Chapter One: Flames and Frost
Even though it was summer when an infant was found abandoned by Philip and Anne Beaumont, it felt like the dead of winter, due to the frost upon the ground. Neither of them could explain it, but it was almost as if a spell had been cast around the point which the infant had been found. The little thing was crying as any infant might, left in a frostbitten forest in Lorraine, wanting a mother's milk and perhaps some affection. As soon as Anne Beaumont heard its screams for mercy, she begged Philip to stop the carriage to help whomever it was. Climbing out, their booked passage on a ship to return to England already taken care of, Philip felt pressed for time as he watched his wife venture behind a grove of trees to follow the wailing, which he'd mistaken for a dying animal.
Rather than allow nature to take its course, Anne Beaumont bravely ventured into the woods, Philip half-heartedly following her after a few moments. She was overcome with a chill then, pulling her thin summer traveling cloak around her as she stepped closer to the screams. Finally, she spotted the infant in the center of the clearing; it had been swaddled in some wool, before it been left there, a locket around its neck, the telltale shape of a salamander in its center. Shocked at this royal emblem, Anne rushed forward and picked up the babe, and the child was almost immediately soothed by the warmth from the noblewoman. Philip came up behind Anne, shock in his expression at what his wife had found.
"A baby?" he demanded, looking around. "There's nothing around for miles—not even a cottage!" he cried out.
"Did you see this?" Anne asked him, nodding to the locket about the infant's neck and hanging just outside the swaddling.
"Likely a nobleman's bastard, cast off to avoid shame," Philip replied, shaking his head and taking in the baby then. "Pretty little thing..."
"We can't leave a baby here," Anne said softly, gently pulling away the swaddling to examine the body. "It's a girl," she said quietly, warmth radiating from her heart then in a moment of hope. Although Anne Beaumont had been blessed by God three times over with children, they were all sons—Henry, William, and Edward. She'd often prayed for a girl—which had proved difficult in the last few weeks, due to staying at French court, due to her and her husband's Protestant leanings—but Anne believed that the Lord Himself had answered her prayers. A girl child, if only Philip would consent to them bringing her back to England...
"You have given me anything I could ever want or need in life, Anne," Philip told his wife quietly. "If you want to take this baby back with us to England—to give her our name and to raise her as a proper lady, you may do so."
Anne raised her eyes to her husband's, tears in her eyes. "Are you quite sure in your decision-making, Philip?" she asked, daring to call him by his Christian name in the tenderness of the moment.
"Yes," Philip replied, putting an arm around his wife and walking with her back to the carriage. "Tell me, dear wife, what name shall you choose for this little girl who is now our own?"
Anne hesitated for a moment before deciding on the name which seemed most logical to her. "Elizabeth, of course," she replied as they approached the carriage, the driver slightly perplexed at what she held as they piled inside of it. "We shall call her Elizabeth Catherine Matilda Eleanor Beaumont," Anne Beaumont said to her husband, before turning to look at him with a smile.
"With a name like that, everyone shall think she is a princess born," Philip joked, watching as the little thing reached out and grabbed his offered finger.
"And why should they not?" Anne Beaumont asked her husband as the horses were whipped and they began their journey again. "She is every inch a princess, husband, and this salamander is practically a moniker." Anne gazed down at the baby, her raven hair a generous amount atop her head, and her eyes the palest blue she'd ever seen. "She shall be our little princess," Anne vowed as they continued their journey back to England and away from France.
. . .
"Eliza, it is time to awaken."
I opened my eyes and stared up at my maid, finding a bright smile upon my face, as the day had finally arrived. I threw off the bedclothes and immediately walked over to my bath, which had just been drawn and immediately brought into my bedchamber. My hair is not pinned up that day, for I am deliberately awoken at dawn so as it will make itself presentable by the time we must leave Beaumont Manor. I step into the warm water—its temperature is perfect this morning and I lean back, lifting one leg and then another, permitting the attendants to scrub my feet.
"You remember how to address the queen?" my maid, Maude, asks me, looking at me seriously. "You realize it's very important."
"One must address the queen as 'Your Majesty' first, and then 'Your Grace'. If permitted to do so and following that, you are permitted to address her as 'my lady', but only if you are given direct permission," I reply.
Maude nods in approval. "Very good," she commends me. "Before you speak to the queen, what must you do?"
