Grabbing a handful of paper, she thrust it toward the branch of candles that stood upon the desktop. Beside him, Jamie made a choking sound. Kit’s eyes widened. Nick’s contracts! May God damn him, but he’d destroyed Nick’s hope of regaining his title!
Just as one edge began to brown, England’s queen gave a muted shriek and snatched the papers away from the flame. Tossing them toward the room’s corner, she whirled and stormed to the window. Fists clenched, she stared out into the darkness, her back to the room.
“Take your sorry hide out of our presence,” she commanded. “July’s end! If you fail us on that day, so help us We’ll do with those contracts as We threatened! Out! Be gone with all of you.”
July’s end?! Kit stared at her back in astonishment, then wrenched around on his knees to look at Anne. Her eyes were round with the same surprise.
From the door Mary motioned frantically. He needed no second hint. Grabbing Jamie’s arm, he yanked his brother’s steward to his feet. Even though her back was turned, they made their bows to their queen before backing swiftly to where Amyas lay. Lifting the old man between them, they followed Anne and Mary from the room. There was no one in the Privy Chamber save for the maids and ladies who waited on their mistress’s call.
As Mary closed the door behind them, she sighed as if in relief. Kit looked at Anne. Now that her surprise had ebbed, her gaze was filled with sadness. Kit’s heart joined hers in despair. If there had ever been any hope for a union between them it was dead now.
Aye, and if they didn’t win that wager for the queen, Nick’s hopes for his title’s return would be just as dead. Despair worked its way into shame. Kit had never even had a chance to offer his brother’s compliments to the queen.
“May the devil take your soul to hell and keep it there for all time,” Jamie hissed, glaring at Kit from over Amyas’s yet limp form. “What sort of worm-eating bitch’s son tries to force marriage onto the one to whom he owes his obedience? By God, if she’d burned those contracts of his, I’d have seen you dead for it!”
His words pricked into what was rapidly becoming a festering wound in Kit. “I am your better. I’ll take no criticism from you.”
“Be still, both of you,” Mary cried, shoving at Kit as she urged them both across the Privy Chamber’s width toward the Presence Chamber door. “You’ve no idea how fortunate you are! Aye, she’s raging, but as angry as she is, she knows you’ve given her far more than you’ve hurt her. She’s sent you out of her presence to prevent herself from doing aught that she’d regret.”
As they reached the exit from the Privy Chamber, Mary caught Anne’s arm. “Hear me now,” she said lowering her voice as she glanced between Kit and Anne, “whatever else, do not lose that wager for her. If you do, she’ll remember every bit of what you’ve done wrong and none of the right.”
Richmond Palace was a sweet place. Its huge orchard, placed between the palace and the Thames, was just now coming into ripe fruit as July gave way to August. So too, were the acres of gardens caught within its curtain walls yielding up their bounty. The meals emanating from its eighteen kitchens were flavorful, indeed.
Just as important, at least to Elizabeth’s courtiers, Richmond’s three courts offered decent lodgings. Kit and Master James shared a spacious set of chambers built into the brick walls surrounding the wardrobe court. Kit borrowed the use of Master James’s manservant while Patience nursed Bertie back to health in Kit’s London townhouse. As for Anne, she’d hired a new maid, and they stayed nearer to the queen, in the inner Privy court. Their rooms consisted of a forechamber for this lass, and an good-sized inner bedchamber for Anne. Not that it mattered.
Standing in the gallery’s bay window, Anne stared down into the privy gardens and willed her life to end. Nothing mattered, not when there wasn’t the slightest possibility that today would bring happiness to anyone save the queen. Tonight Anne would win Elizabeth’s wager for her.
The last two weeks of dancing practice with Kit had been sheer torment, touching him all the while knowing he could never be hers. Still, for his sake, she put her heart and soul into those lessons. If there was nothing else she could give him, Anne meant to see he won approval for those contracts Elizabeth had nearly burned. Her concentration had been profitable; she was now as competent a dancer as anyone at court.
“I wondered where you were,” Kit said from behind her.
Anne drew a sad breath and turned. He looked fine indeed. Another two weeks of summer had left his skin even more sun-darkened, which only enhanced the green of his eyes. Ah, but it wasn’t their color that thrilled her. It was the love for her she ever found in his gaze.
Reaching out, she laid her hand against his chest to finger one of the golden spangles that decorated the front of his green doublet. By plan they’d tried to match their attire. Thus, she wore the golden part of her presentation attire, pairing it with the brown sleeves and overskirt, and borrowing a small brown cap decorated with golden beads from Mary. This complimented his brown breeches and the golden garters at his knees.
“I couldn’t bear to watch the others dance, knowing what awaits us,” she said, trying to smile.
His face softened against a pain they shared. “Dare I say I know what you feel?”
Anne wanted to cry out against the unfairness of it, but she had no chance as Mary thrust her head from the Presence Chamber door. “Hie you two,” she called. “‘Tis time.”
“Come,” Kit said, extending his arm in invitation. As Anne caught her hand into the bend of his elbow, he pulled his arm close to his side, so she walked as near to him as possible.
