Mary stretched her arms luxuriantly over her head. She did not race to rise and dress. She did not worry about whether or not anyone needed her. It didn’t matter that the court thought she was a violent whore. Right now she could still imagine the feel of his lips against her skin, his hands all over her. Claiming her just as she claimed him. Just thinking about it sent tremors through her body, and she closed her eyes, savoring the feeling. Right now life was perfect and nothing mattered except how she felt, how Charles made her feel. At least for a few minutes.
Her door opened with a loud bang. Time was up.
“Wake up, slugabed.” Mistress Parry entered the room with a gush of cool air.
She was followed closely by the Countess of Spencer, Frances LeSieur’s mother.
With a sigh of resignation, Mary sat up in bed and mentally girded herself. She should have jumped up to reverance the countess, but she was naked. She was sure Lady Spencer would forgive the impropriety. “This is unexpected.” Mary did her best to be patient while she watched Mistress Parry throw open her wardrobe doors and start rifling through the meager selection of Mary’s gowns.
“Yes, well, Blanche told me about your scandalous reputation last evening at my home. Queen Elizabeth confirmed that the situation is such that it needed to be taken firmly in hand before it escalates any further.” Lady Spencer sat beside Mary on the bed and started to pick through her tangles. “Whatever did you do to your hair?”
Mary brought her hand to her head abruptly. Her hair was a mass of knots. Oh no. Not only was she still unclothed, but her linens were a wreck, tangled as if she had been performing acrobatics in her bed, which, in a way she had. There was no hope to disguise what had occurred in her chamber.
Blanche Parry looked up from her task to take in the scene with a bark of a laugh. “Bess, if you do not know what happened here, you are an older bat than I took you for.”
“Pish. The question was rhetorical.” Lady Spencer looked at Mary and laughed. “Not very discreet, are you, my dear?”
Mary wrapped herself in a sheet as she stood up and walked across the room to the ewer to splash water on her face. Catching herself in the mirror, she laughed. The bruising was severe, swollen and purple under her eye and over her cheek. That, coupled with her disheveled state, she did look a fright, except for the glow in her cheeks and the smile in her eyes. She accepted a chemise from Mistress Parry and put it on. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning visit? Can it wait until I am dressed?”
Blanche handed Mary a farthingale. “We decided you should attend the Queen at the frost fair.” Mary stepped into the hoop skirt and tied it at her waist as Lady Spencer wrapped a corset around her and started to lace it. “You are the subject of quite scintillating gossip around the court here at Whitehall, and perhaps beyond. The only way to survive it is to appear as if it is of no import.”
“Yes.” Lady Spencer took over the explanation as she tightened the lacings on Mary’s corset. “You do not do things by half, do you, girl? The gossip is quite impressive, not to mention yesterday’s debacle. If I have heard everything, it appears that you attempted to murder your lover, Lord Oxford, and you may have murdered your previous lover.”
“I thought that the gossip had turned to Lady Oxford in regard to her husband’s attack.”
“Oh, it has for the most part. But you are not free of that suspicion just yet.” Blanche settled Mary’s overskirt over the farthingale and hooked it at the waist. “And Lady Oxford is a countess, so is given a greater benefit of the doubt.”
“And . . . ” Lady Spencer paused dramatically as she settled Mary’s bodice over her head, “since you cannot have the Earl of Oxford, you have seduced his bastard elder brother.”
Mary let out a choked laugh at the last bit. This part was new. “I seem to have been quite busy.” She lifted her arms to allow both ladies access to the lacings at the side of her bodice.
Both older women chuckled as they finished securing Mary’s bodice. Blanche continued, “Indeed you have.” Stepping back, she gave Mary’s gown of fine cranberry wool an approving nod. “Although I am pleased that you and Sir Charles have gotten along so well.”
“And so quickly,” Lady Spencer added as she tied off Mary’s lacing. “Could you not have waited until you were no longer quite such a person of interest among the court?”
Mary slid her arms into the coordinating fitted wool sleeves. “Ladies, what has Sir Charles to do with this? If anyone knows of our . . . acquaintance,” Mary chose the word carefully, “that should do no more than imply that I am promiscuous, something they have already determined. And why would they care about the goings on between a country knight’s daughter and a guardsman?”