"I shall be announced with Papa," I reply without hesitation, leaning back for a bucket of water to be unceremoniously dumped upon my head. Once my ears are clear of the rushing water, I continue, "Once we are introduced, Papa will bow and I shall curtsy. The queen will then greet the pair of us, and we shall await to be spoken to before replying, as well as awaiting her judgement upon if we may arise from our obeisance's."
"What languages does Her Majesty know?" Maude asks.
"English, French, Italian, Spanish, Greek, and Latin," I say quietly, leaning back to accept the lice comb. "I have been taught the same to impress the queen when I was called to serve her. Now that I am, I shall be seen impressively educated by her."
Maude nods in approval. "What else does Her Majesty value in a Maid of Honor or lady-in-waiting?"
"Singing, dancing, playing instruments, praying to the reformed faith, needlework, and painting," I say quietly, taking the hand of an attendant and allowing her to pull me to my feet as my body is washed next. "I can sing. I can dance. I can play the lute. I can pray. I can do embroidery. I can paint..."
"And?" Maude asks, knowing that this part is crucial.
"I can read and write in every language I can speak," I say softly, practicing not sounding particularly proud of myself. I am then assisted from the bath and quickly wrapped in a square of linen, while Maude goes over with me more courtly basics before I am brought over to the window.
Dawn has broken, and the warmth of the day has set in, permitting Maude to throw open the casement window to allow the hot air inside my bedchamber. I toss my mane of hair—one of my worthy assets—and cannot wait until it is dry, for as a maid of ten years of age, I am permitted to wear it long and loose down my back for all to see. I stare outside at my father's impressive grounds, the hills beyond stretching to the horizon, and it was almost as if one could see forever from my window.
Maude instructs the attendants to take the bath away, before she goes to my wardrobe and looks over the new gowns that Papa had commissioned for me to wear to court. She selects a green one, telling me again of Tudor green and white and how such colors are beneficial to the reigning monarch, who I am named for, although I lack her fiery red hair. Maude snaps her fingers and brings me to my feet, taking the square of linen from around me and putting me into the silk undergarments that match the gown.
I am laced tightly into the gown itself; although I am merely ten, I've begun to get the curves of a woman, and Mama informs me that it shall not be long until my courses begin. I cannot imagine such a thing ever occurring, and even as Maude tells me to put my stockings and slippers on, I find I am dawdling ever so slightly due to anxiety. Maude selects emeralds for my throat, ears, and fingers before proclaiming me a vision. She places a green hood upon my head, although my hair is still exposed beneath it.
I am then told to journey downstairs to prayer, where I will remain at chapel before my fast is broken with my father, mother, and three elder brothers, who are sixteen, fifteen, and thirteen respectively. I go to chapel then, gripping my prayer book as I walk along the corridor, seeing all the paintings of past Beaumont's, and conclude that I look nothing like them. It is when I encounter my mother on the way, who praises my new gown and Maude's fine work on me before taking my arm, informs me yet again that I resemble her family, of which includes Lord and Lady Hunt.
Determined to push such an idea from my mind, I strive to pay as much attention as possible during the service that morning. I adored religion, and would eagerly follow along in my prayer book—given as a gift for my third Twelfth Night, just when I began reading English. Archbishop Kersey, who was employed by Papa, spoke from the Lord Himself, and knew just how to speak from him without preaching to us. He encouraged learning, and had even begun teaching me after my elder brothers became impatient with his methods of learning. Father Kersey claimed I was a patient student, and although he was old with silver hair and deep wrinkles, I did pray that we would not lose him for all the services in the world.
Once the service was over, we left the chapel to break our fast in the great hall, where my father sat at the head of the table, my mother at the foot, with my brothers on one side and me on the other. I listened attentively to the conversation before me, which mainly entailed the court and how I would find my service there. Since the queen had never married, there was no king to serve, and so my brothers found themselves frequently bored. Studying law at Cambridge proved beneficial, however, and kept them occupied throughout the year, and they would only go to court occasionally, whenever there was to be a grand ball of some kind.
Papa had arranged for the carriage to be waiting for us outside the manor, and to transport us directly to London, where the queen was staying at Greenwich Palace, a favorite Tudor house. Papa and I bid farewell to Mama, Henry, William, and Thomas before stepping inside the carriage. I pulled the window down and stuck my hand out, waving to my mother and brothers, and they all waved back to me. Papa encouraged me to sit down and to at least attempt to act like a lady as we left our property, and I did so, smoothing my skirts in my lap and looking down at the elegant rings selected for me.