“Are you nervous?” he asked, sending her a sidelong glance as they matched their strides.
“How can I be when you are to be my partner?” she replied, letting her need to win him the queen’s forgiveness overwhelm all else. “I daresay we shall astound them all.”
He offered her that smile of his, the slow movement of his mouth sending a shiver down her spine. “You will, at least.”
Together, they entered the Presence Chamber. Like many of the other royal chambers at Richmond, not an inch of the wall showed, so thickly was it hung with tapestries. The ceiling was plastered, the white lime wearing a clever pattern on its surface. Tall bay windows let the late afternoon light into the chamber, teasing brilliance from the jewels and silks worn by the courtiers.
Near one window stood Master James, the gentleman again wearing his russet attire. As he met Anne’s gaze, he offered her an encouraging smile. And so he should, since the resolution of his master’s business hung upon her footwork.
Elizabeth sat in a fine chair beneath a golden cloth of state. Today, the queen wore blue, the color displaying her pale complexion and fiery hair to perfection. A great diamond brooch caught two thick ropes of pearls to one side of her bodice. She waved her maid toward her.
“Here is Mistress Anne,” England’s monarch called out, her voice overly loud and owning a brittle edge.
So it had these past two weeks and not because of what Lord Deyville and Lady Montmercy had done, but as a reflection of the tension that filled those around Elizabeth. It seemed everyone at court now knew of Norfolk’s plans save its queen, who was left to react helplessly to what she sensed. Anne couldn’t rid herself of how wrong it was that no one, not even Elizabeth’s spies, would tell England’s monarch the truth about her most noble subject.
“Look, my lord,” the queen called to the earl of Leicester, who stood only a few feet from her. Her dearest wore again his scarlet attire. “Mistress Anne has come to show us what she’s learned thus far in her lessons.”
“Have a care with your toes, Master Hollier,” the earl called out in a good natured tease. “It was days before I could don my shoe.”
Anne’s cheeks burned against this but she had no time to think on it. The musicians started into a Pavane, having been warned ahead of time to begin with the slowest, working their way into the La Volta. Kit claimed her hand and Anne took her place beside him at the head of the chamber. No one else came to join them. For this day it was to be just the two of them dancing before all the court.
They flowed into the movements of this stately dance. As they worked their way up and back the room’s length, Anne glanced across the courtiers, and started. Amyas, who’d sworn to have no more to do with court, stood near the door. He wore black, as if in mourning. His face was drawn, his skin sallow as if his former lover’s plot had sapped him of all vigor.
The Pavane ended, and Anne tore her thoughts from her grandsire to concentrate on the next dance, an Almain. Letting her senses fill with Kit’s nearness, she cherished his every touch as the movement of his body beside hers teased her senses. She barely noted when this tune ended and the next began.
They moved smoothly through her repertoire, but it wasn’t until they were hard at the fast-paced Galliard that she realized they’d become the center of all attention. A wide circle had formed around them as everyone watched. She glanced at the queen. Elizabeth was beaming, her face alive with pleasure. Anne’s spirits soared. Kit was saved!
Giving way to the pressure of her joy, she threw back her head and laughed, then put all her heart into the steps. She even dared to lift her skirts, just a little, so all could see just how well she performed her kicks.
Kit grinned then threw her a challenge by calling to the musicians to up the tempo. Smiling at him, she kept the new pace.
At last, they started into the La Volta. Anne loosed a wild and happy cry as both Kit and the music swept her up. The crowd clapped, calling, “La Volta” to signal Kit to lift her. Each time he did, she held herself above him and looked into his face, letting her expression tell him just how much she loved him. Her desire for him spiraled until the heat between them had naught to do with dancing.
When the music stopped Kit turned once more in triumph, yet holding her in his arms then set her feet onto the floor. Laughing and gasping, Anne reached out to catch his hand in hers. Together they faced their monarch. As he offered his finest bow, Anne dropped into a deep curtsy. Applause thundered across the room. Elizabeth came to her feet, shouting her approval.
“I knew she would be a quick student,” she crowed to her earl.
“Aye, and I think I’ve been hoodwinked,” Lord Robert pretended to complain, even though he knew better than most how wise it was to let the queen win her wagers.
Kit’s hand tightened on Anne’s as he looked upon victory. Nick’s contracts were safe. Never had he loved his Nan more. His heart broke. From now on she’d no longer be his.
“Come forward, Master Hollier and Mistress Blanchemain,” the queen called, yet clapping against her admiration for their feat. He led Anne forward then knelt with her before their royal mistress. Once they were in place the queen again scanned the audience.
“Come you as well Master Wyatt. It’s your contracts we’ll now discuss.”
Jamie knelt beside Anne as Elizabeth sat. Her movements were easy and relaxed as winning her wager lifted her out of what plagued her, at least for the moment. “Master Hollier,” she said to him, “are you aware that your brother has requested the restoration of your family’s title?”
