“HER MAJESTY, QUEEN Anne, presents the Three Graces. Long may they shed their light on England and our king.” Applause rippled through the great hall as the steward retreated and three white-robed maidens took his place. Though this particular pageant was his mother’s birthday gift to him, William let his mind wander as a poet declaimed on the wonders of his reign and the glories still to come.
Elizabeth sat straight-backed, head held high in a manner he knew was unconscious. His eyes flicked from his sister to his mother, sitting next to him, and back to Elizabeth. Though their colouring could not be more different, he had always seen a great similarity in the two. Something about the set of the chin and the expression of the eyes—and, as intelligent as their father had been, William thought Elizabeth’s mind owed more to Anne’s quicksilver wit than to Henry’s stubborn shrewdness.
As he watched his sister, Elizabeth smiled at one of the dancers and William followed her eyes. He had not realized Minuette was part of this pageant. She was draped in white, arms bare and honey-coloured hair worn loose, and she moved with an assurance that surprised William—he was more used to seeing her jump off walls and scramble up trees. How had she changed so much in just a year?
As though his mother could read his mind, she leaned in and said softly, “Genevieve was so quick and impatient when she came to me, but she has learnt to control herself and turn her energy to elegance.”
“You have taught her well, Mother,” William said, and meant it. There did seem to be something of his mother in the way Minuette held herself, as though aware of everyone watching her.
“She is a good girl. Elizabeth must see to it she remains that way.”
“Of course she will,” William said sharply, indignant at the thought that Minuette could be anything but entirely good. Mischievous, yes, but never a hint of … whatever his mother was implying. But beneath his denial lurked uneasiness, as he remembered Giles Howard on the staircase earlier. Minuette’s virtue would never falter, but the men around her might not be so cautious. He would have to keep an eye on her.
The Graces finished their performance in a swirl of white silk. Through the applause, William turned his attention to Eleanor Percy, seated across the room. She was eighteen and newly come to court as an attendant to Lady Rochford. He had been watching her for the last month, at the way she moved as though wearing the thinnest nightdress rather than layers of stiffened fabric, at the way she looked at a man through lowered lashes, all warmth and promise. Tonight he stared at her until her cheeks coloured faintly, but she did no more than flick a single glance his way and catch her lower lip with her teeth—a gesture that made William want to bite it in turn.
His father had married for the first time at seventeen, but William did not find that idea appealing. Marriage was about politics, and what he wanted at the moment was not a matter for negotiations and treaties. He wanted someone soft and pliable—a woman who would share his bed and his company when convenient, and willingly retreat when not. Eleanor was of the perfect social standing: sufficiently below him that her father and brothers would gladly accept any honours offered while she shared the king’s bed, not so low that he would feel guilty about damaging her future.
He continued to stare at her until she at last met his gaze fully and smiled—an inviting smile that decided him then and there. He would have to find her a husband. That was a necessity, for he knew that ambitious families still remembered his own mother’s elevation from lady-in-waiting to queen. He could not afford to let the relatives of attractive women dream of a throne.
He would wed for practicality, and take his pleasures where he could. For all the unorthodoxy of his parents’ marriage, that was the way of kings.
Elizabeth spent nearly all her waking hours weighed down by the responsibilities of her life: how she should dress, what she should study, whom she should speak to, where she should go.
Dancing with Robert Dudley teetered on the very edge of those responsibilities, and she was aware of how quickly she could fall over the edge into scandal. Tonight she didn’t care. William was ogling Eleanor Percy, her mother had retired to her chambers, and the French ambassador was busy with Northumberland. To hell with what anyone else thought.
Robert knew every aspect of her—especially the rebellious, temperamental part, which he delighted in bringing out. And not just in her. Robert seemed born to stir up tempests.
Tonight he said what everyone else was thinking but was too circumspect to say aloud. “Lady Mary is going to get herself in trouble one of these days. Even a half sister can only defy a king for so long.”
Elizabeth shrugged, annoyed at having Mary dropped into the conversation. Even absent, her half sister had a dampening effect on everything around her. “William knows perfectly well that Mary will not attend any court function at which my mother is present. He invites her because he must, but he does not care that she does not appear. She would only take the pleasure out of it anyway,” she added peevishly.
“Pleasure being the operative principle of governments and courts,” Robert said drily.
Elizabeth refrained from pouting, just. “Your father is surely pleased at any sign of discontent from Mary. It means the court is safely out of reach of the Catholic faction. If Mary were wise, she would realize that and swallow her pride. Decisions are made by those who are present. Her idealism will leave the Catholics nothing but their pride.”
“Why do you dislike her so much?”
Because she thinks my mother is a whore and I’m a bastard, and for all her apparent submission to Will she thinks the same of him … “Because she’s a fanatic. She would see England burn rather than compromise. And that sort of belief I will never understand.”
Robert sighed. “I do not disagree, but I also do not think it wise to ignore her as the king does. Fanatics breed followers, and Mary free will forever be dangerous.”
“What are you suggesting?”
He shook off the introspection and smiled lightly. “Me? I am not serious enough to suggest anything. Leave that to councilors. My job is to entertain.”