Mary finished adjusting the fit of her sleeves, pulling the pleated cuff of her chemise out at the end to flourish against her hand. It took a moment for her to note the awkward silence that had settled upon the room.
“What is it?”
“Sweeting, I thought you knew.” Mistress Parry picked up a comb and started to pick at Mary’s hair. “Sir Charles is the son of John de Vere, the Sixteenth Earl of Oxford. Ned de Vere’s half brother.”
Surely not. Of course he was not. He would have told her, wouldn’t he? Why hadn’t he told her? He hadn’t lied about it, but not telling her was just as bad when he knew everything about her troubles with Oxford. Would it have made a difference to how she felt for him? Was Charles a different man because he was brother to the most disgusting and cruel man in Christendom? Or did it honestly not matter? One brother had threatened to rape her, and one brother had found her quite willing. Maybe she was as debauched as everyone thought and she just didn’t know it yet. It felt like God was playing a cruel jest on her. It was almost worthy of a play: Her lover’s brother had killed her other lover. That had a good ring to it. Mary’s thoughts were so muddled and random that she started to giggle.
Mistress Parry and Lady Spencer remained silent but exchanged meaningful glances, which made Mary laugh a bit harder. Imagine these two great ladies with nothing to say? They had certainly said quite a bit already, but Mary couldn’t blame them. They were only trying to be helpful. And now they were obviously confused by her response. Perhaps they thought Mary had gone mad. Maybe she caught it from Anne. The thought just made her add a snort to the laugh, which then started her laughing again.
Mary dabbed the tears from her eyes as she tried to still her laughter, only to notice that Mistress Parry had started laughing too.
“Well . . . ” Lady Spencer began awkwardly. Mary thought she might be the only woman alive to ever see Lady Spencer, the famed Bess of Hartford, discomposed. “It is good to know you can see the humor in the situation.” She could tell from Lady Spencer’s tone that, perhaps, the idea that Mary had lost her mind was a valid concern.
Blanche sat down on the bed, her own laughter increasing at her friend’s uncertainty.
“Ladies, do not worry for me. I am as sane as I should be under the circumstances.” Lady Spencer did not look relieved. Mistress Parry was still laughing. Mary smothered her own urge to continue laughing and continued, “The situation is ridiculous and I can do nothing to change it. That my reputation is in tatters is of no matter. I have a sure position with Mistress LeSieur at Holme LeSieur, so my future is not uncertain. And Sir Charles’s family ties are of no consequence. Our time together was never destined to go beyond Twelfth Night—I have always known that.” Mary said those last words, words that she should say, with complete certainty. At the same time, she realized that they were no longer true.
The urge to laugh was gone.
The same could not be said for Blanche Parry. With a visible effort and many stuttered beginnings, Blanche finally calmed herself enough to address the issues as she saw them.
“I thought you and Sir Charles would suit—of course you know, I was matchmaking. I am truly pleased you found each other and do not begrudge you any happiness.”
Sir Charles was Oxford’s brother. Did that change the happiness he brought to her? She’d thought she had been happy before, with Thomas. But that was nothing compared to how she felt now. No, this time was different. It was heartbreaking to think she only had five more days.
• • •
Sir Charles, his red uniform peeking out from beneath his furred cape, stood to one side of the Queen’s procession. He had such a strong chin, the cleft adorable in such a masculine face. Oxford’s chin was much weaker.
Mary mentally shook herself and looked away. She was not going to think about the muddle she was in. She was going to be a stately lady in attendance to the Queen, just as Mistress Parry and Lady Spencer had ordered. She would enjoy her day, ignore the gossip, and not obsess over the new knowledge about Charles’s paternity.
It would be an easy thing to enjoy the day. The frost fair on the Thames was magnificent. Tents covered the ice, bedecked in vibrant swaths of canvas. The merchants had their wares displayed on tables, strung along leather thongs, and hanging from pegs. There was a little bit of everything here—leather bound journals of smooth paper; beads of painted clay, wood, and even real precious stone; and finely wrought pewter goblets and tankards. This was not the first time she had been to a market fair, but it was the first time she had attended with the Queen. The goods were more opulent, everything polished to shine in the white winter light. The ice itself, though grimy with ash and foot traffic, had a luminescence to it that made the ground seem as if it were glowing. Mary focused on immersing herself in the wonder of the day and tried to ignore the gnawing worries threatening to swallow her.
