Courtly Scandals

by Erin Kane Spock

  Charles would not have thought it possible, but Lady Oxford was even more despicable than Ned. At least Ned did not disguise his vices. Lady Oxford had coated over her insufferable cruelty with a mask of ladylike behavior.

  And she wasn’t finished.

  “I have two gentlewomen of excellent lineage that I could recommend to you if you wish to marry. Of course, you will need Queen Elizabeth’s permission, but that should not be difficult to obtain. Father could speak on your behalf, or even Ned might be willing to smile and say something pretty to turn Her head.”

  Enough. “Lady Oxford, that will not be necessary.”

  “Oh, but I must insist. You will have an ample living from the Priory and appearances must be maintained. Of course, marriage would not prevent you from seeking out your needs elsewhere. All men do, of course. Apparently there seems to be something beguiling about Mistress Mary, but if you miss that sort of cheap conquest, there will always be more of her type available—and they won’t have delusions of being gentlewomen. Your wife will understand.”

  “Madam, you do not understand me. I am not accepting the Priory . . . ”

  Anne’s smile was patronizing. “Oh? Holding out for more? Or do you hope for Ned to change his mind regarding your strumpet?”

  “I will thank you to cease insulting Mistress Mary.”

  “I am a countess, and I will say as I please.”

  Charles stood. “Then I will bid you good day. You may inform my brother of my decision if you like.” He turned to leave.

  “You are acting like a fool!” Anne rose, following on his heels. “You would turn down respectability over a whore?”

  Charles turned to look directly down upon her. “Do her years of love and loyalty mean nothing to you? She was your friend. Your only true friend. You threw that away over what? Silly rumors?”

  “She overstepped her bounds. She did not know her place.”

  “She is the daughter of a knight. She is a gentlewoman in her own right with the same level of pedigree as you, sister.”

  “I am a countess now. Mary went too far.” Anne stepped back.

  Charles stepped forward, refusing to let her distance herself. “Pray tell, what did she do?” He had never spoken to a lady with such derision. Then again, Anne was not behaving like a lady.

  Anne’s mouth gaped open a moment as she struggled to speak. Charles let the silence drag on until Anne squared her shoulders and attempted to resume some semblance of dignity.

  “Mary assaulted me.”

  This was not the answer Charles had expected. He could not help but laugh at how serious little Anne was as she made the ridiculous statement.

  “I am the Countess of Oxford. Mary should not have struck me.” Anne straightened her back and shoulders as if she were willing herself to grow, to look down on Charles and put him in his place.

  Charles tried to stifle the laughter, but Anne stamped her foot and he laughed harder. Her tone was so imperious.

  “No one makes a fool of me.”

  Her final statement was too much. Charles could not wait to retell this later. Then again, Mary might still be too tender about the break with Anne to appreciate the humor. Kit, he would tell Kit Hatton. Straightening his face into something more somber, he said, “Anne, I’m afraid you made a fool of yourself when you attacked her two days past. You have just done so again, in front of me and your household. If you wish to uphold the consequence of a countess, you should behave like one.”

  Anne sputtered as she turned to see her ladies in waiting pointedly ignoring her.

  “How dare you!” Anne faced him once more, her blotchy red face a clear sign of her fury.

  “Lady Oxford, I came today to say good-bye to my brother. Mistress Mary will be my wife. I have the Queen’s blessing and my knight’s portion. I need nothing from you.”

  “You lie.”

  Whether or not she believed him was of no consequence.

  “Good day, Lady Oxford.” Charles gave a brief reverance, turned, and left the room.

  Anne followed him out the door, scurrying to walk beside him. Her efforts left her breathless. “You think to have a future with her? She will never be a good wife or mother. She is heartless. She abandoned me, and she will abandon you. She is a monster—she aborted her own baby!”

  That last statement almost interrupted his stride. He would not give Ned’s crazy wife the satisfaction and outpaced her, leaving her screaming behind him.

  “You did not know that, did you? You see, she’s naught but a lying whore!” Anne’s voice echoed behind him.

  Mary’s baby . . . it had not been a matter of nature. He should not be surprised; it was a practical choice. Women did it all the time. He had never really thought about it before. What it might mean.

  She had told him about the pregnancy and that she had lost the baby. Why would she have lied to him? They had been so open with each other, it never occurred to him that there was more to the story.

  Charles kept his pace in spite of the fact that Lady Oxford had been left far behind. Many women used herbs to get rid of unwanted pregnancies. In part, they were wise—how many bastards would have been born without such ‘remedies’? How many children like him?

  Lost in his thoughts, he found himself at the tennis courts. He had not gone to Mistress Parry’s chambers to seek out Mary as he had planned. Right now he was supposed to be proposing, letting Mary know she had options and a future and love . . .

  He had been ready to leave everything at court. Excited to start fresh and establish his name with honor. He loved her—that had never really been in question. But how much did he know about her?

  Was she the sort of woman who would look on a child as an inconvenience? No, surely not. She had risked her life to save that baby on the ice. She cared. She had a heart full of love.

