A Rose for the Crown (25 page)

Kate watched through her black veil, taking in every detail of his lithe body, long fingers and strong jaw. She caught him giving her glances every so often, and she thrilled to every one. She felt cheated that her mourning prevented her from dancing and watched him lead other ladies forth in a
saltarello,
a
piva,
or a lively country dance. She also watched Anne and John, who sat side by side lost in each other’s eyes until Richard nudged Anne to pay heed to a well-wisher who had come forward to the head table. Richard looked at Kate and winked, turning his palms up in a gesture of helplessness.

Kate had never seen Anne look lovelier. Her warm brown eyes shone with love, her cheeks were flushed with pleasure and heady wine, and her pale-blue brocade gown accentuated her creamy skin. She wore a headdress of spring flowers—primroses, periwinkles, and cowslips—and her brown hair hung loose around her shoulders. John was comely enough, though his rather prominent nose and large Adam’s apple made him look like a heron that had just swallowed a fish. But he was young and had kind eyes and a gentle manner—perfect for Anne, Kate thought, but dull as ditch water for me.

Kate soon got tired of hiding and threw back her veil over her plain black hennin, holding tight to the loop over her forehead to prevent the precariously set headdress from falling off. Her head itched, and she longed to cast her headdress off, let her bound hair fall naturally and give her scalp a good scratch. She hoped she had not contracted lice again. She had had a case last spring, and it had taken Molly days of combing carefully through every tress to pick off the tiny eggs. Oil of pennyroyal rubbed into the head was supposed to repel the irritating insects, but
Kate was not convinced it worked. She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the memory and during this unpleasant reverie was unaware for a moment that George had seated himself next to her.

“And what makes you turn your nose up, madam? Is it the company? The food? The music? Me?”

Kate’s hennin very nearly did fly off as she whipped her head around on hearing his voice so close. He was peering at her, and she felt self-conscious.

“Fiddle-faddle!” She tried to sound nonchalant. “All is most pleasant, sir. I was recalling a . . . a dead fish odor I smelled when I was walking near the stewpond earlier. ’Tis right pleased I am to see you again, Master Haute. Much has happened since last I saw you.”

“Aye, Kate, I was sorry to know of your husband’s death.” He waited a beat. “Do I understand you are now a woman of means?”

Kate’s hands were trembling, and she hid her nervousness by crumbling up a wafer. She was aware of his body leaning close to hers. He could have told her he was an angel sent from heaven, and she would have been no more suspicious of that than she was of his pointed question.

“What did you say? I . . . I beg your pardon, I did not hear you.” She forced her mind back to his words.

He repeated the question. For a moment she noticed his haughtiness, and she was confused. Did he not feel what she was feeling? She searched his face, but his expression never changed.

“If you mean comfortable, then yes, I suppose I am.” She knew George was not yet attached, and the information had made her spirits soar. He must have pined for her so much after she had married—just as she had pined for him—that he would have no other woman. In a few months, she would be free to marry again and take her fortune with her. All she needed was Richard’s blessing. In his will, Thomas had requested that Richard take charge of Kate’s well-being—and her business interests. Might George be interested in her? She felt his warmth next to her. His breath smelled sweet after Thomas’s sour mouth, and her pulse raced. She was so unnerved by his presence that she rose and made her excuses to leave the hall for some fresh air. He stood and offered to accompany her.

They made a handsome couple, she in her black satin gown trimmed with gold brocade ribbon and he in a short peacock-blue gown with slashed sleeves and multicolored hose. Several heads turned to watch them walk out into the courtyard. The April afternoon was mild; the early-morning showers had given way to some blue sky and sunshine, but one never knew with April. Kate found her hand trembling on George’s arm, and she removed it abruptly to pull her veil over her face again.

“I thought widows in mourning were banished for a year,” he said, as they strolled through the gate and over the moat. “I do see, Mistress Draper, that you care naught for convention. In that respect, I believe you have not changed.”

“Oh, and in others I have?” she countered, flirting with him. “Such as what, sir? I pray, do tell.”

