Chapter Sixteen #2
“Are you getting stage fright?” I ask, surprised.
“I don’t get stage fright” he answers. Then he adds, “My family is in attendance tonight.”
I find myself oddly excited at the prospect. “Really? Who?”
“My father and my older brother, Thomas.”
My head tilts slightly at his words. “You and your brother are both named Thomas?”
This Thomas nods. “If one of us died young, my father wanted to ensure there would still be one Thomas Culpepper.”
That’s morbid but makes sense, I suppose. “Do you get along with your brother?”
Thomas looks down at me, his eyes unexpectedly serious. “My brother is a monster.”
I want to ask him what he means, but before I get the chance, the doors in front of us swing open. Thomas turns to face the waiting crowd and smiles charmingly as he leads me in. The rest of the dancers follow behind us, with Lady Wessex only subtly tripping along the way.
The performance goes . . . all right.
We might not have been the most graceful group, but we had gusto. Before the next party, I’ll have to convey to my ladies that one of the key principles of pregaming is that your eventually stop.
After I’m introduced to the Italian ambassador, my uncle Norfolk quickly asks me for a private audience. He’s leading me off to the side before I’ve agreed, his grip harsh on my wrist.
We stop along the wall, and he rounds on me to block the view of the room with his body.
“This is the entertainment you’ve prepared?
” he seethes. “Half your women were floundering about like newborn calves and the others seemed ready to fall over. And you . . .” He leans in close and sniffs the air between us. “Why do you smell of sour milk?”
I meet the anger in his eyes with some of my own, and I step around him so that I’m no longer hidden from view.
“I have no idea,” I tell him. “But speaking of milk, you should know that I’m going to be making some changes around here.
When I was in a servants’ room tonight, I saw firsthand how unacceptable their living conditions are, as well as the lack of childcare. ”
The duke’s cheeks flame in frustration. He looks around, seemingly remembering that we’re in view of the court and flattens his expression. “What were you doing in a servants’ room?”
I casually wave to the Italian ambassador, who merrily waves back. “I was helping a friend,” I answer with a smile.
“A friend?” My uncle shifts his body again, blocking both our faces from view and dropping his voice. “Let me remind you of something, Catherine. Your only job is to obey the king and give him children. Nothing else. No doing. No speaking. No friends. Nothing. Just be pretty and stay quiet.”
I can feel the rage taking hold inside me. I harness it. I breathe it in. And I look at my uncle with calmly confident eyes.
“Yeah,” I tell him, “that’s not going to work for me.”
We stay locked in an passive aggressive stare fest until the duke turns and faces the inside of the room.
“I’ve noticed you’ve grown quite close to Bessie Stanley. An odd creature, though it seems she has met her match. Does she not look happy, Catherine?”
I follow his calculating gaze over to Bessie and Richard. They’re laughing and whispering back and forth to each other. If my uncle wasn’t here, I’d smile.
“Young ladies are drawn to a handsome face,” he goes on to say, “but that is why men must handle their affairs. I wonder if Lady Elizabeth might not secure a more advantageous match? A friend of mine, though he’s advanced in years, is just now looking for a bride.
His first two wives died before they could give him heirs—perhaps his hand was too heavy with them—not that it matters.
But he grows impatient to secure his line.
I’d wager that little Bessie would be an excellent candidate for him.
I will suggest it to the king. With his blessing on the match, I’m sure the union would happen in all possible haste. ”
I can hear his threat. My shoulders tense. “Do you think so?” I ask.
The duke looks down and over at me. “Just stay in line, Catherine. Heed my advice and all will be well.”
I nod at his words and move to his side to look back out at the festivities.
“The thing is,” I tell him, “I don’t think the king will bless the match.
Especially since he’s already approved the match between Bessie and Richard.
I wrote to him last week through a private messenger and received word yesterday that he immediately granted my request. Henry is so very eager to please me.
” I lean in a bit toward the duke, making sure that he can hear me.
“Just stay in line, uncle. Heed my advice and all will be well.”
I give his arm a squeeze and walk back into the crowd.
I’m so high on satisfaction that when I see Mistress Marshall standing along the inner wall, I feel brave enough to approach her.
I take a glass of wine from a servant’s tray as they pass me, and when I stop to stand in front of the glowering woman, I hold it up between us.
“It’s a peace offering,” I tell her.
She waits a while but eventually takes the cup. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
I adjust my stance to stand beside her, partly because she’s too intimidating to make solid eye contact with and partly because watching the dancers makes the silence between us feel less tangible.
“Are you having a good time?” I ask.
