This Heart of Mine (7 page)

Velvet giggled. “I remember,” she said, “but I only wanted to be like my big sister, and you had a perfume and I didn’t.”

“Fiddlesticks!” replied Deirdre firmly. “You were a spoilt minx, Velvet, and you still are!” Then she chuckled. “But, damn me, little sister, if you don’t have charm! I’ve never known anyone so able to get people to give you your way and yet never feel resentful about it.”

“Are you planning to greet the queen in your shift, m’lady, because that’s all you’re going to have time to get into unless you get out of that tub!” Lodema grumbled at her mistress, and when Velvet giggled again, the tiring woman turned a baleful eye on the girl. “As for you, mistress, you’d best wash yourself quickly, or you’ll be joining your sister in a chemise! Hurry along now, both of you!”

The two finished bathing quickly, then left their tubs to be dried and powdered by two waiting undermaids. Velvet dressed in her silken undergarments swiftly, not liking to be nude before unfamiliar servants. She glanced at her sister’s protruding belly and thought that even so Deirdre was the most beautiful creature, almost their mother’s mirror image.

Their gowns were brought; both sisters had chosen to wear velvet as the day was cool. Deirdre’s dress was a rich ruby red with an underskirt of white satin embroidered in silver thread. Silver and white puffed and slashed sleeves also showed through the rich velvet. About her neck was a strand of marvelous pearls to which was fastened a heart carved from a single large ruby, and in her ears Deirdre wore pear-shaped pearls that dangled from small rubies. Her black hair was simply dressed in a French chignon at the nape of her neck and fastened with jeweled pins; upon her slender fingers were several beautiful rings.

Velvet’s gown was similar to her sister’s in design, with a charming bell skirt. It was a rich forest green in color, its satin underskirt a lighter green embroidered in gold thread; the chemisette showing through the sleeve slashes was a golden color. The dress was a birthday gift from her aunt and uncle, and was the only really fashionable one she possessed. Her
lovely auburn hair fell in tempting ringlets about her shoulders, and around her neck she wore a gold chain from which dangled a carved and heart-shaped gold pendant that was actually a locket.

Deirdre loaned her little sister delicate little freshwater pearl earbobs, for Velvet, being considered too young, had little jewelry. Lodema, casting a critical eye upon her mistress’s sibling, directed an undermaid to bring her two full-blown golden roses from a vase. She then twisted the flowers together with green ribbons and affixed them on one side of Velvet’s head.

Standing back, she noted sharply, “There now! You’ll not disgrace us.”

Deirdre and Velvet hurried from the apartment and flew downstairs to where Lord Blackthorn awaited them. Velvet felt like an intruder upon an intimate moment as her elder sister brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her smiling husband’s deep blue doublet. John was a very handsome man, Velvet thought, and obviously in his full prime. He stood just a head taller than his wife, and had a well-molded figure that was devoid of fat. If anything he was a bit on the slender side. He had a full head of deep brown hair that was well sprinkled with silver, and he kept it close-cropped. His eyes were of a much lighter blue than Deirdre’s; his face was very narrow and aristocratic with a slim nose, well-spaced eyes, and thin lips. Despite his austere appearance, he was a man who smiled easily and appreciated a good jest better than most.

John Blakeley’s family had owned
Blackthorn Priory
since the days of William the Conqueror. The priory and its lands had been given to the nobleman who had captured it for William from its inhabitants, rebellious Saxon monks. He was the Sieur Blakeley. The Blakeleys were loyal Englishmen who loved their land and protected it fiercely. They had fought for England alongside Richard I and Edward, the Black Prince, but never had they involved themselves in any court or its politics. It had been their salvation.

Never had an English monarch visited
Blackthorn Priory
until Elizabeth Tudor had learned—Heaven only knows how, thought John Blakeley—of
Blackthorn Priory’s
beautiful gardens, which were justly famous throughout the countryside. The gardens, begun over two hundred years ago, had been lovingly tended and added to by each Lady Blackthorn right down to Deirdre, who, like her late grandmother O’Malley, was a lover and collector of rosebushes. The gardens, however, contained not only roses but every flower known to the
English, including some beds of rare Persian and Turkish tulip bulbs smuggled in from the East by O’Malley ships. There was also a wonderfully clever boxwood maze, and the queen was known to enjoy mazes. At this moment, the gardens were colorfully ablaze with late tulips, narcissus, primroses, and columbine. Elizabeth should not be disappointed.

