Mary’s jaw dropped for a second before she corrected herself, and then started laughing. “Friendship? The consequence of the Oxford title? Anne, have you met your husband before? Do you think he gives a fig for his family’s good name? And your behavior? Where was your idea of consequence two days ago?”
“You are right to censor me. I was . . . inappropriate. As for Ned, his feelings are immaterial. My children will inherit the family reputation along with the name, and I must be beyond reproach. I would think you should understand that.”
Mary did not have the strength to attempt a rational argument. Besides, the chances of Anne realizing how skewed her priorities actually were, well, it would be futile. She would have to settle for banal chatter. “How fares your husband?”
Mary almost smiled at Anne’s pout. Did she expect deep and meaningful conversation? Their friendship, if it ever really was friendship, was irreparably damaged. Anne was too smart to not realize that. Or was she? “He has been almost docile in his sick bed. His fever has passed, and the apothecary has hopes the wound will be healed enough for him to move about freely in a day or so.”
Mary’s relief was sincere. If Oxford was well and about the Court, perhaps some of the vicious gossip would stop. “That is wonderful news. And you are well?”
“Well enough.” Anne showed no bruises or signs of injury from the fight. “I am still sick in the morning, but my ladies say that it is a sign of a healthy babe. Were you sick when you were with child?”
Mary was surprised Anne would bring up the pregnancy so casually, as if it were of no matter. As if they were friends.
“Lady Oxford, I find I am weary. I thank you for listening and pray you will give my regards to the ladies of your household.”
Anne stood up as if to leave, then spun on her heel and stormed forward. “You just dismissed me!”
Mary pretended to sleep. It was difficult not to flinch as Anne stepped closer. Offering up a silent prayer, she kept her face relaxed.
Anne muttered something and then shut the door behind her. She was gone.
Mary was not sure how much time had passed before her heart stopped pounding in her ears. Lady Oxford, Anne, whom she had loved since childhood, was insane. After all, Anne had been irrational enough to physically assault her in front of the Queen’s court. The gossips might actually have been right for once. It was possible, probable even, that Anne had stabbed her own husband.
• • •
Charles stood armed and ready, dressed in his red guardsman tunic, to the side of the dais. Queen Elizabeth was attending the festivities tonight and had just stepped down from Her Chair of State to join a dance. Charles watched after Her attentively, staying focused on his job.
Ned’s physician had declared him well enough to rejoin the Christmastide festivities tomorrow. Charles knew that the whispers and speculation about the events of the past few days would reach their peak the moment Ned stepped into the room. Charles prayed that Mary would stay to her sick room a few days longer in order to avoid the scrutiny of the court.
Up until now, he had not cared much for the games of courtly intrigue that the courtiers used to entertain themselves. Each new scandal passed quickly, only to be replaced by something juicier. He had always considered gossip-mongering shallow, but not ever seen the harm. Now these well-bred, well-moneyed elite were entertaining themselves by ruining someone’s life. Thanks to the fact that Mary’s hardship made a riveting story, Mary was going to be left without options.
Not if Charles could help it.
She deserved better than him, of course, but he would do the right thing. With any luck, Ned would see reason and grant him the Priory.
Charles lowered himself into a courtly reverance as Queen Elizabeth approached the dais and met his eye. He would miss being in service to the Queen. She was the sparkling center of court, and She deserved to be.
“We would have you walk with Us a moment, Sir Charles.” Queen Elizabeth, still on the arm of Kit Hatton who had miraculously inserted himself back into the Queen’s good graces, stepped toward him expectantly.
Charles, surprised but always the gentleman, removed his hat and gave the Queen another reverance. “Your Majesty.” Charles did not know whether to be flattered by Her attention or worried that the courtiers would have one more morsel of gossip to digest. Charles rose and offered Her his arm and a playful smile. One thing he never let himself forget was that the Queen was, aside from Her royal duties, a woman. All women liked to be appreciated, so Charles let his eyes linger on hers a moment longer than was strictly necessary.
