Gilt (20 page)

I crawled into the deepest shadow I could find and watched alone. I watched them dance, their bodies mirroring each other. I watched them move together as the music changed for the next dance. I watched him kiss her hand.

“We can’t have the queen’s favorite hiding in the corner, now, can we?”

The voice was smooth and rich like burnished mahogany. But the face set me back like an onslaught. Handsome. Angular. Rapacious.

“Master Culpepper.”

“You know me.”

I edged closer to the crush of courtiers making negotiations and assignations in the candlelight.

“You are hard to miss.”

Culpepper’s smile was at once charming and disarming. It erased any hint of debauchery from his features. And yet, I knew what he was.

“That makes two of us,” he said. “You look ravishing this evening, Mistress Tylney. Shall we dance?”

“No.” I didn’t want to be near him, much less dance with him.

He staggered backward, dramatically clasping his doublet where his heart should have been. Several nearby ladies tittered, and he winked at them conspiratorially.

“You wound me, Mistress Tylney,” he said. “Perhaps you are too proud for the likes of me, a lowly gentleman usher to the king.”

“I am no such thing!”

“Then dance with me.”

“No.” I wished he would go away. Disappear. Prey upon someone else.

“One dance. I promise.” He sidled closer, slipped an arm behind my back. Fear rent every shred of breath from me so I couldn’t even scream.

“I’m afraid this dance is mine, Thomas.”

Culpepper turned his charming smile to Edmund, and I felt faint at my deliverance.

“Edmund, you always get the most
delicious
girls,” Culpepper said, the word overripe in his mouth.

“No, Thomas,” Edmund said. “You’ve tasted the very best, I’m sure.”

Culpepper trailed his gaze along my body once more, his tongue just visible beneath his upper lip, sucking on his teeth.
Then he turned without another word and walked away.

“You look a little nervous,” Edmund whispered, and took my hand.

“He terrifies me,” I admitted, willing to ignore his implication that I wasn’t one of the very best.

“You want protection,” he said, and pulled me deeper into the shadows instead of onto the dance floor.

I did want to be protected. From Culpepper. From Cat. From the future. From heartache.

Edmund wrapped his arms around me, the press of his muscles tight against me. He lowered his head and breathed in, as if drinking the scent of my neck, my hair.

I rested my face on his chest, the fur of velvet and scratch of gold embroidery, the sure, steady, unadulterated beat of his heart.

“You’re right,” I whispered. “I want you to protect me.”

He ran his hands up the back of my bodice, fingers catching on the laces, pressing into my ribs, up to my throat. He pulled away, my face cupped in his hands, held me with his eyes.

“The only person I can’t protect you from is me, kitten,” he said.

He didn’t exactly make me feel safe. Not protected, really. But
wanted
, definitely. That thought urged me forward and I pressed myself into him. He breathed again, a smothered moan, but didn’t kiss me.

“Not here,” he said. “Not now.”

He pulled away from me. I was dumbstruck, not sure of what
to think. I watched him weave through the crowd. Few noticed his passing, despite his bulk and good looks. A yeoman of the chamber didn’t merit interest amongst nobility.

He returned to his position behind the king’s dais.

Where William stood in attendance upon the Duke of Norfolk. Watching me, pain and betrayal scrawled across his features.

I
GNORANCE IS BLISS
.

Or so they say. But I didn’t find it so.

I ignored the presence of the duke and his entourage. The pain that threatened to smother me when I thought of William. The way I felt when I imagined Edmund’s breath buried in my hair.

I ignored Culpepper and the memory of Cat’s smile. I ignored the biting fear that arose in me whenever I thought back to that evening in the autumn woods. I couldn’t eradicate the vibrant nightmares that hunted me in the dark, but I could ignore them in the light of day.

Turning one’s back on knowledge is not the same as the lack of it, so bliss eluded me.

So did sleep. And comfort.

Because the court began to move. From Greenwich to Rochester, Rochester to Sittingbourne, and back to Greenwich. King and court were like a restless beast, unable to settle down, pacing back and forth behind bars. The mood caught everyone. Waiting.

Summer approached rapidly, the threatening cliff-fall of my marriage with it. But then, without my asking, Cat blocked Lord Graves’s request to come to court. Had him held at bay.

“My reasons are entirely selfish,” she said when I tried to thank her.

“What, you want me all to yourself?” I asked.

“But of course,” she said, and waggled her eyebrows.

She was carefully composing a note at her little writing desk. Dipping the quill in the ink before scratching a word or two. Slowly. Painfully.

“What is the status between you and Edmund Standebanke?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said. I hadn’t seen Edmund in several days, except in passing.

“Perhaps he thinks you’re not interested,” Cat said.

“Maybe
he’s
not interested.”

“Of course he’s interested,” Cat said. “You’re young. You’re beautiful.”

I snorted. We both knew I wasn’t beautiful. I wished she wouldn’t keep reminding me.

“You’re a favorite of the queen.”

“That’s probably the pinnacle of my desirability,” I said. It was easier to put myself down than build up hope only to have it crushed. “Besides, I’m betrothed to another.”

“All the more reason for something to happen with Edmund
now,” Cat said. “Have a little fun before you succumb to Lord Poxy.”

Cat’s pet name for Lord Graves. Trust Cat to focus on the positive.

“Is it that William person?” Cat asked. “Are you still pining away for the gentleman usher of a mere duke?”