Suddenly, up the carefully raked gravel driveway of
Blackthorn Priory
raced the head gardener’s barefoot son, crying out: “Her is coming! Her is coming!”

“Get off the drive, boy! Get off the drive!” shouted the priory’s fussy majordomo, and the lad scooted onto the green lawn, making a rude noise in the direction of the majordomo as he went.

The younger maidservants, lined up in order of importance, giggled, only to be silenced by a severe look from the housekeeper. The entire staff of
Blackthorn Priory
, from highest servant to the lowly potboy, stood washed and waiting for a glimpse of the queen and her court.

For what seemed a long moment, there was no sound, not even the chirp of a bird, but then faintly on the wind came the sound of jingling bells and laughing voices. The servants tensed and strained their necks to get the first sighting of the court. At last, as if by magic, around the curve in the drive appeared Elizabeth Tudor and her court, and those waiting and watching let out a collective sigh of delight.

The first rider was mounted on a fine chestnut gelding and bore before him the ceremonial sword of state. Next came the queen riding upon a magnificent snow-white stallion with the Earl of Essex, her Master of the Horse, who rode a beautiful black gelding and held the queen’s bridle as part of his duties. All around Elizabeth were members of her guard, who were followed by the lord treasurer, the lord chancellor, and other officers of the state: the household treasurer; Sir Francis Knollys, the queen’s favorite cousin; Lord Hundston who was lord steward; Sir James Crofts, the household controller; the other household officials and menials; and of course the court.

The queen was attired in the most elegant fashion. Her overgown was of black velvet edged with tiny pearls along the hem and the sides of the gown separation. Interspersed along the rows of pearls were red silk bows tied with jet beads, alternating with black silk bows tied with garnet beads. Her shoulder rolls were similarly decorated, as was her stomacher, which was festooned at its point with a red silk bow from which hung a large teardrop-shaped pearl. Beneath the overgown was a white satin undergown edged in lace. The same
white satin showed through the slashes in her black velvet sleeves. About the queen’s neck was a small starched white lace neck ruff, beneath which hung eight rows of pearls that dripped down the black velvet gown front with its merry cherry-red bows. The queen wore a bright auburn wig that was topped by a soft, round black velvet cap from which bravely fluttered white feathers held down firmly by a bright red ruby clip. Her hands upon the reins of her mount were sheathed in perfumed white leather gloves embroidered with pearls, garnets, and jet.

Around Elizabeth Tudor, upon equally spirited and prancing horses, were her gentlemen and ladies, all clothed just as luxuriously and colorfully as if to complement their monarch. On either side of the queen rode gaily clad gentlemen, Sir Walter Ralegh and young Essex being nearest her. Ralegh was currently the captain of the Queen’s Gentlemen Pensioners, her personal bodyguard. Essex, as her Master of the Horse, held the position once performed by his stepfather, the Earl of Leicester, Robert Dudley. Dudley, though still the queen’s dear friend, had lost some of her favor on his marriage to her cousin, Lettice Knollys, though she still held a deep fondness for him.

As the horses came to a stop before the priory, Lord Blackthorn stepped forward to lift the queen from her mount and, having done so, knelt to pay his homage. Both Deirdre and Velvet curtsied low.

“As pretty a pair of pigeons as I’ve ever seen,” murmured the Earl of Essex to Sir Walter. “Sisters, d’you think?”

Ralegh said nothing, seeing the queen’s head stiffen as she caught Essex’s words, but he did grin at the earl, his moustache waggling in appreciation.

“Welcome to
Blackthorn Priory
, Your Majesty,” said John Blakeley. “We know not what we have done to deserve such honor, madame, but may your stay be a pleasant one.” He signaled to his head groom, who immediately led forth an exquisite rare Arabian mare, pale gold in color. Upon the mare’s back was a silver saddle bejeweled with pearls, topazes, blue zircons, rubies, and small diamonds. The horse’s bridle was also silver. John Blakeley arose and said, “For you, madame, with devotion and great admiration. I count myself fortunate to be living in your reign.”

