Chapter Three #2
Bessie shakes her head, refusing to answer. A confused Bartholomew speaks up instead. “A fair bit, my lady.”
I’ll do one more. One last push. This could be it.
I do a final dash down the hall. My lungs are on fire as I hurl myself against the chapel doors.
“Come on, you bitches,” I whisper against the heavy panels.
I’m so out of breath that I don’t immediately notice when the music stops behind me.
I turn around to see the musicians and Bessie peering over at me with uncertain sympathy.
It’s time to close up shop. For tonight, at least. I make my way over to everyone, holding my hair up in a ponytail to air out my overheating neck. “I’m glad we were able to do this,” I say, still out of breath. “I needed to do something to clear my head.”
Bartholomew hesitantly looks at his group before directing his gaze back at me. “If you’re looking for a distraction, my lady, we’re on our way to a gathering in the servants’ hall. You could join us. We’re celebrating your upcoming wedding, so you’d be the guest of honor.”
The guest of honor. That would usually be a nightmare for me, but now I’m not so sure. If I go back to my room and ruminate on how I’m stuck here, I’ll start to spiral. Then I’ll panic. And I’ll inevitably learn nothing.
If I go to the party, I can see things. I can pick up information.
I can meet a group of people at the palace that the real Catherine Howard never had access to—or chose not to have access to.
Tonight’s hallway fail has painfully proven that I may not be getting out of here anytime soon.
If that’s the case, then I need allies. Connections.
And I won’t connect with anyone by going back to my room.
I turn my gaze to Bessie. “I sort of feel like we should go.”
She looks at me like I’ve lost my goddamned mind. “You think we should go?” she echoes disbelievingly.
“I mean, they’re celebrating my wedding . . . It feels rude not to.”
Bessie closes her eyes and takes a breath. “Let me make sure I understand you. You think that you and I should go to a party in the servants’ hall, even though we’re unchaperoned, we do not have Mistress Marshall’s permission, and you’re marrying the king of England in one and a half days?”
“Correct.”
Bessie shrugs. “All right, let’s be off, then.” I may have broken her mentally. Hopefully it’s not irreparable.
I smile at Bartholomew as I pivot around to face him. “Lead the way.”
The group is flabbergasted but excited as they turn to exit though a side door. Bessie and I follow along, moving with the crowd as we head down a narrow passageway. The space eventually opens up, and when it does, the leader moves to my side.
“If I may be so bold as to formally introduce myself, I am Bartholomew Dover. I’ve been a musician here at the palace for the past five years, and I’ve been a fan of your work since you arrived.”
“My work?” I ask.
William looks at us over his shoulder, his cheeks blushing. “Bartholomew is looking for a rich older husband, too.”
“Aren’t we all,” Bessie muses.
Bartholomew smirks and offers her his arm. “I like you,” he says. Bessie happily accepts, and William falls into step beside us, still not seeming entirely comfortable.
“Out of curiosity,” I ask him, “what’s the word around the servants’ hall as far as I’m concerned? Do most of them like me, or do half of them like me? What’s the vibe?”
William and Bartholomew exchange a glance before William answers. “Everyone thinks you’re very pretty.”
“That’s nice. And what do they think of me as a person?”
Bartholomew picks up my hand and pats it. “They think you’re very pretty.”
I nod at his implication. “Got it.”
Bessie and Bartholomew walk ahead. I see that we’re nearing a door, and I stop William as we approach it. “Before we go in, I’m thinking that for tonight, I’d rather not make a big spectacle about me being here. I want to blend in, if that’s all right.”
“Of course,” William replies. “I also prefer to blend in. It’s the one of the few things I do well.”
My expression softens at his words, but the moment shatters a second later when Bartholomew kicks open the door. “Behold! The future queen, Catherine Howard!”
William turns to me, his face coloring with an apology. “Bartholomew is a great friend once you get to know him.”
I give resigned nod. “I love him already.”
Putting my game face on, I enter the midsize hall that’s filled to the brim with people.
The bewildered but intrigued occupants drink from wooden cups as they sit or stand around two long tables.
Everyone is dressed in toned-down Tudor attire.
The women either have their hair down or tucked back in small cloth bonnets, and the men are dressed in unadorned shades of brown or black.
Music is playing and grows louder when some of the musicians we came with join the solo flute player in the back. William and Bartholomew stay close to Bessie and me as we mingle deeper into the boisterous crowd.
