The Lady Series (45 page)

Beside her, Sir Edward’s ribbons rattled as he shifted forward in his chair. His face was slack as he stared at the masked man. “I beg your pardon?”

“I am content to use the English service to seal this union,” the squire repeated more slowly this time, as if assuming the knight hadn’t been able to decipher his words.

Sir Edward glanced from Graceton’s steward to its master. His eyes narrowed as two small spots of color burned high upon his cheekbones. “I am certain Her Majesty will be overjoyed to hear of her subject’s unexpected conversion.”

Squire Hollier held up a gloved hand. “You mistake me. There has been no conversion. I am and will always be committed to my faith. However, it's to honor Her Grace that I choose to marry in the church her royal father founded.”

As Belle again heard these miraculous words, they fair lifted her from her chair. She flew to kneel before her husband. “Oh Your Worship,” she cried, certain she was grinning from ear to ear. “How kind you are to offer this. I daren’t speak for Her Majesty, but I am greatly honored by your sacrifice.”

She was close enough to see his eyes beneath his mask. They were green. He studied her face for a moment then glanced at his steward. When he again looked at her, there was new warmth in his gaze.

“Madam, it is my pleasure to offer it to you,” he said. “Since you and I are content with these arrangements, all that remains is to make Her Majesty's proxy as easy as we.”

All Belle’s fear died. This was no monster; this was a man like any other, perhaps more decent than most, save that he had some reason to disguise his features.

Still floating in elation, she came to her feet then turned. Sir Edward was glaring at her, his teeth clenched so hard that a muscle worked along his jaw. Those heated spots on his cheeks had spread until his face was flushed with blood.

That he wished to object was obvious, but why? The knight's gaze slipped from her to the squire. “If Lady Purfoy is content, so am I,” he said, his voice hard.

Belle sighed in relief and returned to her chair. “It’s settled, then,” she murmured to herself.

“Not quite,” Sir Edward said, startling Belle for she hadn’t realized he'd overheard her. “Where will this ceremony take place?” he demanded of his host.

“The squire prefers to use the village church,” Master James replied for his master.

“What? You'd not use your own chapel?” Scorn filled Sir Edward's voice.

Belle's eyes narrowed. She knew full well what the knight intended. He meant to trade upon the queen's authority to strip Squire Hollier's private chapel of whatever illegal Catholic items it might hold. She turned in her chair to look at the knight.

“I am astounded at you, Sir Edward. Squire Hollier has been naught but generous and honest with us this evening. I'm certain if there were a chapel we might use within the house, he would say as much.”

The instant the words were out, she gasped, unable to believe how she’d said them. Pressing her fingers to her lips to keep anything else untoward from escaping, she glanced at the men in the room. If there was nothing to be discerned in Squire Hollier's mask, Master James was staring at her, his face alive with astonishment. Shame flickered in Sir Edward's eyes only to be followed by upset over the insult she’d done him in the presence of other men.

Belle folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head. This was what came of a woman who dared to meddle in the dangerous affairs of men. “I beg your pardon, Sir Edward,” she whispered, neither expecting nor receiving a reply from him.

Across the room Squire Hollier shifted in his chair. “I am flattered you should regard me so highly in so short a time, Lady Purfoy. Pray Sir Edward, give the lady the forgiveness she craves for I see she is much distressed at the trouble her words have caused.”

Belle's head rose. She let a tremulous smile bend her lips as he extended his protection to her with his words. She’d been right from the first. Squire Hollier was just as kind as the steward he employed.

“But of course she has my pardon,” Sir Edward managed to grind out.

“As for the village church,” Squire Hollier went on, “it has served my ancestors for generations, ever since they moved out of the old keep. Tradition demands it serve for this wedding.”

He leaned back in his chair, the picture of relaxation.

“Now that we are all resolved I will pass all responsibility for the arranging of this event to Master Wyatt. Should you have any other requirements, you may inform him and he'll carry your messages to me. Now, please go and enjoy your dinner.”

Belle caught back a laugh. Not only was the squire dismissing the knight, a man his superior in rank, he was making it clear he had no intention of again meeting the queen’s proxy face-to-face. Of course, he traded on the fact that once the wedding was done, he’d be the knight's better.

