Grasso, Patricia (31 page)

Keely smiled at his admission. She never would have guessed that her arrogant husband harbored an insecurity about anything, much less the clashing of colors.

"Will Louise and Uncle Hal attend my father's wedding?" she asked.

"No, they returned to the Strand this morning," Richard answered. "My mother feels uncomfortable at court."

So do I,
Keely thought. "What about Henry?"

Richard shook his head. "Your father sent him back to Talbot House this morning with Uncle Hal and my mother."

"I don't suppose Morgana approves of the match enough to attend?"

"Probably not."

Richard escorted Keely through a confusing maze of dimly lit corridors to the Long Gallery. Beyond the gallery was the Chapel Royal where her father and the countess would be wed.

Stepping into the deserted Long Gallery, Keely felt a prickly sensation tickle the nape of her neck. " 'Tis drafty in here," she remarked.

Richard glanced at the rows of long, tapered candles on either side of the gallery. Their flames flickered not one whit.

Keely's gaze followed his, and her eyes widened in surprise. No draft in the world could tease a person's neck without playing havoc with a candle's flame.

Walking deeper into the gallery, Keely felt an oppressiveness settle heavily upon her. She cast a nervous sidelong glance at her husband, who acted as though nothing were wrong.

Uneasiness made Keely slow her pace, and rising panic made her heart beat faster. Nothing was amiss here, she told herself. Hadn't she passed through this same gallery the previous day on her way to her own wedding? True, she'd been immersed in misery because of the rift with her father, but could that misery have prevented her from sensing the sad bleakness inside this chamber? The only other time in her life when she'd felt this hopelessness had been that horrifying day at the Tower of London.

Keely halted twenty paces inside the seemingly endless chamber. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she whirled away from Richard and bolted out of the chamber the way they'd come. Keely heard her husband call her name but ignored him. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the corridor wall outside the gallery and welcomed its coolness seeping into her body.

"What is it?" Richard asked. "Are you ill?"

Keely heard the worry in his voice and opened her eyes. She shook her head, saying, "I felt something."

"What did you feel?"

"Is there another way to the chapel?" she asked, ignoring his question. "I cannot walk through that chamber."

Richard narrowed his gaze on her. "But why not?"

"Troubled spirits haunt that place," Keely answered.

"Ghosts exist only in idle minds like yours," Richard snapped, becoming irritated. "You promised you would refrain from flaunting those silly beliefs of yours."

Keely straightened away from the wall. "Saying my beliefs are silly does not make them so. I know what I felt, you—
skeptic!"
She started to turn away, but he grabbed her forearm.

"Where do you think you're going?" Richard demanded. "Even as we speak, Cheshire and your father are exchanging vows. How will I explain your absence?"

"Tell them anything you like," Keely snapped, yanking out of his grasp. "My father accepts me for what I am.
Even if you do not." At
that, she whirled away in anger and left him standing alone in the corridor.

"Shit," Richard swore as he watched her retreat. He stood in indecision for a long moment. Should he go after her? Familial duty demanded one of them attend the wedding ceremony. Turning on his heel, Richard marched through the Long Gallery toward the Chapel Royal.

Meanwhile, Keely walked briskly through the maze of corridors but couldn't quite recall which one led to her chamber. Nothing seemed familiar, and she saw no one whom she could ask. Rising panic made her feet move faster until, rounding a corner, she collided full-force into another person.

Strong hands grabbed her upper arms and kept her from falling. Startled, Keely looked up and saw a familiar face.

"Good afternoon, countess," Baron Willis Smythe greeted her.

"Countess?" Keely echoed, confused.

Smythe grinned and reminded her, "By marriage you are now a countess."

Keely's expression cleared, but her cheeks pinkened into a becoming blush. "I forgot," she murmured.

A deep rumble of laughter welled up in his chest. The baron's interested gaze dipped to the alluring swell of silken flesh above her low-cut bodice. Lust lurked in his eyes, but innocence blinded Keely to it.

"Have you forgotten your vows so soon, my lady?" Smythe asked in a husky voice.

"I'm hopelessly lost," Keely confessed, ignoring what she considered an impertinent question. "Could you direct me to my husband's chamber?"

