Alice Alymer approached him—sidled up to him—and said, “You’re looking devilishly handsome tonight, Gavin Cade.” Could she be any less subtle? He’d changed from his plaid to a fine lawn shirt, slashed doublet, trunk hose, and canions. Apparently, Lady Alice approved. He nodded, not trusting himself to remain polite. “Oh, do look,” she said. “Here is our little mouse!”
Isabel Tait stepped into the room, not looking the least bit mouse-like. Her gown, a deep aubergine, paired well with her glossy, near-black hair. She did not bedeck herself with anything like farthingales, stomachers, or ruffs, all of which he despised. They hid a woman’s natural beauty. She was the unlikeliest of ladies for Mary’s entourage, and yet she possessed a quiet dignity, clear to him, even if others could not see it. Nobody greeted Mistress Tait.
Suddenly, Mary herself took notice. Carrying her spaniel, she rose from her cushioned settee and approached Isabel. “Bonsoir, mistress. Tu es Isabel, n’est-ce pas?”
“Oui, madame.” She curtsied deeply, wobbling a bit. But at least she realized this was the queen. Gavin chuckled to himself. This one would be entertaining, if she could survive the cats.
“Alors!” Mary said, “pray sit beside me, Isabel. Isa-belle. You are a beauty. I believe, friends, we must shorten her name to ‘Bel’.” The other ladies looked unenthused.
Alice quickly lost interest and droned on in a low voice. A mumbled “eh” or “aye” every so often was all the encouragement she needed from Gavin. In truth, he was straining to hear Mary and Isabel’s conversation. Evidently, Isabel loved dogs. Mary thrust the little spaniel into her arms, and judging by the way she caressed the pup and kissed its nose, she was delighted. They spoke English, and Gavin suspected Isabel knew only a few phrases in French. Their conversation was of mundane matters, until Mary started in on her favorite subject: her unjust detention by Queen Elizabeth.
“Mon dieu, I do not comprehend why my cousin forces me to stay here at Tutbury. It is a cold, damp residence, not fit for a queen. My health suffers. You will see. But I believe in her heart, Elizabeth loves me. She writes to me kind letters asking about my well-being.” Isabel made polite responses.
“I have not been permitted to see my son,” Mary continued. “It is a great sadness to me. Last spring it was arranged but did not happen. Some men made an impetuous plan to rescue me, and when the plot was discovered, James’s protectors took him back to Scotland.” Mary cast her eyes down.
“How sad for you, madam. You must miss your son terribly.”
“I bear it the best I can.” A servant appeared at the door and Mary said, “It is time for dinner, mes amis. Let us proceed to the dining chamber.” She reclaimed her pup from Isabel and put him on the settee.
John Lesley offered his arm to Mary, and they led the way. Alice clung to one of Gavin’s arms, Dorothy Vere grasped the other. Blake’s sister, Cecily, latched on to his arm and urged him forward before he might offer his other to Isabel. This would not do. “Alice, join Blake and Cecily, pray. We must not leave Isabel without an escort to supper.” She looked unhappy, but did as he requested.
“Mistress Isabel?” Gavin crooked his elbow at her, and she curled her fingers around his arm. She had turned quite pale, and her eyes were suspiciously bright. Mary insisted Isabel sit beside her at the dining table, and Gavin made sure to sit on her other side.
…
Isabel, mortified, laid her toothpick case on the table. If it hadn’t been for Gavin Cade, she would have been forced to walk alone to the dining chamber. Cecily Blake, to whom she’d not yet been introduced, had deliberately tried to humiliate her. Why? Mary, with her lovely auburn hair and doe eyes, had welcomed Isabel with warmth and kindness. Why wouldn’t her ladies have followed her example?
Isabel had to get through this dinner somehow, and the dancing afterward. If Lady Shrewsbury had been present, Isabel would have felt more at ease, but neither she nor her husband, the earl, were there. The older gentleman who had escorted Mary to supper prayed before the meal, and afterward general conversation broke out.