Against so bold a move, the hostility drained from Sir Edward’s face, leaving a dazed expression in its place. “Dare I say I’m astonished at your flexibility? When I arrived at Graceton this morn I had no idea our business would be so easily completed.”

The squire spread his hands wide. “For that you must thank Her Grace. Now that she's shown me I was wrong to think myself unfit to wed, I'm eager to rectify the situation.”

Again, Squire Hollier's head moved as he glanced between Belle and the knight. “If you’ll excuse me. I fear our meeting has left me overtired and longing for my bed.”

A battle raged on Sir Edward's face. As little as he liked being dismissed, only a boor would persist against the squire's excuse. He came to his feet, his shoulders stiff and his back pike-straight. It was with obvious effort that he affected the customary bow.

“I bid you good evening then, Squire Hollier. You can be assured that word of your cooperation will soon reach Her Grace's ears.” This sounded more like a threat than reassurance.

As the knight turned to leave, Belle rose from her chair. To her surprise her head swam a little. It seemed the wine had been much more potent than she’d thought.

“Stay a moment, Lady Purfoy,” the squire bade her before she could move. He turned his hooded gaze on Master James. “Master Wyatt, would you fetch Tom for me as you escort Sir Edward to the hall?”

Surprise touched his steward's face. Belle stifled her giggle. Apparently, Master James wasn’t accustomed to being sent on such menial errands. “As you will, Your Worship,” the steward said with a stiff bow.

Taking the single candle from the hearth, Master James joined Sir Edward. Once they stepped into the darkened gallery and shut the door behind them, Belle was alone with the man she’d feared as a monster only moments ago. She smiled at the masked man in his chair. It was truly miraculous that she could be so completely at ease in so short a time.

“Pray sit,” her new husband bid her.

“As you will,” she replied, dropping into Sir Edward’s empty chair, content to use the nearer seat this time.

“Your journey to Graceton was without event?” It was a mundane question, meant to initiate conversation.

“It was.” Once again, that giggle bubbled up in her, nearly escaping this time. She cleared it from her throat. “I cannot tell you how glad I am to be out of that wagon. It's nearly a month we spent in it, traveling first to Richmond then coming here. Indeed, by journey's end our traveling attire was so filthy my maid says the skirts stood on their own when she took them down to the laundry.”

Belle stifled a groan. Lord, but the wine was making her babble like a goose. She hoped the squire didn’t notice, for fear he’d think her a sot.

Something like unto a chuckle rasped from Squire Hollier. “Is that so? Well, our laundresses are capable. Your garments will be returned as good as new. And how do you find your apartment?”

Although a part of her knew this was but another customary question, all the joy she’d known upon entering her suite returned. “My apartment is magnificent, Your Worship. Can you believe it! There's a hearth in my bedchamber,” she told him, forgetting that as master of the house he no doubt knew this already. In her previous home, only Sir William's bedchamber had its own hearth.

“John and Watt found cots for my servants and chairs for the sitting room,” she went on, yet adrift in thoughts of a warm chamber on a cold winter's morn. “There’s even a small table, to be used when we wish to dine in our chamber. I must say, we were all terribly surprised by the kindness of your servants, especially after the welcome we received upon arrival,” she finished with a laugh, only to catch back her amusement as she realized her error.

Would she never learn to be more circumspect? Belle bowed her head. “Pardon, Your Worship. I mean no ill will toward your house or servants. Nor did I think to ask your permission to use the items your footmen found for me.”

“No insult taken,” the squire replied. “I know the servants were less than friendly in their greeting this morn. Take heart. Time will accustom them to you. As for your apartment, I expect you to be comfortable. If there is anything you need for your chambers that Watt and John cannot find in my storerooms, pray speak to Master Wyatt about procuring it for you.”

So long a speech seemed to strain him, for he paused to cough. The sound was deep, as if his lungs ached. Concern rushed through Belle, the emotion strong enough to again drive her across the room to kneel before him.

“You have told Sir Edward that you fear coming illness, Your Worship, but in that cough I hear that you already ail. I have a good hand with medicines and cures. It would please me well to tend you.”

There was silence for a moment as he studied her through the slits in his mask, his green eyes filled with questions. Belle's heart gave a quirk. Here it was, the moment he decided if he would accept her only as his wife in name or make theirs a true marriage. Although a part of her trembled at the thought of his rejection, Belle sat back on her heels and let him stare as he would.

