“I do,” he said. “Ah, you were the child I met in the mews that day. Now I remember.” A pensive look crossed his face. “I understand your sister’s marriage was not a happy one and that your father died not long after I spoke to him that day. For that I’m truly sorry. Battista Bassano was a good man and your sister a most talented young woman.”
Aemilia dropped her eyes, terrified she would dissolve into tears, for his words had reawakened her grief and loss.
“Forgive me,” he said, “if I’ve given you cause for sadness.” He spoke with such solicitude, as though her feelings truly mattered to him.
Lady Mary, who looked appalled by this entire exchange, pinched Aemilia’s arm and told her to play on. Sinking back on her stool, Aemilia obeyed.
“You must pardon her insolence, my lord,” Mary said.
AFTER AEMILIA HAD FINISHED her repertoire and was on her way back to her room, she heard footsteps behind her. Lord Hunsdon? Her heart hammering, she swung round to face him. But it was Lady Mary who had her cornered.
“What do you play at, speaking to the Lord Chamberlain like that?”
Mary was looking at her in a way she never had. Her gaze was hard and sharp. Dangerous.
“I play at nothing, my lady,” Aemilia said, unable to breathe until Lady Mary sighed and left her there, leaning weakly against the wall. Oh, please let Perry come home soon. Before his wife’s nerves were stretched any thinner.
THE FOLLOWING DAY was stifling and airless. Lifting her eyes to the heavens, Aemilia waited for the storm to break, but the bruised clouds hung motionless in the stagnant sky.
Hoping to avoid any further cause for offense, Aemilia stayed out of Lady Mary’s and her guests’ way as much as possible, taking her meals in the nursery with Nell and little Robert, and only showing her face in the reception rooms when summoned. She didn’t even presume to go riding, but hid herself away in the old schoolroom where she pored over Plutarch’s Life of Alexander, the same Greek text she had been translating the day she learned the truth of what lay between Susan and the schoolmaster. Her fond memories of her mentor blurred into a hurt that had never quite healed, though she was happy that Susan was no longer lonely.
But even here, in her secret refuge where Lady Mary never set foot, the door opened and one of the guests entered on quiet feet.
“Pardon me, Mistress Bassano. I hope I’m not disturbing your studies.”
Aemilia stood to wary attention at the sight of Lord Hunsdon. She tried to make her face a bland mask as he gazed down at the Greek letters in the open book.
“This is my favorite passage,” he said, running his finger across the page. “When the Scythian warrior women give chase to the King of Persia, forcing him to flee their wrath.” His eyes met Aemilia’s. “I do believe you are cut from the same cloth as those Amazons of old, the way I saw you ride yesterday.”
She tried to hide her fear. “Will you tell Lady Mary, my lord?”
He laughed. “Goodness, no. A gentleman knows how to keep a secret. But I must compliment her ladyship on your education. It’s rare I meet a young woman who reads Greek. You are even more accomplished than I imagined.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She found herself blushing in the warmth of his praise.
How rare it was, with Susan, Perry, and Master Wingfield gone, to meet a single soul who saw her education as something to commend rather than as a ridiculous oddity for a girl of her station. Yet, despite his kindness, she didn’t dare return his gaze. Stymied, she stared down at the book, for she didn’t know what to say to him that wouldn’t earn her some future rebuke. What do you play at?
“Well, I shall leave you to your reading,” he said, making his retreat.
After he had closed the door behind himself, she sat down, his words still reverberating inside her.
DAY AFTER SWELTERING, WINDLESS day dragged on, the guests eating through the kitchen stores. Aemilia played and sang for them each evening. A week passed and then a fortnight, and still Perry did not come.
Lady Mary’s face grew rigid from the strain. Aemilia observed what pains Mary had taken to keep up her appearance of hospitality and good cheer, but the façade grew thinner each day her husband failed to arrive.
At the beginning of the third week, Aemilia could no longer bear to mew herself up in the schoolroom. Slipping out a side door, she set off on a brisk walk. She had nearly reached the gatehouse at the end of the Four Mile Riding when she saw a messenger riding at gallop.