Queen Elizabeth’s smile became more sincere at Charles’s good-natured flirtation. “I have heard that the Earl of Oxford is much recovered.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. He should be ready to rejoin your court upon the morrow, or so I have heard told.”
“He is always welcome at Our court, although he would find himself more welcome if he chose a demeanor more pleasing. He might even find himself rewarded the properties he claims were stolen from his father.” With a slight smile, the Queen’s squeezed Charles’s arm warmly. “Perhaps courtly manners are a subject upon which you could tutor him.”
With his free hand, Charles removed his hat once more and placed it over his heart with a heavy sigh. “Your Majesty honors me.” The Queen’s laughter at his melodramatic response encouraged him. “I am too humble by far to dare tutor the earl.”
“Humble? Pshaw.” The Queen waved away his silly protests. “No, you are a man of action and a man of principle. You are a man who does not shirk his duty to his Queen, even in the midst of a blizzard. Only an honorable man would stand up to an earl over an insult to a mere gentlewoman. And what sort of man would risk his own life to save a child?” Clusters of courtiers reveranced and bustled out of the way as the Queen directed Charles in their slow promenade around the perimeter of the hall. This was not a private conversation and, thankfully, did not seem to be one of censure. “You have proven yourself, over the years, to be nothing but disciplined and honest in your behavior. In time you could find yourself promoted, even so high as Captain of the Queen’s Guard. That is a worthy ambition for one such as yourself, is it not?”
Charles was amazed. He had only ever done his job and made a point to do it well. Like many guardsmen who had been gently raised, he participated in court functions and, while amicable, he was not ostentatious. He was surprised the Queen had made a note of him at all—unless, she had made it a point due to his familial connections. He made an effort to keep his expression merry. “The limitations of my birth are such that I had never thought to aim so high.”
The Queen’s voice lowered and her grip on his arm tightened. “I have some understanding of what it means to bear the title ‘bastard.’ I will not countenance a man who has proven again and again that he is noble in both bearing and mind to be brought low by such a title. Know this, Sir Charles—you have served Us well for as long as We have known you. The limitations of your birth, as you call them, will never offer any impediment to your success so long as I reign.”
The Queen stopped and faced him. They were almost returned to the dais. Lords and ladies of the court still stood in throughout the hall, some dancing, but most pretending to be engaged in conversation while eavesdropping on the Queen.
Charles was in awe. Queen Elizabeth had just offered him opportunities beyond his dreams when all he wanted was a small farm somewhere that would provide enough for him to raise a family. With Mary.
“Think on what I have said. I can offer you a future here at court if you wish it.” Queen Elizabeth’s hazel eyes bore into his as she stopped to face him. “All you need do is ask. Do not let it be said that I am not generous.”
Charles could not hide his surprised blink from the Queen as she waited expectantly. She has just offered him the world . . . How would She react to a request to leave? “I am very aware of the great honor you do me with this offer.” Charles paused, not sure what to say next.
>
“But you will have to decline it, of course.” The Queen moved in so close Charles could smell the clove on Her breath. “You have different dreams. Dreams of a life away from court, do you not?”
Charles simply nodded.
“Then you had best say what needs to be said so that you and I can have an understanding of what needs to be done.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Charles did his best to not panic. He had planned on speaking with the Queen, but not during the festivities, within earshot of the whole court.
The Queen waited through his silence, and then prompted, “If you wish to wed, you will need my blessing.”
Charles felt like a schoolboy being helped sound out a word. Queen Elizabeth was laying this out for him very neatly—he just had to follow directions. What sort of a man was he? To be tongue-tied in front of Queen Elizabeth? No, he could not accept the timid role, not if he deserved the Queen’s favor. He was a better man than that.
“Your Majesty, I had never thought to marry. I would have been content to stay on in Your service all my life. The situation is such that I need to offer for my lady . . . ”
“That is very cold. What situation, pray tell? And have you the means to support a family?”
“I must marry and remove my lady from court. She has lost all other options, and it would be dishonorable of me to stand idly by and let her bear the brunt of something not her fault.”
