The Queen's Lady (5 page)

Jane gave up on waiting for James. ‘How kind, brother, thank you.’

Henry seized her by the waist and threw her into the first leap, her skirts belling as she landed. La volta was too vigorous a dance to allow for discussion between the participants and Jane concentrated on keeping time while wondering at her brother’s motives for asking her to partner him. His renewed interest in her presence at court was likely herald to an attempt by her family to use her once more. At the close of the music, her suspicions were justified as Henry immediately drew her aside.

‘How are you faring as the Queen’s lady, Janie?’

‘Very well, thank you, Henry,’ she replied coolly, distrusting his use of his old nickname for her.

Henry signalled to a serving man to bring them wine. ‘I’ve been talking to your stepson.’ He said the word with a sneer.

‘Oh? How is dear Richard?’ Her tone was acidic as she feigned calm but a frisson of fear shivered along her spine. The Paton sons’ presence at court was unlikely to mean good news for her. She hoped they stayed far away from her on the other side of the dance floor.

‘Spitting mad at you, sister. Something about a wedding ring and dower properties – I confess I stopped listening after the first hour of his rant. Remarkable talent you have for making enemies.’

‘One we both inherited, I think.’

Henry leant back, considering her. ‘Father and I have been talking.’

Here it came: the reason he was making such friendly overtures.

‘We could help you against the Patons, gain your rights to your husband’s estate.’

‘Could you indeed?’ Jane sipped her wine, scanning the crowd for any sign of James. ‘And what would it cost me?’

‘Nothing. We merely would like to explore with you the possibilities for another match. You surprised Father landing a marquess; he has revised his opinion of your potential.’

‘How pleasing for him.’

‘He thinks if a marquess before, why not a duke next time?’

‘Why not indeed? But for the fact that there are no dukes to be had in England at present.’

‘Who said anything about England?’

‘Oh, I see. Father is thinking outside his usual patriotic prejudices. I suppose he has his eye on some trading advantage he thinks I can bring him.’

Henry did not contradict her guess.

‘You can tell him that this particular daughter is tired of being a pawn in his interminable game of chess. I do not want to be traded for a more valuable piece.’

Henry laughed. ‘I knew you’d say that, which is why we had to look for an incentive that would make you more inclined to carry out your duty.’

Jane felt a pang of fear. ‘Incentive?’

‘Ah look, here’s that Lacey fellow. James, isn’t it?’ Henry deliberately ignored her inquiry and tapped James on the shoulder as he made his way to the door. ‘Lacey, good to see you at court once more! You remember my sister, of course?’

Still on edge from Henry’s veiled threat, Jane’s heart fluttered in her chest. She could have done without her brother’s presence, but at least he had brought James to her side. She dipped a curtsy. ‘Sir.’

Disdainful brown eyes swept over her. ‘My lady, Perceval,’ James said curtly, giving them both a shallow bow, intent on escaping the chamber.

Henry refused to let him slip away so easily. ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard, my lord, but my sister is a widow now – a marchioness no less.’

Henry had always been crass but his bluntness made Jane cringe.

‘My condolences, madam,’ James murmured, his eyes skipping to the exit.

The musicians began another dance, a stately allemande.

‘Happily, her mourning is past and she is quite able to participate in our revels,’ Henry continued, enjoying his sister’s discomfort at the reluctance of the young nobleman to acknowledge her.

‘Henry, please,’ Jane murmured, finding his blatant begging a partner for her humiliating in the extreme.

‘Come, come, sister.’ Henry patted her wrist with maddening condescension. ‘You cannot spend the evening dancing only with your brother. Lent is upon us and you won’t have another chance till April.’

Jane wished the floor would open and swallow her up. She had hoped for some sign that James had retained feelings for her but he was as severe in manner as in dress. Her eyes now rested on his much-inspected toecaps.

‘Good lord: you two are killjoys! I’ll go find myself a merry partner and leave you to your gloomy corner.’ With a slight bow, Henry retreated, doubtless pleased with himself for dropping his sister into a socially impossible situation. He ever rejoiced in such small victories over her.

Jane took a step back. ‘I apologize, sir, I did not ask my brother to force you to dance as you are obviously so unwilling to do so. I bid you goodnight.’

The toecaps paused then closed the distance she had opened up between them.

‘No, he is right. It is our last chance. I would find the experience …’ James paused seeking the right word, ‘
enlightening
.’

‘How so?’ Jane couldn’t help a tingle of pleasure as he took her hand and led her on to the dance floor to join the procession. He was even more handsome than she remembered – his face firming into that of the man he was becoming rather than the youth she remembered. His hair curled at the temples and hung to his ruff, defying any attempt to order it, but his beard was close clipped and velvet smooth.