She takes a sip from her cup, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her eat or drink anything before.
“I don’t particularly enjoy social events.
” She stretches her shoulder blades, seeming out of sync with her body as she tries to relax.
“I’m usually more occupied, seeing to my girls, but I’ve had a fair bit of free time to contend with of late. ”
She’s not looking at me, but if she was, I’m sure I would see the hurt in her eyes. I take a breath and angle myself to face her.
“About that,” I say. “I want to apologize for how I treated you the last time I saw you. Tensions were high that night, and I think I took my reaction too far. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Mistress Marshall shakes her head. “No, it was deserved. I shouldn’t have spoken to you in such a manner. I’m not very . . . skilled, when dealing with people.” She flashes me the most minuscule smile, but it feels like a tremendous victory.
“I can forgive and forget if you can,” I tell her.
She turns her gaze to the ground, then briefly looks at me before turning back to the dancing. “I’d like that,” she says quietly. “Perhaps I could do with a bit of a change.”
My head juts back in surprise. She’s still watching the partygoers, but this time I pick up on the small hint of longing. “In that case, you should get out there and dance.”
A laugh snaps out of her, and she covers her mouth with her hand until it’s gone. “I can’t change that much,” she says sternly.
I nod in acceptance. “Fair enough.”
Quitting while I’m ahead, I move from her side and continue to mix through the crowd. I’m in a more isolated part of the great hall when I feel a featherlight touch on my hand—a touch that I’d know anywhere.
I stop walking and look up. Simon gazes down at me, then pivots so that we’re standing side by side. “You’re not dancing, Lord Gainsford?”
He’s close beside me, but not so close that people would think anything of it if they saw us. “Alas, I’m not sure I’d survive the dance floor this evening.”
Following his chin that he nudges forward, I see that my girls are still tearing it up. They’re dancing and jumping and spinning and having the times of their lives despite everyone looking at them with more than moderate concern.
“That might be my fault,” I admit.
“They’re enjoying themselves,” Simon replies. “That’s all that matters.”
He might be the only person here to think so. I let my hand fall to my side, and when our fingers touch, he doesn’t move. He only leans closer.
“Would you allow me to give you something?” he asks.
I’m too taken off guard to answer as Simon lifts my hand up and discreetly slips a bracelet onto my wrist. I keep my hand low while I bring it closer to my stomach.
It takes a moment, but I recognize the bracelet.
It’s the sea green one from the revels. The one I looked at while we were walking together.
“How did you get this?” I ask a little breathlessly.
“I went back for it after I was sure you made it to the palace safely.”
I let the pads of my fingers brush over the soft beads. They glimmer in the candlelight, and my breathing catches as I watch.
“I know you have much finer pieces,” Simon says, “but I hoped this one would make you smile.”
“No,” I tell him quickly. A flash of anxiety crosses his face until I go on. “No, I don’t have a piece that’s better than this one.”
We look at each other, and it might just be the two of here. No one else. But the sensation passes as soon as it washes in, with Thomas Culpepper suddenly bowing before me.
“Pardon the intrusion,” he says smoothly. “May I have the next dance, Your Majesty?”
I want to say no, and because of that, I know that I need to say yes.
“Of course,” I answer with a smile. Thomas nods to Simon and takes my hand, gently pulling me back out to the floor.
We move in time with the rest of the dancers, my body taking me where it’s meant to go.
When Thomas and I face each other, moving backward and forward with a little hop, he speaks so only I can hear: “You need to guard your emotions, Catherine. Especially in public.” My heart stutters at his words, but I keep moving to the music.
“If I didn’t come over when I did, it wouldn’t have taken long for someone else to see you. Especially your uncle.”
I look out to the crowd, watching as my uncle Norfolk stays in deep conversation with a group of three other noblemen.
Thomas is waiting for my response when I gaze back at him. “I am guarding my emotions,” I tell him. “I’m trying to.”
He leads me into a turn. “Well, try harder. And smile as you do it.”
“Is that your technique?” I ask him. “You prefer to lie with a smile?”
“It’s what I do,” he answers easily. “But I never said I like it.”
We do another couple of hops, moving along with the dancers. “You continue to surprise me, Thomas. I’m really starting to question whether you’re diabolical or decent.”
He walks around me in a circle, as the other male dancers do with their partners. “I often wonder the same thing about myself.”
Then it’s my turn to walk around him. Thomas keeps his face so at ease, it’s as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “So, which is it?” I ask. “Diabolical or decent?”
He takes my hand, giving my knuckles a gentlemanly kiss as the final notes of the song echo through the crowded room. “I’ll let you know when I decide.”