“What news of Francis?” Kit eventually asked me, stitching gold thread into an emblem of a portcullis. “I have scarcely seen his person since your arrival.”
Alice’s chin sprung up, sending her pin into her fingertip. “Ouch,” she griped.
“You should ask Alice,” I replied with feigned innocence. “She’s the one spending all her time with him.”
Kit’s heart-shaped face fell. “Will you be his wife?” she said to Alice. Poor Kit had been crushing on Francis for years.
“Heavens no,” Alice said with a flush. “We are friends, nothing more.”
Lucinda snorted, and I laughed out loud. While on the road, we’d all noticed Alice and Francis hogging each other on the dance floor during the evening feasts. In spite of that, I was sure that Alice and Francis hadn’t yet crossed the line from platonic to romantic. Something had her heart locked up in a cage, and I suspected it to be the mystery over her missing mom.
Kit brought her embroidery hoop to her nose, sulking for a few minutes before she spoke again. “In any case, I am truly pleased you are to marry the king, Lady Pembroke. For I have never seen our good and gracious Majesty more merry than when he is with you…it is a love match most true.”
The girls mumbled their agreement—even Lucinda. I hadn’t realized until then how much I needed to hear those words. Perhaps it was acceptable for kings to marry purely for love in this century. When I tried to reply, however, nothing came out. I hadn’t stopped thinking about Nick’s icy reaction when I’d merely suggested that Kit come to Hampton Court with us.
After celebrating St. Crispin’s Day at Kenilworth, Nick announced it was time to be on our way. Kit said she couldn’t bear to watch us leave, and this time, there was no tiny figure waving at us from the tiltyard gatehouse. It wasn’t until our coach neared Warwick Castle that the tightening coil of my frustration snapped.
“Why does Kit have to stay at Kenilworth Castle?” I said to Nick, stretching my lower back. The bumpy roads were a fast track to a slipped disc.
He didn’t remove his hand from mine, but his fingers stiffened. “Must you ask me that sincerely?”
“Did you see her crying when we left? You’ve always kept her close to you before. Now she’s locked up in a glorified cage, a million miles from anywhere. Will she even be allowed to come to our wedding?”
His penetrating eyes focused on me. “You recall not the occurrences of this midsummer last? Of how my sister was snatched from under my nose not once but twice and nearly slain?”
“Of course I do.” Both Kit and I nearly ended up six feet under.
“The only way to keep my sister safe is to put her where no devil may harm her again. The princess has her household and all manner of princely pleasures at Kenilworth. There is no reason for her to feel troubled.”
“How about the fact that she’s lonely? And that she misses you?”
He had no answer for that, returning his gaze to his bottomless mound of work papers. The lack of response dumped more fuel over my burning irritation.
“Is she going to spend the rest of her life in that castle until you marry her off to an old Frenchman?” I pressed. “Did you even tell her about that deal you struck with the French king?”
“Enough!” Nick snapped, both of us lurching as the coach skidded over a pothole.
“Am I going to end up locked inside one of your castles when you eventually get bored of me?” I said to his furrowed profile. “You’ll throw the blue-diamond ring into a fire like you suggested and then lock me away forevermore?”
He just sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, before suddenly reaching to pull me into him. He didn’t want to fight, and I didn’t know where to draw the line on Kit. I was out of my depth on royal life, and she was his sister, but if I didn’t stand up for her happiness, who would?
“One day, Emmie, you may come to see my home as something other than a cage,” he said grimly. “Perhaps it will be the same day that you learn to trust me.”
I didn’t know how to reply.
Our next major stop was Northamptonshire, where we were to stay with Alice’s dad, Sir Thomas Grey, at their family home. The modest Grey manor was across the street from the parish church and overlooked a noisy paddock of bleating sheep and a pen of hunting dogs.
I’d been freaking out about facing Sir Thomas for days. He’d been the king’s right hand until he retired in protest over Nick’s decision to jilt the princess of France and marry me instead. When Thomas met us in the entrance hall, however, I realized that I’d wasted hours of my life sweating over the reunion. His pale eyes drew me in with kindness, and time away from the pressures of court appeared to have mellowed the old grouch.
“Good morrow and bless you, Lady Pembroke,” he said with a bob of his head. He wiped a handkerchief across his brow.
When I replied with a nervous stammer, Thomas patted my hand. His fingers were ridden with arthritis, and he’d slimmed down since I’d last seen him.
His gaze drifted past my shoulder. “My dear daughter,” he said, lurching forward to hug Alice. The sight tugged my chest a little. While I’d have given anything to help Alice get her mom back, she was lucky to have a dad who loved her so openly. Everyone in this world believed my dad was dead, and he may as well have been—even if he had been living in the same century.
Another girl stepped into the chamber, a smaller version of Alice, but more mature in the face.
“Violet!” Alice cried before halting at the sight of her older sister’s red-rimmed eyes. She put her arm around a sniffling Violet and led her away.
Before I could find out why Alice’s sister was in tears, I had to partake in a formal meet-and-greet with a handful of rich, tedious men from the county. Ugh. I itched to get to my room and see if everything was okay. What if Alice’s mom had turned up dead? But surely Thomas would’ve appeared more upset if his wife’s body had been found.
When I’d sufficiently impressed the nobles, I was shown to a small chamber adorned with expensive tapestries. My ladies stood gathered around Violet Grey.
Alice spun toward me. “Emmie, may my sister join your household and come to court with us?”
Violet dropped to her knees, her faded satin skirts crushing into the floorboards.
“Dearest Lady Pembroke,” she said, her eyes at my feet. “I beseech you to forgive my sorrow on this most merry occasion. It is because I have suffered a great loss. These past weeks, my husband was struck with smallpox and has gone to God. Be assured, I am void of any illness and would be not in your gracious presence if there was any danger of it.”
“Oh no,” I said, my hand clasped over my stomach in alarm. The mortality rate in Tudor England was enough to send anyone running for the hills. I helped Violet to her feet and guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Of course, you can come and join us. Please just ask me if there’s anything you need.”
Violet cupped my hands with gratitude, blinking fast like she was trying to block tears.
“Bless you, Emmie,” said Alice.
Despite the bleak start, the feast that Thomas Grey hosted that night was hands-down the yummiest of the trip—even Violet joined us in her mourning gown. By all accounts, Francis Beaumont was doing fine as the king’s new right hand, but when the men launched into a political discussion, Thomas offered nuggets of wisdom that sent impressed murmurs rippling around the table. There was no doubt that Alice’s dad was a genius, and when Nick commented that he wished Sir Thomas would return to his side, awkward silence swept the space. I’d been around the king long enough to know that could be taken as a formal command. Thomas’s cheeks, strawberry-pink from drinking floods of wine, turned chalk-white.