The Dark Lady's Mask (11 page)

“Sir, please don't trouble yourself over me,” she blurted out, gathering her reins. “I was just heading home.”

The man gave her an incredulous smile, his green eyes piercing hers. “God's blood, you're a maid!”

Her skin burned. She cursed the girlish timbre of her voice for betraying her. Wheeling Bathsheba around, she cantered off and cleared a tall hedge, leaving the man behind.

L
OCKED INSIDE HER ROOM
, Aemilia was scrubbing away grime and the scent of horseflesh when Lady Mary's maid banged on her door, calling her down to play the virginals in the candlelit parlor.

Aemilia's empty stomach groaned from missing supper, and the many unfamiliar faces swam before her eyes. She wore her best gown of dull blue taffeta, an old garment of Lady Mary's. The color didn't suit her and made her look jaundiced, but she molded her face into a mask of gratitude and docility.

“I hope we didn't trouble your ladyship too much with our untimely arrival,” one of the guests said, his voice sending a ripple up Aemilia's spine. It was the same gentleman who had seen her in her breeches.

Keeping her back to him, she sat at the virginals.

“I must have misunderstood the date of my Lord Willoughby's homecoming,” he went on. “How good of you, Lady Mary, to receive us so graciously.”

Aemilia played a galliard, her music the backdrop for the guests' conversations. She willed herself to remain invisible.

“She's Italian,” she heard Lady Mary say. “An orphan my sister-in-law took in. I haven't the heart to turn her out.”

“How fascinating,” the man said. “I've just finished reading Dante. Does this virtuosa have a name?”

Aemilia wanted to crawl behind the tapestries, but she made herself play on until Lady Mary commanded her to stand and face the tall gentleman with the green eyes.

“Her name is Amy Bassano,” Lady Mary said.

“Bassano,” he echoed, taking Aemilia's hand before she could sweep down in an obsequious curtsy and so hide her face. “Your people are royal musicians, are they not?”

He knew her family—did that explain why he looked so familiar? A subtle smile played on his lips as he seemed to connect her face to the rider he'd encountered a few hours earlier.

“
Amy non è un nome Italiano, signorina,
” he said, the first Italian she had heard since Perry's last visit.

“
Il mio nome è Aemilia, signore,
” she said, aware of Lady Mary's eyes on them both and how it irked Mary when her guests conversed in foreign tongues that she couldn't understand.

“Aemilia,” he said, bending to kiss her hand. “A name as lovely as your music.”

Would he be one of the visitors to corner her in some dim hallway? But he did not have the air of a disgusting lecher. For a man of his years, he was lean and elegant, his pale red-gold hair untouched by gray. And he was cultured. But he knew her secret and could use that to his advantage.

“Amy plays the lute and sings if it's singing you prefer,” Lady Mary said in a display of breathless deference, before rounding on Aemilia with narrowed eyes. “Could you at least remember to curtsy? This is Lord Hunsdon, if you please. The Lord Chamberlain.”

Aemilia felt as though she had been blasted by lightning. So that was why he seemed so familiar. Once the Master of Hawks who had tried to make Angela his mistress, he was now Lord Chamberlain. Her spine remained unbowed as she stared straight into his eyes.

“My Lord Hunsdon, do you remember my sister, Angela?” She could not keep the sting from her voice.

She expected him to bridle with arrogant denial. Instead, he gave her a long, measured look.

“I do,” he said. “Ah, you were the child I met in the mews that day. Now I remember.” A pensive look crossed his face. “I understand your sister's marriage was not a happy one and that your father died not long after I spoke to him that day. For that I'm truly sorry. Battista Bassano was a good man and your sister a most talented young woman.”

Aemilia dropped her eyes, terrified she would dissolve into tears, for his words had reawakened her grief and loss.

“Forgive me,” he said, “if I've given you cause for sadness.” He spoke with such solicitude, as though her feelings truly mattered to him.

Lady Mary, who looked appalled by this entire exchange, pinched Aemilia's arm and told her to play on. Sinking back on her stool, Aemilia obeyed.

“You must pardon her insolence, my lord,” Mary said.