“William is no longer fond of me,” I said, the truth pressed like a thumb to a bruise.

“Well, then, something has to change,” she said. “You can’t have two men lose interest unless you’re doing something horrendous. Speaking out of turn or expressing too many opinions. You could make a little more of an effort with your dress, as well.”

I glanced down. The midnight-blue gown she had given me earlier in the year had begun to wear at the hem and cuffs, and there was a stain on the bodice that couldn’t be removed by water or rubbing. Cat didn’t seem to understand that I actually had to work for her and couldn’t wear my best gowns at all times for fear of ruining them.

“Perhaps you don’t take enough baths.” She wrinkled her nose.

“I don’t smell!” I cried.

“Then you hold too tight to your favors,” she said. “You have to give men a taste to keep them around. Sniffing about like dogs when the smell of fresh meat is on the snout of their leader.”

“I am not fresh meat.” I shrank from her comparison.

“Well, the loss of Gibbon might not be your fault, you know,” she added sincerely, giving me a look of pure pity. “It could be Alice. She’s managed to hook her claws into him somehow.”

I thought of the two of them dancing after the masque. Alice’s claws twisted in my own heart.

“Do you think he likes her?” I asked, barely a whisper.

Cat sighed and folded her note.

“Go to Edmund,” she said. “Go and ride him for all he’s worth. I know you want to.”

I wasn’t sure what I wanted. I had to admit to myself the possibility Cat was right. But I didn’t know if I wanted to admit it to her.

“Such a suggestion coming from the divine mouth.”

“Only the king is God’s representative on earth,” she corrected me.

“So you must be the devil’s,” I teased.

“If the devil spurs you to make Edmund Standebanke feel like he’s never felt in his life, then yes, I am.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a little gold ring.

“Take these to Jane Boleyn,” she said, pressing ring and note into my hand.

Jane, because she was one of the “Great Ladies” of the household, had her own rooms in the palace. And her own servants.

I studied the piece of jewelry. A simple, gold cramp-ring.

“Is Jane unwell?” I asked.

“Lady Rochford is fine,” Cat replied. “I’m just returning it to her.”

I turned to go.

“Oh, and Kitty?” Cat called. “Would you ask her when I shall have the thing she promised me?”

“What thing?” I wondered what Jane and Cat could possibly be trading back and forth. Cat despaired of Jane’s fashion sense.

“She’ll know.”

T
HE WARREN OF ROOMS AT
G
REENWICH WAS STILL UNFAMILIAR TO ME
, and I made several wrong turns, cursing a court that couldn’t stay put. Hampton Court I understood, blocked out as it was in great squares. Windsor was a distant memory. And the other places we’d visited, I couldn’t keep straight.

I found Jane in an ill-lit room with north-facing windows, the smudge of fogged daylight barely penetrating the gloom. I stepped in quietly, caught her staring at the distant trees. She held a chain of pearls that seemed illuminated internally. From them hung a gold pendant.

“Jane?” I asked. I wondered if this was the thing Cat wanted.

Her hands moved, deft as hawk’s wings, to cover and conceal the necklace in her sleeve. Then she looked up and saw me watching.

“Kitty,” she said, and the pearls slid like water from her fingers, tumbling to the floor.

“Here,” I picked it up. Smooth and heavy. The pendant a letter
A
, a single teardrop pearl suspended from the center bar. Like the one in the duchess’s coffer back in Lambeth. A for Agnes Tylney. I frowned.

“It is mine,” Jane said, sounding defensive. “It was given to me.”

“By the duchess?” I asked.

“No,” she said quietly. “By Anne. Anne Boleyn.”

“Oh.” No wonder she kept it hidden. No wonder the duchess never wore her copy of it.

“People say I hated her,” Jane said. “That I was jealous. But she was my friend. For a while. And the Boleyns?” Her face twisted into an uncomfortable smile. “They always stuck together. Except for one.”

“Like the Howards,” I replied.

“Oh, no,” she said as she gently put the necklace into the pocket that hung from her waist. “The Howards will cut you off as soon as look at you. Every last one of them.”

I shivered at the coldness in her voice, her eyes as dead as river stones. I felt suddenly desperate to get away.

“The queen asked me to deliver these,” I said, and handed over the note and the ring. “And asked about something you promised her?”

“I didn’t promise it,” Jane said quickly. “But tell her it will be delivered. Eventually.”

I knew Cat would not be happy with that answer. Immediate gratification usually wasn’t soon enough for her. And I would bear the brunt of her irritation.

I pushed my way back through the darkening rooms, trying to figure out a way to reorder Jane’s words to the best outcome. Not looking where I was going, I tripped over a stool and cursed.

“Language, kitten.”

Edmund’s words triggered a rush of memory of my conversation with Cat about him. And his presence, warm and masculine, one hand on my arm in support, liquefied me.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I realized I was trembling. Just a little.

“I’m fine,” I said, trying to recover some semblance of courtly poise. I stepped back. The raised carvings of the wood paneling pressed into my shoulder blades. Tudor roses. Falcons.

Edmund moved with me. Hard oak behind me. Velvet, muscle, and bone to the fore.

“I think you’re more than fine,” he said quietly, his voice resonating through my body.

“What gives you that idea?” I asked.

“Your eyes,” he said, and tucked a strand of hair back into my hood. “They say more than your words.” His finger traced the line of my jaw to my lower lip and tugged lightly.