Blood Between Queens (8 page)

Now she understood. “Oh, Will, this
is
good news.”

He couldn’t resist. “Only a beginning.” He winked at her. “I’ll be holder of some fat royal patent yet.”

She smiled. “Yes, yes, I am sure you shall. Now, sit you down and tell me more.” She settled herself on the cushioned oak bench and patted the spot beside her. “How has this come about?”

He didn’t want to sit. He was too keyed up. “Indeed, I
shall
tell you more.” Though not about the meeting, of course; the Queen’s deliberations were confidential. “You know what this means? This income?”

“That it has made you brainsick?”

He laughed. “Besides that. It means I can take a wife.”

Her eyes widened. “Have you someone in mind?”

“I do.” He saw that he had surprised her. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I wanted Uncle Richard’s consent first.”

“Of course. Richard is the head of our family.” She didn’t look displeased, just keen to know. “Is it the Hargrave girl? I saw you speaking to her at church.”

He shook his head, amused. Mary Hargrave was a timid little mouse, nothing like his quicksilver Justine. “No. Someone else.” He sat down beside her after all and took her hand. She looked all interest, waiting. “I’m going to marry Uncle Richard’s ward. Justine Thornleigh.”

Her eyes did not leave his. There was an odd stillness about her.

She gave a small, strange laugh. “I am not sure marriage is right for you just now.”

“Oh,” he said heartily, “I’m quite sure it is.”

“Come, come, Will, it really is too soon. You’re too young.”

“I’m not, actually.”

“You’re not thinking clearly. A pretty face will do that to a man. Truly, son, you have not thought this through. You have your way to make in the world.”

“I am. It’s happening.” He got to his feet. “I told you, Sir William—”

“Promises are not gold pieces. Let’s wait and see what comes of it. Besides, your law term resumes at Michaelmas.”

“Great heaven, I won’t wait for September. Anyway, I’m done with all that. I’m leaving Gray’s Inn. My future is at court.”

She looked so flustered he realized he really should have prepared her for this change. “All right, at court,” she said. “Then you need to concentrate on
that,
don’t you. You can’t be tied down by . . . a wife . . . children.”

He almost laughed. “Children? We haven’t even posted the banns yet.”

She flashed angry eyes at him. “Marriage is serious. It can take a bitter turn. Look at Adam. He had to escape.”

Her anger took him aback. He didn’t follow. His cousin Adam was away on a trade voyage. In any case, what did Adam’s sour marriage have to do with
him?
She seemed to be getting things mixed up. He said to her clearly, distinctly, to get her back on track, “Mother, I am going to marry Justine Thornleigh. I wish you’d give me your blessing.”

Abruptly, she stood. “You don’t know who she is. Where she comes from.”

Was
that
her objection? Only that Justine had been left orphaned by some distant Thornleigh relation? “My uncle knows. Ask him for the family tree specifics if it means that much to you. I assure you, it doesn’t to me. I love her and she loves me and we want to marry.”

She gaped at him. She seemed to be trembling. It astonished Will. Was she frightened at the prospect of him leaving her? “Mother, I’ll still be in London,” he assured her. “You can live with me and Justine, if you like. We’d be happy to—”

“Never! I won’t allow this.
Richard
won’t allow it. You, entrapped by that . . . devil’s spawn!”

“I
visited my mother last night,” Will said. “And what she told me . . .” He didn’t finish.

At his hesitation Justine felt a chill. She had noticed his worried face the moment she saw him.
Meet me at St. Paul’s,
his note had said. It reached her at breakfast and she had hurried to the rendezvous spot, the outdoor bookstalls tucked between the cathedral’s buttresses. People milled around them, browsing, chattering, haggling with booksellers. Justine suddenly felt too hot, the sun so strong. All she could think was,
His mother is Lord Thornleigh’s sister. If she knows who I really am . . . did she tell him?

Will plowed a hand through his hair. He looked more troubled than Justine had ever seen him. “I told her we wanted to marry. What she told
me
was . . . well, it was so extreme I still can’t believe it.”

Her heart kicked in her chest.
She told him I’m a Grenville.
The feud between the families . . . It’s how his father died.
Now he hates me!

He said, his voice tight, “She was quite distraught.”

She looked away, feeling close to panic. Her thoughts tripped over themselves as she tried to think what to say to bring him back to her.
I was a child when it happened, Will. It has nothing to do with us!

“Justine, it was rash of me, I know. I sprang the news on her with no preparation. Pure selfishness. I wanted her blessing because I don’t want to wait. I want us to be together, forever.” He grabbed her hand. “Forgive me?”

She blinked at him, stunned. It didn’t matter to him, after all, that she was born a Grenville? She dared to hope. “Forgive . . . ?”