Her skin, clammy in the heat, suddenly chilled. She turned and rushed back, running until she was winded, walking then running again.
WHEN AEMILIA REACHED THE house, everything was in disarray, the servants muttering, the noble guests clustered in the entrance hall. She headed straight for the nursery.
“What news of my Lord Willoughby?” she asked Nell, pitching her voice to be heard above little Robert’s wails.
“He’s not coming.” Nell grimaced as she grappled with the child and tried to spread salve on his angry red skin nettled from the heat.
Aemilia joined in to help, trying to soothe the little boy. “Surely he must come. He promised.”
“Her Majesty’s sent him on an urgent mission to Denmark,” said Nell.
Denmark. That meant they probably wouldn’t see Perry for at least another year. Why, oh why, with all his skills in diplomacy had he not persuaded the Queen to allow him a few days’ leave to visit his family before he sailed abroad again? Poor Lady Mary. She must be humiliated. But at least the guests would soon be gone.
IN THE SCHOOLROOM AEMILIA found a sumptuously bound copy of Dante’s La Divina Commedia lying on her desk. She caught her breath and opened the calfskin cover to find a message penned in a flawless italic hand.
For Aemilia Bassano, a most learned young woman
Your well-wisher always, Henry Carey, Lord Hunsdon
Her hands trembled as she held the book. Such a precious—and costly—gift. Until this moment, she had no book she could call her own. Blinking, she traced his letters on the page. Your well-wisher always. But why had he left it for her to find instead of giving it to her directly? Cradling the book in both hands, she carried it to her room.
AEMILIA GLANCED OUT HER bedroom window to see that some of the guests were already riding away. Lord Hunsdon, too? she wondered.
A fever clogged her brain. Something soon must snap. The air was full of invisible knives. You must prepare yourself to make your own way in the world. Without Perry or Susan to protect her, she had no true place at Grimsthorpe. You’re only a parasite, a useless dependent.
Trying to calm herself, she put on her breeches, shirt, and doublet. Unbidden, Lord Hunsdon’s words about the Scythian warrior women came back to her. Was that how he had seen her, not as a shameful hoyden but something rare and fierce? Something powerful even? Her skin tingled at the memory of the admiration in his eyes whenever he’d looked at her. Flinging herself on the bed, she allowed forbidden thoughts to dance inside her. If I had been Angela, I would have said yes to him.
At the sound of a sharp rap on the door, Aemilia nearly screamed.
“Open the door, if you please,” came Lady Mary’s crisp voice. “I wish to speak to you.”
“One moment!” she called, flailing in panic.
Tearing off the men’s clothes, she kicked them under the bed then donned her shift and stays, her stockings and garters and skirts as fast as she could. Her fingers fumbled as she frantically laced up her bodice.
“What are you doing in there?” Lady Mary called through the door.
“Dressing, my lady. I just had a nap.”
Aemilia unlocked the door.
“Napping in the middle of the day,” Lady Mary said, as she strode in. “How I envy you. I haven’t slept in three weeks.”
“I am so sorry to hear of my Lord Willoughby’s mission to Denmark, my lady.” Aemilia folded her hands and bowed her head, bracing herself for Mary’s temper.
“After seven y
ears his wife, I imagine I should be used to it.” Lady Mary sat on Aemilia’s bed and let out a hollow laugh. “To have relations with my lawful husband, it seems I must travel in his wake like a camp follower.”
The pain in her voice undid Aemilia. It struck her that Lady Mary had no trusted confidante. But now, after nearly a month of hiding her anguish from her noble guests, Mary was baring her heart to her. For the first time, Aemilia had the inkling that they might even become friends.
“You know what it is to be left behind, Amy.” Lady Mary gestured for Aemilia to sit beside her. “Peregrine and Susan are just the same. They lure us here with pretty promises. Then they run away and wash their hands of us.”
Aemilia took her hand. “Will you follow him to Denmark, my lady?”
“And leave my only child behind? Or risk Robert’s health by taking him along?”
“My lady,” Aemilia said, wishing she could find the words to ease Mary’s pain.