The lift of his brows made the mask shift slightly on his face. “You are kind to offer, but my present condition is the same as it's been for the past twenty years. I fear there's naught to be done for it that hasn’t already been tried. As for tonics and tinctures, I have a healer who delights in forcing all manner of odd concoctions down my throat. I beg you to take no insult if I refuse. I fear I’m not willing to let another set of foul brews past my lips.”

It was a rejection, but one so carefully done that she could only smile. There was no room in his life for her; theirs would be a marriage of policy rather than heart. Indeed, as private a man as he was, it wouldn’t surprise her if she saw him no more after their wedding night

Because he’d already given her far more than she'd ever expected it was easy to honor his wishes. Belle nodded. “Know that the offer stands,” she replied as she came to her feet, “should you change your mind.”

“I shall take your words to heart,” he replied, a smile coming to life in his eyes.

Again, he strove to be kind when he could have simply dismissed her. Belle's need to offer something in return expanded beyond the brewing of teas to the threat posed by Sir Edward. “Your Worship, might I confide in you?”

Surprise widened his gaze. “But of course.”

“As much as I regret speaking ill of the queen's proxy,” Belle said, lacing her fingers before her, “I fear I must. Sir Edward has asked me to pry into your affairs on his behalf, something I've most vehemently refused him. Please, take heed. Where he’s asked one and been denied, he may well seek another.”

Peace flowed over Belle as she fell silent. If what she offered wasn’t the equal of all the gifts he’d given her this evening, at least it was something.

Another rasping cough wracked her new husband. “My lady, I am indebted to you for the warning.”

Behind Belle the door groaned quietly as it opened. The squire glanced over her shoulder. “Ah, here is Master Wyatt and Tom,” he said. “Go now my lady, and make merry where I cannot.”

Belle curtsied deeply. “Do you know, I think I shall,” she said, straightening with a smile. “Good night, Squire Hollier.”

It was with a girl’s light step that she crossed the room to join Tom and Master James at the door.

As the lady crossed the room Jamie leaned his head near to Tom. “Show her to the hall for me, will you?” he whispered. “I need five minutes alone here.”

Knowing full well this wasn’t what Graceton’s master expected, Tom shot a questioning glance at his own employer then shrugged. “Aye, Master James.”

His hand on the latch, Jamie waited until Lady Purfoy and Tom left the room then shut the door behind them. It was only by the most stringent control that he managed not to slam it. When it was closed, he whirled on Nick.

“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “You were fair goading Sir Edward along every step in that discussion!”

Never mind that Jamie himself had done the same to the man at court. If Sir Edward called him out, he could give a good account of himself. Not so Nick.

“Was I?” Nick asked in mock innocence as he removed his mask. Running his fingers through his hair to straighten it, he shot Jamie a glance along with what passed for a cheeky grin in him. “I hadn't noticed.”

This only drove Jamie's worry higher. “And what in Satan’s hell is this nonsense about a Protestant wedding? Not only is that heresy to you, your faith claims all such marriages are illegal.”

Triumph filled Nick's gaze. “Why should my Protestant queen care about making this union legal to a pope she doesn’t recognize? Nay, if Elizabeth wishes me to wed then it's only right we use this country's unique service. Besides, is this not the way to disarm most, if not all, of the traps her proxy might lay?”

Jamie glared at Nick. All it wrung from Nick was a pleased and rasping chuckle. Graceton's master rose from his chair, the strength in his legs miraculously restored.

“And what is this about being so feeble you cannot walk?” Jamie demanded.

“It suits my purpose to have the man think me an invalid,” Nick replied, then shot his steward a chiding look. “You shouldn’t be here. Get you to the hall, Jamie, and entertain my guests. I need time to think and pray. This evening's been very informative. There's much for me to share with my heavenly Father.”

Frustration made Jamie's fists clench. “I went running like a footman for you once but you’ll not find me so easily dismissed when there's no one else about. I demand you tell me what it is you plan.”

“Trust me,” was all Nick said.

“How,” Jamie pleaded, “when from what I’ve seen you're playing into the knight's hands?”

Rather than offer a word to soothe his steward, Nick walked to the table between the pair of chairs. Catching the cup Lady Purfoy had used between his hands, he tilted it until he could see into its bowl. A snort of laughter left him as he set it back onto the table then he turned to look at his steward.

