The Queen's Lady (11 page)

The girl blushed a fetching shade of rose before subsiding back to her stool and picking up her needlework from the chair nearest the fire. Ralegh did not take the hint to occupy the empty seat beside her but instead prowled the chamber, inspecting the hangings with a mocking eye, flicking at the depiction of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden with something like distaste. Jane sensed he knew very well she was standing guard at the door to the Queen’s bedchamber by the very fact that he was trying so hard to pretend he hadn’t yet seen her.

Sure enough, when he reached her on his circumnavigation of the room, he feigned surprise.

‘Ah, Lady Rievaulx, I heard you were at court.’ He bowed. ‘Congratulations on your appointment.’

‘Sir.’ Jane inclined a regal head, her rank allowing her to give him the barest recognition. It was hard to forget that the last time they had enjoyed any private conversation had been on the memorable occasion when she had surrendered her virtue to him, thinking he was in love with her.

He pulled a sad expression. ‘I understand that condolences are due also for the death of your husband the marquess.’ He tried to take her hand to give it a comforting squeeze but Jane quickly clasped them behind her back. ‘A fine man.’

‘Your condolences are noted, sir.’

Ralegh took a step closer as if examining the tapestry just behind her head, taking her elbow to point out some detail that had piqued his interest. He lowered his voice.

‘Why so formal, my love? I would’ve thought we were well past that point.’

Jane cast an anxious glance across the room to find, as she had suspected, that they were the centre of attention for all three ladies by the fire.

‘I regret our interlude,’ Jane whispered furiously, ‘and beg you, as a gentleman, not to refer to it again.’

Ralegh caressed her inner arm through the satin of her white gown, letting the material slide sensuously up and down. ‘I have no regrets, my love. You were delightful in your passion – so honest and unfettered. Would you not wish to experience the like again? As a widow, there will be none to condemn you.’

None except herself, Jane thought. She wanted to shout at him that if she had been honest in her passion he most certainly had not; he had known she expected a proposal. But then, what would be the point? Ralegh was too slippery to allow a girl to trap him into a less than brilliant marriage, so ruthless as to make use of any admission that he had successfully fooled her. Far better for her to appear unaffected by his wooing: that was the best blow she could deal to his vanity.

‘Indeed, sir, I have gained plenty of experience since then,’ Jane lied, letting her voice drop to a husky come-hither whisper, ‘and will no doubt gain more in the future.’ She let the pause stretch, seeing the hope blaze in his eyes that he would be allowed back into her arms. She gave him a cold smile. ‘But not with you. I thank you for inducting me into the mysteries of Venus, but my taste now runs to lovers of greater skill and subtlety.’

She almost laughed when she saw an angry muscle clench in his jaw. He dropped his hand from her arm.

‘I see.’

She could tell he was itching to ask who numbered among the legion of lovers that far outdid him in bed. Let him guess and wonder. Each time he saw her, his confidence, and other things, would shrivel with inadequacy.

‘I see that you do, sir,’ Jane replied pertly.

The door to the bedchamber snapped open, making them both step quickly apart. Elizabeth sallied out, pulling an exquisite pair of white kid gloves over her beringed fingers, adjusting the slashes in the fabric allowing the stones to poke through and be admired.

‘Master Ralegh, accosting my ladies again, I see?’ the Queen asked with an edge to her humorous tone, her eyes flicking to Jane.

‘I fear, Your Majesty, I was merely boring Lady Rievaulx with my opinion on Flemish weaving,’ Ralegh said hurriedly. ‘Your Eve looks like she could do with a good meal or two.’ He pointed to the character on the tapestry who was sadly lacking in the bosom. ‘And Adam needs a visit to a barber.’

The Queen wrinkled her nose at the pair. ‘You are right, Ralegh. I had not noticed. But we cannot afford to lavish money on new arras while England’s coffers stand almost empty.’

Ralegh heard the cue. ‘Then let me give you a new hanging for this chamber. I have one I think you will like – Solomon building the temple for the Lord as you, madam, build our nation.’

The Queen smiled knowingly at the flattery. ‘That will be most acceptable.’

She swept on. Ralegh lingered a moment to murmur to Jane.

‘See what you’ve just cost me.’

Jane bit her lip to stop her laughter. ‘It was you, sir, who chose to accost me, not the other way round. You have a jealous mistress.’

