.”
“He did,” the Queen replied. “But now that I am here, his days are good. He is better. Is he not?”
“He is better now,” Reynolds agreed. But his face told a different story. Brimsley knew him well enough to see the worry in his eyes.
“But?” the Queen prodded.
“Perhaps caution would be—”
“Reynolds,” she cut in, “let him be. All he needed was his wife and a routine and to get rid of that dreadful doctor. He is well.”
Reynolds did not look convinced, but he bowed and said, “Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Will you accompany him to the fields?” she asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty, I enjoy cycling millet above all things.”
Brimsley choked on a laugh.
The Queen gave Reynolds a sly look. “You are a good man, Reynolds.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Enjoy your millet.”
“Yes, Reynolds,” Brimsley said, “enjoy your millet.”
Reynolds gave him such a scowl on the way out that even the Queen laughed.
Brimsley sat back down in his chair by the door and smiled. This was how life ought to be.
Kew Palace
Reynolds’s Quarters
Later that night
It was late, and the King and Queen had both retired, which meant that Brimsley and Reynolds were, theoretically, off duty.
As Reynolds had a full-sized tub, that was where they had chosen to spend the evening.
It was a perfect end to a lovely day.
“Do you think it will last?” Brimsley asked.
“What do you mean?”
“The King. Will he stay as he is?”
“One can hope,” Reynolds said cryptically. He started lathering Brimsley’s back. It was heavenly.
“Reynolds?”
“Hmm?”
“If it lasts, they would have one another. They would be together. Have a true marriage. Grow old as one.”
Reynolds poured water on Brimsley’s back, rinsing off the suds.
“We would serve them together,” Brimsley said quietly.
“A lifetime,” Reynolds murmured.
It was the sort of thing men like them never dared to dream of. Like the King and Queen, they too would be together. Have a true partnership. Grow old as one.
Brimsley turned so that he could see Reynolds’s face. He was so handsome, so noble. The other servants liked to joke that he had the mien of a duke, and they weren’t far off. Sometimes Brimsley couldn’t believe that a man like Reynolds had chosen to be with him.