"Where's Richard?"

"I sent him along to my father's wedding," she explained, "but I became ill and need to retire for a while."

"Damsels in distress are my specialty," Smythe said, taking her arm in his. "Allow me to escort you there."

When they reached her chamber, Keely turned to thank him. The baron stepped perilously close and kissed her hand.

"Shall I come inside and keep you company until the earl returns?" Willis suggested, his voice low and seductively husky.

"No!" Keely dashed into her chamber and slammed the door, then threw the bolt to lock herself in. She heard the baron's chuckle as he walked away.

Relieved to have escaped Smythe's company, Keely leaned back against the door and breathed deeply. She didn't like Willis Smythe. An aura of untimely death surrounded him like a shroud, and the unholy gleam in his eyes reflected something more sinister than a wicked sense of humor.

Angry with her husband, Keely began pacing back and forth across the chamber. The earl had known what she was before he married her. Did he now think to change her? Attempting to do so would be an exercise in futility. What she believed and felt was beyond his control. He would enjoy greater success if he ordered the birds to stop singing. Why hadn't he heeded her warning when she'd told him that she could never adapt to his courtier's way of life? Married less than one day, the earl and she had already started down that road called Failure. Was she forever doomed to be the outcast, the unhappy outsider? Where in God's great universe was her own safe haven?

Keely forced her mind away from her doomed marriage, but her thoughts next drifted down the maze of Hampton Court's corridors to the unseen presence in the Long Gallery. Some unknown, tragic event held a tormented soul captive there, as at the Tower of London. What manner of men were these English to create such utter hopelessness?

Keely froze when she heard a knock on the door and wondered if Baron Smythe had returned. "Who is it?" she called.

"A page, my lady."

Keely opened the door and saw the boy dressed in the queen's livery. "Yes?"

"Lord Basildon bade me escort you to the hall," the boy told her. "Will you come?"

Keely nodded and followed him down the corridor, but troubled thoughts filled her mind. She'd angered her husband, and so he'd sent a page to fetch her. If the earl were anything like Madoc, he would entertain his anger for days. How would she ever win his affections back?

The page disappeared at the hall's entrance. Keely took a hesitant step inside the chamber and halted. Hundreds of colorfully garbed courtiers crowded into the queen's Presence Chamber. Fear of stepping into that milling throng of strangers kept Keely rooted where she stood.

The chamber was enormous. England's finest musicians stood on the left side of the room and played their various instruments. On the long wall of the chamber, directly opposite the entrance where Keely stood, Queen Elizabeth sat in a chair upon a raised dais surrounded by imported carpets. The middle of the chamber had been saved for dancing.

Appearances meant everything at the Tudor court, and the males outshone the females in that regard. Doublets, hose, and accessories created in golden brocade, crane-colored silk, or murrey velvet harmonized on each nobleman. Earrings fashioned with gold and precious gems dangled from their ears, and rouge colored many a masculine cheek.

The noblewomen wore gowns so scandalously low-cut, they made Keely's plunging neckline appear virginal, and they bedecked themselves in every priceless jewel they owned. How these ladies managed to walk upright beneath the weight of all those gleaming golden chains was beyond her ken.

Staring at these parading peacocks, Keely's courage eluded her. Never would she be accepted into this world, nor could she accept this decadent style of living.

Keely decided to return to her chamber. As she started to turn away, a familiar voice stopped her.

"Feeling better, dearest?"

Keely whirled around to face the only black-clad bird of prey in this aviary of canaries, her husband. She nodded and asked, "Where's my father?"

"I'll take you to him," he said with a smile.

Richard held her hand and forced her to plunge with him into the crowd of courtiers. As they made their way through that throng, the noblemen and their ladies nodded or bowed or smiled at them. Keely felt proud that others held her husband in such obvious esteem. Nearing the dais, Keely saw Lady Dawn and her father, who turned to greet her.

"Richard told us you'd taken ill," Duke Robert said, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"I feel much better now," Keely assured him, "but terrible about missing your wedding. Please forgive me."

"There's naught to forgive, child." Duke Robert winked at the earl and joked, "Perhaps my grandchild is rising in the oven."

