Guarding the Countess

by Lily Reynard

  "Well, then," said Julian to the assembled group of his friends, staking his claim early. "I look forward to making Lady Cranbourne's acquaintance."

  "Better be careful, Thornsby," drawled Sir George Purbeck.

  Purbeck was one of Julian's oldest friends. It was he who had brought Lady Cranbourne to Julian's attention.

  Purbeck wore a small, star-shaped black patch high on one cheekbone, deliberately drawing attention to the long white scar beneath it. Purbeck had received the wound during a duel, and he was immensely proud of it.

  "My valet informs me, by way of his wife's sister who has a friend in service to Lady Cranbourne, that Countess has employed a giant to guard her. He apparently killed six highwaymen on the Dover road."

  Chelmsford looked suitably awed, and Julian strove to conceal his amusement. Ragged, half-starved Kit a giant, indeed!

  * * *

  Leaving Polly to work on her embroidery in the Presence Chamber, Antonia followed the chamberlain into the Withdrawing Room.

  Trying not to gawk at her illustrious surroundings, she scarcely heard the chamberlain's urgent murmur of instructions.

  One wall was taken up with four tall windows interspersed with gilded sconces. The other walls were hung with red damask and gilt-framed mirrors and the ceiling was painted with scenes from classical mythology, the gods and goddesses lolling about on clouds, half-dressed in fluttering draperies.

  A matching set of double doors on the other side of the room stood open, showing a succession of richly appointed chambers running the length of the building.

  Seated under a scarlet-and-gold cloth of estate near the marble fireplace, Queen Catherine was a small, plain olive-skinned woman dressed in a dark red silk gown loosely laced with gold and embroidered with pearl flowers.

  She was surrounded by a knot of women, most of them seated at embroidery or tapestry frames. One young woman held a book, and was reading aloud as Antonia entered the room.

  On the other end of the room, near the tall windows, stood a second group of four or five ladies, clustered around a tall, strikingly-beautiful woman in her mid-twenties. Her auburn curls were dressed with diamonds, her gown was of ice-blue satin trimmed with silver lace, and she was toying with a tiny dog, her back conspicuously turned to the queen. But no one in the room seemed to take heed of this shocking lapse of etiquette.

  The chamberlain halted six or seven paces from the queen, and announced: "Your Highness, may I present Antonia Elizabeth Greenhurst, the Dowager Countess of Cranbourne!"

  As instructed, Antonia sank into a deep curtsey, praying that she wouldn't catch the heel of her shoe on the edge of her skirt.

  Antonia rose, wobbling only slightly in her stiff stomacher and heavy skirts, and saw the queen accept the letter of summons from her chamberlain and read it, lips slightly parted to reveal crooked teeth.

  After a few moments, Queen Catherine raised her gaze from the letter. "So, you are another one of His Majesty's special friends?"

  Her English was very good, but heavily accented. Her expression was one of cool dislike.

  "N-no, your highness!" Antonia protested, startled by the implication. "I have not yet had the honor of meeting the king."

  "Ah," The queen's expression softened. "And you are a widow?"

  "Yes, your highness. I am but recently out of mourning for my late husband, God rest him." Antonia smoothed the skirts of her dark blue gown, not quite mourning but certainly not a bright color, either.

  She was painfully aware that despite her dressmaker's assurances, she was quite out of fashion. All the ladies in the room were wearing low-cut, immodestly loose gowns, with nary a stomacher in sight.

  In the case of the women gathered near the windows, several of the gowns looked ready to slide off the wearer's shoulders at a moment's notice.

  "His Majesty has requested that I grant you the position of Lady of the Queen's Privy Chamber," said Queen Catherine. "Is that pleasing to you, Lady Cranbourne?"

  Antonia curtsied. "I'm honored, your highness. May I ask what duties you wish to assign me?"

  The queen refolded the letter. "Though you will officially be a member of my household, the Lady of the Queen's Privy Chamber has no formal duties. Since His Majesty wishes your presence at Court, I expect you to attend my morning levee. You are free to do as you wish in the afternoons, but you are to attend any entertainments that His Majesty or I host. Do you enjoy the theater, Lady Cranbourne?"

