Virginia Henley (37 page)

Hepburn brushed a petal from his shoulder. His gaze was a promise and a threat. “You can look at the bruise in bed tonight.”

When he was ready, and not before, he released her.

By the time Cat reached Beth’s side, an amused Philadelphia was there before her. “Love’s labor’s lost, indeed!” she murmured.

Her Majesty arrived with six of her ladies in attendance, and when she was seated it was the signal for the play to begin. Catherine tried to focus on the story unfolding before her, but her attention kept wandering. She constantly exchanged smiles with Pembroke, who was seated near the queen, but her thoughts were filled with another, whose presence was far too compelling. She could still feel his touch, and her traitorous body seemed to yearn for it, even though it had been cruel.

With difficulty she forced her mind away from Hepburn and tried to concentrate on the black-eyed Rosaline. When she’d seen the play in the theatre where the stage was far away, the fact that the actors were all male hadn’t been noticeable. This close, however, it was most distracting to watch the falsetto-voiced Rosaline deliver his lines with exaggerated female gestures. Cat’s glance searched the audience until she caught a glimpse of Hepburn. He was making no effort to mask contemptuous amusement at the ridiculous males who were pretending to be the opposite sex. Cat looked away quickly.
A pox on the patronizing devil!

When the play was over the courtiers moved to the banqueting hall and milled about, exchanging pleasantries and gossip until the queen and her ladies arrived and were seated.

The Earl of Pembroke made his bow and Elizabeth invited him to sit on her right, at the table of honor. Her penetrating glance scanned the hall, missing little. She soon found the man she was seeking because of his great height and beckoned Hepburn with a regal hand. He too was invited to join her at the table of honor and given a seat on Her Majesty’s far left.

The moment Patrick sat down he sensed a familiar presence. He looked down into the face of the female beside him and saw the young woman he had encountered last night, who had been garbed in male attire. He felt her panic as she recognized him. He had lost no time learning the identity of the lady who’d rendezvoused with Pembroke. “Do not be afraid, Mary,” he said softly.

She clutched his arm. “Pray, m’lord, do not betray me.”

He allowed his senses to enfold her as she touched him, and through tactile sensory perception he knew that a man was betraying her. Her fear was palpable, as was the fact that she was with child. He covered her hand with his. “I do not betray.”

His strength infused her, and she knew she could trust him.

“I understand your plight.” He held her gaze with his. “Do not protect him. Do not shoulder this burden alone. Name him.”

Her lashes came down and, strangely, she felt imbued with courage. She lifted her hand from his sleeve. “Thank you, m’lord.”

After the banquet, there was dancing in the Privy Chamber, but Elizabeth summoned Kate, her favorite Lady of the Bedchamber. “I fear I have a cold coming upon me. You know how I loathe anyone knowing that I feel ill. Put me to bed quietly, Kate.”

Pembroke, emboldened by the absence of Elizabeth’s gimlet eye, asked to partner Lady Catherine in the dance, not once but again and again. He wore a flame-colored doublet whose sleeves were slashed with gold and which played counterpoint to Catherine’s glittering snow-white gown, and the pair drew every eye in the chamber and guaranteed that they were the center of attention.

Cat caught her mother’s stare, which showed her disapproval of the number of times she had allowed Pembroke to partner her; it made her feel defiant. She looked up at William and gave him a radiant smile.

Emboldened by Catherine’s receptive mood, he bent to whisper in her ear. “Are you ready for the question, my sweet?”

Cat fought back a tremor of panic. Then Hepburn strolled by with Mary Fitton on his arm.
He spent the entire meal absorbed in that promiscuous little baggage, who is only seventeen years old!
Cat gave William a coy glance. “Are you ready for the answer?”

“Lady Catherine, will you become my Countess of Pembroke?”

She answered impulsively, giving herself no time to change her mind. “It would be my great honor, William.”

Cat could not resist going down to the royal dining hall for breakfast. She knew she would be the focus of every conversation. Rumors and whispers spread like the conflagration of wildfire, and she wanted to bask in the warmth of the spotlight. She might not love William, but she loved being the envy of every lady at Court.

Elizabeth arrived with the same ladies who had attended her the evening before. Cat’s heart went out to Kate, who looked as if she’d had an exhausting night.