Mary was chatting to the man on her right. Isabel turned to Gavin and said, “Pardon me, sir, but where are the earl and his wife?”
“I believe they have retired to their castle at Sheffield for a few days’ respite.”
“I see.” She did not see. Lady Shrewsbury had dropped her into this situation and left her there without even a by-your-leave? Isabel had depended on having her guidance for the first several days. She sighed, ducking her head.
She felt a reassuring, masculine hand grasp her arm. “Mistress, do not distress yourself. It is obvious Mary was quite taken with you. Her ladies will be forced to accept you, and you may count on me for help.”
Isabel had barely uttered a thank-you before the lady on Gavin’s other side demanded his attention. In the meantime, the first course was served, a beef broth, and Isabel waited until Mary had begun supping before she drank hers. A small loaf of manchet sat between her and Gavin. When he’d finished his soup, he broke off a piece and offered it to her.
“Thank you,” Isabel said, smiling. “It was not our custom at home to eat such fine bread as this.”
“Oh, there is nothing but the finest for Queen Mary,” he said, eyes alight with amusement. His eyes were an icy blue color, an interesting contrast to his chestnut hair, and rather mesmerizing.
“Where is your home, mistress?”
“Near Derby.”
“And you live there with your parents? Husband and children?”
That drew a laugh from her, and she quickly covered her mouth. “My mother and half brothers. My stepfather recently died.”
“You have my sympathy.”
“That is kind of you, but not necessary. I hated him.” Isabel felt her cheeks flush. What possessed her to reveal something so personal? Something that made her sound crass.
His brows drew together. “There is a story there, I’d wager. Perhaps you will share it with me one day.”
Her cheeks warmed. “’Tis not a very agreeable one, I fear.”
“Nevertheless, if you ever wish to unburden yourself…I am a good listener.”
She nodded her thanks, but she could never tell Gavin about the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of her stepfather. It would be humiliating.
Isabel turned her attention back to the meal. Fish was served next, pike, with buttered peas and salads. The plate was silver. No expense was spared for this queen, it seemed. The room was hung with tapestries, and a chandelier with at least one hundred candles illuminated not only the table, but all those seated around it.
“What news to share, Bishop?” Queen Mary asked her dinner companion. Her voice was of sufficient volume that Isabel assumed this discussion was meant for the table.
“Elizabeth, with her ceaseless raids, continues to punish the Scots who sheltered the rebels. I can’t think anyone yet remains who hasn’t felt the sting of her wrath over the rebellion. At this point, innocent citizens are paying the price.”
“They should never have attempted such a foolhardy mission,” Mary said.
Gavin snorted, hiding it with a cough.
Isabel knew about the rising. A few of the northern earls, Northumberland and Westmoreland, had attempted to overthrow the queen and restore Catholicism to the realm. It had been a haphazard effort, at best. From what Isabel had heard of it, the rebels themselves had not even been sure of their objectives. Freedom for Mary may or may not have been on the table. Some extremists may have wished to put her on the English throne. The earls and many of their cohorts had escaped over the border, although it was said Northumberland would be sold back to the English.
“On another matter, I understand that Cecil and Walsingham are negotiating with the French for a marriage between Elizabeth and the Duke of Anjou.”
All conversation ceased, and Isabel noticed the other women staring at Mary. She neither looked up nor commented, but she’d gone exceedingly pale. Isabel didn’t understand what was o
ccurring; perhaps Gavin would explain it to her later.
“We are to have dancing tonight, oui?” Mary asked, and the awkward moment passed. A third course was served of roasted venison, duck, and lamb, and, last, marchpane and other sweets.
“Do you dance, Mistress Isabel?” Alice asked.
Isabel’s stomach muscles tightened, but she smiled. “I do not.”
Alice laughed, a high, tinkling sound. “Pray, why not?”
“I never had the opportunity to learn. I did not go into Society, so I suppose my mother felt it was not necessary to teach me.”
Tittering ensued, with no attempt to hide it. One of the women said, in French, “She must have lived in a nunnery,” and the others laughed. They did not expect her to understand, and she didn’t correct them.