I’m mentally gearing up to launch into networking mode when someone catches my eye along the side wall.
Simon.
He’s dressed more informally than usual.
His black britches are tucked into his plain boots and his white undershirt sleeves are visible under a velvet vest. I can see his build like I haven’t before.
The expanse of his chest. The solid outline of his shoulders.
A restless kind of tension ripples through me and I’m moving toward him before I realize it.
His subtle smile is instantaneous when he sees me approaching.
The closer we get, the more pronounced our height difference is, and I keep my tone confident when I stand before him.
“Hello, Simon.”
“Good evening, Lady Catherine.” He offers me more of a head nod than a bow, which I’m grateful for.
“I keep bumping into you.”
He looks between us with did-I-just-bump-you confusion.
“No, I don’t mean physically. I’m just surprised to see you here.”
“Are you? Because I’m not surprised to see you here at all.”
My chin tucks in a bit. “Really?”
He takes a sip from his wooden cup and laughs quietly as he drinks. “Of course not. Your being here makes no sense whatsoever.” I nod, biting back a laugh as he goes on, “So then, what brings Catherine Howard to the servants’ hall?”
I glance around the room before I return my eyes to him. “I . . . was in the mood for a change. What are you doing here?”
“One of my grooms brought me. Charlie and I grew up together on my family’s estate and he came to court with me. He’s enamored with a kitchen maid and invited me along for courage. I owe him a debt for helping me with training.”
“Training?” I ask.
Simon takes another swig of his drink. “I’ll be riding in the joust tomorrow.”
“The joust? Like on a horse and holding a . . .” I break off mid-sentence, instead switching to a poking gesture.
“A lance?” he asks, amusement present in his deep, gravelly voice.
“Yes, a lance. Obviously.” His gaze is skeptical as he continues to look at me, prompting me to ask, “So you enjoy jousting? It sounds exciting.”
“It’s what I’m good at,” he says.
“Sure, but do you enjoy it?”
He thinks on it, his expression touched with quiet humor. “You know, I don’t believe anyone’s ever asked me that before.”
“Oh no? It seems worth asking.”
Simon pauses. “I’m accustomed to it. The king is pleased when I win. As is my father.”
I don’t reply right away, but when I do, I say, “You still didn’t answer my question.”
He stays quiet another second before his cheeks pull back in a self-deprecating smile. The fact that I was the one who caused it sends a soft heat curling in my chest.
“I like to compete,” Simon eventually answers. “But I don’t like it when the horses get injured. I’ve always preferred the company of animals to people.”
“Do you still?” I ask him.
His eyes catch mine, unflinching and bold despite his uncertainty. “My opinion might be changing.”
Just then, a pair of partiers push past us, stumbling along the way. Simon puts his hand on my waist and urges me closer to the wall, facing his back to the crowd so that if anyone gets pushed again, it will be him. I look up at his tall frame as I adjust to our now very close proximity.
“I’m an animal person, too,” I tell him, with an involuntary uptick to my breathing.
“When I was young, we had three dogs, seven fish, and a rabbit named Bea who didn’t like me at first, but then I grew on her after I brought her chopped-up apple pieces every day at four in the afternoon.
Little-known fact: rabbits thrive on routine, and if you integrate yourself into their daily schedules, they’ll start to look for you.
” I stop for air, and Simon seems oddly pleased. “Is that too much information?”
He shakes his head. “Not at all. I want to hear more about you and Bea.”
I let out a short laugh I lean back into the wall. “I’m not sure I believe that.”
“You should,” he replies. I can tell that he means what he says, and I don’t know how to respond to it. A few seconds pass until he speaks again. “May I ask you something?”
“Are you looking for more rabbit tips? Because if you are, you’ve come to the right place.”
Another smile. Another warm feeling in my stomach. And other places. “Not at the moment,” he tells me, taking a breath before he goes on. “Yesterday, when I came upon you in the hall . . . when we stood, you told me your name was Lily. Why was that?”
Shit.
I immediately tense up. The collar of my dress feels itchy. When I first spoke to Simon in the hall yesterday, I thought I was in the midst of an involuntary cosplay session. I wasn’t careful with my words, and now I have to clean up my verbal mess.
“It’s an old nickname,” I say, probably too quickly. “I love lilies, so that’s what some people called me. When I hit my head, it must have brought the memory back.”