"Maude went over how you are to address the queen?" Papa asked, checking his pocket watch to see how our time was.
I nodded. "Yes, of course, Papa," I reply, looking out of the window again. "She spoke of how I must do so, yet I found I could recite how one must do in my sleep," I said quietly.
"Good, for you must know how to do so," Papa said efficiently.
"Papa?" I ask, turning back to look at him.
"You must eat, sleep, breathe, and live as a servant of the queen," Papa replied in his patient voice. "For when you are older, the queen will decide if she wants to keep you on as a lady-in-waiting, to send you back to us, or to have you married off."
I shake my head. "I doubt marriage is in the cards for me," I reply, and Papa looks at me in shock. "Her Majesty never married—"
"That is because the first man she fell in love with murdered his wife, and when they could finally marry, he had married her cousin," Papa replies in a clipped tone. "The second man she loved was a minor lord, and he was murdered by French sympathizers," he said, shaking his head, before rolling down the window and spitting outside.
"Who were these men, Papa?" I whispered.
"Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, was the first," Papa says, shaking his head with distain. "Traitor's son... The second, Gideon Blackburn, was the former lover of Queen Mary of Scotland."
"The queen's greatest enemy?" I whispered, shock going through me as I clasped my hands together in prayer. "God save her..."
"Take heed that you never cross yourself around her," Papa says. "We are not papists, Elizabeth."
I shake my head. "Of course not, Papa," I reply.
We reached London in two hours, and the sun still shone brightly, and I pitied the carriage driver, for he had to be out in it. Papa nodded for him to open the carriage door when we arrived, and I kept my eyes lowered as Papa stepped out of the carriage and back onto solid ground. He immediately turned about, and offered his hand to me and I took it, holding fast to it as I myself stepped out of the carriage, and looked upwards at the impressive palace before us. It was a lovely old thing, and had been a great favorite of King Henry the Eighth, the father of our queen.
A manservant stepped forward, and informed Papa that he would be taking the two of us to see the queen immediately. Several footmen stepped forward to take my belongings to my new chamber, and I initially suspected that I would be sharing it with the other Maids of Honor. Papa and I stepped inside the palatial building, following the manservant closely as we walked in through the first corridor, before we walked down another, all the walls covered with impressively beautiful portraits of ruler's past. I held fast to Papa's hand, not wishing to become lost in a strange place, and knowing full well that the queen could become angry for such behavior.
The manservant brought us to what he explained was the queen's privy chamber, and the guards immediately swung their pikes outward so as we could step inside. Papa gave me a small smile as we crossed the threshold, nodding towards a plump little man dressed in red—who I knew to be called a herald—stepped forward and towards the queen. The little man bowed to the queen and she inclined her head, although I was quite sure that she could see Papa and I, lurking behind him.
"Your Majesty," the herald said, before puffing out his chest like an impressive and haughty little bird, "may I present the Earl of Beaumont, and his daughter, Lady Elizabeth Beaumont?" he asked.
"You may," the queen replied, "I thank you." After the herald moved aside, the queen could see that Papa and I had already lowered ourselves into our mutual obeisance's, and she seemed to enjoy this. She got to her feet then, descending the stairs that separated herself from the floor, and clapped her hands. "Oh, come now, Lord Philip, none of that," she said to Papa, placing her hand on his shoulder. "You know as well as I do that you and I are old friends. Come—rise up, old friend," she said, and Papa did so effortlessly. "You, too, Lady Elizabeth," the queen commanded gently. "I would see the pretty daughter of one of my most trusted friends, who has been blessed with my name."
I raise my eyes to hers, and after Papa lets go of my hand, I stand normally, and looked up fully at the queen. I sensed something behind her eyes then—could it be recognition, could it be fear? It quickly passed as I curtsied again, and said quietly, "Your Majesty, it is an honor to be at your lovely court. I quite enjoyed what Papa and I saw of the castle, if I may say so."
The queen brightened at that. "You may—of course you may," she said indulgently to me then. "I've no maids or ladies with raven hair at the moment, so it will be a joy to see you running about at my command," she joked. "My lady mother, God rest her soul, had raven hair..."