“It seems to me you have lost some of those freckles you hated so when I was here before. But that is all.”

Kate had hoped he would say that she was now a beauty or more grown up, and she was peeved. She flounced off in the direction of the flower garden, intending to ignore him. Hampered by his very long, pointed shoes, he had trouble keeping up with her.

“What did I say, Kate? Are you displeased? Tell me you are not displeased. I did think to pay you a compliment. I remember how you disliked your freckles.” He did his best to placate her, and she slowed her pace and smiled behind her veil. Mother of God, she thought, he
is
interested! Now what shall I do?

“Aye, George, I hated my freckles. But surely you can see I have become a woman since you last saw me. I am bold to say so, but I pray you have noticed.” She was immediately embarrassed by her outburst. “I . . . I am sorry, I should not have spoken so. Forgive me.”

They were out of view of the house, close to the brick wall that separated the gardens from the orchard. George suddenly pulled her to him and kissed her roughly on the mouth through her veil. Kate was thunderstruck. This was not the reaction she had anticipated.

“Aye, mistress, I noticed.” He gave a short laugh. “And a right fair woman, if I may say.”

He lifted her veil and kissed her again, a quick, hard kiss that gave her no time to react. She had dreamed of this moment many times over the
past two years as she wandered in the meadows at Tunbridge or lay awake listening to Thomas’s snores. Now that it had happened, she felt cheated. I was supposed to kiss him back, open my mouth, let him linger, she thought. She stood, her eyes closed, her face lifted to his and willed him to try again—more slowly this time. But he turned away, and she opened her eyes on his back. He had had his fill, it seemed.

“Come, Kate, we shall be missed. We should return to the feast.” Remembering his manners, he turned and took her arm possessively. Kate hesitated for a moment but then swallowed her pride, lifted her chin and allowed him to lead her back to the hall. In truth, this was the first time she had been kissed by a man her own age, and she wondered if her imagination had run amok and perhaps this was all there was to kissing. It had not been unpleasant, but she had not experienced anything more than a mild fluttering of her heart. Thomas’s kisses were slobbering, and his breath smelled so foul that she would immediately turn her head and allow his lips to find her neck or any other part of her that was as far from her mouth as possible. She was reminded of a long-ago conversation with Martha about womanly matters the summer before she was sent to Ightham.

“It be rough sometimes, Kate, but you must endure, for it is your duty to your husband to give yourself whenever he desires you. ’Tis not so bad, but methinks a man do profit from the act far more than a woman,” Martha told her. Kate grimaced as she recalled the talk and thought how right her mother had been. She pondered on this as she walked with George.

Couples were singing and dancing in a spirited
estampie,
and Kate’s foot tapped to the music. Unable to join in the revelry, she felt trapped in her widow’s garb, but it gave her time to think more on George’s extraordinary behavior. She toyed with a goblet of hippocras, sipping the sweet spiced wine and letting the aromatic flavors swirl around in her mouth. Her eyes wandered over the brightly clad gentlefolk intent on milking Richard’s fine hospitality to the last candied orange peel and tun of malmsey. Anne had insisted that following the feast, the servants were to be allowed to join in the revels, and their presence lent a somewhat raucous note to the affair. She caught sight of Geoff kicking up his heels with a serving wench at the kitchen end of the hall and smiled to herself,
happy to see her brother so much more at ease at the Mote now that Elinor’s threatening presence was gone. She had heard he was even excelling in his studies with Brother Francis.

Richard was standing by the stairway door, smiling benignly over the company and nodding occasionally to George, who was in earnest conversation with him. Kate imagined George was reporting on her forward behavior in the garden. She turned her attention to Will, who had begun a love song for the newlyweds.

Long after the sun had set, Anne and John rose from their seats, and the guests turned their attention to the young couple. With much whooping and applauding and many lewd gestures, the company ushered them out and up to bed. Kate gave Anne a tiny wave and hoped her eyes did not betray the worry that Anne, too, might be disappointed in the act of love. John was somewhat tipsy, and Kate was well aware of the futile attempts a man might make under the influence of drink. But Anne seemed calm and happy, and after kissing Richard on both cheeks, she preceded her doting husband upstairs.