The queen’s eyes swept over the mare and her accoutrements, warming at this Midland lord’s great generosity. His flattering tongue had also given her pleasure, for she believed his words to be from the heart. He had naught else to gain from her by them,
not being a member of the court. Graciously, she held out her hand and said, “Our thanks for your most beautiful gift, my lord.”

John Blakeley kissed the hand presented to him. “My wife has a way with animals, madame, and has schooled the beast herself. You’ll find she has an excellent gait and is a fine jumper. She seems to have been created by almighty God Himself for the sole purpose of hunting. ’Twas why I chose her.”

Elizabeth Tudor smiled, well pleased, for there was nothing she enjoyed better than the hunt. “Present me to your family, Lord Blackthorn!” she commanded him. “I would meet this lady who can school horses so well.”

John Blakeley took Deirdre by the hand and led her forward to the queen. “My wife, Deirdre, Your Majesty.”

Deirdre curtsied again.

“God’s foot!” Elizabeth Tudor swore, staring hard at Deirdre. “You’re Skye O’Malley’s daughter, Lady Blackthorn, aren’t you?”

“Her daughter, and Lord Burke’s,” said Deirdre, “but I remember not my father, madame. He died when I was quite young.” She smiled. “I should like to present my youngest sister to you, Mistress Velvet de Marisco.”

Velvet stepped forward and curtsied prettily, making sure to keep her eyes modestly lowered.

The queen reached out and gently raised Velvet’s head up, cupping the girl’s chin in her elegantly gloved hand. “Rise, dear child, and let me look upon you. What a pretty thing you are! I have not seen you since you were a tiny baby, but then you would have been too young to remember. How old are you now, Velvet de Marisco?”

“I am fifteen today, Your Majesty,” said Velvet sweetly.

“Today?”
the queen exclaimed.
“This
is your birthday?”

“Aye, Your Majesty, and I might have been May Queen in our village, but I far preferred to come to the priory to meet you.” It was said with such a lack of guile that Elizabeth Tudor smiled.

“We must give you a gift then, child. I am your godmother, Velvet de Marisco. Before you were born in France I was much angered by your parents’ behavior, for they had not obtained my permission to wed. Your clever mother made me your godmother in an effort to placate me, but I never knew your exact birthdate. Tell me, my dear, what can I give you?” The queen smiled more broadly at Velvet’s wide eyes and little gasp.

Velvet was stunned. Here was incredible good fortune, and she could scarcely believe it was hers. Now she would not have to find a way to wheedle the queen, but she must still be quick and clever. Her hands flew to her cheeks in a gesture of innocent
surprise. “Madame,” she gasped, “Oh, dear Majesty, I cannot think!”

Elizabeth Tudor smiled once again and patted the girl in a kindly fashion. “Within reason,” she teased gently. “Remember I am merely queen of England.”

Velvet composed herself and looked adoringly at the queen. “Madame, I have everything I could possibly want in this life but one thing. My parents have always been more than generous with me and of material treasures I lack none; but all my life I have dreamed of serving you, Your Majesty, of being one of your Maids of Honor. Can you give me my dream, madame? If you would truly gift me, then gift me with the privilege of serving you.”

Lord Blackthorn squeezed his wife’s hand to prevent her from speaking. He was filled with genuine admiration for his young sister-in-law’s astuteness. She had not broken her promise to him and yet she was going to get her own way nonetheless.

“Dear child!”
The queen’s face was wreathed in smiles.

By tradition Elizabeth Tudor had eighteen female attendants. There were four Gentlewomen of the Bedchamber, older, married women of rank; eight Gentlewomen of the Privy Chamber, also married women of noble birth; and six Maids of Honor, young girls of noble families whose ambitious parents believed that by serving the queen honorably they might increase their value on the marriage market. These eighteen saw to the queen’s wardrobe and toilette, her food, and all of her creature comforts within her private apartments. They were her closest companions.

The position of Maid of Honor was greatly sought after, and under normal circumstances the queen would have been forced to turn her godchild away since there would have been no opening available. By merest chance, however, one of the queen’s Maids of Honor had just given birth to a child in the Maiden’s Chamber. Enraged, Elizabeth Tudor had clapped both mother and child into the Tower along with the unfortunate father. The fact that the young people had been secretly wed for over a year did nothing to improve the queen’s temper, or ease her outrage. Both sets of parents were in equal disfavor with Her Majesty for having spawned and raised such disobedient offspring.