  "I—I don't know, your highness," Antonia stammered. "I've never been...my husband did not approve." She did not want to remind the Queen that on Cromwell's orders, the theaters had been closed all throughout Antonia's girlhood, nor that her father would have permitted his family to attend in any case.

  "Hm." The queen's mouth tightened. Antonia heard titters somewhere behind her, and her face grew hot. "Well, I expect you to attend me. You will not refuse me?"

  "No, your highness," murmured Antonia, and the queen gave a tight smile.

  "You will not be assigned lodgings in the palace, but I hope that will not be a burden to you, as I understand that Cranbourne House is nearby. You will, however, be entitled to take dinner with my other ladies—we sup around one o'clock—and you will draw an allowance to cover expenses, such as Court gowns."

  Antonia heard someone snicker, but the sound silenced abruptly when the queen frowned. "I would encourage you to continue dressing modestly, Lady Cranbourne, despite the low moral tone,"—she flashed an irritated look at the impervious satin back of the tall beauty—"adopted by many at this Court."

  "Yes, your highness," murmured Antonia. Who is that lady?

  "Very well. Lady Anne Edmonton will assist you."

  At the queen's words, a slender blonde girl dressed in a black mourning gown put aside the cloth she had been stitching with perfectly-executed pink roses, and came forward.

  Lady Anne had a long, narrow face and large blue eyes, and looked strangely familiar.

  After a moment, it came to Antonia—the girl must be another one of Kit's noble relations.

  "Lady Anne will guide you today," Queen Catherine continued. "It is very easy to lose your way in Whitehall. She will also inform you of the rules of conduct and deportment."

  The next few minutes passed in a blur of new names and faces as Lady Anne made the proper introductions to the ladies-in-waiting and maids of honor clustered around the queen.

  The tall auburn-haired beauty and her coterie continued to ignore the proceedings, increasing Antonia's mystification.

  As she and Lady Anne passed the group to begin their tour of the palace, Antonia heard one of the tall beauty's companions remark in a stage whisper, "...surely not a rival, Castlemaine! Why, she's even uglier than that wretched Portuguese creature."

  Antonia's face burned with humiliation as she followed Lady Anne out of the Withdrawing Room, but she held her head high. Her curiosity had been satisfied at last.

  The woman in the ice-blue gown was Barbara Palmer, the Countess of Castlemaine, the king's chief mistress and the most notorious woman in England.

  * * *

  The next two hours were spent on a dizzying tour of Whitehall Palace...or at least those portions of the palace deemed important by Lady Anne: the remainder of the queen's apartments, the king's apartments, the dining rooms, the chapel and the white, balustraded bulk of the Banqueting Hall.

  Lady Anne chattered almost non-stop as she led Antonia through an endless succession of rooms. Each richly furnished chamber opened onto the next, and each was hung with precious tapestries or paneled in silk damask and hung with huge canvases of battles or landscapes.

  By the time they entered the king's apartments, empty except for servants, Antonia had learned that the king was infatuated with the queen's lady-in-waiting Frances Stewart, but that Frances was saving her virtue for marriage.

  Another one of the queen's ladies, Anne's fellow maid of honor Winifred Wells, was the mistress of the Duke of York. And so forth...

&n
bsp; Antonia took advantage of the breathlessness induced in Lady Anne by a grand flight of stairs to ask the question that had been burning in her since her audience with the queen: "How is it that Lady Castlemaine is one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting?"

  Antonia also longed to ask, and how is it that she dares turn her back on the queen?

  But despite Lady Anne's determinedly friendly demeanor, Antonia thought it prudent to hold her tongue.

  "When the queen first arrived from Portugal," replied Lady Anne, pausing in front of a painting of a lushly nude goddess, "the king asked her to take Lady Castlemaine as one of her ladies-in-waiting. "

  Antonia glanced up at the painting. With a shock, she recognized Lady Castlemaine's auburn curls and luminous sapphire eyes above the lasciviously displayed abundance of pink and white flesh.

  Anne's smile sparkled with malice as she followed Antonia's glance up to the painting.