  But she had chosen to take away her own baby’s chance at life. What if his mother had taken that course? Had she thought about it? Wanted to? God’s teeth, he may never have been born . . . The thought overwhelmed him.

  Charles sat down by the cold brazier and stared out the slats in the shutters onto the frozen tennis court. He did not know what to think.

  • • •

  Mary slept soundly, woken at regular intervals to drink some hot broth and tea. Mistress Parry seemed less and less worried each time, which was reassuring. Her sleep had been truly restful—no dreams at all. It had been a long time.

  The only truly disconcerting thing was that Charles had not visited her. He had helped return her to her chamber after their time at the inn. Mistress Parry had forced him to return to his barracks to get some rest and Mary knew he was on duty yesterday, but she had expected him to at least visit. She hadn’t wished for any grand overtures or romantic situations; she just wanted to see him. Maybe her “scandalous” behavior had alienated him, too. Really, he already had enough trouble without adding her notoriety to the list. She wouldn’t blame him if he stopped his attentions. It just had seemed like their time together had meant something.

  She was probably just being foolish, looking for love when all there had been was a mutually pleasurable time. She was silly to have hoped for more.

  Well, she would not feel sorry for herself. It had only ever been about the Christmastide festivities. She had been entitled to enjoy herself before real life resumed after Twelfth Night. And she would not regret it. This had been a once in a lifetime experience, and she would treasure it. She had been a part of Queen Elizabeth’s royal court. Who would have thought that Mary Montgomery, a simple country knight’s daughter, would have lived in such luxury?

  She sighed to herself. All the rationalizations in the world would not ease the hurt that was bound to happen when their time together had to end.

  Her door opened and she sat up, pulling her quilts up around her shoulders. Mistress Parry.

  “Sweeting, you have a very important visitor.” Mistress Parry was breathless, vibrating with excitement. Who could have com
e? Charles?

  She tossed Mary a dressing gown. “Ready yourself.”

  Mary shrugged into the heavy silk robe, tucking it around her hips as two guardsmen marched into her chamber and stationed themselves on either side of the door. Three young girls, maids of honor to Queen Elizabeth, entered next, each reverancing her as they passed by her bed. Quietly they positioned themselves against the far wall and waited expectantly. Finally a man . . . Kit Hatton! What was he doing here? He stepped into the room and led in the final guest.

  Queen Elizabeth.

  Mary struggled to get out of bed, clutching her dressing gown around her.

  “Nay, mistress.” Queen Elizabeth gestured with a staying hand as She sat on a bench at her dressing table. “Be at your ease. We know this is your sick room and would have you recovered as soon as may be.”

  Mary sat back onto her bed as gracefully as she could and tried to smooth her braided hair. “Your Majesty, I am honored.”

  “You are indeed.” The Queen waited patiently for Mary to get comfortable. “I come with a proposition.”

  Mary stopped fussing with herself and tried to relax. What sort of proposition?

  “When you are sufficiently recovered,” Queen Elizabeth continued, Her voice dominating the small chamber, “We wish to have you join Our ladies as a Lady of the Bedchamber. Mistress Parry will instruct you as you will assist her directly in her duties to Our person.”

  Mary was stunned. “This is . . . unexpected.” She wished she could think of something more elegant to say, but contented herself with snapping her mouth shut. She was not a codfish.

  “You are shocked, of course. You have become the scandalous Mistress Mary. Any number of rumors have been flying about you, some We can only laugh at. We do know, however, that you have been done an injustice and are worthy of more. Much more. We watched with our own eyes as you saved that child’s life, at great risk to your own. Your good character has guaranteed you powerful friends.” Queen Elizabeth nodded to the door where Mistress Parry stood. “Should you choose to stay on at court, and never believe that the choice is not yours, you will be a valued member of my personal household and worthy of respect.”

  Mary blinked away the tears that threatened. “Oh, Your Grace, you do me too much honor.”

  Queen Elizabeth waved dismissively.

  The Queen looked to Master Hatton, and he rose as if commanded. She accepted the offer of his hand and started to rise, causing all others present to reverance respectfully. The briefest nod gave everyone permission to recover. The two guardsmen led the procession out of the room, followed by the maids of honor. Queen Elizabeth stopped Kit Hatton as he moved to follow the others. “Mistress Mary, think on what I told you. This is indeed an honor, but you do have a choice. Choose the path that will make you the happiest.”

  With that, the Queen nodded to her consort and he led the way out of the tiny chamber.

  Mary sat bolt upright, listening to the royal procession’s progress as they left.

  Alone in her room, she became aware of the absolute silence. It was almost overwhelming, and she had the urge to shout just to break it. The silence bore the weight of anticipation.

  And whatever was to come next, as the Queen had pointed out, was her choice.

  Should she stay on at court in a position of honor? It was appealing if only to rub her newfound prestige in the face of those courtiers who carelessly all but ruined her future prospects. Or she could simply return to Holme LeSieur as originally planned. But that might seem as if she were tucking tail and hiding from their scorn. Lady Spencer had offered a position at her country estate as well. And none of these positions were as a servant, but as a respectable, gently born lady.