“And you do it so well,” she replied. Sometimes she marveled that Robert should be Northumberland’s son—though the physical resemblance was there, Robert seemed to belong to the court in a way that his father never had. Northumberland used his size and forceful presence to get what he wanted; Robert came at things more subtly.
As he escorted her off the dance floor, a woman in a dark red gown appeared so suddenly in their path that Robert nearly collided with her. She didn’t move even when he put his hand out to stop himself, just stared him down with an impertinence that would have done royalty proud. Elizabeth recognized her: the sullen lady from her mother’s presence chamber.
“Yes?” Elizabeth asked sharply, uncomfortable despite herself when the woman met her eyes.
Slowly enough to be rude, the woman dropped into a curtsy. “Pardon me, Your Highness. Sometimes it’s all a woman can do to look to herself.”
She addressed the last part to Robert, and Elizabeth wondered why, then told herself she didn’t care. If the woman had made a fool of herself over Robert Dudley, she was neither the first nor the last.
Robert remained polite, but there was an undercurrent to his reply. “You would be wise to watch your step, Mistress de Clare. You might have disturbed the princess.”
Once more the woman met Elizabeth’s eyes, but this time the hostility was moderated by something softer that Elizabeth couldn’t place. “That was not my intention. I apologize, Your Highness.”
Elizabeth accepted with a nod and pulled Robert back to the dance floor. At least there no one would interrupt them and she could pretend that Robert’s wife did not exist—and nor did any other woman who might have caught Robert’s eye.
By the time Minuette returned to the great hall after the pageant, the dancing had begun. She stood and watched from the shadow of a corner, letting the music rush through her like the surge of a waterfall. There
was something about the Greek costume she still wore—the loose white silk pleated at the shoulders to leave her arms bare when she moved, the lengths of fabric caught beneath her breasts by a simple gold cord and then skimming around her body in flutters like butterfly wings—that made her feel light and joyous and just a little reckless.
Elizabeth was dancing with Robert Dudley. Minuette approved, for Robert could nearly always cajole the serious-minded Elizabeth into something approaching lightheartedness. She liked the smile she saw on Elizabeth’s face as she danced, though an image crossed her mind of a widowed French prince who might not approve if he were here.
William stood on the low dais at the front of the hall, in the company of a young woman who had recently come to court. Minuette could not recall her name, only that she was in Lady Rochford’s employ. William looked rather like a sleek cat as he bent his head to listen to the lady. His eyes were not on her face, and he was slow to remember himself when another woman, in a dark red dress that highlighted her figure, interrupted.
Alyce de Clare. Minuette frowned. What could Alyce have to speak to William about, important enough to interrupt his obvious flirting? Could it be … could her trouble … is it Will?
No, Minuette told herself immediately. If Alyce had been in the king’s bed, the entire court would know it.
“Can it be that one of the Three Graces does not have a partner?” The voice in her ear was low and familiar, and she turned from her worries about Alyce to greet Dominic.
“Not unless you choose to honour me,” she said.
He hesitated for the barest moment before taking her hand. “It’s been a long time since we’ve danced together. You’ve grown taller.”
As he led her out, her free hand came up to touch the star pendant around her neck. “Thank you for this, Dominic. It’s lovely. All of it. I … thank you.” She felt his eyes on her, a dark, jewel-hued green, but for some nameless reason could not meet them.
“You’re welcome,” he said, pulling her into the opening steps of a pavane.
Although Minuette had long ago learnt the patterns of many dances, the last two years had taught her to move without thought. Every posture, every cadence, was instinctive, and Dominic partnered her perfectly, which was perhaps not surprising in a man who had known her all her life.
When the dance ended he escorted her off the floor, and she waited for him to say something. She waited so long that she finally opened her own mouth in a question, only to find him speaking at the same time.
“Tell me about—”
“You’ve become—”
They both stopped. Feeling unaccountably shy, Minuette said, “I’m sorry. I only meant to ask about Wales.”
She could see Dominic relax as he answered her. “The border country is beautiful. And the Welsh mountains … far more rugged than anything I’ve seen before. Being a soldier suits me perfectly. I don’t think I have any talent for diplomacy, whatever Lord Rochford might say.”
“What has Lord Rochford to do with you?”
He shook his head and said lightly, “Never mind. It’s nothing.”
Minuette did not think it was nothing. But before she could press her point, Giles Howard was asking her to dance. Smiling as graciously as she could manage at the unappealing prospect, she let him take her hand and lead her away from Dominic, who scowled at the interruption.
In spite of the fact that Minuette’s stepfather was also Giles’s uncle, Minuette hardly knew the young man at all. He was a familiar figure, of course, his peacock clothing contrasting sharply with his solid build and sallow skin. In spite of his appearance, he was of some importance, and Minuette knew how to be effortlessly polite even while dancing with a man an inch shorter than herself.
When he caught hold of her fingers at the end of the dance and asked her to walk with him in the courtyard below, Minuette thought wryly that she might have been too polite. There was nothing improper about the request—there were plenty of people about, both inside and out—and because she didn’t like him, she agreed out of guilt.
