Lady in Waiting: A Novel

by Susan Meissner

  “Yes,” I answered, unable to keep from smiling myself. Darkness was falling all around us. I curtsied hastily. “Good night, Mr. Staverton.”

  I sped away on the steps that had brought me to the pool.

  “So I will see you tomorrow, then, Miss … Lucy?”

  “Day!” I called out and continued my brisk pace.

  “Day?”

  I turned around. “My name is Miss Day. Lucy Day.”

  I continued up the steps, the pounding in my chest now a different rhythm.

  I turned back once to look at him. He still stood at the pool, watching me go.

  It was many hours before sleep came to me that night.

  Eighteen

  The day following my meeting with Nicholas Staverton at the reflecting pool, Jane was summoned to her parents’ reception room. Wondering if perhaps they would be advising her of the imminent arrival of Edward Seymour, I encouraged her to choose a happy gown, one that her mother especially would find attractive. Jane allowed me to bring to her a dress of crimson damask with turned-back sleeves lined with silvery white satin that shone like the moon. Tiny pearls lined the seams.

  As I dressed her, she stared at me, brows furrowed. “What is it that you know, Lucy Day?” she asked me. “Why do you have me wear this dress, when a plain black velvet frock would suffice for my parents?”

  I paused. “This gown is exceptionally lovely on you, my lady,” I said a moment later.

  “Why should I need to appear lovely to my parents? What do you know?”

  “My lady, please don’t ask me,” I murmured, feeling the heat of embarrassment that she could so easily tell I was keeping something from her.

  She reached for my arm. “Are they sending me away? Are they sending me back to court?”

  “No, my lady. Not at all.”

  “What is it then? I can see in your eyes that something is disquieting you. What is it? I order you to tell me.”

  “My lady, please.”

  “Tell me.”

  “What I know is only what I have heard below stairs, my lady. It might not be true.”

  “What have you heard? Have they chosen someone for me? Is that what it is? Do you know whom they have chosen?” Her voice trembled.

  I came around to face her and took her hands in mine. “I know nothing for certain, my lady. Do you understand? I have only heard talk. And I am not to share gossip from below stairs with you. Please don’t ask me.”

  I started to pull my hands away, but she kept them firm in her grasp.

  “Lucy, please. Have they chosen someone?”

  “My lady …”

  “Do I know him? Is he very old? Has he already had a wife? Was he kind to her?”

  Her questions flew off her lips like seedpods off a thistle. I saw dread in her eyes, and a slim line of sweat had broken on her brow. Compassion for her overcame me.

  I leaned forward so no one could hear me if her panicked questions had brought anyone running to the closed door.

  “You mustn’t repeat this to anyone, my lady,” I whispered.

  She nodded frantically, eyes wide.

  “The man they have chosen is no one that you should fear,” I said.

  “How do you know this?” she implored. “How do you know I should not fear him?”

  “Because you know him. You are fond of him.”

  Her eyes never left mine. “Fond?” she whispered.

  “Yes. Especially fond, my lady.”

  A second slipped by. “Edward,” she breathed.

  I nodded and stepped back.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled, as if she wanted to hold that moment in her lungs and hide it away somewhere. “How do you know this?” she said, her eyes still shut.

  “One of your father’s valets said he saw a letter that your father sent to the Duke of Somerset, asking him to come to Bradgate to discuss the betrothal between you and Edward.”

  Jane’s eyes flew open. “Edward is coming here?”

  “This is what the valet said, my lady. I do not know if it is true. I do not know if any of this is true.”

  Jane reached for the couch behind her and sat down on it. “I never dreamed they would choose someone I cared for. I did not think it was possible. I still cannot believe it.”

  I knelt beside her. “And it would be prudent to wait to believe it until your parents speak of it. Please, say nothing until they do!”

  Jane laid a hand on my shoulder. “Do not fret, Lucy. I shall say nothing.”