“Oh, so honorable but, yet again, cold. You wish to save the day. Tell me, does your lady wish you to sacrifice your future in Our court for your idea of protection?”
Queen Elizabeth had become formal again—they were no longer having a tête-à-tête, but more of an inquisition. He had to prove himself now.
“She needs me. I am all she has.”
“And so she must marry. What a sad thing it is to be a woman when one’s choice is not even considered. Has she affection for you?”
That was the one thing of which Charles was certain. Their shared affection had never been disguised. “Yes, Your Majesty. She has affection for me.”
“So she will wed you willingly?”
That was not quite so certain. “I hope so.”
The Queen’s face lit up again, as if Charles had said the right thing. “Aha! So you are not so cold. You wish to marry more so than you ‘must.’” Queen Elizabeth clapped him on the shoulder soundly and turned to resume her position of state on the dais. “And so you shall be granted Our leave to marry, provided the lady will have you. You will also be granted a sufficient living as steward of two of our estates in Derbyshire. I had my clerk prepare the papers today entitling you to the profits from . . . ” She retrieved the scroll from, presumably, Her clerk, and unfurled it. “From Moweden and Burton, both upon the Trent in Nottinghamshire bordering Derbyshire.”
Sir Charles had not anticipated this. In shock and honest reverence, he lowered to one knee. “I know not what to say.”
“Say nothing yet. We grant you the profits and stewardship of these properties. Our recompense will be from the regular taxes due the Crown and the understanding that these landholdings will be well managed and improve the livelihoods of the tenants therein.” Queen Elizabeth rolled up the scroll and handed it off. “I shall be gaining an able and honest steward for estates that have fallen into disrepair and disuse. You will be gaining a home and the opportunity for profit, should you manage the land well. Do these arrangements please you?”
“I can see nothing wrong with this arrangement, Your Majesty.” Charles’s voice was softer than usual as he noticed the increased commotion in the room. With the Queen’s announcement, spoken from the dais for all to hear, the court had erupted into small groups of animated whispering. The Queen had just rewarded Charles, a bastard and the known consort of the notorious Mistress Mary Montgomery, publicly. Gossip would reach its crescendo tonight.
“Rise, Sir Charles, and go to your lady. Once you have made address to her, We will meet with her to bestow Our blessing, assuming she accepts you.” The noise in the room increased as courtiers theorized on what Queen Elizabeth would have to say to a strumpet like Mistress Mary.
Charles noted another guardsman had assumed his post beside the dais. Kit, smiling at the Queen’s return, must not have heard Her offer Charles his position. Meeting his eye, Kit nodded his confirmation. Charles was free to go . . .
Go do what? Propose?
God’s teeth.
• • •
Mary felt fine. Exhausted. Sore. At least she was not sick. If only she could get that joke of a physician to listen to her. Mistress Parry had summoned him as a simple precaution, and he had promptly ordered that she be bundled in hot flannel and placed icy cloth after icy cloth on her head.
“It happens this way oft’ times, mistress. After a severe freeze, the body cannot fight off contaminants and the humors become dangerously out of balance.” She could hear a man arguing with Mistress Parry in the chamber beyond her open door.
“I do understand that, but I still will not consent to a bleeding.” Mistress Parry’s voice was firm.
“I am a doctor, madam. I know something of healing.”
Mistress Parry interrupted, “As do I, Doctor. I gave her a tincture of willow bark to ease her ache and help her circulation, but she has not developed a fever.”
Mary remembered the honey sweetened hot drink. It had soothed her—at least, she had slept easily after.
“If you’ll forgive me, Madam, what you know is quackery. Nothing but superstitions passed down by self-proclaimed ‘wise-women.’ I know science—”
“Doctor, I know that you are in my employ. At least you were. You are dismissed.” Mistress Parry remained seated, but a footman rushed to hold the door open while another gathered the doctor’s utensils and handed them to him.
The doctor had nothing further to say as he exited Mistress Parry’s chambers.
“The pompous fool.” A second woman spoke. Who was here?