To her relief, Giles didn’t try to hold her hand or quote poetry to her, just boasted a bit about his prowess at fencing and jousting. He seemed in no hurry to reach the courtyard, however, leading her through the far entrance of the great hall and down the gallery by the chapel. The stairway on this end was deserted, and Minuette shivered as they reached the stone steps, wishing that she wore more than the thin layers of her costume.
Because she had been listening to Giles with only half her mind, it took a moment for the last thing he said to sink in. She stopped at the top of the stairs and looked at him. “What did you say?”
He repeated himself, his expression a mix of satisfaction and condescension. “Our betrothal. It’s all but done.”
Her bewilderment turned to fear. “Betrothal? No one’s said anything to me.”
“Well, they wouldn’t, would they? My father spoke to the queen about it some time since, and it awaits only final approval by the king and council.”
“But …” She tried to think, to ignore the stab of betrayal that William was arranging a marriage for her without her knowledge. The hurt made her less than gracious. “But I don’t want to marry you.”
Giles gripped her arm with surprising force. “Your fortune is small. If it weren’t for your personal ties to the royal family, you’d be of no use to my father. The Howards are the closest thing you have to family. It’s time you make it worth our while.”
Minuette tried to free her arm while retaining her dignity, but she was beginning to feel a faint sense of panic. The stairway was dark and empty, and Giles’s eyes were glittering strangely. He not only ignored her efforts to free herself but wrapped his other arm around her back and pulled her close.
“There’s really no need to wait for the formalities. I’ve a mind to see just how spirited you are.”
At that point she would gladly have thrown off her dignity and screamed, but his mouth was on hers so quickly that she nearly choked on her own breath. Then she nearly choked on his, thick and rancid in her throat. She struggled for all she was worth, but it served only to arouse him further.
And then, with a suddenness that made her lose her balance and sit down hard on the ground, Giles was off her and she could breathe. Angry to feel herself shaking, she inhaled deeply several times, though it would take more than that to cleanse her mouth of the taste of him.
She stared up to where Giles stood perfectly still, his right arm twisted sharply behind his back and the point of Dominic’s dagger pricking the underside of his chin.
Dominic’s voice was a purr that raised the hair on the back of her neck. “Did you not listen to me earlier? That was a mistake.”
Giles gurgled, and Minuette swallowed a laugh of pure hysteria. The dagger moved slightly, and she saw a pinprick of blood slide down its blade.
“Don’t,” she said.
Dominic turned his face to her, though she wasn’t sure he could see anything through the haze of fury in his eyes.
From behind Dominic, a voice of undoubted authority rang out. “Let him go, Dom.” William strode into view, flanked by two of his guards. He extended a hand to help Minuette up without taking his eyes off the two men locked together in a threat of violence.
At first it seemed that Dominic would not obey. When he did release Giles, it was with a shove that sent him staggering. In an instinct of violence, Giles raised a fist, but William’s voice stopped him cold. “I shouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Giles wasn’t so pompous that he didn’t recognize the danger in his sovereign’s voice. Mumbling halfhearted curses, he retreated down the corridor with less grace than speed.
William touched his hand to her cheek. “Are you all right?”
Minuette was staring at Dominic, who sheathed his dagger with an energetic thrust that frightened her—as if he imagined it to be Giles’s body. “I’m all right.”
William let his hand drop, and Min
uette seized it impulsively. “He told me … he said that you’re arranging a betrothal between us.”
His lips tightened. “You needn’t worry. He’ll not come near you again.”
“But you were considering it?”
Shifting from one foot to the other, William said cautiously, “It had been mentioned. But it hadn’t gone any further than talk. I would have told you if it had.”
“Then you won’t—I won’t have to marry him?”
“No.”
Dominic had turned away as if she weren’t even there. Trying to focus on the matter at hand, Minuette wrenched her eyes back to William. “I know that I can’t marry without permission. But I should at least like to respect my husband. Promise me, William, that you won’t force me to marry against my wishes.”
His right hand came up to cup her chin. “I promise.”
Dominic refused to let Minuette out of his sight—he insisted on escorting her until she was safe behind the thick door of her quarters. But William would not let them leave until Dominic gave his word that he would not go looking for Giles Howard afterward.
“A beating is too simple,” William had said softly before sending Dominic off with Minuette. “I’ve much better ways of making a man pay.”
Dominic didn’t doubt it, though part of him still ached to smash Howard’s face. As he walked beside Minuette, he considered that he had only promised not to go looking for him. If he should happen to come across him by chance …
Had William not stopped him earlier, Dominic was in little doubt that he would have killed Giles Howard. He was less disturbed by that than he would have liked, for he was not an especially violent or impulsive man. But when he had seen Howard with hands and mouth on Minuette, Dominic had given in to a red rush of fury.
He would have been displeased to find Howard assaulting any young woman, and he tried to convince himself that his reaction would have been the same even if the woman involved had been a stranger. But he was too honest to believe it. From the moment Minuette had jumped into his arms this afternoon, a trembling, half-formed suspicion had hovered in the back of his mind.
Laura Andersen - [Ann Boleyn 01] Page 4