"A great beauty she was, Your Majesty," I said quickly, before Papa himself could answer her. "Although I do believe a woman should be more greatly admired for her intelligence, although one never should state that a woman could not have both."
The queen raised her eyebrows at my statement, clearly shocked that a girl so young could be so quick. "How old are you, Lady Elizabeth?" she asked.
"I am just ten years of age, Your Majesty," I reply.
The queen nods. "The last time a Maid of Honor was that young, she met the scaffold," she says softly, and Papa immediately grabs my hand, and the queen's concern is almost immediately replaced with a smile. "Don't fret, Lord Philip—you've no cause to do so around me. For I quite like your Lady Elizabeth, and she will fit in quite well with the other maids, I assure you. No need for fretting," she said again.
. . .
It was easy, I thought, being a servant of the Queen of England; you were taught never to be too modest, nor too confident. Being kind was key, and yet you were never supposed to override the queen in matters of state or in your own intelligence. If you were deemed superior to the queen in any way, you were sent from court and never heard from again. I could see why, and learned to watch for things that were considered untoward, yet I kept my mouth shut, never wishing to bring ill will upon me or to anyone else.
It was when I was serving the queen for less than a month when I got a tear-stained letter from my mother, who I could tell was full of grief. The seal was unbroken, which I was grateful for, as I did not want courtly gossip going on about any letter I received. Since I was not to be considered a threat to the kingdom, I supposed I was permitted this luxury.
My dearest Elizabeth,
I do not wish to alarm or to upset you greatly, but the worst has happened to the Earldom of Beaumont as we know it. It was one week ago that your dear eldest brother, Henry, Lord Beaumont, has died from the plague. We believe he picked it up from some ill-advised habits; he was sequestered to his chambers immediately, and, praise God, was the only one taken.
Your father, William, Thomas, and I are all well, but Henry is lost to us forever. All of his possessions and things have been burned, and there was nothing to be done for him. I was not present when he was placed into the tomb, nor were your father and brothers, for we could not bear to be lost either. Prayers were said for him and for his soul, and I know he will wished to be remembered to you, my darling.
I am terribly sorry to deliver this news now—when you are doing so well at court—but I could not hold off from it any longer. You are growing up quickly, my sweet, and you must know when you must give in to sorrow. Now is not an opportunity to do so, and you must pray for your brother before moving past it. Tears shall not be necessary, my girl, and you must attend to your duties immediately.
Your mother,
Countess Anne Beaumont
I remember gripping the letter, my hands shaking at the prospect of it all—my eldest brother, Henry, was dead. This meant that William was now Lord Beaumont, and would one day become the earl on the devastating occasion of our father's death. William, although certainly well-educated, was ill-prepared for this role, as it was always understood that Henry would one day marry and have children, so for William to become the earl was nearly impossible.
The fire is lit in the dormitory before me, which I share with all the other little Maids of Honor, who have gone outside to walk in the gardens. The queen is speaking to her advisors that morning, on what I do not know, so the rooms are empty. Morning prayers have been said already that day, so now I shall take it upon myself to go to the chapel alone to pray for Henry's soul. I stare into the flames before me, before I suddenly let out a great cry of despair and cast the letter into them.
The parchment is engulfed immediately thereafter, snapping and popping in protest as the flames begin licking at its edges. I stare at it until it turns quickly to char, and then to ash, before it slips through the pieces of wood and falls, rather helplessly, into the bottom of the fireplace. I raise my eyes to the mirror along the wall, staring at my reflection—it is certainly hardened, although my cheeks are streaked with tears.
I dash the tears from my face then, staring at myself, thinking again at how much I look nothing like my mother, father, or brothers, and push the thought from my mind immediately. I shook out my skirts, pursing my lips and running a hand or two through my hair. Satisfied, I opened the door to the dormitory, and, shutting it behind me, made my way from that place to the chapel, knowing that it was time to leave my childhood behind.
. . .
Time passed, and the queen seemed very grateful for my services to her as we became used to one another. My tasks were small and not at all difficult; I had to be there with her for morning prayers, and was permitted to sit with the other Maids of Honor at mealtimes. I was also permitted to sit with the Maids of Honor during embroidery times, and I was also permitted to make friends among them—in fact, such things were greatly encouraged by courtly circles and I found myself filled with relief at being included.