“W
ED
K
ATE
!” Richard spluttered, eyeing the arrogant young man standing in front of his desk in the office the next day. “What gives you the notion Kate would marry you, Master Haute? She is her own mistress now, ’tis true, but I must still guide her in her choices while she is still young, as requested in her late husband’s will.” He paused. “Ah, now I do understand why you did bend my ear last evening with your talk of family position in Suffolk. I love your father well, young George, he is a fine soldier and carries our name with honor, but you are his second son and not likely to inherit a goodly sum upon his death, am I right?” George had the grace to look sheepish but wisely allowed Richard to continue. “And I was mightily surprised to see you here for the wedding feast, being that you are henchman to John Howard. Did he give you leave to travel?”

George bristled. “Aye, sir. My master sanctioned my visit here when I did tell him the wedding was for the daughter of the Princess Elizabeth’s own carver.” He hoped flattery would help him ingratiate himself with Richard. “He knows you for a loyal servant of his grace, the king, and bade me stay at my leisure.” Before Richard could interrupt, he hurried
on, “I think the widow Draper is as attached to me as I am to her, sir. She would not gainsay the match, I dare swear, if I have your permission.”

“What about your father, sir? Do you have his permission to marry a girl with no family background?” Richard frowned. He had no reason to dislike the handsome young man, son of a distant cousin and member of a fine household. Sir John was cousin and right-hand man to the duke of Norfolk. Yet . . . there was something hard about the lad, something dark lurking behind those indigo eyes. He resolved to call Kate to him and see for himself if George was telling the truth. He motioned to the chaplain, who was sitting at the other end of the table.

“Brother Francis, I would be obliged if you would find Mistress Kate and bring her here.” The silent chaplain bowed stiffly and left the room. He found Kate in her favorite spot in the little courtyard behind the hall, talking to her brother. Geoff started when he saw his teacher and bowed himself away as fast as he could. Francis smiled after him.

“Your brother is showing real promise as a clerk, Mistress Kate, but he still disavows the voice of authority. Master Haute is pleased with him and I have no doubt will place him in a suitable household when the time comes. But enough of Geoffrey. I am here to tell you that Master Haute would speak with you privately. He is in his office.” Kate followed him inside and knocked on Richard’s door while Francis climbed the stairs to the chapel to ready himself for matins.

“Come in, Kate. We have something to discuss that must be of interest to you.”

Kate’s eyebrows flew up when she saw George standing by the embrasure.

“What could that be, Richard?” She was as nonchalant as her beating heart would allow. Since marrying Thomas, she had begun calling Richard by his first name. She looked anxiously at George and hoped he had not disclosed what took place in the garden the day before.

“Young Master Haute here seems to think you would not be averse to a marriage with him. As you know, I am still responsible for you, and I would hear what you think, Kate.” Richard watched her reaction carefully. He was rewarded by a blush that began at the edge of her bodice and slowly spread to the base of her bonnet.

“M-m-marriage?” was all she could stammer. “Is it true, George? Do
you want to marry me?” For once she was at a loss for a quick retort. Her hands found the elaborate belt around her hips, and she twisted the silver point nervously, staring at that beautiful face and not daring to believe what she was hearing. George smiled charmingly, all haughtiness vanished, and walked forward to take her busy hands.

“Aye, Kate. I have asked Richard’s permission to court you.” He was pleased with her reaction. “I am certain you are agreeable. Say ’tis true so your cousin believes me.”

“Not so fast, sirrah!” Richard stood up and scraped his chair back noisily, not giving Kate a chance to answer. “You have no right to court Kate until her period of mourning is over. And that will be nigh on four months, if I be not mistaken.” Richard wanted to postpone making a decision until he found out more about George Haute. The couple nodded their assent. With that Richard had to be content.