  Despite her assurances, I was the one now trembling. If I was wrong, Jane would have to bear a double disappointment. If her parents were to choose someone other than Edward Seymour, she would not only have to accept that loss but submit to a marriage with someone she did not love; a predicament she had long resigned herself to, and which I had just swept away with a word.

  “If I am mistaken … If the valet is mistaken—,” I began, but she cut me off.

  “The valet has no reason to spread a lie such as this. I daresay he has nothing to gain by it.”

  I sat back on my folded legs, wishing I could pull the minutes back. She must’ve sensed my regret. She put both hands on my shoulders.

  “I am forever grateful that you told me, Lucy. When they tell me—”

  “If.”

  “I shall have the dignified and proper response of a refined young lady prepared to do her parents’ bidding.” Then she began to laugh. “Exceptionally prepared!”

  I laughed too, albeit nervously. “My lady, you are only fourteen! Surely you will not marry so soon!”

  “Perhaps in the spring!” she said happily. She stood, pulling me to my feet as well. “Can you just imagine, Lucy! Can you imagine it! Edward!” She giggled.

  “You must stop giggling!” I whispered.

  “I shall try!” But she erupted into more laughter.

  “My lady!”

  “I am trying!” She spun around the room once and then caught my hands to spin with her.

  “You are not trying in the least!” I said.

  “Oh, Lucy. I am so happy.”

  “My lady, please.”

  A knock sounded at her door and Jane stopped spinning. We fell into each other and she laughed. “Yes?” she said.

  Mrs. Ellen opened the door, gave us both a cursory look, and then nodded to Jane.

  “Your parents will receive you now.”

  Jane spun around to me. “Come with me!” she said.

  “I cannot!”

  “Walk with me to the room, then. Bear my train.”

  Mrs. Ellen was frowning, pondering what secret Jane and I had between us. I agreed to walk with Jane merely to silence her.

  “As you wish.” I pulled up her train in my arms and followed her to the door. At the threshold Mrs. Ellen reached out a steady hand and smoothed an errant curl that had sprung from Jane’s hood.

  “Jumping about in your chamber in this fine dress, were you?” Mrs. Ellen said to Jane, but she cast a critical eye toward me.

  “Oh, don’t chastise Lucy, Ellen. I am the one who felt like spinning.”

  “Now don’t be giving the duke and duchess any reason to be cross with you, lass,” Mrs. Ellen said as Jane and I stepped into the hall. “Mind your tongue.”

  “Yes, yes,” Jane said hastily, and I heard a suppressed laugh in her tone. Mrs. Ellen continued to look after us with questioning eyes. But she asked us nothing and I was grateful.

  We made our way into the main corridor and were soon passing the classroom where Jane and her sister performed their studies. My eyes, of their own will, peered into the room as we walked past. Nicholas Staverton was leaning over a writing desk. He raised his head and smiled. He began to move quickly to the door, but I was obliged to keep walking. Though I could not see him, I sensed him behind me at the door of the classroom, watching me follow Lady Jane down the long hallway.

  “You met Nicholas Staverton,” Jane said softly when we were several steps away.

  “
P-pardon?” I stuttered, though I had heard her.

  “You met Nicholas Staverton,” she said again, and she looked over her shoulder in the direction of the classroom. I did the same without thinking, and there he was. Mr. Staverton, leaning on the door frame, watching us. Jane’s tutor, Mr. Aylmer, stood next to him. Mr. Aylmer looked vexed. Mr. Staverton was smiling.

  I jerked my head back to face forward as my cheeks bloomed with heat.

  “Mr. Aylmer looks pained,” I said quickly, anxious to move away from any conversation about the young student visiting from Oxford.

  “He surely doesn’t approve of this scarlet dress. Princess Elizabeth wears only black and gray, like a dutiful Reformed girl should. I shouldn’t be wearing it. And I know you met Mr. Staverton because he told me this morning while Mr. Aylmer read my Latin translation.”

  She peeked over her shoulder at me. A hint of a smile rested on her lips.

  “Oh … yes, I did,” I managed. “Quite by accident. I was out for some air after supper last night. He … I … I was at the reflecting pool. I didn’t see him.”