‘I’m intrigued to find out if you still think yourself so far above us poor Laceys, madam.’ The dance separated them before she could frame a reply. He returned to steer her through the next figure. ‘Ah, but of course you do: you are a marchioness now – a rung above my brother, the earl, and so far above me it hurts my neck just to catch a glimpse of your exaltedness. You must be very pleased with yourself.’

It was worse than she had feared: bitter was too mild a word for what he felt towards her.

‘I can explain, sir. I never considered myself superior to your family, far from it.’ Jane tried a conciliatory smile but it slid right off his defences.

‘I’m delighted you see the truth, madam. You may have won the title, but you never had the nobility.’

With that insult, the music changed to the faster, cheerful third section that concluded the allemande, giving Jane no opportunity to respond. She felt as if he had just slapped her. He’d unjustly lashed out, not giving her the chance to explain what had really happened between his brother and her all those months ago. A fury such as she had not felt in many years rose in her as he swung her cynically through the final measure, his eyes hard, his smile without mirth. The musicians struck the final chord and the dancers faced each other.

‘It’s been a pleasure, my lady,’ James drawled.

‘You, sir,’ Jane said, quivering with anger, ‘are an arrogant swine!’

She did not even curtsy as she left, swishing her skirts as she passed as if to sweep him away like so much dirt. So much for her glorious reunion with the man of her dreams.

4

James cursed under his breath as Lady Jane dismissed him, leaving him stranded in the middle of an emptying dance floor. He should never have taken up the invitation to partner her. He had done so because she had looked so humiliated by her brother’s crude handling of their encounter that he’d felt compelled to take pity on her. Then he had compounded the error by letting his annoyance at his weakness prick him into insulting her. Out of loyalty to Will, he should either have refused to dance with the jilt or kept silent throughout, but his damnable fascination with her had lured him into speaking his mind. Now she’d given him the cut in front of the whole court and they would be gossiping about it for days. A number of people had doubtless overheard her final remark, which would add to the storm of speculation.

He took refuge behind the dais where the Queen sat, barricaded from view by the legion of courtiers fawning over the monarch. If it had been in his power, he would’ve left immediately for his bed but he had agreed to return with Ralegh so was stuck at the festivity until the favourite was ready to retire – which from the looks of it might not be for some hours.

‘My penance,’ James muttered, signalling a servitor to bring him some wine.

Jane looked very fine, he admitted to himself, gulping down the indifferent vintage. She was wearing a cream-coloured dress with fiddly decoration on the stomacher – pretty and probably very expensive. He knew nothing about fashion – in fact could not care less about the subject – but even he acknowledged that she had a style all of her own. Regal, if that was not blasphemy in Elizabeth’s presence.

A new dance began and James made sure he caught no one’s eye as a prospective partner. Jane was among the dancers, being squired round the floor by Lord Mountjoy. James tried to stop watching, but found he couldn’t tear his gaze away. He had half feared he had fallen in love with Jane that spring when his brother had courted her; if the truth be told, her breaking off the match had been a big relief as he did not have to find excuses to keep away from home any longer. So why was he still angry with her? He had taken the rejection personally while Will had shrugged it off without so much as a bruised feeling to show for it. Then Jane had gone and proved her shallow nature by marrying that old stick of a marquess – James had not been surprised really, just disappointed. She was like her brother: out to climb the social ladder and improve her family’s standing at the expense of any finer feeling. Being the Queen’s lady was doubtless all part of the plot, a rung up to influence as one of the gatekeepers to Her Majesty.

James raised his goblet in a silent toast. Good luck to her. Her business was just that: hers. He would make sure he kept his distance in future.

Ralegh found him an hour later.

‘Why the sour looks, Lacey?’ he asked breezily. ‘The ladies have all been asking where you’d run off to.’

James gestured to his spot in the shadows. ‘I prefer to observe rather than participate this night.’

‘A certain lady ruined you for others, eh?’ Ralegh rubbed his hands together, rings flashing. ‘A luscious piece, our lady marchioness. And a widow now.’ He tapped his moustache, lost in private memories. ‘That makes her fair game.’

James’s temper immediately soared, an arrow loosed from a tight-strung bow; the look in the man’s eye was predatory. ‘And one of the Queen’s ladies,’ he said severely. ‘Our sovereign does not like poachers on her preserve.’

‘True. But the risk adds to the thrill, don’t you think?’

James did not want to think anything of the sort. ‘Are you ready to leave, sir?’

‘Aye, the Queen is tired and has gone to bed. I’m free to go.’ Ralegh clicked his fingers to his manservant. ‘Have the barge brought up to the landing stairs, Meadows.’