My closest friend became Isabelle Chadwick, daughter of the Duke of Chadwick, who went by "Bella". Bella was merely a month or so older than I was, and she was quite determined to make the best impression on Her Majesty by just being her polite self. Of course, being the daughter of a duke didn't hurt matters either. Like me, she was the youngest of her family, but unlike me, she had one elder brother—Edward—and two elder sisters, Frances and Thomasine, who were already married and ladies-in-waiting of the queen. Bella enjoyed prayers as much as I did, and, provided that we did not whisper throughout the services—as some less-devout ladies attempted to do—Bella and I were permitted to sit and pray together.
When we were twelve, and the first Maids of Honor had been cast off and returned home from our group, we were moved into better chambers and out from the dormitory we'd all shared together. Bella and I were given a room to share, and delighted in courtly gossip, although we never did intend to hurt anyone's feelings. Bella felt relieved that she had not been sent back home—to Chadwick Hall—and whispered to me that her mother would have been less than pleased to see her sent home in disgrace.
It was also then that I received yet another tear-stained letter from my mother, informing me that William too had succumbed to the plague. I said another prayer for my brother's good will, but found myself considering Thomas then, who must have been completely bewildered. Having lost two brothers, he must have thought to marry quickly, and produce an heir, for without a son, I would be the sole heiress to my family. I pushed the thought from my mind, ducking my head down in prayer again, begging for forgiveness.
It was on the occasion of my fourteenth birthday that she decided that she wanted me to be her lady-in-waiting, and the arrangements were made. Bella had been selected, too, and she and I delighted in our upcoming status. The court seamstress was summoned to us, courtesy of both our father's, and we were to have new gowns for our loyalty to the realm. Bella, whose gowns had frequently been made over from Frances's and Thomasine's cast-off ones, was pleased to finally have some gowns of her own. The queen ruled that our colors should be of good contrasts to our skins and hair—which meant reds and greens for me and blues, pinks, and lavenders for Bella.
After a long day of fetching and carrying for the queen, as well as standing still as the seamstress attempted not to stick us with pins, Bella and I fell into bed, exhausted—but not too exhausted for speaking. We began speaking about the masque that Queen Elizabeth had planned for Twelfth Night, but Bella's voice rang hollow. I asked her what was the matter, but she claimed that it was nothing, but I was not about to simply believe her. Almost immediately, I turned over in bed and picked up my candle from the bedside table, before shining it rather close to Bella's face.
"Stop!" she cried, trying to turn away from me.
"Not until you're truthful," I reply, my voice calm. "Come now, Bella—we tell each other everything. Have I done something to upset you?"
"It is not you," Bella replies, annoyed that I am pressing her.
"Well, tell me who has offended you," I say simply.
"I've not been offended!" she cried out again.
I felt a smile coming to my face then, as I recalled Bella's blushing looks over at the gentleman's table, and nodded to myself. "Ah, I know what is troubling you, Bella," I told her, and her blue eyes flashed to mine. "Oh, yes—I know quite well."
"Well?" she demanded.
"You were staring at Viscount Winthrop all throughout dinner—for the last fortnight," I say proudly to her, having ascertained why she seemed so glum about things. "Has he said or done something to offend you?"
"Geoffrey," Bella said spitefully, folding her hands demurely upon the coverlet before her. "His name is Geoffrey."
"Geoffrey, then, " I reply, growing impatient with her. "Come now, Bella—you are my greatest friend in all the world." I reach down then and grip her hand in mine, not wishing any ill-will between us. "Will you not tell me of your heart's desire, Bella?"
"It all began a full month ago," Bella says breathlessly, allowing a small smile to encroach on her lips. "It was when the Master of Revels informed us of the masque, and that we were to have dancing partners, and Viscount Geoffrey and I were paired up."
I nodded. "I remember. You did not seem particularly enthusiastic at the prospect originally, Bella. What changed?"
Bella smiles. "After a full week of reading our lines together, Viscount Geoffrey asked if he and I could begin doing so in the gardens. I know it is December, Eliza, but I could not help myself, and I accepted. It would be an opportunity to wear my new fur-lined cape," she said softly, a bloom forming upon her cheeks as she brings one of her finer items from her wardrobe.
"So, you walked in the gardens?" I ask.
