The Vagabond Duchess. Claire Thornton

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      ‘I came to make sure you’re none the worse for your adventure last night.’

      ‘Thank you. As you can see, I am very well,’ Temperance replied, trying for a note of sedate formality.

      ‘Very well indeed,’ he said. ‘Your eyes are as clear as the summer sky…’

      ‘Blue,’ she said weakly.

      ‘Obviously, otherwise I’d have compared them to something else. And your hair…’

      ‘Brown,’ she said.

      ‘Are you determined to destroy the poetry of the moment?’ He frowned at her. ‘I am famous for my sonnets, you know.’

      ‘You are?’

      ‘Humorous, witty or romantic, as the occasion requires.’

      ‘I’ll bear you in mind, should I ever find myself in need of a rhyming couplet,’ Temperance said.

      ‘Excellent. Would you, perchance, accept a sonnet in praise of your beautiful eyes in exchange for a length of this nearly as fine blue broadcloth?’

      ‘No.’

      Jack put one hand over his heart and assumed a pained expression. ‘You’re a hard woman to do business with, Mistress Tempest.’

      ‘I can’t buy coal with pretty compliments,’ she said, feeling flustered.

      ‘Have you ever tried? The coal merchant might be susceptible to cornflower blue.’

      ‘I don’t think so. He… You do talk nonsense!’ She pulled herself together.

      He smiled, and butterflies swooped in Temperance’s stomach. His smile was quite different from his teasing grin. It revealed a kinder, quieter side of his personality and called forth a much more profound emotional response from her than his cocky grin.

      ‘How long have you been mistress here?’ he asked.

      ‘My father died nearly two years ago,’ she said.

      ‘A difficult time to take on such a responsibility.’

      ‘Yes.’ She pushed a strand of hair back from her face, her eyes unfocussed as she remembered that time.

      ‘Did you stay in London?’

      ‘During the plague?’ She glanced at him. ‘I had nowhere else to go. We all survived.’ She shuddered as she recalled some of the terrible things she’d seen. ‘But it does seem the worst is past now,’ she added optimistically. ‘And I pray it will not return.’

      ‘So do I,’ Jack said quietly.

      ‘Were you here then?’ She looked at him curiously.

      He shook his head.

      ‘Venice?’ she asked, remembering his comment the previous night and wanting to lighten the mood. ‘Or some other exotic location?’

      ‘Last year I was very dull. I went to Bruges…Oxford…but mostly I stayed in Sussex.’

      ‘Oxford? The King and Court went to Oxford to escape the plague.’

      ‘So they did,’ Jack acknowledged with a half-smile.

      ‘Did you…? Have you ever played for the King?’ Temperance asked, and held her breath waiting for the answer. He would surely laugh at her for asking such a silly question. But he was such a fine musician she could easily imagine him entertaining kings and queens.

      Jack grinned.

      ‘What does that smirk mean?’ she demanded.

      ‘The King has more appreciation for my sonnets than you do,’ he replied. ‘The witty ones at any rate. He particularly admired one I composed about a lady’s—’

      ‘Never mind,’ Temperance interrupted, sure it would be scandalous. ‘Have you really spoken to the King? Or are you just teasing me?’

      Jack smiled his quiet smile. ‘I have spoken to the King,’ he said. ‘And played my lute for him. I’ve played for Louis too, though that was several years ago.’

      ‘Louis? The King of France?’ Temperance stared at him. ‘We’re at war with France.’

      ‘We weren’t when I attended the French Court,’ Jack replied. ‘But the war was a cursed inconvenience when I was making my way back from Venice this summer. I got stuck at Ostend, waiting for the packet boat to form part of a convoy. By the time I’d languished in an inn for several days I could hardly afford to pay my fare home.’

      ‘What did you do?’ Temperance was half-fascinated, half-horrified by his revelations. She couldn’t imagine anything more terrifying than being stranded so far from home.

      ‘Played my lute, of course.’ This time his grin was shot through with pure wickedness.

      Temperance knew—she just knew—his next revelation would be outrageous, but she had to hear what he did next.

      ‘Did you convince the captain of the packet boat to exchange a sonnet for your passage?’ she asked.

      ‘No. It was the good housewives of Ostend who showed the greatest appreciation for my talents,’ he replied.

      ‘What?’ She looked at him warily. ‘They gave you money when you sang?’

      ‘Yes, they did,’ he recollected. ‘I was sitting on the beach and they came to watch and throw me coins. Then a couple of them invited me to go home with them—to sing for them privately. Because they so greatly admired my talents.’

      ‘You are a rogue and a scoundrel!’ Temperance wanted to cry.

      ‘Only if I accepted their invitations,’ he said.

      ‘I’m sure I don’t care to know how you paid your way home,’ she said coldly.

      ‘I was rescued by my cousin,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you sell me some of this blue cloth?’

      ‘Not for a sonnet. And after buying that ridiculous wig I doubt you’ve enough coins left.’ She crossed her arms and glared at him.

      ‘How much?’

      When she grudgingly named a price he delved in his pocket and produced the necessary coins.

      ‘Cut me a length,’ he ordered.

      ‘Yes, sir.’ She mutinously complied.

      He leant his hip against the edge of the board and watched her.

      ‘There I was, playing my lute to pay for my supper, wondering how I could afford the packet fare without sacrificing my virtue—’

      ‘Your СКАЧАТЬ