“I should have known better than to summon him. I have more knowledge of healing than he could hope for. Science. Pshaw.”
Mistress Parry sounded tired. Old. She had never been anything less than spry. Mary hoped Mistress Parry was well.
The meager light in her chamber dimmed as the two ladies stood in the doorway. Mary tried to sit up in bed, but she was so securely wrapped she could hardly move. “A little help, please?”
The second woman talking had been the Countess of Spencer. She sat on the edge of the bed. “It is a blessing that the freeze did not leave you with a lung fever. All you need do is rest for now, recover your strength.”
Mary nodded before she spoke. “I really feel fine. I am just tired.” Her voice was a rasp.
Blanche lit a taper and stepped closer to look into Mary’s eyes. “Are you in pain? Any aches?”
“Truly, I am well. My head does ache, but it is not so bad when I close my eyes.”
“If that is the worst of it, then praise be.” Mistress Parry laid a motherly hand on Mary’s forehead for a moment before nodding to herself and leaving.
Mary tried to sit up fully only to be restrained by the Countess of Spencer. “You must rest. Blanche will return anon with another tincture of willow bark and honey. When you are recovered, you will travel with me back to my home or to join my daughter, Frances, once again. You are not without options; alas, none of them will be at court. However, I can promise you a clean bed, good food, warm clothes, and a smattering of dignity. Frances, I am sure, will offer that as well, along with her friendship. I want you to know that you are not alone and may rest easy.”
Mary smiled her thanks and yawned. With a chuckle, Lady Spencer stepped out of the room, leaving Mary to her rest.
“Rest now.” Mary was not sure if the words came from Mistress Parry or Lady Spencer. She simply knew she was more exhausted than she had ever been before and welcomed the sleep that came.
Chapter Eighteen:
On the Tenth Day of Christmas My True Love Gave
to Me Ten Lords A-Leaping . . .
Charles’s slippered feet made no sound on the polished oak floorboards of the empty gallery. Nameless portraits noted his progress as he navigated the corridors from the guardhouse on his way to the Oxford apartments. He was wearing his finest doublet, paned slops, and hosen, all of it fit for a knight. Today he was claiming his title. He would be a knight and a gentleman, the kind of man that could provide for a family.
The servant at the door to the Oxford suites bowed graciously as he admitted Charles. He was more used to being questioned before admittance and was slightly confused by the deferential treatment. Perhaps the servant had not known who he was and had only seen the embroidered velvet and ornamental rapier.
Charles hovered in the opulent sitting room. A cluster of gentlewomen sat by the windows doing their needlework. They had stopped speaking when he entered the room. Did they know who he was? Or would they only recognize him in the guardsman tunic? One lady glanced at him under lowered lids and jumped in her seat when he winked at her. She was less obvious when she looked his way again, but she did look. What did she see? A gentleman who was received by the Earl of Oxford? A young lord, new to court? A marriageable prospect, perhaps? Charles almost laughed at the thought. He had not even asked Mary to marry him yet, and he was still giddy with the idea of their future. He would be a husband. A father. His name would pass on legitimately.
“Sir Charles.” Lady Oxford entered the sitting room. She was flushed, but trying to appear proper.
Charles lowered into a reverance only to be raised immediately. Anne hurried toward him, both hands outstretched. “Oh brother, let us not stand on ceremony. After all, we are family.”
He could not help raising his eyebrows in surprise. “As you say, sister.”
Gripping both his hands in hers, Anne led Charles to the chaise and sat beside him. “Ned is much recovered and looks forward to meeting with you, but I wished to speak with you first.”
This could not be a good thing.
Anne continued, “Ned has told me of your arrangement and I am so pleased. I have read a little of the account books from the Priory, and it will be a fine property. I know the conditions of accepting the property may have seemed harsh, but I am so pleased you have the good sense to understand them. That woman was no good for you and it speaks to your character that you have set her aside. That said, I think it would be best if you were a family man. After all, a young, handsome, single steward could invite all sorts of unwanted attentions and lead to scandal.”
Courtly Scandals Page 20
