Betrayal in the Tudor Court. Darcey Bonnette

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СКАЧАТЬ suit her far more. A vision of her twirling about a ballroom in a fleet, graceful dance seemed far more appropriate than the idea of her on her knees before a prie-dieu all day.

      Yet Mirabella and the nun were enraptured by their surroundings, as though they could not imagine being anywhere else. Both faces were made radiant; both were indeed in love with God.

      There was something else about their faces, something unsettling. But Cecily could not identify it and as quickly as it was noted it was forgotten.

      The girls returned home just as the dusky hues of twilight began to subdue the snow from bright white to a subtle violet. As they scampered into the great hall they encountered Lady Grace, who rested one slim white hand on her hip while the other clenched a cup of wine. She fixed Mirabella with a dark stare.

      “Where were you?” she demanded. “You were to be home hours ago.”

      “The abbey, my lady,” Mirabella answered, bowing her head.

      “You know you shouldn’t be going without escort, and especially with little Cecily,” she said. “Anything could happen to you in that forest—there could be bandits waiting to do all manner of things to you,” she chided.

      “Yes, my lady,” was Mirabella’s automatic response.

      Lady Grace shook her head, sipping her wine. “You are a fanatic,” she spat, her words slurring. “And while men cherish piety in their wives, such extreme devotion will repulse a future husband. No doubt your father will have to bribe your prospects with a higher dowry as it is, that your high-mindedness might be made more tolerable.”

      “I will not take a husband,” Mirabella told her mother. “As well you know. If a man will find me as offensive as you have always claimed then you should be relieved that I fancy embracing the Church. My dowry would be put to far better use with them than by fattening some lord’s coffers.”

      Cecily began to tremble. She did not fear Lady Grace; most often she was quite gentle with her. Yet there was something in Lady Grace that was distressing. Something dark and to be avoided.

      Lady Grace gritted her teeth, her cheeks flushing. “A dowry will be paid, but I will be goddamned if a penny of it goes to that abbey or any other!”

      “Ladies!” cried Lord Sumerton, who insisted everyone call him Hal, as he made long strides into the hall. He wrapped an arm about Lady Grace’s shoulders, squeezing her tight. “Now, now, my love, we do not wish to frighten little Cecily, do we?” he asked under his breath. Then to Mirabella, “Did you deliver the donation, sweetheart?” His eyes lit with tenderness as he regarded her, but the gentle smile on his handsome face did not reflect in them. At once Cecily believed she had never seen such sad eyes.

      Mirabella nodded. “They were most pleased, my lord,” she told him.

      “You mean to say that the girls were alone in the forest with money?” Lady Grace cried. “God’s wounds, my lord, do you ever think?”

      Lord Hal drew in a wavering breath. “I apologise, my lady. I shall make certain the girls are accompanied on all future excursions.” He cast his gaze upon Cecily, brightening. “And how do you find the abbey, sweeting? Fancy it as much as Mirabella does?”

      “It is a beautiful place,” she answered. “But I do not think I shall ever become a nun,” she added.

      “It is not for everyone,” Lord Hal agreed with a chuckle. “But it is a divine calling and not to be disrespected.” This comment was directed toward Lady Grace, who narrowed her eyes and sipped her wine.

      Lord Hal wrapped one arm about Mirabella’s shoulder, then stooped down, lifting Cecily with the other. Cecily relished his generous displays of affection. He was a kind man, never failing to demonstrate his love for his children. His attentions softened the pang of longing for her own father, who often had been distant and preoccupied.

      “Come now, sweetings, let’s remove to the solar and warm you both up. We shall send for some honeyed milk and bread and cheese,” he told them. “Twelfth Night is coming soon and I need to know what my best girls will be expecting!”

      As they quit the great hall Cecily peered over his shoulder where Lady Grace stood, head bowed over her cup of wine.

      “We have to set to making a match for Mirabella,” Grace told her husband in their bedchamber late that night. “She’ll be fourteen soon. It cannot be avoided any longer.”

      “Of course it can,” Hal returned as he removed his clothing and knelt before his prie-dieu. Grace’s gaze travelled up and down the well-muscled torso, taking in the sight of skin made raw by the hair shirt he wore underneath his fine doublets. She shuddered.

      “A betrothal, Hal,” she amended in gentle tones. Tears pooled in her eyes. She rolled onto her side, back to him. “Just a betrothal.” She would focus on that. Far better than the scars decorating what would have been an otherwise perfect specimen. “Brey’s future is secured,” she went on. “The little baroness will make a fine wife; add all her lands and ten thousand ducats a year into the bargain and you have one of the best catches in England. Which leaves us with Mirabella. An alliance must be made. We do not have to send her away for a long while. She could remain till she is seventeen, eighteen if she likes.”

      Hal crossed himself, then joined her in bed. “A worthy thought,” he said. “Meantime, you will indulge me with peace under my roof.” He rolled her toward him by the shoulder, appealing to her with his eyes. “Please.”

      Grace pursed her lips, scowling. She reached up, tentatively fingering one of the angry red sores. “When will you stop?”

      Hal looked past her at the bedside table where rested a decanter of wine. “When will you?”

      Grace flopped onto her back, staring up at the blue velvet canopy.

      We will remain thus trapped, she reflected. Each in our own twisted vices.

      The thought did not prevent her from leaning over and seising the decanter, however.

      She drank straight from it.

      She did not need a cup when no one was watching.

      Twelfth Night was ushered in with a feast that many celebrated nobles attended. The children were all allowed to sit at table, though Mirabella excused herself early so that she might devote the night of Epiphany to prayer.

      Cecily absorbed the event with delight, however. She had never been to such a gala. Though her parents had socialised with their peers, Cecily was restricted to the nursery. Now she was allowed to be in the thick of things, to drink in the colours and flavours of the evening. It surpassed the bustling excitement of market day in the nearby town of Sumerton and far exceeded a fair—Cecily never cared for the disorganised chaos of fairs. This was splendid—a perfectly choreographed feast. The table was laden with mincemeat pies, mutton, haunches of venison, a fat stuffed goose, brawn, eels, cheeses, bread, puddings, and tarts. The guests attendant were attired in their finest silks, velvets, furs, brocades, and jewels. It was a display of sensory pleasure and Cecily savoured every moment.

      She and Brey, as the only children present, were the centre of everything. She was dressed in a silver damask gown with a kirtle of white lace. Brey was dressed to match in a fine silver damask doublet with white hose. Both children’s slippers bore silver buckles encrusted with СКАЧАТЬ