  What should I do?

  She lay back against her pillows and closed her eyes. If she stayed at court, she would have to see Anne frequently. The thought of that was abhorrent. But she would get to stay with Mistress Parry who had become almost like a mother to her. With Mistress Parry, she felt accepted and loved.

  And then there was Charles. She’d never had the opportunity to ask him why he hadn’t told her that he was Ned de Vere’s brother. The oversight, or omission, was already forgiven—she just wanted to know why. What would he think of her staying on at court? He’d always expected her to leave after Twelfth Night—would he be pleased that she was staying?

  Mary opened her eyes and sat up, shaking her head. Charles had never given her cause to doubt him. Their relationship had been honest and open . . . but it had always had a definite stopping point. Would he wish to continue their relationship?

  She almost wished she didn’t have the choice to make. She had always been told what to do and done it. To make a decision about her own future . . . It was overwhelming.

  The only thing she knew for certain was that she was not ready to say good-bye to Charles. For whatever that was worth.

  Chapter Nineteen:

  On the Eleventh Day of Christmas My True Love Gave to Me Eleven Pipers Piping

  Mary had a feeling of déjà vu as she made her way through the festive halls of Whitehall Palace. This time, though, she understood so much more about the nature of court. She’d thought she’d known before; she was no green girl from the nursery after all. But now, now she was practically an expert. The giggles in the corner belonged to some debauched lady of the court whose own bad behavior did not stop her from judging everyone around her. The elegant man standing under the kissing bunch with a young girl, he had his own pleasure in mind no matter what might happen to the stupidly naïve chit in the morning. Or next month.

  Yes, everything looked exactly the same as it had on that first night of Christmas when she had been so nervous about joining in the courtly festivities. The night she had met Charles.

  Charles. The thought of him pushed all the unpleasantness from her mind. It made her hope. It made her scared.

  She had sent a missive asking him to call on her during her forced recuperation. The currier had returned, stating he had been unable to find Charles at the guard house. She had refused to feel abandoned, but she couldn’t avoid the niggling worry that he was avoiding her for some reason.

  A position of honor among the Queen’s ladies was more than she would have dared hope for. Such things were usually doled out to titled young ladies as a means to marry them off. That, or given to well-established and high-ranking matriarchs who had served the Queen well over the years. Mary was neither. She had been offered the position . . . why?

  It had to be because of Mistress Parry. It was the only reasonable answer.

  She shook out her skirts one final time and steeled herself to enter the hall. Ten days ago, she had tiptoed in, wide eyed and overwhelmed. Tonight she was the notorious strumpet, murderess, heroine, and favorite of Queen Elizabeth. Again, Mistress Parry insisted she present herself as festive—she was not allowed to hide behind a somber gown as if she wished to go unnoticed. That would imply shame and she had nothing to be ashamed of, or so Mistress Parry had stated. After some discussion where Mary insisted on wearing her own corset, it was agreed that she could wear her own deep green velvet gown but would add Mistress Parry’s more elaborate and rich accoutrements. Overall, the effect was lovely, but she knew she would be conspicuous. As it was, in the darkened corridor her borrowed forepart, sleeves, and French hood sparkled in the light from the flickering sconces. With all the cut amber gems against the quilted scarlet silk, she may well be blinding once she entered the well-lit hall.

  If she entered at all.

  The light spilling from the open doors was interrupted intermittently by dancers completing their forms. The corridor beyond the pounding beat of the hall seemed a safe haven that Mary could not bring herself to leave. She knew she could never be carefree at court again. Too much had happened. She was a different person and did not know if she could even pretend to be blithe and bonny.

  The only reason she had agreed to attend this evening had been on the hope she would see Charles. Wo
uld he even be there?

  “You look beautiful tonight.”

  Mary gasped and turned to face him. His voice had broken through her musings and answered her question. He was here.

  A weight lifted and Mary let out her breath.

  “Thank you.”

  “No.” Charles stepped beside her and placed her hand on his sleeve. “Thank you.”

  Mary laughed, surprised at how free she sounded. “Are you using your rakish charms on me, Sir Charles?”

  Charles ducked his head down to press a warm kiss to her lips. “Are they working?” His voice was a whisper.

  “Not at all.” Mary grabbed his free hand and stepped back, leading him out of the corridor into an adjacent room.

  She may not have to face the courtly revelries after all. She only had two nights of Christmas left, and she should take advantage. After Twelfth Night, who knew what her future would hold? She had not been able to make a decision and for tonight, she would not have to.

  She could simply enjoy herself. Wasn’t that what Christmastide was all about?

  • • •

  Charles let himself be towed through a darkened doorway and stopped when he felt Mary step up against him. Her hands framed his face, and she angled his head down so she could reach up to kiss him. Her lips were soft and warm against his, but something seemed wrong.

  And after a night of restless sleep and anxious dreams, he did know one thing. He knew who Mary was.

  Tonight she did not seem to be herself. Her nervous energy was almost palpable.

  Begrudgingly he broke the kiss. “Is all well with you, Mary?”