“What did you do, mistress?” This from Cecily Blake.
“I studied alongside my brothers. Latin, Greek, history, philosophy, mathematics. I-I enjoyed it.” Andrew used to say Isabel had a powerful thirst for knowledge. The methods her stepfather employed had often been cruel and unjust, but she had loved learning about the past. And studying the classics. The Iliad and the Aeneid. Jason and the Golden Fleece. Romance and adventure had transported her to another world and time, which had been exactly what she needed. Philosophy and mathematics had been a greater challenge for her, but she’d always put forth the effort to understand.
“How very odd for a young lady,” Dorothy Vere said.
“I think it admirable you have so much learning,” Master Blake said. “Not many women could rival you in such an accomplishment.” Master Blake was a handsome man, with a deep cleft in his chin.
Isabel smiled gratefully. A gallant defender.
“Well, I do hope you enjoy sewing. That occupies much of our time here,” Alice said.
Bel had been dreading this. “I never learned to embroider. I’m afraid you will have to instruct me. Lady Shrewsbury said—”
“You are of an advanced age to possess so few graces. Mayhap you can help in the kitchens or tend the herb garden while we are at our work,” Dorothy Vere said snidely, prompting more laughter.
Isabel felt the fragile hold on her temper loosening. “I am knowledgeable about herbs and would be happy to take charge of the herbery.”
“Ladies, our duty is to make Bel feel welcome. We will instruct her in whatever way is required,” Mary said severely. “Now, if we have finished our meal, let us exit the room so it may be readied for dancing.” A servant circled the table with a bowl of water, and after washing their hands, everyone rose.
Gavin pulled Bel’s chair out for her. He offered his arm and she accepted. As they started to walk away, Mary stopped them. “I wish to have a word with Bel, Gavin.”
“Of course, madam.” He bowed and left them.
While the servants commenced clearing the plates, tankards, and wineglasses, Mary looped her arm through Isabel’s and steered her off to one side. “Ma chere Bel, my ladies can be malicious at times. Over the years, they have grown competitive with one another and with any new arrival. In time, they will become accustomed to your presence here.”
“How do you suggest I should respond, Your Majesty?”
“Do not allow them to intimidate you, and never let them sense that you are weak.”
It was the second warning in less than a few hours, and from the queen herself. This was not what I agreed to. Not part of her bargain with Lady Shrewsbury.
“Oui, madame. I will do my best to…to thwart their efforts.” Isabel was not at all sure she could bring this to pass. Or even how to begin.
And now she must dance.
…
Gavin made small talk with Blake while waiting for the dancing to begin.
“The new lady—Isabel—is a different sort from the usual women surrounding Mary,” Blake observed.
Gavin chuckled. “I suppose she is. She’s certainly better educated.”
Blake’s brow furrowed. “’Tis puzzling why her parents kept her so sheltered. And why Bess chose her. I fear the others will make her life a living hell unless she learns to stand up to them.”
Too true. “And your sister will lead the way. Can you speak to her about it? There’s no need for her to be so vindictive.”
“It is Cecily’s way, as you know. I have little influence over her. Isabel would be better served by developing a thicker skin.” Blake’s attention was diverted by the tuning of instruments. “I must do my duty, if you’ll excuse me,” he said.
“You’re not going to dance?”
Blake played the lute, and his talents were in demand on these evenings.
“I said I would play for the first few dances. Then I’ll give over to somebody else.”
“The ladies will be disappointed,” Gavin said, laughing, as Blake strode off toward the musicians.
Gavin’s eyes scanned the room. Isabel was standing off to the side, alone, with a blank stare on her face. The other ladies huddled together, chattering behind their fans. Mary was speaking to John Lesley, but after only a moment, she left. If he were to learn anything useful to Ryder, Gavin needed to listen in on some of the conversations between those two. A couple of the men who guarded the castle’s perimeter entered the room, invited for the dancing, no doubt. Strictly speaking, they should not leave their posts, but there were never enough men for these entertainments, and Shrewsbury allowed it.
