The Lady Series, Two Books for the Price of One

by Denise Domning

  “Madame,” Mistress Anne cried, almost dropping into a curtsy as she spoke, “will folk not think me forward for spending so much time alone with Master Hollier?”

  Too caught up in her need to win the wager, the queen waved away her maid’s concern. “No one save for a select few will know you’re alone together. Moreover, Master Hollier is my gentleman and will behave as such.” Kit caught the note of warning in this. “You’ll also have the musicians and your governess as chaperones.”

  This time, when England’s monarch glanced between them, the joy of scheming showed on her face. “Now, here is the how of it. I’ll see a place set aside for your daily use, but once a week you must still practice within sight of all others. In those practices Mistress Anne must seem clumsy and flat-footed.”

  She paused to look at her maid. “I saw how your pride ached at the Maying, and know this public display will gall you right smartly. Take heart and let them think you clumsy, content that you will prove them wrong, come July.”

  Kit felt Mistress Anne’s start of surprise at this; she hadn’t been to court long enough to realize there was little that Elizabeth missed. “Aye, Madame,” she replied. “I’ll look forward to that day. What of my duties?”

  Elizabeth smiled, delight beaming from her. “Your schedule will be arranged around your time with Master Hollier. Now, be you also warned that the earl will ask you to dance in the coming weeks, testing you. Take care and reveal very little of what you’ve learned. Step upon his feet if you must.” The thought of her maid treading upon her favorite’s toes made the queen smile again, the movement of her mouth owning a certain sly satisfaction to it. “Need I warn either of you that no one should know of this conversation or our plan?”

  “Your secret is ours to keep, Majesty,” Kit assured her. God knew he wasn’t going to invite the court to watch him seduce this woman.

  Mistress Anne only nodded as if she dared not open her mouth for fear of what might leap off her tongue.

  “Aye then, we’re settled with this,” the queen replied, more than satisfied with all that had occurred. “If you feel you need a tutor to aid you, but slip me notice and I’ll see the man hired. These lessons will begin upon the morrow, for on this day, we hunt. Now, hie with you both and be off to prepare. We’ll have us the fair roebuck this day.”

  “Majesty,” Kit said with a bow. Beside him, Mistress Anne offered a small bob. Even before they’d begun to back away the queen whirled and strode to her companions.

  “Hie with all of us,” the queen cried out. Whether her voice was light in anticipation of the day’s exercise or at the thought of hoodwinking her favorite there was no telling. “‘Tis time to rouse the house and be at our pleasure.”

  “Come with me,” Mistress Anne hissed, catching Kit’s arm in both her hands. She nigh on shoved him down the path away from the queen’s party.

  He let her drag him nearly halfway to the garden gate without protest. Why complain, when he could happily enjoy the seductive shift of her breasts beneath her bodice as she stomped? When the path forked, she turned into a secluded leafy grove.

  Even though he knew she was furious with him, pleasure woke as the branches closed around them. ‘Ere too much longer she and he would be lying in just such a place, doing more than sharing the kiss he’d promised her. The anticipation of their lovemaking was enough to send Kit’s desires winging anew.

  Once Mistress Anne was certain they were private, she grabbed him by the arms and stared up into his face. “What are you thinking!” she cried softly. Terror and anger tangled in her question.

  Kit almost laughed. The last thing she needed to know was what he was thinking. Instead he set out to soothe her into his clutches as best he could. “Do you not see that this opportunity can do us both good?” That was not quite true, as lying with her would do him more good than her. “By God,” he continued, “but I can’t tell you how many men would slit my throat for a chance like this.”

  Mistress Anne’s eyes widened as anger ate up even her terror. “You’ve traded my safety and well-being for a chance at royal favor!”

  Kit blinked in surprise. If the queen won her wager, her gratitude would be equal to the triumph she felt at besting Leicester. This could well mean a promotion to a better position at court. The possibility of restoring Nick’s title through fair means hovered just beyond his reach then slipped away. To win favor, Mistress Anne would have to dance and dance well, indeed. It was far-fetched to think they could cram a lifetime’s worth of lessons in less than three months.