Bella nods. "Yes, and spoke to one another—often. Geoffrey is seventeen," she says softly, almost as if the three years of age difference matter nothing to her whatsoever. "He was betrothed to a baron's daughter last year, but it fell through when she left for France to serve at court there..."
"Has he made an offer to you, Bella?" I ask, my brows raising.
Bella immediately shakes her head. "Of course not! Such a thing would not be appropriate..."
"Have you spoken of love?"
Bella smiles again, lowering her eyes. "He kissed me a fortnight ago," she said quietly. "That is why I was staring at him in the banquet hall—when you first noticed me doing so. I was looking at his lips," she said softly. "I wanted him to kiss me again..."
"Bella!" I cried out, and she turned to look at me. "You must know that, should you wish to do more than that, that you must have someone speak to your father about it. Suppose you and Viscount Geoffrey have too much wine one night at supper, and suppose you were to find yourself locked in an embrace which you could not figure out a way out of?"
"Geoffrey would never!" Bella says, her eyes turning to ice. "Geoffrey is a gentleman, and it is always he who stops my kisses—he claims such things should await the marriage bed—"
"You've surely not discussed the marriage bed!" I cry out, throwing myself out of bed and onto my knees. "Bella has not sinned!" I whisper fervently then, my hands clasped beneath my chin. "She wishes your mercy and your pardon, o Lord, for she meant nothing by it—!"
"Stop it," Bella chides me gently, pulling me to my feet. "Of course we have discussed it, Eliza, for I believe Geoffrey intends to marry me."
"Intends is not the same thing as actually asking you," I say quietly, and shake my head at her, yet nevertheless allowing her to pull me upwards completely. "I just don't wish for any form of shame or disgrace unto you, Bella. Suppose your Geoffrey merely ropes you into a betrothal, before he does something rash and then breaks his word?" I ask, looking earnestly into her eyes. "He must not be allowed to do so, Bella..."
"And he shall not," Bella assures me. "I swear it."
I nod. "Very well. If you swear it, I'll believe you."
. . .
The occasion of the masque was to be the grandest of them all; from atop her festively decorated throne, the queen clapped to the elaborately-composed music for the evening. Bella danced with her Viscount Winthrop—although, to the naked eye, due to the mask he wore, it was impossible to tell that it was truly him. I recalled my partner's name was Edward, but, as he had been away from court of late, I'd no idea who he was. From beneath his mask, he could have been anyone at all, and I was forced to smile and keep up with quick and complicated steps, that he inexplicably had a better grip upon than I did, which made me uneasy.
We danced for over an hour to complete the story of the masque—of young maidens being abducted by masked infidels, before coming to realize that they were in love with them all along. Keeping up with Edward was one thing, but it was truly amazing to see Bella and Geoffrey dancing so effortlessly. Each of their movements was anticipated—almost as if they'd choreographed the dance themselves—and they never fell out of step with one another. Edward, however, danced the dance so quickly that I soon became aware that I'd no idea which way was right and which way was left.
When the dance ended, the queen rose to her feet—along with the rest of the court who did not participate in the masque—and applauded. Her smile was radiant, and her skin seemed sun-kissed, despite the fact that it was in the middle of winter. Even though she was over forty years of age, her face had not a line upon it, and she appeared as though she could live for another thirty years or more, due to her robust exterior.
Finally, the applause began to die down and the queen shouted, "Unmask!"
Immediately, I reached behind my head and pulled at the silk ribbons holding the mask in place, and my mask came off instantly, falling into my hands. I looked next to me, at Edward, and had to fight to keep the shock from my face as I realized that Edward was actually Lord Chadwick, only brother of Bella. I saw him staring at Bella and Geoffrey then, and he looked less than pleased at the notion of his sister making eyes at a viscount.
When the queen ordered dancing for the entire court, she automatically partnered a gentleman and was whisked out onto the dance floor. I moved to follow along with the rest of this court, but I felt a hand on my shoulder behind me and, turning, saw that the hand belonged to Lord Chadwick. I bent into a curtsy to show my respect, hoping that he would not say anything rude to me despite my lack of quickness in dancing.
"May I have the pleasure, Lady Elizabeth?" he asked.
"You may, Lord Chadwick," I replied. I took his proffered hand and was led out onto the dance floor after the queen and her partner, as well as Bella and Geoffrey, whom Lord Chadwick still stared at. "Is something on your mind, my lord?" I asked, falling into step with him.