  "Her Majesty objected, of course. But Lady Castlemaine insisted, and the king overruled his new wife. No one has dared oppose Lady Castlemaine since, not so long as she has the king's ear...and other things." Anne giggled, the sound as bright and as hard as silver bells. "Though not exclusively. The king has an eye...and what woman would refuse him? Why, he's had nearly all of the queen's ladies in waiting—except Frances Stewart...and me, of course," she added, demurely.

  "Of course," Antonia agreed. She lowered her voice, acutely conscious of where she was. "I don't want—er, I have no wish to be one of the king's mistresses. Will he, ah, command it?"

  "Oh, la, Lady Cranbourne! His Majesty never has to command anything. Everyone knows he's absolutely prodigious in bed!" Lady Anne laughed. "But I can't believe you would actually refuse him. Everyone says that his rod is nearly as long as his scepter!"

  Antonia felt a hot blush rising from her jeweled bodice to the roots of her tightly-pinned hair. She had thought herself reasonably sophisticated, but Lady Anne's casual vulgarity went against everything Antonia had been taught.

  A cool laugh sounded behind them. Antonia caught a glimpse of ice-blue satin, and dipped into a startled curtsey.

  "Dear me, I didn't know it was possible for a widow to blush like a virgin," observed Lady Castlemaine, her sapphire eyes sparkling. "Are you really a Puritan, Lady Cranbourne? How amusing!"

  As Antonia choked on her reply, Lady Castlemaine turned her expressive eyes on Lady Anne. "Oh, and my dear? The gossips have it right; His Majesty is indeed royally endowed. Perhaps you'll have the privilege of discovering that for yourself, but I rather doubt it."

  She swept away, trailing musk and jasmine.

  Anne's lips thinned as she watched Castlemaine depart. She said in a low voice, "Whatever you do, don't make an enemy of that woman. If you do, not even the king can save you."

  Antonia nodded. A brief uncomfortable silence ensued, then Lady Anne visibly shook off the aftereffects of their encounter with Castlemaine. "Oh, la, Lady Cranbourne, I did mean to ask you—is it really true that you were attacked by highwaymen, and rescued by a giant?"

  "A giant? Not at all," Antonia said as she tried to match Lady Anne's light tone. "Yes, my coach was attacked by highwaymen, but my gallant rescuer is an Englishman of quite ordinary height, and a kinsman of yours."

  "Oh!" Lady Anne was visibly startled. "Julian—that is, Lord Thornsby hasn’t mentioned that any of our family had arrived recently...I'll have to ask him who your rescuer is."

  Antonia smiled. "His name is Christopher Fitzgeorge."

  Anne's face fell. "Oh. Him. I've—" She stopped speaking abruptly.

  At Antonia's look of inquiry, she shook her head.

  "My brother may know him, but I don't recall anyone named Fitzgeorge." Anne made a fluttering gesture. "Oh, la. There are so many cousins to keep track of, and I've been quite busy with my duties here at Court. I've been here nearly two years, now."

  "You are still unmarried?" Antonia asked, disappointed that Lady Anne could not offer her any insights into Kit's character.

  "Oh yes. And I simply must make a good match, for our family was quite ruined during the late civil war. We remained loyal to the king, you see." Lady Anne sighed melodramatically. "So, Mama wrote the king, and got me appointed as a Maid of Honor to the queen and Julian as a Gentleman of the King's Bedchamber, but the eligible men here are only interested in rich merchant's daughters. Diluting their blue blood, Mama says—oh, I am sorry, Lady Cranbourne!" She clapped her hand over her mouth, and looked convincingly horrified.

  "It's quite all right," Antonia replied, stiffly.

  She was suddenly glad she had watched her tongue around Lady Anne. Casting about for a way to change the subject, she asked, "I noticed that you are in mourning...may I offer my condolences?"

  Anne's shoulders drooped, and she looked genuinely stricken. "Thank you, Lady Cranbourne. My brother George died very suddenly last month. He was my favorite brother.... Julian's the handsomest one in the family but George—George was always kind to me. When I was little, he always had a sweetmeat for me, or a ribbon, or—" She turned away, wiping at her eyes.

  After Anne regained her composure, they returned to the queen's apartments in time to eat with the ladies-in-waiting.

  They heard that Queen Catherine had been summoned to dine with the king in public, at the Banqueting House. There, the royal couple were to receive a group of ambassadors from the larger German duchies, so it was not expected that the queen would return to her apartments before supper.