She just had to breathe, be the lady she was, and get through the rest of the twelve days of Christmas. She had made her choices and she had no regrets. She just wished she had more options than running and hiding in the country. She smiled briefly as Sir Charles met her eyes. His blue eyes always seemed to be smiling. Oxford had blue eyes too, but his were so cold. Not at all the same.
Mary took her place sedately in a cluster of ladies, part of the parade of nobility in attendance to Queen Elizabeth as She made Her way through the market fair. Mary stood beside the young Lady Howard of Effingham toward the back of the procession. It was obvious to all viewing the procession who was important: Mary was not important, but at least she had been included—even if she was the subject of increasingly terrible gossip.
In spite of Mistress Parry and Lady Spencer’s visible support, the other courtiers still viewed Mary as something of a freak. Of course, Anne had opted to stay at the palace with her recovering husband. It would take a while before she could show her face again without ridicule. At least Anne’s face was unmarred; Mary had only lightly powdered over her bruise, but not enough to fool anyone.
Yesterday had been a nightmare, yet Mary wouldn’t change it if she could. At least now she knew she could not rescue Anne from herself. Now Mary knew where she stood. It was hard to accept, but it was better to resign herself to the fact that the true friendship she had had with the then twelve-year-old girl had faded into something fickle with the now sixteen-year-old countess.
Mary had to steady herself from a sudden surge of vertigo. She should have broken her fast before joining the Queen’s party.
“Forgive me if I am out of place, mistress.” Lady Howard of Effingham’s sweet voice chimed through Mary’s reverie. “But I cannot help but think you do not look like the sort of woman who would stab an earl.”
Lady Howard gave Mary a soft smile implying that her words were kindly meant. Mary, still a trifle punchy from her laughing fit that morning, had to ask, “What would that sort of woman look like? I would love to know.”
Whether or not Mary’s words had sounded as sarcastic as they were intended, Lady Howard took them at face value. “Oh, much shorter.” She nodded sagely. “And with a wild gleam in her eye.”
Lady Howard’s assessment of the stabbing sort of woman was so seriously meant that Mary could not bring herself to tease the sweet lady and, instead, answered simply, “I see.”
“While the story is quite exciting and all my friends assure me it is true, I cannot believe you to be so depraved.”
She must not have been present at the fight. All Mary could do was offer her thanks for the sincere support and try not to smile too broadly. If she wasn’t careful, she may well resume her laughing fit from earlier.
Queen Elizabeth’s party shuffled between the merchant’s stands, trying to keep to the planks laid in the walkway and not to knock anything over with their broad farthingales. The Queen Herself was speaking with a merchant family, at least four generations were present and all of them beamed at their sovereign. The Earl of Leicester, the Queen’s companion for the outing, began to haggle over the price of a pair of hawking gauntlets. From where Mary was standing, she could see the Queen chastise him for wishing to pay less than they were worth. Leicester said something pretty, which made the Queen laugh. The court, in general, tittered in response, though very few actually heard the conversation.
Mary smiled to herself. She was amazed to be this close to the Queen. If the Queen allowed her—no, requested her, in Her entourage, what more could the petty gossips say? Mary had been in the Queen’s presence several times now, but it still affected her. How could it not? Queen Elizabeth was God’s chosen ruler of England—being accepted in Her circle was an incredible honor. Mary took a deep breath to settle herself. Between being so close to the Queen and so distracted by Sir Charles, it wasn’t a wonder that she kept feeling off balance.
Queen Elizabeth was now smiling at the Earl of Leicester, Her dear Robin, with an almost girlish glow. It appeared he had not only bought the gauntlets for himself, but also three new pairs of fine kid gloves as a gift for the Queen, all at full price. The merchants were most profuse in their thanks. Mary imagined that the profit from this sale would support the family through the next year. Mary’s attention focused from the Queen and her circle of admirers to the leather merchant’s grandson. He was waddling around the stall quite happily, as oblivious as his snoring great-grandmother to the fact that he was in the presence of his anointed Queen. He was quite content to slosh with his little boots through the puddles under his family’s canvas tent. He should really get out of the wet before he catches a chill . . .