Keely blushed furiously. Richard chuckled, more at his wife's offended modesty than at his father-in-law's teasing.

"I'm very happy for you,
Your Grace,"
Keely said, giving her new stepmother an affectionate hug.

"What a sweet child you are," Lady Dawn gushed. "Why, I'd nearly forgotten that I am now a duchess. Marrying Tally is reward enough."

"I find that hard to believe," a woman near them said loudly to her friends.

In an equally loud voice that carried back to the woman, Lady Dawn said, "Margaret Lennox has a personality that exactly matches her ugly face. Beware of her, Keely."

"Sweetheart," Richard whispered close to his wife's ear, "do you mind if I dance with the queen before I dance with you?"

Keely shook her head and smiled at him. She watched her husband, a gallant figure of a man, walk toward the dais and then bow deeply in front of Elizabeth. Keely could almost feel the warmth of the devastating smile that he gave the queen.

"Would you care to dance with your father?" Duke Robert asked, drawing her attention.

Keely froze. Admitting she didn't know how to dance was out of the question. Embarrassed, she searched her mind for a plausible reason to refuse.

"The exertion might make me ill again," Keely said. "Please, Papa, dance with your bride."

"You don't mind?" Lady Dawn asked.

Keely pasted a bright smile onto her face and shook her head. She watched as the Duke and Duchess of Ludlow stepped onto the dance floor together.

Alone in the midst of strangers, Keely felt like an outsider again and horribly conspicuous. Several lords and their ladies looked at her as they passed by, but no one deemed her worthy of conversation or acknowledgment. What little confidence Keely possessed dwindled with each passing moment.

Much to her relief, the music ended, and Keely watched her husband escort the queen to the dais. She would have started toward him then, but as he turned away from the dais, a young noblewoman cornered him. Keely's spirits plummeted when her husband stepped onto the dance floor with Lady Jane, the sultry brunette who, as the countess had told her, desired bedsport with Richard.

Morgana happened by with a handsome young courtier. Keely heard the word
bastard
and cringed inwardly. She flicked a self-conscious glance around her. Now the men's interested stares seemed more like lascivious leers, while the women's smiles appeared vicious instead of coolly polite.

Keely knew she couldn't bear to stand there alone very much longer. But where could she go? She didn't know anyone with whom she could converse. And even if she did, Keely feared she would appear "uncivilized," as her husband had once pointed out.

Duke Robert and Lady Dawn arrived just in time to save her the humiliation of leaving the Presence Chamber alone while her husband danced with another woman. In spite of her badly frayed nerves and wounded pride, Keely held her head high but breathed an inward sigh of relief when her father returned.

The musicians ended their composition and began another. Excusing themselves, Duke Robert led Lady Dawn onto the dance floor again. Still Richard did not reappear.

In growing misery, Keely scanned the chamber and found him. This time the earl danced with Lady Sarah, the blonde who'd been angling after him for marriage. Keely stared glumly at the carpet beneath her slippered feet, but her abject misery slowly gave birth to anger. The earl knew she was unacquainted with these people, yet he had abandoned her to fend for herself. How could she compete for his attention against such sophisticated ladies as Jane and Sarah? Even Morgana suited him better than she did. Why had he sent for her if he planned to ignore her?

"Where did your smile go?" a voice beside her asked.

Keely snapped her head up and turned a frigid violet gaze upon her husband. "I left it at the altar, my Lord Waverer."

"Give over, sweetheart," Richard said with a smile meant to melt her heart as well as the icy look in her eyes. " 'Tis a party. Dancing and mingling are expected."

"Mingling?" Keely echoed, her voice tinged with sarcasm. "Is that what adultery is called here at court? You English have such pretty terms for every vile action under the sun."

"Adultery?"
His emerald gaze narrowed on her, but when he spoke, amusement lurked in his voice. "Are you jealous of my partnering others on the dance floor?"

"No." Keely lifted her nose into the air and turned away.

Richard leaned dangerously close, so close, she felt the warmth of his breath tickling her cheek. "I do apologize for neglecting you," he whispered against her ear. "Forgive me, my love."