He harrumphed, seeing the humour in the situation. ‘True. You are no longer the naive girl I knew in Yorkshire, are you, Lady Rievaulx?’

‘Indeed, no. And you, sir, for all your faults, have always been discerning.’

He laughed at that. ‘Excellently done, i’faith, a compliment with an insult. Welcome to court, my lady.’

10

From her position beside the throne in the draughty great hall, Jane watched as the little parade of the foreign dignitaries came forward to be given a coveted introduction to Elizabeth. Rarely had so much fine fabric, jewels and furs been gathered in one place. Even her father had found a new black silk doublet from somewhere, managing not to disgrace the earldom of Wetherby by his appearance.

‘Your Majesty, may I present Clément Montfleury, son of the Duke of Valère, from the Bordeaux region of France?’ Jane’s father knelt in his place as petitioner before the Queen, praying for a sign of royal favour. His grizzled head, so rarely bowed before anyone, was lowered, giving a glimpse of the thinning patch on top.

At the Queen’s nod, Jane’s father’s protégé came forward with the light-footed step of a morris dancer, twirling a silk handkerchief to make more of a flourish with his bow. He too sank to his knees, waiting to receive the royal command to rise. Jane gaped. Surely her father had to be jesting with his intent to pair her with this popinjay – he was barely five feet tall and outrageously effeminate. She suspected if she came within range, the perfume on his much-groomed black beard would be suffocating.

Not having to worry about being forced to marry the man, the Queen could afford to be entertained by the newcomer. Those familiar with Elizabeth’s expressions could see the smile hovering.

‘Seigneur Clément, welcome to our court.’ She extended her hand, allowing him to rise and kiss her signet ring, which the French noble did, letting out a surprising, high-pitched giggle of nervous laughter, quickly smothered. Elizabeth arched an amused brow.

‘I trust you left your family in good health, sir?’ she asked in fluent French. ‘I met your father once, methinks, some ten years ago.’

‘He counted it a … a great honour, Your Majesty.’ Clément’s voice was somewhat squeaky. ‘He speaks of you often and prays for the felicity of your happy realm.’

Jane sought out her brother standing at the edge of the room. He was watching the introduction with a calculating look, weighing the Queen’s mood and what it meant for their family’s aspirations. He must have felt her gaze because he met her eyes for a moment and smiled, nodding towards the Frenchman. Jane replied with a scowl and a slight shake of her head.

‘And what brings you to England,
monsieur
?’ the Queen asked politely, this time in her native tongue to include Lord Wetherby in the exchange.

‘Lord Clément and I are partners in a business venture, Your Majesty, which we hope will prove most advantageous to both countries.’ Jane’s father rose from his knees on the Queen’s nod. ‘He also comes, on my suggestion, to meet my daughter, the Dowager Lady Rievaulx. We are intending, with your most gracious permission, to make a match between our two houses.’

Jane sensed the attention of the court shift to her. She mastered her anger to keep her expression serene; she was not going to provide any more ammunition for her enemies.

The Queen beckoned Jane forward. ‘Lady Rievaulx, know you of this match?’

Jane approached and knelt at the Queen’s side. ‘The notion was explained to me by my father a few days ago, Your Majesty, but I told him at the time I still consider myself in mourning for my late husband.’

Elizabeth waved her away. ‘I will consider the matter, Lord Wetherby, Seigneur Clément, and give you my answer. For the moment, I am loath to lose my newest lady before I have even had a chance to become accustomed to her presence in my household.’

Jane stifled her sigh of relief; if Elizabeth prevaricated, as was her usual practice when she did not want to make a decision, Jane might never have to refuse the Frenchman outright.

The Queen dismissed the two petitioners and looked to the next party waiting for her attention. Horrified, Jane watched the three Paton brothers approach and kneel. The stars must surely be against her this day.

‘My lord Marquess.’ The Queen acknowledged Richard with a cool incline of her head. Her secretary bent to her ear and whispered a reminder of the Patons’ business with her. ‘I have received your letter appealing against the dower settlement on your stepmother. But is this not a matter for the courts to decide? What mean you by bringing it to my attention?’

Richard cast Jane a vicious look. ‘As our stepmother now serves in your household, we felt it only right to alert her mistress to the situation she has brought upon us.’

