"The wedding is nearly upon us," Bella said. "You will require an appropriate gown. Will you be attending?" she asked.
"I do not believe I should. Besides, I have not been invited."
"You are the king's mistress now. You are expected at every royal celebration."
"Then I shall take to my bed and claim a sudden fever," Livia said. "A grave one. The sort that improves immediately after the final guest has departed."
Bella laughed. "You need not trouble yourself. I doubt an invitation will arrive. The Queen Mother is not precisely delighted by your presence at Whitehall."
Livia pressed a hand to her breast in exaggerated astonishment. "Truly? And here I imagined she would receive me at the gates, sprinkle rose petals beneath my feet, and formally appoint me the king's mistress herself."
"Perhaps she is saving the ceremony for Sunday."
"How thoughtful of her."
Bella leaned closer. "The servants say the king has refused to receive his mother since returning."