As was the custom, the queen’s dishes were tasted then presented to her. Her Majesty took a small portion of eggs and began to eat. She suddenly threw down her napkin and pushed the gold plate away, her black eyes glittering with fury. “Fitton, taste the food in every dish. I find these eggs unpalatable!”

A look of horror came over the white face of Mary Fitton as she lifted her tasting knife and slowly began with the first dish. Bravely she managed to swallow the rich food from six dishes before she began to vomit. It splashed upon the queen’s tablecloth and then the plush carpet as she spewed her heart up.

Elizabeth jumped to her feet, livid at the spectacle and her suspicions of what had caused the explosive eruption. “Yesterday you were dizzy and almost fainted, Mistress Fitton. Today you have morning sickness. I warrant you are with child!”

The lady-in-waiting was sobbing as the ever-kind Kate brought a linen napkin dipped in rosewater and gently wiped her mouth.

“Stand back, Kate! The disgraceful strumpet does not deserve your ministrations. Who is the father? Name him immediately!”

Mary Fitton sank to her knees before the wrathful Elizabeth and bent her head, too afraid to lift her eyes to her sovereign. “The father is William Herbert, Your Majesty,” Mary whispered.

“The Earl of Pembroke?” Elizabeth shrilled. “Guards, arrest Pembroke and lodge him in the Tower of London. Take this woman to the Tower also. Remove her from my sight!”

As Kate rushed to Elizabeth’s side and began to beseech her in a low voice, Catherine sat stunned, questioning if she had heard aright, almost believing she was dreaming.
This cannot be happening. It is a nightmare from which I must awaken.

For a full two minutes she denied the reality of what was happening, then a wave of humiliation, embarrassment and shame washed over her. Cat knew she could not leave before the queen left the chamber. She sat still as death, trying to seem invisible, as the pieces of her life at Court shattered and fell about her in tiny, jagged shards.

Chapter Twenty-two

I
sobel Spencer paced the floor in agitation as a case of the vapors overwhelmed her. “The queen’s wrath knows no bounds! Her courtiers are wicked to the bone, licentious to the core, male and female alike! If she learns Pembroke has been openly courting you, we will both be
persona non grata,
” she fretted.

Catherine sat on her bed wishing with all her heart that she had not encouraged William Herbert. She had acted impulsively in the face of Hepburn’s cruel rejection, needing to prove to herself and the world that she could attract a wealthy noble.
If only I had not flaunted Pembroke’s open courtship of me before everyone. The Court will never stop laughing at me!
She glanced at Maggie, who hovered in the doorway, and saw the pity in her eyes. Cat recoiled; she could survive laughter, though it would maul her pride, but pitying glances from other females would destroy her.

A tap on the door turned out to be from Philadelphia. She came into Catherine’s bedchamber to impart the latest news. “Kate begged Her Majesty to show pity for Mary. The Tower is no place for a frightened young girl who is carrying a child. Once some of the queen’s vitriolic fury abated, she put the girl in the care of Lady Hawkins. She has ordered the Earl of Pembroke be imprisoned in the Fleet until he agrees to marry her lady-in-waiting.”

“The strumpet does not deserve kindness!” Isobel hissed.

Catherine, able to put herself in the frightened Mary’s place, did not agree. “Mother, she will need care if she is
enceinte.
”

Philadelphia spoke directly to Cat. “What will you do?”

“I shall go to Hertfordshire,” Cat said decisively, as it dawned on her that she had nowhere else she could go. Hertford, she thanked God, was her solution and her salvation.

“Spencer Park is perfect!” Philadelphia declared. “You should spend more time at your country estate. A steady diet of Court life is unhealthy. Poor Kate has already caught the queen’s cold and should be abed herself instead of cosseting Elizabeth.”

“Oh, dear. Please give her my love. Tell her I shall write to her when Maggie and I get settled in Hertford.”

“And I shall write to you, darling. I know you will want to be kept abreast of all the titillating details of the
cause célèbre.
”

By the time Philadelphia left, Maggie had already dragged out the traveling trunks. Cat, suddenly imbued with energy, did most of her own packing, while Isobel fell into a chair, weak with relief that a solution to her devastating dilemma had been found.