Lord Chadwick's dark blue eyes immediately snapped to mine, almost as if I was a riddle to be solved. "On my mind, Lady Elizabeth?"
"Yes—your mind, Lord Chadwick," I reply patiently. "You seem to be most preoccupied with that of your sister and Viscount Winthrop."
"You know the gentleman my sister dances with?" he asks.
I nod. "Yes, of course—I share a bedchamber with your sister, my lord. We have no secrets."
Lord Chadwick looks from me, to Bella and Geoffrey, and back again. "You would therefore know his Christian name, then?"
"It is Geoffrey, my lord," I say softly, permitting him to turn me in the dance, all the while keeping from stepping upon his toes. "But what is the matter with them dancing with one another?"
"It would be ill-advised for Bella to find herself attached to any gentleman," he replies levelly.
"Is she destined for the church?" I whisper, not taking my eyes from his. "Is your family secretly papist?"
"Never!" Lord Chadwick breathes, almost as if the word has burned him. "And we never would be."
"Of course not," I reply quickly, lowering my eyes to our feet mingling. "But I suppose the only other alternative would be that your mother and father have other plans for Bella..."
"Mayhap they do—she is the daughter of a duke."
"And I an earl, and no such plans have been made for me," I reply, raising my eyes back to Lord Chadwick's.
Lord Chadwick's breath catches then, as his eyes rove over my face, before shaking his head as the dance comes to an end. "Summon Bella."
"My lord?" I ask him.
"Summon Bella," he says again, growing impatient.
Dropping his hands, I make my way over to Bella, who is speaking lightly with Geoffrey, and curtsy to them both. "I'm sorry, my lord, but I am afraid I need to borrow Lady Isabelle..."
"Of course," Geoffrey replies with a smile, before taking Bella's hand and kissing it. "Goodbye, my dear."
"Goodbye, my lord," she replies, and they curtsy to one another before she takes my arm and walks with me. "Did you get on well with Edward?" she asks, her face flushed with delight.
I roll my eyes. "Never mind him—he sent me to fetch you."
"To fetch me?" Bella demands. "Whatever for?"
"I believe he disapproves of your closeness to Viscount Winthrop," I say in my most quiet voice to her, as we slip out from the great hall and down the corridor towards the gallery, where I'd seen Lord Chadwick going. "Mayhap he will wish to warn you of it," I utter as we spot him then, staring outside, where snow is falling. "I'll leave you—"
"No," Bella says, gripping my arm and preventing me from departing. "Stay, please, Eliza. Please."
I nod. "Of course," I reply, and we approach Lord Chadwick then.
"Edward?" Bella asks.
Lord Chadwick turns and looks disapprovingly at me. "This is a private matter, Lady Elizabeth. I think—"
"Stop," Bella says, her voice like the crack of a whip. "Eliza shall stay with me, brother, for the love of all things holy."
Lord Chadwick sighs. "Very well," he replies. "Papa and Mama heard of your outings with Viscount Winthrop and they are concerned."
"And why should they be?" Bella demands. "Does this merely have to do with his rank?"
Lord Chadwick leans up against the wall. "I assume so."
"Geoffrey is the heir to his uncle, Gilbert Raincourt," Bella says, narrowing her eyes at her brother.
"Gilbert Raincourt?" Lord Chadwick asks. "The Marquess?"
"Yes," Bella replies. "He and his wife, Agnes—Geoffrey's father's younger sister—have no children and Geoffrey has been named their heir," she says softly. "They raised him since he was a boy, when his parents died when he was ten. He is all but their son now, Edward."
"And you know Marquess Raincourt?" Lord Chadwick asks.
"We do," I say, speaking for the first time. "He and his wife, the marchioness, have come to court many times. They are high in favor, but prefer to stay in Colchester, at Raincourt Castle," I say softly.
"And he would inherit the castle?"
"All of it—the land, the money, the title, plus what his father, the viscount, left to him," Bella tells her brother. "He has a house in London called Winthrop Chalet, which he stays at whenever the court is nearby."
"And his annuity?" Lord Chadwick wants to know.
"It is two thousand a year," Bella tells him. "After his uncle's death, it will be five thousand."
Lord Chadwick sighs. "Very well—I shall inform Mama and Papa of my findings," he says.