“You’re wrong to worry over Lady Purfoy, you know. She told me Sir Edward has tried to use her in his scheming and that she refused him, just as you suspected.” As he spoke of his betrothed wife, amused pleasure came to life in Nick's gaze.

A dark emotion shot through Jamie. He didn’t want Nick to think fondly of Lady Purfoy. This was just uncomfortable enough to set his teeth on edge and put harsh words on Jamie’s lips. “Always so quick to trust when there’s no safety in doing it here.”

Nick's head tilted to the side as if that angle might aid him in his study of his steward. “I’ve never before seen you ignore the obvious. Indeed, I didn’t even know you were capable of it. Is this some general change caused by your time at court?”

Here, Nick paused to eye Jamie for a moment. His gaze filled with amusement. “It isn’t. It’s this particular woman who has you unsettled.”

Nick’s bold charge stirred disloyal sensations in Jamie. The memory of carrying Lady Purfoy in his arms rushed over him, bringing with it the feel of the smooth skin of her brow against his jaw and the lift of her breast against his chest. He caught a deep breath, only to discover the air in this room yet held traces of her perfume.

Desperate not to confirm what Nick suggested, Jamie spewed the first words that came to lips. “It’s not her, it’s her mother. You cannot imagine the viper Lady Montmercy is. We have no idea what Lady Purfoy might have learned at that noble bitch's knee.”

Astonishment and even more amusement widened Nick’s gaze. “Jamie, this isn’t like you at all. If you judged all folk by their relatives, I’d be my grandsire and you, your mother. All the proof I need of the lady’s good character lies in the way she came to my defense when Sir Edward sought access to Graceton’s chapel. Tell me why you think I’m wrong.”

It was better that he died than admit to Nick that he battled his wayward feelings for Lady Purfoy. “I’m only saying that what we saw this evening might be naught but well-practiced mummery.” Jamie hid his grimace. It sounded ridiculous even to his ears.

As his steward again refused to give him what he wanted, Nick’s jaw tightened beneath his already tight and scarred flesh. “Well then, if you’re so certain she means to betray me, what say we make us a trap, baiting it with a piece of false information. You say you’ll watch her correspondence. I wonder how long it'll take for our tidbit to find its way into her letters?”

“So be it.” Jamie agreed swiftly.

Nick blinked in surprise, his reaction saying he’d expected Jamie to refuse this idiotic and somewhat dishonorable plan.

Jamie's brows lowered in refusal. Not this time. If Nick wasn’t going to admit to prying into his steward’s emotions or include Jamie in whatever it was he planned for this wedding, then Jamie wasn’t going to admit to any personal feelings regarding Lady Purfoy.

They stared at each other for moment. Since neither was willing to retreat there was nowhere to go but forward.

“Have you any suggestions as to the bait?” Graceton’s master finally asked, his tone sullen.

“Sir Edward looks for proof of your disloyalty, so let's give him something that's an obvious lie. I shall leave a note in my office stating that we sent your cannon to Northumberland to aid in his rebellion.”

“But I've sent my only cannon to Elizabeth,” Nick replied swiftly. “The queen knows that.”

“Exactly,” Jamie retorted. “However, I doubt Sir Edward does. That way this tidbit can do you no harm if by some untoward chance I should miss it when the lady sends it on to court.”

Nick's nod was brusque. “If that's settled, go and eat. Enjoy the evening as best you can, given that you’re intent on abhorring the company. And speed Tom on his way back here. I want out of this.” He plucked at his doublet.

Jamie gave a half-hearted laugh, the sound a plea for Nick to forgive him his obstinance. “Poor Tom. Serving two masters is more than any man should have to bear,” he said in an old and familiar grumble. “You should get your own servant to tend to your needs.”

Nick’s smile returned as he granted his steward the forgiveness Jamie craved. “Why, when I can use yours? Besides, Tom has no complaints, not when I'm filling his palm with silver for serving me where you and Cecily usually do. He's greedy enough for the coins since they move his wedding day that much closer.”

Shock hit Jamie like a blow. “Wedding day? Tom is to marry?”

Nick laughed until he coughed. Catching his breath, he came to lay a hand on his steward’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Jamie, but you really must learn there's more to the world than what you let yourself see of it. Now go. I truly do ache for my bed.”