  Still, if Kit wanted her alone and vulnerable, he had to appear as if he believed the feat possible. “She’ll hardly separate our heads from our necks for failing,” he protested. “Nay, the worst that will happen is that we’ll be relegated to the ranks of the invisible. Now, I’ll have no more of this nay-saying. You’ll dance and do it well come July’s end. Set your eyes upon success, and trust me.”

  His conscience screamed in protest over his choice of words. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how much he could hate himself. By July, she’d be deflowered and driven from court. The only positive in all of this was that he’d be dead by that time. Since he was no longer a follower of the Roman faith and not quite a faithful Protestant, Kit supposed he’d find himself in hell. Just punishment for his sins, no doubt leaving him beyond caring over the harm he’d done to her.

  “Nan?” Mistress Mary cried. “Nan, are you here?”

  Anne started at her cousin’s call then pressed a finger to her lips to bid Master Christopher to silence. When she glanced over her shoulder, she gave thanks that the branches were thick enough to shield them from Mary’s view. Not that her kinswoman would tell tales, but it was unseemly to be discovered in hiding with Master Christopher. Despite the queen’s assurances Anne would have to be far more careful about who saw them and where.

  “Nan?” Mary’s voice was more distant, suggesting she had moved away from their bower.

  “Let me go first,” Anne quietly commanded her dancing tutor. “I’ll not have Mary think ill of us.”

  Master Christopher bent his head toward her in agreement. “But of course. Anything to please you, mistress.”

  “So you would say,” she retorted.

  Turning, she darted out of their bower to the path, and stopped to glance up and down the thread of colored tile. There was no sign of her cousin. From the distant stables, horses whinnied and grooms shouted as they prepared for the hunt. Nearby, spades scraped into earth as the gardeners set to their daily chores.

  “Mary?” she called.

  “Nan?” Mary called back, having moved farther from Anne’s hiding place. “Where are you?”

  “I’m coming to you,” Anne cried. Lifting her skirts to follow her kinswoman’s call, she left the path and made her way over a tiny hillock. Mary caught sight of her, and turned to meet her. As she crossed beneath a brace of trees, brushing their low hanging branches as she went, she won a shower of moist petals for her efforts. As they met, Mary laughed and swept them off the shoulders of her green hunting doublet.

  “I vow this place is too wild by half. It’s almost indecent.”

  “Now you sound like Patience,” Anne replied as she linked her arm through her kinswoman’s.

  “Are you calling me ill-tempered and narrow-minded?” Mary cried.

  “You know I am not.” Anne smiled as they matched their strides and made their way back to the path. There was joy to be had in walking alongside a woman who had no liking for mincing steps. She glanced over her shoulder. Master Christopher had left their hiding spot. Gentleman that he was, he headed toward the opposite side of the garden.

  When she looked back to Mary, she found her kinswoman’s eyes alive with the thrill of prying out secrets. “I may have discovered something.”

  “About Lady Montmercy?” Anne lowered her voice into the tones of conspiracy, even though she was certain they’d not be overheard. To date, she’d had no luck finding anyone wi
lling to speak of the noblewoman.

  Some of the sparkle left her kinswoman’s eyes. “Well not precisely about her. It’s about the old lord Montmercy from Master Williams, the earl of Pembroke’s secretary.”

  “So tell me,” Anne demanded quietly, knowing this was the prod for which Mary was waiting.

  “It seems there was bad blood between the old lord and Sir Amyas some years ago when they were both serving on the Court of the Wards,” Mary said. “Master Williams said they nearly came to blows more than once, requiring the ushers to part them.”

  Anne frowned. Although this was interesting it wasn’t the answer she needed. “Is there more?”

  Their progress along the path startled a squirrel. The creature leapt up a sapling to chitter at them in irritation.

  “It seems that Lord Montmercy had a gift for ferreting out his enemies’ secrets then using them to his advantage.” Mary glanced up. “Moreover, he hated the Protestant lawyers who gained power in court.”

  “Of which my grandsire was one,” Anne murmured, then she sighed. “While this is reason for my grandsire to despise old Lord Montmercy, there’s nothing here that might make him fear the lady.”