At that point Mary realized that her own boots were wet; she was standing in an inch or so of water. Was the ice solid? Surely the weather was not warm enough for the Thames to thaw. Her last thought was punctuated by another sense of vertigo, only this time Mary recognized it for what it was: The ground beneath her was shifting.
Quelling her growing panic, she scanned the frost fair before her. Most of the noble ladies had kept to the planks in the walkways and had not noticed the standing water. She could see no cracks in the ice, but she was not fool enough to ignore the impending threat.
Hefting her skirts, she hurried her way around the throng pressing into the leather merchant’s tent. So many courtiers, all in one spot. If the ice was thawing . . .
“Sir Charles,” Mary called as she neared him, trying to appear as calm as she could even as she felt the freezing water splash around her ankles. “The ice. The ice is not safe.”
• • •
Sir Charles was having a difficult time staying focused on his job. He was on duty escorting Queen Elizabeth and her party at the frost fair. It was always difficult to be on guard with the Queen while she was surrounded by her countrymen. Queen Elizabeth insisted that she be able to mingle with them, but that increased the threat to Her person. Charles had, years ago, resigned himself to the fact the Queen did need to be available to Her people, but he didn’t have to like it.
The frost fair was not nearly as bad as the market fairs She frequented while on summer progress. At least here he was close to the palace and his guardsmen were well rested. On progress, however, they never really knew what the next accommodation would be or the security risks that might be involved. His only challenge with this frost fair was the additional distraction of Mistress Mary.
He had left her that early morning, not entirely sure what had just happened. Of course, he knew what had happened, but there had been something more to it than a simple coupling. He couldn’t get his head around it. Seeing her right now wasn’t exactly helping, especially since he kept catching her surreptitious glances. Part of him wished he had never left her bed. The other part wished she had opted to stay in bed all day and avoid the court altogether. That way he could work out his confusion with a clear mind.
Charles shifted focus to the Queen. She was torturing Lord Leicester and had even coaxed him into purchasing her three pairs of leather gloves. The merchants were careful not to get too close as they thanked her, all but throwing themselves prostrate at her feet. Good thing, too, for the ground was wet. Very wet.
Looking up, he caught the eye of two more guardsmen and signaled them to him. What was the best exit strategy? If the ice was not secured against the bank and the entire fair shifted the total weight on the river during the evacuation, it could crack or worse. He would have the guard split into two groups, escorting citizens and courtiers to either side of the ice. He would ensure the Queen’s safety personally. They nodded at his command, calm professionalism masking any fear. They would get the job done.
“Sir Charles.” He heard Mary’s voice and turned to find her right in front of him. Oh God. She had to get off the ice. Now.
“The ice. The ice is not safe.” Looking into her clear green eyes, he saw her trust.
“You are right. My men are already beginning escorts to either side of the river. We cannot panic, and we cannot rush to one side. Do you understand?”
Mary calmly nodded. “I will join the ladies again and help keep them calm.”
Charles was relieved at the resolve in her eyes. Mary was a strong woman. “Thank you. I must go to the Queen.” His reverance was almost imperceptible as he ran to the Queen’s side.
Again, Charles gave the briefest of reverances and removed his hat as he approached the Queen. Time was of the essence. “Your Grace, we must leave the ice now.”
Queen Elizabeth took in the situation immediately and moved toward the water steps at Baynard Castle as Sir Charles directed. “You will see to it that Our subjects are seen to safety as well.”
“It is being done as we speak.” Sir Charles could not help but admire the Queen’s ability to remain calm and smiling in the face of potential disaster. She held a tight hand on Leicester’s arm, but never betrayed any sense of urgency or fear.
Sir Charles had the Queen and Her immediate court safe on the water steps when he heard the ominous groaning sound of the ice straining to hold, followed by a resounding crack as the glossy surface of the Thames splintered into jagged sections, bobbing in the current. The court was safe and, he could see, his men across the way had the merchants and other patrons safe as well. Out across the icy expanse of the river, the merchants’ pavilions teetered on their unsteady ground. Many people would be losing their livelihood this day, but thank the Lord that none would lose their lives. If it hadn’t been such a sad sight, it almost would have been comical to see the bright colors of the canvas tents bobbing slowly downstream. In fact, there was the leather merchant’s tent . . .
Charles’s observations stopped dead. There, next to the leather merchant’s tent, was Mary, bright in her red gown against the starkness of the ice, clutching a small child.