“It’s all very well for you.” Lady Mary looked away, her eyes welling, as though Aemilia’s sympathy was more than she could bear. “You have your music and books for consolation.” Aemilia froze to see Mary pick up the copy of Dante from the bedside table. “But shouldn’t you keep them in the library and schoolroom where they belong?”
“My lady, I—” Aemilia stopped short at the sight of Lady Mary opening the book and reading Lord Hunsdon’s dedication.
The look Mary gave her was enough to turn Aemilia to cinder. “So you’ve been accepting gifts from the Lord Chamberlain behind my back.”
“My lady, he left it in the schoolroom for me to find. If you think it unseemly, pray, return it to him. I never wished to bring dishonor on your household.”
“And how may I return it to him when he’s already left?” Lady Mary asked, her voice scathing.
Aemilia dropped her gaze to hide her disappointment. So he had indeed gone without saying farewell. Perhaps he’d meant to say good-bye, but not finding her, had left the book behind instead.
“The book is yours to do with as you like,” she told Lady Mary.
But something else had diverted Mary’s attention. When she stooped to pick something off the floor, Aemilia felt her throat constrict. Lady Mary dangled the breeches in the space between them. Her face was so angry and wounded, Aemilia had to look away.
“My lady, forgive me,” she began, wondering how she would explain riding out as a boy.
“These are my husband’s.” Lady Mary’s voice rang in cold accusation.
Aemilia shook her head and held her hands out to ward herself as she divined what ugly conclusion Lady Mary must have drawn. “No, no, my lady, I swear I never—”
“Don’t you dare dissemble. Look at me!” Lady Mary took Aemilia’s chin in a bruising grip. “I’ve kept you fed and clothed for four long years since Susan saw the last of you. Now tell me how you came in the possession of my husband’s breeches.”
“I wear them for riding,” Aemilia said lamely. Ask Lord Hunsdon, she was tempted to add, but he was no longer there.
“Liar! You’re no better than the slattern who bore you.”
Mary’s blow knocked her sideways. When Aemilia forced herself to sit back up, her mouth was wet. She touched her lips then drew her hand away to see her fingers bright with blood.
Lady Mary was standing over her. “Peregrine never kept his promise to me, so why should I keep my promise to him?” She hurled the book and breeches at Aemilia. “By tomorrow morning, I want you gone.”
AEMILIA TOLD HERSELF THAT this was her last chance, that she’d truly nothing left to lose. Her face still smarting, she dressed in her men’s clothes and ran to the stables. Rushing past the groom and stable boys without looking or speaking to them, she saddled and bridled Bathsheba.
“Mistress Amy?” the groom asked, his voice rising in concern.
Before he could stop her, she sprang into the saddle and was off, tearing down the Four Mile Riding. The ancient double-planted oak trees streamed past and the wind stung her injured lip as Bathsheba raced forward, pure muscle and momentum. They swept by the gatehouse and headed south toward the highway where they continued at a steady ground-covering canter until Aemila sighted the black stallion and rider. She spurred forward, as shameless as a mare in season.
When she caught up with Lord Hunsdon, she was panting, the sweat pouring down her cheeks like tears. He looked at her in alarm, reaching out his hand.
“Mistress Bassano, what happened to your face?”
She cut him short, her voice savage. “I dare you to race me to the bridge.”
Then she was off, not daring to look back to see if he followed. Lord Hunsdon, a bastard as she was, who called her father a good man.
Through her tears, she saw him galloping shoulder to shoulder with her. She kicked Bathsheba forward, letting him chase her to the bridge where, winded and spent, she slipped off her blowing mare. She thought she might collapse in the summer weeds, but instead she made herself turn to him as he leapt off his stallion. What do you play at?
Lord Hunsdon’s face was stern. “Tell me what happened.”
“Lady Mary said I must be gone by morning.”
“Did she beat you?” He seemed horrified. “Because I gave you a book?”
Aemilia flinched when he touched her bloodied lip. Then her eyes locked with his. Slowly, deliberately, she tugged off his glove and kissed his hand. The strange fever held her in its thrall and now she called it by its name. Desire.