  “Nay,” Mary agreed. “There’s something more. It has nothing to do with your grandsire, only Lady Montmercy, but it’s a trifle odd.”

  “What’s that?” Anne asked.

  “It seems Lady Montmercy surprised all the court when shortly after our mistress’s ascension to the throne she asked that her son be given over to royal wardenship.”

  Anne considered this a moment. Lord Andrew had been born just before his sire’s death in the last year of King Edward’s reign. “He would have been, what, six years old then? Although that is a bit young, there are pages of that age in court right now.”

  “Aye, true enough.” Mary’s expression filled with curiosity. “Still, Master Williams made a point of saying how devoted Lady Montmercy seemed to the lad throughout all of Queen Mary’s rule. Then, of a sudden, she gives him into royal care and assumes a place at court.”

  “Maybe the lady has strong Protestant leanings?” Anne suggested.

  Mary made a face at this. “She hardly seems the religious sort.”

  Anne shot her kinswoman a smiling, sidelong glance. “Perhaps she but used the boy as an excuse to avoid Queen Mary’s company? More likely she’d had her fill of motherhood. She doesn’t strike me as one with room in her heart for much more than her own self-interest.”

  “That much is true,” Mary said with a laugh.

  “Do you think we could speak to Lord Andrew about his mother?” Anne asked. “Maybe, he’d have a clue to this conundrum of mine.”

  Mary giggled. “Have a care you do not approach him at the darkened end of a chamber. He’s all hands and a ready cock.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Anne replied, remembering the lordling’s complaints over his warden removing his doxy at the Maying. “Will he be hunting? If so, perhaps you and I can ride near his party.”

  “Aye, that we can.” Mary’s eyes filled with delight. “Then, once the picnic begins, we’ll sit with his company and ply him with questions.”

  “We can do that?” Anne asked as her heart leapt. Master Christopher wore the Montmercy badge. Would he be riding with his lordling companion this day?

  Mary shrugged. “But of course we can. It’s the hunt, and there’s no order in that. Now, hie!” She grabbed up her skirts, and dashed toward the gate.

  Anne laughed as she ran. Just as well that she had Mary as her chaperone. She wasn’t entirely certain her dancing master wouldn’t be all hands and ready cock himself, or that she wouldn’t enjoy it if he were.

  There was nothing so glorious as a headlong gallop through a fragrant and budding parkland, even if the day was marred with misty rain. The breast and long sleeves of Anne’s green hunting kirtle were sodden. The hem of her brown underskirt was thoroughly splattered with mud and her hat might never again be the same.

  Who cared? Even better, in the melee she and Mary had attached themselves to Lord Montmercy’s party.

  It was a great bevy of roebuck the queen and her court chased this day. Despite their small size the dainty deer was worthy prey. The roebuck was a cunning beast. Twice the bevy escaped, and twice was found again. When last Anne and her group spotted them the deer had lost their leaps and fallen into a flat run, their sides heaving.

  “Hold, now,” Master Fayrfax bellowed, looking all the more massive in his woodland attire as he called the six of their group to a halt.

  Anne and the rest drew their mounts together. Above the snorting of their horses she heard distant shouts. The hounds were belling, the sound of the dogs so fractured by the trees and low hanging clouds that Anne couldn’t guess at their direction.

  In his fur-trimmed brown coat Lord Montmercy looked every inch the nobleman, his dark steed as arrogant as he. “Which way?” he demanded.

  “East, I think,” said Sir Edward Mallory, smiling against the day’s pleasure. Now that Sir Edward was away from those he wished to impress the young knight’s face had relaxed from its somber lines, revealing another man, this one surprisingly boyish and merry.

  Although Anne had earlier swept him from her list of potential husbands as one too ambitious to care for marital harmony, she wondered if she’d been too hasty. Even as she considered adding him anew, she discarded the thought. He was too much of a popinjay for her. Or, rather, he had been a popinjay when he’d ridden out of Greenwich’s gate. Now, the many bows that prettified the front of Sir Edward’s doublet had all been undone by the wind, the ribbons streaming down the garment’s front and across his dark coat in a wild tangle.