A
FTER
A
EMILIA HAD FINISHED
her repertoire and was on her way back to her room, she heard footsteps behind her.
Lord Hunsdon?
Her heart hammering, she swung round to face him. But it was Lady Mary who had her cornered.

“What do you play at, speaking to the Lord Chamberlain like that?”

Mary was looking at her in a way she never had. Her gaze was hard and sharp. Dangerous.

“I play at nothing, my lady,” Aemilia said, unable to breathe until Lady Mary sighed and left her there, leaning weakly against the wall.
Oh, please let Perry come home soon.
Before his wife's nerves were stretched any thinner.

T
HE FOLLOWING DAY
was stifling and airless. Lifting her eyes to the heavens, Aemilia waited for the storm to break, but the bruised clouds hung motionless in the stagnant sky.

Hoping to avoid any further cause for offense, Aemilia stayed out of Lady Mary's and her guests' way as much as possible, taking her meals in the nursery with Nell and little Robert, and only showing her face in the reception rooms when summoned. She didn't even presume to go riding, but hid herself away in the old schoolroom where she pored over Plutarch's
Life of Alexander,
the same Greek text she had been translating the day she learned the truth of what lay between Susan and the schoolmaster. Her fond memories of her mentor blurred into a hurt that had never quite healed, though she was happy that Susan was no longer lonely.

But even here, in her secret refuge where Lady Mary never set foot, the door opened and one of the guests entered on quiet feet.

“Pardon me, Mistress Bassano. I hope I'm not disturbing your studies.”

Aemilia stood to wary attention at the sight of Lord Hunsdon. She tried to make her face a bland mask as he gazed down at the Greek letters in the open book.

“This is my favorite passage,” he said, running his finger across the page. “When the Scythian warrior women give chase to the King of Persia, forcing him to flee their wrath.” His eyes met Aemilia's. “I do believe you are cut from the same cloth as those Amazons of old, the way I saw you ride yesterday.”

She tried to hide her fear. “Will you tell Lady Mary, my lord?”

He laughed. “Goodness, no. A gentleman knows how to keep a secret. But I must compliment her ladyship on your education. It's rare I meet a young woman who reads Greek. You are even more accomplished than I imagined.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She found herself blushing in the warmth of his praise.

How rare it was, with Susan, Perry, and Master Wingfield gone, to meet a single soul who saw her education as something to commend rather than as a ridiculous oddity for a girl of her station. Yet, despite his kindness, she didn't dare return his gaze. Stymied, she stared down at the book, for she didn't know what to say to him that wouldn't earn her some future rebuke.
What do you play at?

“Well, I shall leave you to your reading,” he said, making his retreat.

After he had closed the door behind himself, she sat down, his words still reverberating inside her.

D
AY AFTER SWELTERING, WINDLESS
day dragged on, the guests eating through the kitchen stores. Aemilia played and sang for them each evening. A week passed and then a fortnight, and still Perry did not come.

Lady Mary's face grew rigid from the strain. Aemilia observed what pains Mary had taken to keep up her appearance of hospitality and good cheer, but the façade grew thinner each day her husband failed to arrive.

At the beginning of the third week, Aemilia could no longer bear to mew herself up in the schoolroom. Slipping out a side door, she set off on a brisk walk. She had nearly reached the gatehouse at the end of the Four Mile Riding when she saw a messenger riding at gallop.

Her skin, clammy in the heat, suddenly chilled. She turned and rushed back, running until she was winded, walking then running again.

W
HEN
A
EMILIA REACHED THE
house, everything was in disarray, the servants muttering, the noble guests clustered in the entrance hall. She headed straight for the nursery.

“What news of my Lord Willoughby?” she asked Nell, pitching her voice to be heard above little Robert's wails.

“He's not coming.” Nell grimaced as she grappled with the child and tried to spread salve on his angry red skin nettled from the heat.

Aemilia joined in to help, trying to soothe the little boy. “Surely he must come. He promised.”

“Her Majesty's sent him on an urgent mission to Denmark,” said Nell.

