Destiny Lies Waiting (25 page)

She headed back to the window she had managed to climb in through, and left the same way she had come. Closing the broken shutter as best she could, she realized she couldn't wait to be gone from that lonely place.

This is it, she thought sadly. Foxley Manor. My dowry. My family home. And unless someone could identify the woman in the tiny portrait, she would never know who she was or where she had come from.

Now more than ever, Denys felt lost, utterly lost, with no place to call home, no people to call her own. Her feeling of hopelessness intensified the more she thought about how high her hopes had been when she had started on her quest.

But she tried to regain hope by looking far into the future. Parcels of land that changed hands left a trail, records of ownership. It might seem like a dead end, but there had to be more information somewhere, if not at the Abbey, then amongst the magistrates, or the Court itself.

She was going to find her family and marry a man she loved, and who loved her. None of these political alliances for her. She'd be free of Elizabeth's claws, free to search out a loving, caring mate.

It might be Valentine Starbury, or it might be a different man if he proved untrue and unwilling to stay the course. This was not the end, but the beginning, she thought as she clutched the rosary in her hand. Someone would know who the woman in the miniature was, who the rosary had belonged to.

There were other clues as well. It had been a goodly manor house, not a hovel. Just because it had been empty, did not mean it had been devoid of information.

This was only the first leg of a long, tedious journey. If she did not find them today, she would find them on the morrow. She would.

She vowed there and then that she wasn't going to depart this earth without learning where she had really come from. No tombstone of hers was going to have the Woodville name etched into it.

Holding her head a little higher, her shoulders no longer slumped, she whipped off her head-dress, jammed it into her saddle bag, and let Chera's strong legs fly over the English earth.

She wanted her long hair streaming behind her in the wind, not coiled up and tucked away so properly. She wanted to be free to be herself, no longer constrained by duty and responsibility to a family who merely tolerated her, but one who loved her.

Her servants tried to keep up the pace, but sooner or later, she had to slow down to allow them to catch up. Her emotions began to subside as she slowed her horse to a canter, so that by the time her horse had been cropping grass for a few moments until Hugh reined in next to her, she was mentally and physically exhausted.

"Do we stay, or press on."

"Stay for the nonce."

"Aye, Mistress."

As soon as Mary the maid drew level with them also, she led her party back down the High Street to stay at the White Lion Inn, which had looked warm and inviting, there to plan her next steps.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

But the next morning, indeed, the next few days, yielded no new leads in Denys' quest for her family. She tried the Abbey, and several other local religious houses, but no one was able to identify the woman or the owner of the lovely rosary.

Much as she hated to admit it, after three days Denys was forced to head back to her current residence, Westminster Palace, to get more information and plan the next stage of her search.

Court had just reconvened when Denys returned. The palace was aired out, the privy closets clean, fresh rushes strewn over the floors.

She passed by the great hall, abuzz with preparation for the evening's banquet. Scullery maids were on their hands and knees polishing the tiles and would toil away until they gleamed like mirrors. Servitors scurried about, laying linen cloths, plates and goblets. The crystal salt cellar that separated the nobles from the commoners was set at the high table's center.

Adjusting her head-dress now that she was at court once more, Denys headed towards the chapel for vespers, looked up, and saw Valentine hurrying up to her.

A pang of excitement visited her breast, and she embraced it like a welcomed guest.

His dress was in the splendid fashion of a noble of his rank. His blue velvet doublet was furred with red fox, the sleeves lined with blue satin. A girdle cinched his waist, gleaming in rubies, sapphires and diamonds, matching the sparkling collar round his neck. The rolled brim of his jeweled cap was satin. A long feather trailed from behind it.

"Meet me at the twisted elm. I must speak to you," he whispered as he bowed formally over her hand.

"Why can you not talk me here and now?" she said, casting her glance around the nearly empty chapel.

"The walls have ears."

"I see."

She was disappointed he didn't ask how her quest had gone, after all he'd said at their parting. She desperately needed to release her frustrations and disappointment, and had looked forward to unburdening herself on his strong shoulders.

But he looked too flustered over something else, and was correct about the level of spying in the palace.

His brows drew downwards. "Fear not lest you think I am pressing my unwanted suit," he said quickly, when he sensed her stiffening manner toward him. "My proposed conversation regards your..." He lowered his voice to a whisper, rendering it absolutely necessary to bring his lips to her ear, "...your search."

"You found something? What?" she exclaimed, her small foot stomping on the stone floor.

He put his finger to his lips.

"Just meet me there as fast as your legs can take you." He turned and skirted the worshipers coming down the central aisle, and vanished out the chapel door.

She sat barely listening to the service as she turned over and over in her mind what he had said. About her search… Unwanted suit. Nay, not so unwanted, not any longer, she had to admit with an inward sigh. In fact, while she had been away, she had never wanted him more.

As soon as the priest and servitors departed in their recessional, she picked up her skirts and got to her feet. With a mere bob for her genuflection, she hurried out of the chapel door and she hastened down to the elm tree at the river's edge, the very spot she had met him that fateful night when he had been bathing naked in the river.

