Betrayal in the Tudor Court. Darcey Bonnette

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      Father Alec withdrew his hand. “Yes … thank you, Lady Mirabella.”

      Mirabella offered her sweetest smile, her heart clenching.

      “Then we are orphaned together,” commented Cecily, raising saddened eyes to the priest, eyes made wistful with the pain of loss.

      Father Alec’s eyes revealed fondness as he cast them upon the child. “That we are.”

      “Yet I suppose no Christian is really orphaned. God is always our father,” Cecily added then, her face brightening with hope. “And He sends us people to look after us and help us, even though our parents were called to Him. Like the Pierces and you for me. That way we need never feel all alone.”

      Father Alec’s eyes softened with unshed tears. “No … we are never all alone.”

      Mirabella’s gaze darkened. She had spent hours discussing matters of faith with Father Alec and with unending patience he had indulged her, all while praising her intellect. Yet Cecily’s oversimplified generalisation, along with the mutual loss of their parents to the dreaded sweat, connected her to the priest in a way Mirabella’s devoutness and keen mind never could.

      She should not resent her for it. It was unchristian, uncharitable. She was above such things. Yet her gut wrenched and ached with unwelcome jealousy. Cecily was endearing; she was sweet without pretence. Her light permeated the darkest reaches of any room and any heart. Mirabella could not emit these qualities, not because she was not in possession of them but because she preferred her solitude. Her light was secret, sacred, preserved for God and a handful of others, one of them being Father Alec. To see his eyes light with admiration for another seized her with a sense of envy new to her.

      She blinked several times. She must not think this way. Cecily was to be a sister to her and to resent a sister was tantamount to resenting Brey or her mother and father.

      Besides, Cecily was just a little girl and everyone was sweet to little girls. Mirabella had no reason to fret.

      Grace needed another distraction. Curse Lent and its damnable deprivation! It was all observed with falsehood, as was most everything Catholic. It was a religion of pretence and ritual, meant to satisfy the illiterate multitudes grasping for visuals. Those with any intellect at all did not appreciate with awe the carefully calculated “miracles” the priests concocted to keep their parishioners in thrall. Grace was never impressed. As it was, whenever she attended mass she could not stop calculating the cost of the exquisite chalices, statues, and other artwork gracing the chapel. And the extravagance of the bishops and priests she had encountered had filled her with unholy envy of its own account.

      Grace had heard of Tyndale and Luther, and though she agreed with their various suggestions for reform, she was not a woman impassioned by conviction. Her beliefs were not fervent enough to pursue the New Learning any more than cling to the so-called True Faith. She valued her life, after all. Grace could admit with a dark chuckle that one of the only reasons she resented the wealth of the Church was because she wished to appropriate it.

      Thus the matter of the New Learning was only reflected upon during Lent as she wondered what these reformers would do with the season. She couldn’t imagine it being made any worse; however, given the reformers’ views on simplicity it likely would not be any better.

      So it was that Grace needed another diversion; the melancholy was lurking again in the shadows of her mind and brooding over religious and philosophical doctrine would not assuage it. Matters of religion became too heady for Grace and were best left to Father Alec to puzzle out with moony-eyed Mirabella. Meantime, Grace would plan an entertainment for May Day to usher in the spring.

      The girls would need gowns. Grace lay back in her bed, steepling her fingers beneath her chin in thought as she envisaged little Cecily and Brey in another matching ensemble. The two were a perfect pair! What a boon the little baroness was! Not only did she bring in a worthy dowry, but she was the presence of beauty and poise. And Brey loved her; they were together all the time, playing as children do. Grace could not refrain from emitting a naughty giggle as she imagined the games they would turn to when adolescence struck. No doubt theirs was fated to be a love match; Grace could see it.

      With this to lighten her heart, Grace summoned Mirabella and Cecily. She would invite them to participate in the planning process. Both girls needed to learn; after all, they would be running their own grand households someday and it would give them something to do during the interminable weeks of Lent.

      The girls entered her bedchamber, rosy cheeked and breathless from their revels outdoors. Grace offered a bright smile.

      “Is it a nice day?” she asked them.

      “Lovely!” Mirabella cried. “You should come out, my lady, and take in the air. ’Twould be good for you.”

      Grace reached for her cup of wine and took a long draught, then set it beside her, dabbing her lips with her handkerchief. “Yes, perhaps …” she said offhandedly as she patted the bed. The girls sat, Mirabella at her feet and Cecily at her side. “Now. I’ve summoned you both to help me plan a grand occasion.”

      “Another one?” Mirabella groaned.

      “Yes, Mirabella, another one,” Grace said, weary of the girl’s aversion to all things pleasant. “A sort of Beltane celebration to bring in the spring.”

      “Beltane! But that’s a pagan festival!” Mirabella cried, scandalised.

      “Oh, bother, Mirabella, I didn’t say we would be dancing naked round the bonfire, did I?” Grace returned, thoroughly irritated. “It’s just that I thought this would give us an opportunity to … well, to be together,” she added with a wistful smile. “I thought to order some fabrics and we could design the wardrobe—”

      “During Lent?” Mirabella interposed, wrinkling her nose in disapproval.

      “Oh, my lady, we can plan our own dresses?” Cecily cried, her little face flushing with delight. “Can mine be blue?”

      “Blue would be splendid, Cecily—it will bring out your lovely eyes,” Grace conceded, endeared to the good-natured child. “Blue silk trimmed with lace, perhaps?” She reached out to stroke the child’s cheek.

      “I think it’s wonderful!” Cecily turned toward Mirabella. “We shall have a good time, Mirabella, with your lady mother. You’ll see! You would look stunning in red—red organza or velvet!” She returned her gaze to Grace. “Don’t you think so?”

      Grace nodded; truly Mirabella was an exquisite child, far more beautiful than she knew. A red dress would accentuate all of her assets and if she ever decided it pleased God to smile …

      “I think this display is despicable!” Mirabella huffed, rising from the bed. “My lady, it is Lent, the time of repentance and restraint. To plan such an occasion now, especially one that rings of Beltane, is an affront to God.”

      “Oh, my self-righteous girl …” Grace shook her head. “Who needs Father Alec with you around to keep us in check?”

      Mirabella turned on her heel and quit the room, leaving Cecily to sit stunned, lip quivering, beside Grace, who wrapped her arm about her shoulders and drew her to her breast.

      “There, now, no worries, Cecily,” she soothed. “If I told Mirabella the sky was blue she would say it was СКАЧАТЬ