James caught a glimpse of Jane talking to Lord Mountjoy, her face lacking the earlier radiance it had held when she first greeted him . Had he done that to her? He wasn’t sure if he should be proud or guilty. One of the twisted aspects of his self-hatred was the impulse to make others taste the bitterness of life – but when he did so he always regretted it.

‘Or perhaps you wish to stay and hunt?’ Ralegh asked shrewdly.

‘No, sir. There’s nothing for me here.’ James left the hall without a backward glance.

*

The morning following the masque, Jane woke up with a headache and a foul temper. After snapping at her maid and generally making a nuisance of herself, she decided she wasn’t fit company for the other ladies and had to get some air. Most of all she would have liked a good heart-to-heart with Milly, but she was on duty in the afternoon and would not be able to get permission to be absent in the city. The nave of Westminster Abbey would provide a protected walk from the cold drizzle falling from the winter skies so she headed in that direction, asking her manservant to wait at the door while she walked the grey stone aisles in peace, reading the inscriptions with faint interest. The weak light filtering in through the high windows made the church feel as if it were submerged underwater and the tombs she was looking at were the debris of past shipwrecks.

Jane was just bending over to inspect a frieze at the bottom of one monument when she felt an icy touch on her shoulder.

‘Mother dear.’ Richard Paton stood feet apart, arms on his hips like the portrait of old King Henry.

She straightened up quickly and turned to face her stepson, Richard Paton, the new Marquess of Rievaulx. In his late forties, he was heading towards a barrel-shaped trunk with spindly legs, not shown to any advantage in the current fashions for tight hose. Jane wished she could find something to like in her stepson, but he only shared his father’s hazel eyes and not a jot of his gentle nature.

‘Lord Rievaulx,’ Jane replied coolly, folding her hands in the enveloping sleeves of her furred coat to hide their nervous tremble. She never felt safe with Richard, knowing he wished her ill.

‘I saw you at the masque yester eve. I trust you are well?’

What was this? An overture of peace?

‘I am. And you?’

‘Plagued by lawyers and debts.’

‘I see. I am sorry to hear of your difficulties.’

‘Are you? Then you can help me by dropping your claim to the dower interest in the Rievaulx estate.’

Jane gave him a tight smile. ‘I’m not that sorry.’

Richard glanced over his shoulder, signalling his two brothers, Otho and Lucres, to approach. Otho sauntered over, thumbs tucked in his battered leather belt; Lucres moved more gracefully, with the smoothness of a snake about to strike. She looked for an escape. A priest was walking across the nave; perhaps she could catch up with him and ask him a spiritual question or two until her stepsons had tired of their pursuit?

‘No, no, my lady: you will not slip away from us,’ Richard said, his gaze following hers. ‘We insist you listen to us – you’ve avoided this conversation for too long.’ He gave a nod and Otho and Lucres linked arms with her, half carrying her as they abducted her from the abbey out of a side door.

‘Put me down!’ Jane protested. ‘This is a sanctuary – you can’t do this!’

‘You have no need of a sanctuary to keep you from your family.’ Richard glanced around the covered porch into which they had emerged to find a private spot. ‘Over here.’

Jane found herself backed into a corner between a tomb of a knight and a stone bench.

‘Ready to listen?’ asked Richard, leaning one hand on the wall by her head, face so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. Rain dampened his hair making it lie flat and greasy against his scalp. He blocked her in completely; all anyone passing would see was the bell of her skirts pressed against stone.

Jane swallowed.

‘Good. Then, my lady, you will give up your lawsuit and return the jewels your late husband gave you in his dotage. Don’t think a six-month bride – not even a bride, as he never touched you – can walk away with my inheritance.’

Jane wondered what she could say. Jonas had only bequeathed her what any widow was owed: maintenance while she lived. It was what he had wanted for her. And the sole jewel that had come from the Rievaulx family was her wedding ring, which for sentimental reasons she had no desire to return – the others had come with her as part of her dowry. To return the ring would be akin to agreeing that her marriage to Jonas had not been real.

‘You father wanted me to have your full respect as his widow,’ Jane said at last.

Richard snorted. ‘What, you? A chit of eighteen that I would not stoop to marry myself? My father’s judgement was severely impaired in his last days – a point the court will be hearing in full.’

‘I loved your father –’

He cut across her with a swipe of his hand. ‘Oh, spare me the false grief, lady. I can see that our entreaties make no difference to your brazen heart. I will have to take back what you will not give.’

He slid his hand down her left arm to manacle her wrist. Before Jane could guess his intention, he made a grab for her ring. Quickly, she made her hand into a fist and tried to pull free.

