“I’m a bit lost,” I replied, salty sweat dripping onto my lips.
“If you are unaccompanied, may I call for one of the lords?” he said with a frown. “This is no place for a lady.”
“It’s okay. I’m just leaving.”
Escaping into the next corridor, I tripped over a cluster of men lying on sacks who were either asleep or three sheets to the wind. I knew that Nick wouldn’t like me being here. I stumbled my way back into the burning-hot roasting kitchens, slamming into the master cook’s burly chest.
Emmie Grace: making a spectacle of herself since the day she was born!
“The lady is here, Your Grace,” the chef stuttered with the sort of servitude that made my eyes search for the king. But when the chef stepped aside, it was the Duke of Norfolk who appeared behind him. Wanting to shake myself for losing my bearings, I had to follow the duke’s forest-green cape like a naughty schoolgirl back through the stinky warren of kitchen corridors. When I recognized the windowed passage leading back to the western courtyard near the palace entrance, I thanked the duke and glided past him.
“I have more important tasks than chasing after a featherbrained girl,” he uttered behind me.
“I was just going for a walk and lost track of where I was,” I said over my shoulder. “Is that a crime in your neck of the woods?”
Norfolk cut in front of me, blocking my path. He smelled almost as good as Nick: like sandalwood and vanilla.
“His Majesty has traveled to Calais,” he said to me.
“I’m aware.”
His prominent lips pursed. “The truth is that I desire war with the cod’s-headed Spanish, but our king desires peace, and it may be too late. The French may never forgive His Majesty for disgracing their princess—the daughter of a king—for no more than a common upstart from Worthing. Make no mistake, they are mocking King Nicholas in France as we speak.”
Norfolk’s glare declared that I was to blame for England’s latest troubles, and even though I’d never admit it to him, he wasn’t exactly wrong. Yet I had no intention of ever leaving Nick, and my chest crushed with a burning need to win over the duke. He was supposed to be the one to help me. Would he address me this brazenly if the king were still here?
“I trust that the king knows what he’s doing,” I said, trying not to stammer. “I’m not here to cause any trouble, and I’ll do whatever I can to help keep the peace.”
“How about serving as the king’s mistress?” Norfolk offered like it was a simple solution.
My teeth gnawed my lip. It was a fair question in Tudor times, but I’d genuinely tried to be Nick’s mistress before while he had a romantic relationship with Henriette. “I wish I could do that,” I replied honestly. “But I love him too much. It would break me.”
Norfolk’s cool eyes narrowed. “Madam, what right do you have to place your needs before a king’s? What dowry do you even offer? No family, no treaty, no land. You say you love His Majesty, but you willingly demean him.”
I maintained my stare. “I don’t demean anyone,” I said through my teeth. “For your information, Nick was the one who chased me—begging me to marry him.” Norfolk scoffed at the concept. “And you have no idea what I’ve had to give up to be with him,” I added. “So unless you want me to update the king on all the unpleasant things you’ve said about us in the five minutes you’ve known me, I suggest you cool your jets and find a way to get over it.”
I was sure that would scare him off, but he squatted to meet my eye level, wine and rosemary on his breath. “You are incapable of ruining me,” he said. “I am the Duke of Norfolk; I speak my conscience. Furthermore, I have known His Majesty since he was a babe. Our dear king has a known weakness for pretty girls. You may be the only pretty girl in England with a mouth and mind dumber than a pail of rocks, but you are not the only pretty girl in England.”
His sharp stare delivered a warning before he shoved past me and continued on his way.
Tears blurred my vision as I wandered back into the western courtyard in a daze, the whir of carts and horses seeming even more foreign than before. I considered the quiet safety of my chambers, but the thought of again facing angry Alice made me want to scream.
Instead, I left the palace proper altogether, crossing the west gatehouse bridge to find a patch of wildflowers sloping its way down to the olive-colored curve of the River Thames. Slippery mud gripped the heels of my satin pumps as I hitched up my skirts and climbed down to the riverbank. White daisies peppered the grass like snowflakes, and I sat among them and hugged my knees. I was still reeling from my intense chat with Norfolk.
For a few minutes, I watched servants offloading bags of grain from barges onto a wooden landing platform. Aside from the wind delivering an occasional odor of sewage, the soothing gurgles and horn-like calls of ducks could have come from the Connecticut River. No wonder Nick liked it here at Hampton Court Palace; it was peaceful.
Thinking about him aroused a twisting heat in my stomach. When jerks like Norfolk weren’t trying to intimidate me, I loved being here with Nick. Having him feel the same way about me as I did him was a literal dream come true. But I had to find a way to be happy here when he wasn’t around. Aside from learning the customs of the court, I needed a freaking life in Tudor England.
I swatted away a bee so that I could snap off the stems of a few daisies. After slicing open their stalks with my fingernail, I wove each flower through the split ends, fastening the daisies into a garland bracelet. When Nick proposed to me, he also promised me a jewelry workshop. Once that was ready, I’d learn how to make the most striking bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and rings that Tudor England had ever seen. Emmie Grace: Tudor queen and jewelry designer. I smirked and slipped the garland over my wrist.
My chest felt lighter as I made my way back to my chambers, surprised to find them empty. After untying the ribbons of my muddy shoes, I sat on a velvet chair and curled my legs up in my silk stockings. I helped myself to a macaron from a silver bowl on the table, already conceptualizing the first showpiece I’d create in my jewelry workshop. I’d seen a noblewoman at the feast wearing a cool chain of pearls tied into knots, and it spawned an idea for a corsage-like bracelet of knotted pearls and gemstones.
While hunting for a quill to sketch the idea, I spotted the black box on my pillow. It was tied with a bow made from peony-pink ribbon—the same color of the knot ring I’d once made for Nick.
Butterflies crowded my stomach as I untied the bow and lifted the lid. On a bed of navy velvet sat the enchanted blue-diamond ring and a folded note. All the air in my lungs escaped in a rush of relief. I brought the ring to my nose as if I could smell the future through its cold surface…my mom, my friend Mia, my schnauzer Ruby…even those hideous alphabet blinds in my bedroom.
I slipped it onto my thumb and split open the king’s seal to read Nick’s note.
* * *
Dearest Emmie, my miracle girl.
My heart is so sore to take leave of you. However, it is made worse by the thought that you feel a prisoner here. You are not. You never will be. Therefore, I commit this ring to your care.
Please know that, no matter where your person shall lie, there is a king, and a man, who desires to be with you, then and now, and every day for all eternity. You have not—in any time or place—a more loving or loyal servant.