“For bringing on my mother’s antagonism. I have no idea what spurred it. Maybe just because I bungled the news so badly, or maybe it’s some irrational fear she has of losing me. Whatever the cause, she was so upset she refused to explain or even to speak about it further. I wanted to stay with her in the hope of winning her over, but a message came from Sir William calling me back to court. I couldn’t even stay to sup with her. I worked late at the palace and spent the night there.” He shook his head with a look of exasperation at his own failure. “I’m afraid I left her in an awful state.”

“I’m . . . so sorry,” Justine managed to say, squeezing his hand, quickly collecting herself. So his mother had
not
told him! It sent a surge of relief through her that left her almost dizzy.
He doesn’t know.

“I have just one question,” he said.

She held her breath. Did he suspect? “Oh?”

“Have you spoken to my uncle? Did you get
his
blessing?”

She quickly said, “Yes.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Both Lord and Lady Thornleigh had been warm in their approval of Will. She kept to herself the fact that they had also made her promise to tell him the truth.

He was clearly relieved. “Good. Because I’m afraid my mother may urge him to forbid our marriage.”

Justine flinched. “Would she do that?”

“It doesn’t matter. My uncle is the head of our house. Don’t mistake me, I love and honor my mother, but if she takes such an action against us . . . well, I would no longer feel constrained by filial duty. Because nothing has changed, Justine. With or without my mother’s blessing, as long as you are steadfast of heart, mine is yours forever. We shall be wed.” He still held her hand, and now he pressed it to his chest. “I wish it could be today. But I have no living yet. I hope to very soon—Sir William has all but promised it to me. But for now . . .” He looked almost as agitated as before, but this time excitement shone in his eyes. “For now, my darling Justine, will you seal my happiness by betrothal?”

Her heart leapt. Betrothal! It was almost like being married. “Oh, Will. Yes! When?”

“Right now.” He grinned. “Right here.” He beckoned to a stocky young man who was watching them surreptitiously across a table laden with books. He wore the black garb of a vicar. “A friend of mine in holy orders,” Will told Justine, then winked at her. “I hoped, you see.”

She laughed in delight. “I do, indeed.”

The young churchman joined them, a shy smile on his round face. Will introduced him . “The Reverend John Stubbs. We studied together at Gray’s Inn.”

Stubbs corrected him. “I studied, mistress. Will did nothing but talk of you.”

She laughed and told him she was very pleased to make his acquaintance, and indeed she felt so happy she could have hugged the fellow. “Oh,” she said in sudden dismay, turning to Will, “but I have no ring to give you.” The one she always used to wear, a favorite of lapis lazuli, she had given to Alice on the night of the fireworks.

“No matter,” Will said, digging in his doublet pocket, “I have brought two.”

She grinned. “You are thorough, Will Croft.”

“The lawyer’s mind,” he said, tapping his temple. He displayed the rings on his palm—two identical, thin, unadorned silver bands. Plain though they were, Justine knew the cost would have eaten into Will’s slight stock of cash. She loved the rings. Loved him.

“And now,” he said, “we must make haste before Sir William realizes I have not yet returned from the palace library with the documents he requested.”

“Then why are we still talking?” she said gaily and plucked up one of the rings. “This will be mine to you.”

“Shall we begin, then?” the vicar asked. He and Will ushered Justine into the bay formed by a huge buttress jutting from the cathedral. Here they were out of the throng and in shade from the bright sun. The grass, untrammeled by passersby, was springy underfoot. The cool, high stone buttress rose around them like a protective arm.

A soberness fell over them as the vicar began the ceremony. He took his office seriously. The ritual was brief, but every word of it thrilled Justine. She and Will both, in turn, affirmed and declared that they were free to marry. They both, in turn, pledged their troth and slid a ring onto the finger of the other. It constituted a solemn vow that they would marry one another sometime in the future, a vow that the church and everyone in Christendom accepted as a legal and binding contract.

The vicar intoned, “I bear witness of your solemn proposal, and I declare you betrothed. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

It was done. Justine and Will looked into each other’s eyes and she saw herself in the warm brown depths of his. He kissed her. Their first kiss. A chaste one to mark so pious a ceremony, but the touch of his lips on hers sent a tingle through her all the way to her toes.

 

On her walk back to Bishopsgate Street, Justine felt she could have danced. She almost collided with a fat woman carrying a basket of turnips, for Justine’s whole attention was on the band of silver on her finger, which she could not stop touching. True, it was a trifle large and slipped too easily over her knuckle, but that was not an insurmountable problem; she would get a silversmith to correct it.