Patrick Hepburn had slept in Robert Carey’s empty chamber at Whitehall, which was next to the suite of rooms belonging to Robert’s sisters Kate and Philadelphia. When one of their servants arrived with a late breakfast, the man could not wait to impart details of the shocking scandal that was sweeping the palace.

Once the servant left, Patrick consumed his food, deep in thought. After the tournament, when Elizabeth had beckoned him and he had removed his helmet, he had studied her intently. In the few months since he had last seen her, she had aged markedly. He had been struck by the fact that nobody mentioned it or even seemed to notice. Apparently to her courtiers the queen was a permanent fixture.
The finger of Death has already touched her.

The Carey servant had told him Kate had caught the queen’s cold.
Elizabeth is ill and it exacerbated her temper so that she lashed out at Mary Fitton.
He had known matters would come to a head, but he had not expected it to happen immediately. Apparently the young maid of honor had taken his advice to heart and named the man. Since the man was Pembroke, it fit into his plans perfectly.

Hepburn locked the door to Robert’s chamber and knocked on Kate’s door. When Philadelphia opened it, he thanked her for the breakfast and pressed the key into her hand. “Please advise Kate to put her own health before Elizabeth’s.” When she nodded her agreement, he asked a question. “Hertfordshire, I assume?”

Philadelphia smiled. “You assume correctly, Lord Stewart.”

As the coach swept along on its twenty-mile journey to Hertford, with both Catherine and Maggie wrapped in warm traveling rugs and their feet propped on a brass foot warmer filled with hot coals, Maggie took a deep breath and broached the sensitive topic. “I am sorry you are heartbroken, my lamb.”

“Heartbroken?” Catherine gave a short, brittle laugh. “There is no need to waste your pity, Maggie. I am humiliated and embarrassed, but, thank God, my heart was never involved. Men are such profligate, callous swine, willing to rut with any female foolish enough to lift her skirts. I have had a merciful escape.” She clenched her fists inside her muff. “Two of them, in fact!”

A master hunter does not allow his prey to escape.
Maggie decided to keep her thoughts about her fellow Scotsman to herself.

When the coach arrived at its destination, Mr. Burke, the steward who ran Spencer Park, tried to hide his surprise. “Lady Catherine, this is an unexpected pleasure.” He directed the servants to attend to their luggage. “I shall have all the fires lit and your beds aired immediately. May I convey any special orders to Cook?”

“Thank you, Mr. Burke. No special orders for dinner tonight. Any hot food will be welcome to both of us.”

Maggie gave Burke a speaking look, and he knew she would fill him in on all the details of what had brought his young mistress to her country estate at the beginning of winter.

By the time Catherine and Maggie had unpacked, the afternoon light was fading from the sky. Cat looked from the window at the frozen landscape and felt as if she had been exiled. Thinking of the lonely weeks that stretched before her made her feel almost bereft. She knew she needed something to banish the blue devils. “Do you suppose Mr. Burke has a deck of playing cards and, dare I hope, any whisky hidden away?”

“I shall go and find out. The man is so efficient, I warrant he’ll be able to produce whatever ye seek.”

Maggie found the steward coming from the kitchens, where he had no doubt given very specific orders to the staff regarding the needs of the young mistress of the house. “Mr. Burke, ye are no doubt in a quandary as to why we have suddenly descended upon ye.”

“I assume something untoward happened at Court.”

“Have ye any whisky, Mr. Burke?”

He crooked his finger, led her into the library and poured them each a dram. Then he held her chair and they sat by the fire.

“Lady Catherine is being courted by William Herbert, who has recently come into his earldom of Pembroke.” When Burke made no comment, favorable or unfavorable, Maggie continued. “The wicked devil has gotten a maid of honor of Elizabeth’s into trouble, and the queen has imprisoned him.”

“He was a professional courtier, as I understand it, with little interest in his estate of Wilton.”

Maggie marveled that Mr. Burke knew so much about the nobility. “His days at Court are finished, along with his hopes of wedding Lady Catherine. We will not speak of him again.”

“Is she desperately unhappy, Maggie?”

“Not a bit of it! Shamefaced at the scandal and outraged that any man could look at another while courting her, but the wee lass will survive. Don’t forget her Scots blood.”