Bella, easily swayed, runs up to Lord Chadwick and kisses him on the cheek with enthusiasm. "You are well and good!" she cries out, turning from us and returning to the great hall.
"You could have asked her, you know," I say softly.
Lord Chadwick regards me then. "What?"
"You could have asked her—Bella. You could have asked Bella about Geoffrey, or you could have spoken to him yourself. He is a good man, my lord—a very good man."
"I am not used to good men, Lady Elizabeth," he says, and them immediately appears to turn away from me to leave.
I cross my arms. "Apparently not, I daresay."
Lord Chadwick looks as if I've caused him injury by dagger then as he takes in my words. "What did you just say?"
"I stated that, clearly, you are not used to good men, given your treatment of your sister," I say, annoyed that this conversation is being prolonged. "Clearly, my lord, you don't understand how much Bella looks up to you!" I say, and advance towards him then. "She loves you, my lord, and yet you treat her as if she is a common street urchin, or someone afflicted with small pox! You would think you bear no love for her at all!"
"You're a fiery one, are you not, Lady Elizabeth?"
"No, I am loyal to my family and to my friends," I reply heatedly. "I've lost two brothers, Lord Chadwick, and I've got one left. He is married, and with a son in the cradle, and even though he is my brother, and perhaps he may anger me at times, I would never speak to him in such a way. I shall always speak to him with respect and dignity, not because he is a man, not because he is my brother, but because it is the proper thing to do."
"I am sorry to hear of it," he says then, sympathy in his voice. Lord Chadwick stares down at me then and shakes his head. "I wanted so much to be at more rehearsals for the masque..."
"Why?" I ask him, feeling compelled to stare at him.
"Perhaps if you and I could have spoken earlier, we could have avoided this entire conversation."
"And what makes you think I would even want to speak to you?" I ask him, my voice filled with bubbling anger.
"Why would you not?" he asked.
"Your inferior treatment of your sister!" I cry out, incensed. "How could I even enjoy speaking to a man who speaks to his sister, and my dearest friend, in such a discourteous manner?"
"And how should you like me to speak to her?"
"With pleasantries!" I say. "She's not seen you for weeks, and the moment you arrive at court, you criticize the relationship she has with the man she loves! I have already spoken to her of the risks, my lord, and she certainly did not need to hear it all over again from you! And in such an impolite tone..." I shake my head at him, coming to realize that I am getting nowhere.
"And how should you like me to speak to you?"
"Speak to me?" I demand. "Why would you bring yourself to do so deliberately, unless I was carrying back a message for you?"
"Mayhap I wish to speak to you for the sake of doing so," Lord Chadwick replies, stepping closer to me. "Mayhap I like the way you speak, and wish to hear more of your words."
"My words?" I ask. "Why would you wish to hear such a thing?"
"Because no woman has spoken to me thus, and I find such a thing to be most invigorating," he replies.
I raise my eyebrows. "Does it?"
"It does," he says softly. "You are correct—I should speak to Bella more delicately, in every way, not just in this matter. My parents are exceptionally hard people, so it is difficult to remember when I should not speak in this way towards others."
"You'd do well to remember," I put in.
"I should—especially when it comes to what I wish."
"You have a wish?"
"We all have wishes Eliza," he says, and I feel myself momentarily stiffen at the use of my Christian name. "We all have wishes," he tells me then as he ducks his head downwards and kisses me.
I feel myself bracing for it, but immediately when his lips touch mine, I find myself shocked and angered by such a thing. I yank myself from his grip upon me and smack Lord Chadwick upon the face, and he has the nerve to chuckle at me for what I've done. "Do not take delight in what you have done, my lord!" I shout at him, irritation riddling my tone. "Do not ever take delight in doing such a monstrous thing!"
"Shall I be burned for my sins, my lady?" he jokes.
"That is not for me to say," I reply, turning my back on him and walking from that place and directly to chapel. I step inside, snow upon my hair and in my skirts, and make my way towards the front of the building. The archbishop is not there, and I see no informality in me prostrating myself before the plain cross nailed to the wall. "Be merciful to me, O God, because of your constant love," I say softly. "Because of your great mercy, wipe away my sins! Wash away all my evil and make me clean from my sin!" I say, head bent, hands clasped, as I shiver from the coldness of the snow, and the great weight which has fallen upon my shoulders.