“You are a wild creature,” he murmured.
He pulled off her cap and freed her hair from its bindings, letting it fall loose in his hands. Aemilia remembered when she had found Susan and Master Wingfield in the shadow of the yew hedge, Susan’s face tilted to her lover’s. Now Lord Hunsdon bent his face to hers. Avoiding her injured lip, he kissed her brow then her throat, his mouth like a brand. He clasped her body against his, her breasts against his chest, his groin to her belly. A shock ran through her as she felt the proof of his desire for her. Sensations she had no words for pulsed inside her. A bewildered softening.
Lord Hunsdon held her at arm’s length, his eyes moving over her face. “If you’re seeking deliverance from Lady Mary, you don’t have to throw yourself at me, you know. But if this is truly what you want, we’ll do it the proper way.”
Aemilia stared, uncomprehending. It had never occurred to her that there was a correct way to do what she had just done.
He took her hand and led her to her mare. “We’ll return to Grimsthorpe so that you can pack your things and ride out as a lady. I shall tell Lady Mary I’m escorting you back to your family home.”
9
EMILIA THOUGHT THEY WOULD travel to London with all speed, but Lord Hunsdon seemed content to take his time. “Your poor mare has galloped quite enough. Let our pace be leisurely out of kindness to the horses if nothing else.”
While she and Lord Hunsdon rode side by side with his retinue following at a distance, he practiced his Italian with her. He questioned her about her history until she told him of her family’s tragedy, Master Holland’s treachery, her father’s death, her sister’s ruin and demise, and of her education at Grimsthorpe. After they supped together at the first inn, he asked her to read Dante to him before they retired to their separate rooms. Aemilia lay rigid in the unfamiliar bed as she awaited his knock on her chamber door. But there was only the silence of the deepening night.
So their strange journey continued. Lord Hunsdon made no advances, but his eyes were on her always, intent and examining, while they rode and while they shared their meals.
Only when they reached Saffron Walden did his finger brush Aemilia’s mouth when he helped her down from the saddle. “Your lip has healed.”
She shivered at his touch.
At the Maypole Inn Lord Hunsdon took two rooms, as always, but these chambers were adjoining and the door between them did not possess a lock.
ALONE IN HER ROOM, Aemilia’s stomach knotted. She spent an age wash
ing her face and combing out her hair, but she could no longer put off undressing for bed. She had stepped out of her skirts and unlaced and removed her bodice when the door opened.
Lord Hunsdon entered to find her in her shift and stays. Instinctively, she reached for her discarded skirt to cover herself. It seemed particularly undignified to be caught half undressed. Could he not have waited until she was under the covers in her nightshift?
He gently pried the skirt from her and laid it over a chair.
“Now I see the young lady en déshabillé,” he said, handing her a goblet of claret. “Not the hoyden, though both enchant me.”
Aemilia lowered her face to the cup and drank deeply. A red drop spilled from her lip and ran down her throat. He caught it with his finger. Taking the goblet from her, he kissed her mouth until she kissed him back.
What am I doing? What have I brought upon myself? It’s far too late to back out, she thought, as he laid her on the bed and began to unlace her stays. She took a gulp of air. He lay beside her, his eyes burning into hers.
“This arrangement will come to naught,” he said softly, “unless both of us take pleasure in it. Do you understand?”
Aemilia nodded and tried to conjure Susan’s bliss in the garden, losing herself in the schoolmaster’s arms. But when Lord Hunsdon opened her stays and cupped her breasts through her shift, she shrank.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, his mouth moving to her pounding heart. “I won’t take your maidenhead until you speak to a midwife about how to keep from getting with child. Tonight I shall teach you pleasure.”
He took off her stays and pulled her shift over her head so that she was naked but for her stockings and garters.
“Aren’t you a jewel?” he whispered, running his hands down the length of her body.
He stroked and kissed her breasts until she lost herself beyond shame. He palmed her belly and the inside of her thighs, caressing her where she hadn’t even dared to touch herself, stroking her until she throbbed against his fingers, a vehement heat rising in her belly, her cries indistinguishable from the doves in the thatch.
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