‘I see. Then I thank you for your consideration.’ Elizabeth beckoned Jane forward again with a wry smile. ‘It appears that you are a person of great interest to many this day, Lady Rievaulx.’

Jane did not share the Queen’s amusement. ‘Indeed so, madam.’

‘Yet you have not yet brought your side of the dispute to me as I would have expected from one in your position so close to my person. Why is that?’

It quickly went through Jane’s mind that the real reason was that she hardly knew the Queen and had had no idea how Elizabeth would view the matter; but if she had guessed the Patons would move so quickly to appeal to the sovereign, she would have pleaded her case immediately. Neither of those facts, however, would sway the Queen in her favour. Youthful inexperience seemed her best tactic.

Jane kept her eyes demurely lowered, fixing them on her wedding ring, hoping Richard was choking to see it still on her finger. ‘I am but newly widowed, madam, and have no experience of the law. I look only to respect the dying wishes of my husband and had not anticipated that anyone would object to them.’

‘But they do object, child,’ Elizabeth said gently, nodding to Richard Paton.

‘Indeed we do!’ spluttered the marquess. ‘Sadly, I have to conclude that my father lost his wits in the last months of his life and married this scheming girl before we could stop him. He didn’t even bed her – his doctor swears that he was incapable of doing so – I dispute that she was his wife in truth!’

Mortified, Jane wished the floor would split and swallow her whole – better yet, gulp down Richard and spit him into Hell.

Elizabeth frowned. ‘We do not think this a subject suitable to a public gathering, my lord marquess, and your tone is unmannerly. If the marriage was not complete, then the church authorities must be consulted. Pray, do not speak of this again.’

The Queen dismissed him with a flick of her wrist, but it was too late. The whispered gossip about Jane had now been stated before the entire court; she had never felt so humiliated. While many tried to keep the smirk from their faces in her presence, she knew they were speculating about her and itched to chew over her reputation in the corridors and antechambers.

As soon as Jane was able to retire from her post, she took her chance and fled back to her room. The other ladies had been too polite to raise the subject of her supposedly virgin widow status – or the French suitor – but no doubt they were relishing the scandal now that she had left the field. The thought made her boil with rage.

Once in her room, Jane grabbed the first object to hand and threw it against the wall. The pitcher smashed, splashing water everywhere.

‘Damn him, damn him!’ Jane screwed her hands into fists. Quite whom she was consigning to Hell – Richard Paton or her father – was debatable – both most likely.

‘My lady, whatever is the matter?’ Her maid appeared, hovering fearfully at the door.

‘Leave me!’ Jane ordered, desperate for a moment alone to regain control of her temper.

‘But, my lady …’

‘Out!’

The servant snapped the door closed and ran off.

Well, wasn’t that the crowning achievement! She had just managed to offend her maid and now the girl would spread the news of her reaction to the scene at court below stairs. Her temper had always been her downfall when dealing with servants.

Temporarily defeated, Jane slumped on the bed, kicked off her shoes and curled up. The silent room reminded her how isolated she was now she had lost Jonas and had no friend at court.

But that was not so, she reminded herself, she had one ally. She gazed at the empty pillow beside her, imagining James Lacey lying there to comfort her. He would put his arm round her shoulders, pull her head to his chest and tell her not to worry. No frog duke’s son would come between them; no rapacious Patons would steal her dowry, ring and dowager rights with him to defend her.

It was a lovely fantasy, but only that – a fantasy, Jane acknowledged. James might be a friend, but he did not seem to want her enough to stay in England to help her.

*

Durham House, Westminster

After a poor showing in the first round, James regretted that he had accepted Ralegh’s invitation to join in the archery competition in the gardens of Durham House. The young gentlemen attending the event were betting high so he could not match them with the scant contents of his purse; his performance on the field also did him no favours with his peers. His skills lay with blades rather than bows, but no true Englishman would like to admit that, so he doggedly continued, annoyed to see his name hovering in the lower half of the scoreboard.

Ralegh clapped him on the back. ‘Bit rusty, Lacey?’ His own quiver of six arrows had landed in the centre of the target, one right in the bullseye. He was coming second after Lord Clément Montfleury – the Frenchman providing the biggest surprise of the competition by being revealed as an excellent shot, his slight frame concealing a wiry strength that enabled him to bend all but the largest of the bows.