  “Hush and listen,” Master Christopher called out, his eyes narrowing as he strained to hear as his horse danced, eager to run once more.

  Anne breathed in new pleasure. What a fine sight he made this day with his legs clad in tall brown boots gartered atop leather breeches. Beneath a sturdy brown coat Master Christopher’s doublet was the color of a fir tree, which only made his eyes seem all the greener.

  “There,” Master Christopher pointed. “They’re to the west of us.”

  As if stirred to it by Master Christopher’s shout, the huntsman’s horn sounded again, piercing the leaden sky like a clarion call. It came from the west, just as he’d suggested. In silence, they all listened to the bleats; the rhythm said the deer were finally at bay.

  “Away!” Mary shouted, jabbing her heels into her mount’s sides. Her horse lunged, sending her hat slipping to the side. Even as Mary grabbed at it, she was leaning forward in the saddle, urging her mount to greater speed.

  Master Fayrfax bellowed at the thought of missing the hunt’s end and turned his horse’s head to follow her. Lord Montmercy whipped his steed into a full gallop, his coat flying. But Master Christopher took the lead. As he leaned low over his saddle, his horse shot from the pack as eager to be at the kill as his rider.

  “God’s wounds, Kit, you’ll not best me this time,” Sir Edward shouted after him, driving his own mount into its fastest pace, his ribbons streaming.

  Laughing, Anne leaned low in her own saddle as her mount raced over hillocks and through the sparse trees. The belling of the dogs grew louder. Folk shouted in exultation, the few female voices threading like silver into the darker roar of masculine thunder.

  The queen’s party had the dainty beasts trapped in a narrow hollow. Amid the feathery new grass and budding birch the rascals turned and sidled, seeking escape even as they faced their doom. Elizabeth loosened her bow and took the biggest of them, a full roebuck. Once the queen had hers, the others of high rank closed in for their kills. On this day none were spared, not the does, kids, or gerles. As the deer dropped, the harrying hounds circled and cried for their meat, while the watchers shouted their approval.

  It was all over too quickly for Anne. As the huntsmen built their fire, she dismounted and watched the dogs as they gnawed on the roebucks’ feet. How could she ever ha
ve found any enjoyment in her quiet life when there was so much excitement to be had?

  It was sad to think that in only a few months she’d leave all of this behind her. She caught herself and frowned. Shame on her for putting her own her pleasure ahead of her mother’s needs.

  By the time the carcasses were carried away, the roebuck’s meat being prized as a food to rebuild health, the trailing servants found their masters. With the maids and men came food and blankets, the feast being laid out with the usual care even though no one was likely to tarry long in this weather.

  Once Mary and Anne gave their congratulations to their mistress, the two were free to stroll. They chose a meandering course through the many groups, offering greetings and polite conversation to each. It wouldn’t do to insult or appear obvious as they made their way to join Lord Montmercy’s party.

  And, then they were upon the men they sought. Sprawled upon his patron’s blanket, his body braced upon his elbow and a cup caught in his hand, Master Christopher looked relaxed, indeed. Like many of the other men, he’d opened his collars. She liked the way that looked on him.

  He watched her as she neared. A shiver shot through Anne. Lord, but his desire for her nigh on pulsed from him. Surely if he were already so hot it wouldn’t take but a few of their lessons before he forget his vow to remain unwed in trade for her kiss. Ah, but once she’d tasted his lips, would she be content to do no more?

  Lord Montmercy looked up as Anne and Mary stopped at the edge of his blanket, his dark blue eyes showing pleasure that they should again come his way. If his face was reddened from their ride, the lordling had left off some of his arrogance with his coat. “Mistresses, will you honor us with your presence?” he asked in formal invitation.

  Anne blinked in surprise. With his voice hoarse from the shouting and the wet, he sounded different. Indeed, in this roughened state there was something in his tone and cadence that plucked at memory’s string. Someone else she knew sounded like him. Even as she reached out to grasp that one’s identity the whole slipped from her mental fingers.