  The meal served to the queen's household was a generous one of many courses. Both the meats and the vegetables were served with rich sauces in the French style popularized by His Majesty, and it was all delicious, if lukewarm from the long journey from the distant palace kitchens.

  It was the sort of meal that Antonia served in her own household only a few times a year. When Lady Anne assured her that they ate like this every day at the queen's table, Antonia understood the fashion for loosely-laced gowns.

  She understood it even better later that day.

  After a wearying afternoon of playing cards and making polite conversation with strangers while the other ladies-in-waiting around her won and lost appalling sums at cards, Antonia judged that it was time to depart and gathered up Polly.

  Together, they wended their way back to the boat-stairs through the confusing maze of passageways and courtyards.

  They made a wrong turn somewhere, and found themselves in a gloomy hall hung with tapestries darkened by tarnished silver thread.

  An odd sort of grunt, followed by a gasp and a feminine giggle startled her. Antonia quickly turned away from the sight of a man and a woman furtively coupling in a partially-curtained window embrasure. The two lovers were fully dressed, clothing merely pulled aside rather than discarded.

  With Polly at her heels, Antonia fled the hall before either of the lovers saw her, but one image stayed with her: the sparkle of diamond pins scattered among gleaming auburn curls.

  * * *

  Finally emerging to the fresh air of the river landing, Antonia stepped down into the waiting boat.

  She found herself delighted to see Kit, and enjoyed his firm grip guiding her down to the seat. He was wearing his blue jacket over a clean shirt, plain in comparison to the lace and ribbons worn by the courtiers. But it showed his broad shoulders and graceful carriage to full advantage.

  "What did you think of Court, my lady?" Kit asked, seating himself beside her on the hard boat seat.

  He gallantly offered her his arm. On impulse, she accepted, too glad of the comfort to worry about any breach of etiquette.

  Antonia thought back over the long day filled with empty courtesies and banal conversation, and her struggle to remember the three different kinds of curtsies and when to make them. Most of all, she remembered the jealousy, contempt, and desperation swirling around her like currents of polluted water.

  "They're all horrible—well, not the queen, of course—she's very kind, but everyone else bows and scrapes and it's 'my lady
this,' and 'my lady that' but their eyes are so cold. I feel as though I'm being paraded in front of them, clad only in my shift."

  She saw Kit's expression change subtly, as if he had been granted a delicious vision. She found herself smiling, if a little embarrassed, under the stiff layers of paint.

  She nudged him in the ribs, and he turned a startled look on her.

  "Oh, la, sir!" she said, imitating Lady Anne's slightly breathless manner. "You forget yourself."

  He grinned, and patted her wrist. "I only wish I could, my lady."

  Chapter Ten

  Her virtue and the conscience of her worth,

  That would be woo'd, and not unsought be won.

  —John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book VIII, Line 502

  "Well?" Julian asked from the entrance to Anne's Whitehall rooms after supper that night.

  He had been waiting to talk to his sister for hours, annoyed to discover her gone shopping to the Exchange once her royal duties were done for the day.

  Anne was holding a new length of rose satin against herself, assessing its effect in her looking glass.

  At her insolent shrug, Julian entered, and crossing the room in two strides, slapped her across the face.

  The shock of the blow had the desired effect. Her arrogant demeanor dissipated immediately, and she shrank against the carved armoire, watching him fearfully.

  He grabbed the bolt of fabric, tossed it carelessly on her bed, and dismissed her maid with a jerk of his chin.

  Anne crept into a chair, her hand to her reddened cheek, her loose black gown billowing around her like a raincloud.

  "I don't think I can do it, Julian," she whispered, not meeting his gaze. "Become that creature's friend—why?"

  He gritted his teeth. "I was thinking that she's eligible, mighty wealthy and young enough to bear me an heir. That's a rare combination in a woman of rank these days."

  "But she's a Puritan and the most boring person I've ever met! She's never been to the theater, she barely knows how to play cards, and—" Anne straightened up as she recited the litany of Lady Cranbourne's shortcomings, saving her most stinging condemnation for last. "She has absolutely no sense of fashion. Her clothes sit on her like a saddle on a sow's back."