‘So it would seem,’ James replied coolly. With his height and power, he had no problem drawing back the string of the tallest of the long bows but his arrows all flew to the left. One had even ignominiously missed the butt entirely and buried itself in the wicker fencing behind.

Ralegh rubbed his hands together. ‘I should warn you: the Queen is coming to award the prize to the winner and doubtless shoot a few arrows herself – she has a passion for the sport. If you wish to impress her, I suggest you correct your aim. We can’t have the frog winning, can we? Remember Agincourt – the English archers triumphing over the French!’

‘Sage words, sir, but easier said than done. I think our hopes for national glory rest on others.’

‘Indeed.’ Ralegh laughed, enjoying James’s discomfort.

The Queen’s party arrived at noon at the riverside stairs. James hung back as Ralegh conducted the sovereign and her attendants into the garden, seating them under the special canopy erected for the occasion. White canvas painted with gold stars protected the sovereign from the faint drizzle in the air. James immediately noted Jane was among the ladies, dressed in a fine black fur-edged coat over a cream gown. She looked beautiful, like a slender lily next to the full blossomed rose of the Queen in scarlet.

On Ralegh’s signal, servants bearing refreshments appeared from all points of the garden. Hot punch in pewter tankards came as a welcome respite to the chilly day. James warmed his fingers around his drink, breathing in the clove-scented steam. Musicians, hidden behind the Queen’s shelter, began to play a selection of lively folk tunes, adding to the impromptu festive atmosphere. Lent might be a sober time of year, but Ralegh had cannily found a way of getting around the formal gloom of the season of the Great Fast. No churchman would protest the necessity of loyal men practising the art of archery.

Charles Blount, son of Lord Mountjoy, strolled over to greet James. A popular courtier hampered by a spendthrift father, he, like the Laceys, knew the problems of maintaining a decent appearance at court on very little.

‘Lacey. Not your sport, I see?’

‘That obvious, is it?’

‘Well, I’ve heard rumours of your prowess in the fencing hall so I am rather relieved to find you have an Achilles heel.’

‘Not my only one, I confess.’

The two men watched the bustle around the Queen in friendly silence, Blount running his fingers up and down his bow string as if about to strum it like a harp.

‘Stunning girl, that Lady Rievaulx, don’t you think?’ Blount remarked seeing where James was looking. Jane had refused all refreshments and was trying to stay out of everyone’s way at the back of the tent.

‘Indeed.’ More than stunning, she was perfect.

‘Did you hear what happened yester eve?’

What was this? He fumbled his tankard, sloshing a drop on the ground. ‘No, I was not at court.’

‘Ah, then you’ve not heard the most delicious bit of gossip about her. Two in fact.’ Blount grinned in anticipation of serving a feast of scandal, unaware of the feelings he was stirring in his companion. ‘Her father is trying to wed her to that Frenchman.’ He nodded discreetly to Montfleury who was preening himself in the midst of a circle of male admirers. ‘If that peacock had any desire to bed a girl, then I’m the Pope in Rome. I assume Wetherby doesn’t want grandchildren – or not legitimate ones at any rate.’

James clenched his jaw, tempted to march over to Montfleury and snap his bow in half.

‘If that was not amusement enough, the Patons mauled her reputation in front of the Queen. The marquess blurted out that Lady Rievaulx is a virgin – therefore no true wife of his father – and thus he disputes her dower rights.’ Blount gave a man-of-the-world knowing laugh. ‘Now all of us are queuing to relieve her of the proof of her innocence to protect her from her loving stepsons – that’s if someone hasn’t done it already. There are other rumours circulating that she has been a little too friendly with a certain person in the past.’

‘Who?’ James asked through gritted teeth, filled with an irrational desire to punch anyone who dare so much as lay a finger on Jane.

‘Oh, it’s just some servants’ talk that she is not a maid – doubtless scurrilous. You are considered the front-runner in that race, my friend.’

‘Me?’ James rocked back on his heels, genuinely astounded by the answer. ‘Why do they think that?’

‘Passionate arguments on the dance floor, a private conversation at the banquet – you act as if you both know each other very well.’

‘I do not
know
the lady in that fashion, sir,’ James replied stiffly. ‘I have no reason to think her anything but a virtuous girl.’