“Aye Madame, I am,” Kit replied, still breathless from exertion. “The squire spoke of it whilst I was at Graceton gathering the information Your Grace sent me to acquire. I regret circumstances haven’t allowed me to convey to Your Grace the message my brother sends you. He would have you know he wishes for ten more years just like the last ten you have given him, complimenting your kingship and saying no other prince in all the world is your equal in supplying the peace needed for an honest man to prosper. You own his loyalty, for he’d have no other upon England’s throne.” He peered up at her when he was done.
Elizabeth basked in the words, pleasure begetting more pleasure. “He is an interesting man, this reclusive brother of yours. Having said that We think you do not know the whole of what the squire requests in his title’s restoration. Although he accepts the lordship as he must by the conditions of your father’s will, he doesn’t intend to keep it. Instead he relinquishes the title and all the duties of his lordship to you. The property he will hold until his death.”
“Nay!” Kit reared back on his knees in surprise. “He said I would be but his proxy!”
Even as Kit resisted the idea the logic of it filled him. Why muddle the business of the title when Nick had no intention of marrying and siring his own children? It eased Kit’s heart some to know Nick intended to keep Graceton, as was his right. Aye, but he couldn’t bear to accept this without protest. He’d not have anyone think he was eager to take what belonged to his brother.
“Madame, I must accept because I know that is what my brother wills for me, but I do so under protest. I would rather that the title passed to heirs of the squire’s body.”
“We expected no less from you,” Elizabeth said in approval. “After much thought it was that intent We finally discerned in that paper of yours.” There was new softness in her voice.
She turned her gaze on Jamie. “As for you Master Wyatt, We would have the squire know matters would have been better for all if he and Master Hollier had resolved their differences without involving us. Their maneuvering nearly resulted in an innocent woman’s destruction.”
Kit frowned at this, glancing from his queen to his brother’s servant. Jamie kept his gaze focused on the silk embroidery decorating the queen’s hems. “I can but agree, Madame,” the steward said. “Master Hollier had no right to try and force his elder brother’s marriage through such underhanded means.”
“Indeed he did not,” England’s monarch agreed. “But the squire was no more right to resist royal command that he resume his title.”
“Nick resisted his title’s restoration?” These startled words leapt from Kit’s lips.
The queen’s attention swung in his direction. “Aye, Master Hollier. He only now requests it because he wishes to coerce us into accepting his contract for your marriage.”
“My what?!” Rage raced through Kit, but the wave of Elizabeth’s hand silenced him.
“Master Wyatt,” she said to Jamie, “We have decided to approve the squire’s requests on one condition: he must wed and attempt to breed his own heirs. In this Master Hollier is right. The squire owes it to his father to see the title continues in his line. If he fails at siring children after two years time he may cede the title to Master Hollier. Until then Master Hollier will be his proxy in all matters to do with his lordship.”
“Madame,” Jamie cried in protest, “Squire Hollier is not fit for marriage. There’s no woman who’ll have him.”
“Odd,” the queen said, her voice growing stronger by the word, “it seems to us that both Lady Montmercy and Master Hollier believed that Lady Arabella Purfoy would have him. We intend to ask that same lady if she is amenable to such a marriage. We feel she’ll agree as the marriage is an advance for her.”
Kit sagged. He doubted if Lady Arabella would be given the opportunity to refuse. Nay, she’d have no choice. Either she wed Nick to separate herself from her mother, or she wed Nick to win some mercy for her dam, who now sat in a Tower chamber.
The image of Cecily pressing her lips without hesitation to his brother’s scarred cheek, her smile filled with love for Nick, filled Kit. Christ! Kit sagged on his knees. This was no victory, but punishment worse than being drawn and quartered. Not only had he lost Anne, but he’d just forced Nick into a marriage that might well cost him his love.
“Madame,” Jamie tried again.
“If he wants his contracts approved, he will agree,” the queen said again, her tone final.
Kit looked up, his heart dead in his chest. Elizabeth signaled to her usher. Stepping forward, the man called out, “Sir Amyas Blanchemain.”
Beside Kit, Anne started in surprise. It was a moment before Amyas made his way to his queen’s throne. Kit frowned. Lady Montmercy’s revenge had been effective even without being complete. The old man nearly shuffled, his head hanging.
Sir Amyas knelt a short distance from Jamie. “Madame, I am here.”
“Sir Amyas, we have received a contract for your granddaughter’s hand in marriage.”
“How can that be?” the old man asked, his voice lacking both its arrogance and its power. “I submitted but one contract, and Your Grace saw fit not to consider it.”
“This offer was made by Squire Nicholas Hollier to Lady Frances Blanchemain for the marriage of his heir, Master Christopher Hollier to her daughter, Mistress Anne Blanchemain,” the queen said, her voice flat, but not cold.
Kit’s senses spun. Beside him, Anne made a tiny sound that might have been a squeak of joy.
“In this offer,” Elizabeth was saying, “Lady Frances suggests you have another heir upon whom to gift your wealth, thus freeing Mistress Anne to become Lady Frances’s sole heir. If this is so then Lady Frances would, indeed, have the right to wed her daughter where she wills. We find ourselves wondering over this other heir of yours. If you have none, say so and We will refuse this contract on your behalf.”