She had stolen his clothes then in a fit of ire over all the unflattering things he had said about her to her face, but perhaps it was time to stop holding that pique of her pride against him, and begin to trust him as an ally, mayhap even a lover.

Valentine was waiting for her, watering his mount.

She approached him and demanded, "So, what have you found out?"

She realized she should probably have been more subtle with this clever man, but to her relief, his eyes were bright and anxious. He even looked uncharacteristically agitated, a shock of blond hair escaping his hat brim.

"I came across some information. Margaret Holland, Countess of Somerset is somehow connected with your—"

"The Countess of Somerset? I know her not—"

The loud pounding of hooves from the direction of the palace on the earth alerted them. She backed into the shade of the tree, looking as though she was simply taking shelter there, while he tended to his animal's needs.

"Good morrow, Sir."

He looked up with a wave of greeting and a bright accommodating smile. "Cheers, Alan. To you, too. What brings you here?"

She swiveled her eyes to see a squire atop a sleek brown mount.

"His Highness the King summons you forthwith," he replied.

"Oh? What is all the urgency?"

"We are departing for Smithfield in preparation of tomorrow's tourney."

"I shall be there." Valentine waved a hand in dismissal.

But Alan did not turn and head back to the palace. Instead, he waited for Valentine. "I have been ordered to escort you back to the palace, my lord."

"I see. Well, my horse is somewhat winded at the moment, as you can see."

"I do not mind waiting."

Valentine glanced at Denys, rolled his eyes heavenward, then waited until his horse had drunk its fill, and then got into the saddle.

As Alan began to precede him, he whispered, "I shall see you soon."

She nodded wordlessly, once again disappointed in a myriad of ways, all her vague hopes dashed once more.

She watched his vanishing form with a mixture of regret and anger. "I know you are trying to gain my favor, Valentine Starbury," she said to the departing knight's back. "I shall pursue this. But if it turns out to be another shattering disappointment, I am holding you accountable."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

After court had retired for the evening, the Queen summoned Denys to her chambers.

She was yelling even before Denys reached the threshold.

"What were you doing with that low-born soldier during vespers?"

Elizabeth's eyes were as dark as the sky laden with thunderstorms, making Denys stammer her answer.

"L-l-low-born s-s-soldier, Madame? I can't think who you mean."

"That peacock Starbury."

"Starbury?" she lowered her brows as if thinking. "Low born? But is he not now Lord Valentine, Duke of Norwich."

"I don't give a horse's feak what his title is. What were you doing with him?"

"He gave me greetings in the chapel."

Elizabeth gave her a look as hard as a slap. "I mean down by the river afterwards, you ninny."

"So you have been following me!" Denys hissed, all pretense at an end.

"Cease your smart-mouthing and answer my question!"

"He is Uncle Richard's best friend. He has been very civil to me." The words were out before she even realized she was defending Valentine Starbury.

"Are you whoring with that loose fish now that The Hog has wormed his way out of marrying you?"

"Certainly not!" she gasped, truly horrified both at the notion, and her withering dismissal of both men.

"I know you slithered off to the riverbank like a common strumpet after this, this
wandering
minstrel."

Denys felt her cheeks heat. The implications were all too plain. Valentine dallied with women, then abandoned them.
Could it be true? And just when she was starting to trust him, foresee a future with him…

"Your deportment is of the lowest order. You are a disgrace to our family, and I shall not have you giving the Woodvilles a bad name."

Giving the Woodvilles a bad name? That was like saying Attila the Hun might have a rather unpleasant disposition at times
, Denys reflected with an inward grimace.

"My Lord Starbury has been far more courtly than your waggish lot," she found herself protesting.

And in fact, it was true, she told herself as she watched the Queen fume. Despite his underlying conceit and lofty ambition, he had treated her with the chivalry of the noblest gentleman.

He'd never hinted at a tryst—unlike his treatment of the other fawning ladies, he had respected her. In defending him, she was not just sticking up for him; she was also defending her own good name.

Elizabeth stuck out her tongue in an expression of revulsion. "Is that so? Courtly, eh? Well, beware of two-faced courtiers. Your chivalrous duke has tried to jump every milkmaid in the palace!"

This surprised Elizabeth, of all people?
she thought. King Edward was far from discreet about his trysts. What healthy male of rank would not take advantage of all the easy pleasures that were his for the taking thanks to ambitious women wanting to sleep their way to the top? Like a certain young widow who had snared the King's attention…

"He is so lacking in particularity that he even gave my revolting cooking wench Kat a snog just the other night! She replayed it in intimate detail, grunting and squealing with delight as if it were even better in retrospect!"

Denys stood rooted to the spot, her doubts now beginning to move from simmering to full-boiled. Denys knew exactly whom she was referring to. Of all the comely females about court—why on earth would he go near Kat the cooking wench? Unless Valentine had had another reason….