  “Yes. He told me that. He told me you were singing. He thought it was lovely.”

  “I am sure he was only being kind.” I nearly dropped the train of her gown.

  “No. He said it was lovely. Angelic. You were singing a lullaby his grandmother used to sing to him.”

  “I doubt it was angelic,” I said, attempting to laugh and failing.

  “He was quite taken with you, Lucy. Quite taken. Earlier this morning, I was jealous of you.”

  “My lady, I—”

  “He wants to see you before he leaves tomorrow. So you can tell him the words to the lullaby. Though I daresay that it is just an excuse to see you.”

  “But I—”

  “Maybe you should see him now, while I am with my parents.”

  “I do not know, my lady, I am not—”

  But Jane stopped, turned, and held up her hand. From far down the hallway, I heard footsteps. I hadn’t the courage to turn. Several moments later, Mr. Staverton stood beside us.

  “My lady,” he said, bowing. “Miss Day.”

  I curtsied but could not raise my eyes to his.

  “Mr. Staverton, perhaps you and Lucy, I mean, Miss Day, might wait for me in the music room while my parents receive me?”

  “It would be my pleasure!” Mr. Staverton replied quickly.

  “Miss Day shall be along shortly, then. You might wish to bring your quill and tablet.”

  Jane politely nodded a wordless dismissal, turned quickly, and took a step forward.

  I looked back for just a second before joining her, and Nicholas Staverton was bowing to me.

  I arrived at the music room before Mr. Staverton, for which I was grateful. My heart was skipping about underneath my corset and nearly causing me to belch. I stood at a window overlooking the vast park at Bradgate and counted slowly in Latin, as Jane had taught me, to steady my thundering heart. It had been a very long time since a man had so captured my attention. A very long time. I had forgotten how confounding it was.

  I did not hear him step into the room.

  “Quindecim,” I whispered.

  “Fifteen?”

  I whirled around.

  “I seem to excel at startling you, Miss Day. I assure you, my intentions are far from it.”

  “I was counting,” I said, somewhat dazed.

  “What were you counting?”

  “What?”

  Nicholas came to the window beside me and looked out on the park, convinced, no doubt, that I’d been tallying stags or geese or puffy clouds in the sky. “What were you counting?” he asked again.

  His nearness was mesmerizing, and I knew it was fruitless to pretend any longer that it wasn’t. I was not a skilled liar. I never had been.

  “Absolutely nothing,” I whispered.

  Nicholas turned to me, a puzzled look on his face. Quite endearing, that.

  “Why were you counting nothing? In Latin?” His voice was soft, inviting.

  “To calm myself.”

  “Calm yourself? Are you restless?” He laughed.

  “Something like that.” I knew my face would turn as crimson as Jane’s dress. I felt the shade spring to my cheeks, and I just let it. What else could I do? I could not look at him.

  He placed his hands on the windowsill, and our fingertips almost touched. “Then perhaps I shall have to start counting as well. I am also somewhat restless.”

  “You are mocking me,” I murmured.

  “Indeed I am not. Have you tried counting in Greek?”

  “Lady Jane has not taught me Greek,” I said.

  “Ah, so she taught you the Latin, did she? Perhaps you would allow someone else to teach you how to count in Greek?”

  The thundering in my chest resumed its frenzied pace. “Whatever for?”

  “For counting absolutely nothing in Greek.”

  I couldn’t keep a smile from spreading across my face.

  “Miss Day, might I write to you after I return to Oxford? And perhaps you might do me the honor of writing back to me? You are not betrothed, are you? Does someone have your heart?”

  “No,” I replied, blushing anew.

  “I should like to know everything about you, Miss Day.”

  “I do not imagine there is much to tell you, Mr. Staverton,” I said, moving my hand away from the window and the dizzying proximity of his fingers. “I am the daughter of a gentleman tailor. I make dresses for the daughter of the Duke of Suffolk.”

  “You sing lullabies,” Mr. Staverton said.

  “One lullaby.”