Without intending to, Gavin moved toward Isabel. He would ask her to dance. He would instruct her. But before he’d walked five steps, Alice waylaid him. “Sir, won’t you partner me for the first dance?” To refuse would be churlish, so he said, “It would be my pleasure,” and they took their place in the line of other dancers. All the ladies, save Isabel, were among them.
The first set was a galliard, a rather energetic dance, and Gavin deemed it fortunate that Isabel was sitting this one out. It wanted practice before attempting. Mercifully, there was not much opportunity for conversing. He’d spent enough time this evening listening to Alice. As soon as the dance finished, he escorted her back to her friends and moved toward Isabel.
“May I have the next dance, Mistress Isabel?”
She resembled a deer just before the hunter let fly an arrow. Desperate to escape, but knowing it was too late. “But, sir, I do not dance. I have never learned.”
Gavin held out his hand. “And that is why I will teach you. This is a simple country dance. You’ll have no trouble following my lead.” Just when he feared she intended to refuse him, she placed her hand in his.
“If it pleases you, then yes.”
…
Isabel’s heart thumped so hard, she thought Gavin might hear it. Or see it pulsing against her bosom. “Look at me,” he commanded. He grasped her other hand and squeezed, forcing her to look directly at him. “First, I bow and you curtsy, like so.” That was easy enough, and she did as he instructed. He dropped her hands and they moved apart.
He spoke a little louder now, because of the greater distance between them. “When I step toward you, you do the same.” Gavin was light on his feet, and she tried to imitate him. Isabel may never have danced, but she’d observed others dancing, had even tried out some of the steps in the privacy of her chamber at home. He held out his hands and she grasped them. “Now, move in a circle.” He smiled at her, his face alight. Isabel hadn’t thought he could be any more handsome than he already was, but his smile changed that. She suddenly felt warm, in some very odd places. “That’s right, well done,” Gavin said.
After a time, it grew easier to simply mimic whatever he was doing, and Gavin had a gentle way of correcting her if she erred. Bel lost herself in the music and the unfamiliar, quite pleasant feeling of standing so close to another person. To him. She liked it more than she should. All too soon, the dance ended and he led her toward a few of the other women.
“Pray, I would prefer to stand over here, Master Cade.”
Eyebrows raised, he said, “By yourself? That is not a good way to b
ecome acquainted with the others.” They had paused in the middle of the room. “Frances is among them. She is a good person to have as a friend.”
Bel sighed. It was not Frances who worried her—it was Cecily Blake, who was at her side. “As you say, then.”
“Thank you for the dance, mistress.” Gavin bowed, and then he was gone.
“There, Bel, you are not so bad at dancing,” Frances said.
Cecily snickered, and Bel thought it was time to embolden herself. “We have not been properly introduced, mistress. I am Isabel Tait, from near Derby.”
As though suddenly remembering her manners, the other woman replied. “And I am Cecily Blake, from Edinburgh and Paris.” Just then, the young man Isabel knew to be Cecily’s brother joined them. “And this is my brother. Philip, Mistress Isabel Tait.”
Philip Blake smiled and bowed. Up close, he was an exceptional specimen of manhood. Wide-set brown eyes, wavy dark hair, and a sensuous mouth. “Welcome to Tutbury, Mistress Isabel,” he said.
“Thank you. You were playing the lute, were you not?”
“Aye. But I cannot miss out on all the merriment. Would you dance with me, mistress?”
Isabel, shocked and pleased, was on the verge of accepting when the older man who had escorted Mary to dinner suddenly appeared at her side and said, “I’ve come to claim a dance. Blake, you’ll have to wait.”
Blake’s face was impassive. “Of course, Bishop.”
Isabel had no choice but to accept. He held out a hand and she let him lead her to the line of dancers. Philip Blake chose Frances, and Gavin claimed Cecily as a partner. Dorothy and Alice partnered with two other men, the ones who had joined the group after supper. Where was the queen? For the first time, Isabel realized she hadn’t seen her since they’d spoken after supper.
Game of Spies Page 3