‘Let go of me!’ She struck out at him with her other hand, trying to push him away, outraged he would dare assault her. She got in a good blow to his nose, making his eyes water.

‘Not till I get what I want!’ he growled. ‘Hold her, won’t you?’

Otho seized her right hand and pinned her against the wall. She screamed in frustration as Richard peeled her fingers straight, but Otho clapped a smothering palm across her nose and mouth. Lucres circled, keeping watch.

‘I’ll break your fingers if I have to!’ warned Richard, bending her wrist back so that it burned with red pain.

In danger of suffocating, Jane bit Otho’s palm; he let go with an oath and she hauled in another breath to scream.

Boots rang on the pavement; she heard a grunt as Lucres was thrown clear.

‘Gentlemen, are you mad? Assaulting a lady in broad daylight – in a churchyard of all places?’

Richard froze, feeling the point of a rapier prod him between the shoulder blades. Jane closed her eyes, head dropped back against the wall as the ache throbbed up her arm. They must have made a strange tableau – three men against one lady. How heroic.

‘This is none of your business,’ hissed Richard.

‘Oh, but I think it is. Step away from the lady.’

Jane realized she knew that voice. Of all the cursed luck: her rescuer was none other than James Lacey. When he saw her face, he’d probably tell them to carry on.

Richard was not going to be made to back down so easily – he still had two brothers against the interloper’s single blade.

‘Sir, this is a family matter. I advise you to leave well alone.’ He tightened his grip on Jane’s wrist, making her gasp.

‘Even so, I hate to see a lady abused. Call it a quirk of character.’ The blade pressed a little harder, passing through the first layer of clothing to the doublet beneath.

‘Brother, leave it for another day,’ warned Otho, looking nervously around. A party of gentlemen had paused by the fence to the graveyard, watching the scuffle.

Richard released Jane’s arm and stepped to one side.

Just kill me now, God, why don’t you?
Jane cursed her rotten luck. She didn’t bother to open her eyes. Why look when you knew that you’d see a sneer?

‘My lady, are you unharmed?’ James’s tone betrayed his surprise to find her in this position. His question was not exactly hostile, but neither was he oozing concern.

She cradled her injured hand to her breast and pushed away from the wall that had been supporting her for the past few seconds. ‘I’m … I’m quite well, thank you, sir.’

‘What has the lady done to deserve such treatment from you?’ asked James, glowering at the three much older men.

Oh yes, it had to be something she had done. He couldn’t conceive of this being none of her fault.

‘Our stepmother refuses to return a family ring which is mine by right,’ spat Richard. ‘Not that it’s any concern of yours, young man.’

‘
Stepmother?
’

The condemnation packed into that one word was quite enough for Jane. She pushed past Richard, not looking at James. Her stepson caught at the back of her coat but the flat of a rapier knocked his hand free.

‘I think you have
persuaded
your stepmother enough for one day. My lady, I will walk you back to your rooms.’

Jane could hear him follow her. ‘No need, sir. I left my man at the west doors.’

‘No, I insist. You are as white as a sheet.’ He touched her arm but, bruised from wrist to elbow, she flinched away. ‘I meant only to offer my support. You look ready to faint.’

She gave a harsh laugh. ‘I am in no danger of fainting. Throw a few things at choice targets, perhaps, but not faint.’

‘I take it you and your stepsons do not see eye to eye?’ He cupped her elbow gently, their quarrel of the night before temporarily called off. For the moment, she was just a lady in distress, and Jane sensed he had never walked by on the other side, even if he was not clear of the rights and wrongs of the case.

‘My stepsons have no love for me, sir. Their father warned me to expect this from them. It is why he wanted me to seek the protection of the Queen’s household.’ Shock had loosened Jane’s tongue; it was rare she confided in anyone apart from Milly.

‘And the ring?’

Jane held out her hand, annoyed that it was shaking. ‘My wedding band – a ruby. The estate can have it back when I die, but I will not shame my vows by handing it over without a fight. Jonas would be disgusted with me if I did that.’

James looked down at the ring she had tried so hard to defend and felt his stomach lurch. Her fragile wrist was flaming red, already bruising; she had a cut on her palm where the band had been driven in by Richard’s clasp. He felt a sudden desire to race back and beat the stuffing out of the new marquess.

‘My lady, you are hurt.’

Jane flexed her fingers tentatively. ‘Nothing broken, I think. Still, I would have been much more hurt if he’d managed to get the ring off my finger.’

Her flicker of a triumphant smile was what did it for James. He couldn’t help himself. Lifting the injured hand, he kissed her knuckles.