  He went on. “You care for the people God places in your path. You are polite to strangers. Gracious to people who do not deserve grace. Curious about the deep things of God. You listen when others do not. You do not spread gossip or speak ill of those who have made poor choices. You are patient. Intelligent. Kind.”

  “Who …? What …?” but I couldn’t form a full sentence, so surprised was I.

  “The Lady Jane speaks very highly of you,” Nicholas said. “I told you that last night after I unfortunately interrupted a very beautiful lullaby.”

  At that moment I remembered Jane had instructed him to bring his quill and tablet so that I might dictate to him the words of the lullaby.

  “You forgot your quill and tablet,” I said.

  He looked down at his empty hands. “Indeed.”

  “But you went back to the classroom to get them.”

  “So I did.”

  “And?”

  He laughed. “And I had my quill and tablet in my hands, and I was about to bring them here to the music room, but I thought that if I forgot them, I would have to arrange for another meeting with you before I leave Bradgate.”

  Nicholas was about to say something else when Jane swept into the room, her face radiant.

  “My lady!” I said, instantly afraid she had heard everything, when I knew that was impossible. “You are back so soon!”

  “Lucy! ’Tis true. ’Tis true!”

  She came to me, then grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door. “Mama says you are to see to my wardrobe at once. He is coming tomorrow. Hello, Mr. Staverton.”

  “My lady,” Nicholas said, bowing, his brow crinkled with amusement.

  “Tomorrow?” I said.

  “Yes, yes!” She dropped my hand. “We are to prepare my gowns!” Jane flew out of the room, the train I had carried wafting up about the door frame like a wave on a tossed sea.

  I turned toward Nicholas and curtsied. “Until another time, Mr. Staverton.”

  He took a step toward me. “I will see you tomorrow, before I leave?”

  I nodded.

  He inclined his head toward the doorway and Jane’s retreating footfalls. “What is true?”

  I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him sometimes Providence shines down on you and you are allowed to marry the one your heart beats for.

  “I am unfortunately not at
liberty to tell you, Mr. Staverton,” I said instead. But I smiled at him, and I held his gaze, before I turned and left to follow Jane.

  I think he knew I wished I could.

  Nineteen

  Jane was awake at dawn’s light. I had no sooner dressed when a maid was sent to fetch me. I followed the young girl to Jane’s bedchamber, down hallways that were bathed in silence. No one else was awake.

  I found her standing in front of the gown her mother had asked her to wear—a lovely garment of midnight blue, trimmed in ermine and Florentine gold filigree, with a matching reticulated and jeweled caul for Jane’s long brown hair.

  Jane was frowning. When she saw me, I fell to a curtsy, and she motioned me forward. “I think I should wear green,” she said, poking at the deep blue fabric.

  “Oh … but the duchess—,” I began.

  “Yes, I know. But Edward likes green. I heard him say it once.”

  I looked about the room for Mrs. Ellen, whom I knew would direct Jane’s attention back to the directive from the duchess. The dress in front of us was the dress Jane was to wear. I had been awake past midnight making sure every jewel, bit of lace, and trim was securely fastened. Mrs. Ellen was not in the room.

  “This dress is quite spectacular, my lady. I daresay your young lord will not notice it is not green.”

  “Do you think Edward will be happy I’ve been chosen for him?” Jane said absently, stroking the dress but seeming not to be aware of her hand on the fabric.

  “Of course, my lady.”

  “You say that because you must.”

  I took a step toward her. “But remember when you were with His Majesty earlier this summer? Remember how you told me Edward stared at you from across the table? Remember how he wished to remind you the King would be marrying a French princess?”

  The corners of Jane’s mouth drew upward slightly. “He did stare at me, did he not?”

  “Yes,” I said, though I had been in my garret room at Richmond Palace the evening Jane was with the King. “He was vexed that you had the King’s attention and not his.”

  “Indeed,” Jane said, sliding her finger down the dress’s jeweled bodice. “What if my father and Edward’s father do not agree on the terms? What if—”