Denmark.
That meant they probably wouldn't see Perry for at least another year. Why, oh why, with all his skills in diplomacy had he not persuaded the Queen to allow him a few days' leave to visit his family before he sailed abroad again? Poor Lady Mary. She must be humiliated. But at least the guests would soon be gone.

I
N THE SCHOOLROOM
A
EMILIA
found a sumptuously bound copy of Dante's
La Divina Commedia
lying on her desk. She caught her breath and opened the calfskin cover to find a message penned in a flawless italic hand.

For Aemilia Bassano, a most learned young woman

Your well-wisher always, Henry Carey, Lord Hunsdon

Her hands trembled as she held the book. Such a precious—and costly—gift. Until this moment, she had no book she could call her own. Blinking, she traced his letters on the page.
Your well-wisher always.
But why had he left it for her to find instead of giving it to her directly? Cradling the book in both hands, she carried it to her room.

A
EMILIA GLANCED OUT HER
bedroom window to see that some of the guests were already riding away
. Lord Hunsdon, too?
she wondered.

A fever clogged her brain. Something soon must snap. The air was full of invisible knives.
You must prepare yourself to make your own way in the world.
Without Perry or Susan to protect her, she had no true place at Grimsthorpe.
You're only a parasite, a useless dependent.

Trying to calm herself, she put on her breeches, shirt, and doublet. Unbidden, Lord Hunsdon's words about the Scythian warrior women came back to her. Was that how he had seen her, not as a shameful hoyden but something rare and fierce? Something powerful even? Her skin tingled at the memory of the admiration in his eyes whenever he'd looked at her. Flinging herself on the bed, she allowed forbidden thoughts to dance inside her.
If I had been Angela, I would have said yes to him.

At the sound of a sharp rap on the door, Aemilia nearly screamed.

“Open the door, if you please,” came Lady Mary's crisp voice. “I wish to speak to you.”

“One moment!” she called, flailing in panic.

Tearing off the men's clothes, she kicked them under the bed then donned her shift and stays, her stockings and garters and skirts as fast as she could. Her fingers fumbled as she frantically laced up her bodice.

“What are you doing in there?” Lady Mary called through the door.

“Dressing, my lady. I just had a nap.”

Aemilia unlocked the door.

“Napping in the middle of the day,” Lady Mary said, as she strode in. “How I envy you. I haven't slept in three weeks.”

“I am so sorry to hear of my Lord Willoughby's mission to Denmark, my lady.” Aemilia folded her hands and bowed her head, bracing herself for Mary's temper.

“After seven years his wife, I imagine I should be used to it.” Lady Mary sat on Aemilia's bed and let out a hollow laugh. “To have relations with my lawful husband, it seems I must travel in his wake like a camp follower.”

The pain in her voice undid Aemilia. It struck her that Lady Mary had no trusted confidante. But now, after nearly a month of hiding her anguish from her noble guests, Mary was baring her heart to her. For the first time, Aemilia had the inkling that they might even become friends.

“You know what it is to be left behind, Amy.” Lady Mary gestured for Aemilia to sit beside her. “Peregrine and Susan are just the same. They lure us here with pretty promises. Then they run away and wash their hands of us.”

Aemilia took her hand. “Will you follow him to Denmark, my lady?”

“And leave my only child behind? Or risk Robert's health by taking him along?”

“My lady,” Aemilia said, wishing she could find the words to ease Mary's pain.

“It's all very well for you.” Lady Mary looked away, her eyes welling, as though Aemilia's sympathy was more than she could bear. “You have your music and books for consolation.” Aemilia froze to see Mary pick up the copy of Dante from the bedside table. “But shouldn't you keep them in the library and schoolroom where they belong?”

“My lady, I—” Aemilia stopped short at the sight of Lady Mary opening the book and reading Lord Hunsdon's dedication.

The look Mary gave her was enough to turn Aemilia to cinder. “So you've been accepting gifts from the Lord Chamberlain behind my back.”

“My lady, he left it in the schoolroom for me to find. If you think it unseemly, pray, return it to him. I never wished to bring dishonor on your household.”

“And how may I return it to him when he's already left?” Lady Mary asked, her voice scathing.