Yet as she turned north, getting closer to the Thornleighs’ house, the problem she still faced loomed through her euphoria. Before leaving her to hail a wherry to take him back to the palace, Will had said happily, “Now we can tell the whole world we are betrothed.” Caution had pricked her. Did his mother have the power to ruin everything? Did she know that Justine had been born a Grenville? Perhaps not—perhaps Lord and Lady Thornleigh had never told her. Justine had to find out. “Not yet,” she had said to Will. “Let’s give your mother some time to be calmed. For now, let’s keep our betrothal a secret.”

He was reluctant at first, but then agreed that, for the moment, he was too busy with Sir William’s urgent business with the Queen to take time to deal with his mother. “You may be right. A little time may soothe her. For now, my love, this shall be known by only us two.” He had kissed her again, and then he was gone.

Justine slipped the ring off her finger as she entered the Thornleighs’ house. She went straight up to her bedchamber, intent on hiding it in her jewelry box. When she opened the door she was surprised to see Lady Thornleigh laying out a gown on the bed where several others were piled. Justine quickly tucked the ring into her pocket as her ladyship turned, saying, “Ah, my dear, I was looking for you. There is no time to waste. We must get you packed. I have news.”

Packed? Justine saw that her maid, Ann, was on her knees beside an open trunk, folding a linen chemise to go in amongst others. The wardrobe doors stood open, the wardrobe half-emptied of gowns. “Are we returning to Hertfordshire?” she asked.

Lady Thornleigh held up a hand in a subtle gesture that said,
Wait until we’re alone.
She lifted a cloak of garnet satin from the pile on the bed. “Ann, take this to Margaret and have her mend the hem. Tell her it must be done by dinner.”

“Aye, my lady.” The maid took it and left.

Lady Thornleigh came to Justine and went on briskly, lowering her voice, “I have just come from Her Majesty. I proposed a plan and she has endorsed it.” She noticed that the door remained open, and went and closed it. “My dear, you have an important task before you. Urgent business of state. You have been chosen to carry out a mission for Her Majesty.”

Business of state?
Justine thought she must have misheard. “Pardon?”

“You will go with Lord Thornleigh. He leaves tomorrow for the north as Elizabeth’s emissary to the Queen of Scots. Mary is lodged in Carlisle Castle, and Elizabeth has provided her with a small retinue consistent with her royal status. Two ladies chosen from northern high-ranking families now attend her. You are to join them as a third. You leave in the morning with Richard.”

Justine gaped at her. “I?”

Lady Thornleigh patted her cheek like a proud parent. “You. However, your duties as a lady-in-waiting will be a façade.” She lowered her voice even more. “Your real mission goes much deeper. You are to closely observe Mary. Her visitors, her conversations, what letters she receives, and from whom. All this you will regularly report to Her Majesty’s agent in the town. Do you understand?”

Justine was stunned. “Be a spy?”

A flicker of annoyance tugged her ladyship’s brow. “A guardian of Her Majesty’s interests.”

“But . . . why
me?
Surely there are others in the north who—”

“Ah, you are better suited than you realize. Mary Stuart grew up in France and speaks little English. You speak fluent French. It will give you an opportunity to get close to her as few others could.” She went to a bookcase and glanced over the volumes. “And thanks to your education here, you have another skill that will serve you well.” She slipped out two books and took them to the trunk, adding them to its contents. “Few other young ladies could read Marcus Aurelius and Terence in Latin to entertain a queen.”

Justine was dumfounded. Carlisle was hundreds of miles from London. From Will.

Her ladyship’s tone turned somber. “Another thing, and perhaps the most important. The other young ladies attending Mary come from stoutly Protestant families. Your early upbringing was Catholic.” She took Justine’s hands in hers. “Of course we never held that against you, a mere child at the time. And now it can be turned to good use. Mary’s Catholicism is another potential bond between you and her, a powerful one. Do you see? You have all the tools to befriend the Queen of Scots.”

Justine jerked her hands free. “I am not Catholic. I have no desire to know the Queen of Scots.”

Lady Thornleigh looked taken aback. She collected herself and said evenly, “Then modify what you desire, my dear. For this is Her Majesty’s wish.”

Justine instantly regretted her outburst. It was childish. And she knew she should feel tremendously honored to be chosen to do a service for the Queen. For England. Still, it appalled her to think of leaving Will when his mother might have the power to tear him from her, and she felt frantic to find a way out. “I . . . could fail.”

“You shall not fail. You are clever. You know you can manage this.”

“I know no such thing. I am not trained at subterfuge.”

“I trust you to find your way. More important, Elizabeth trusts you.”

“Because you persuaded her. Pardon, my lady, but it’s
you
she trusts. She does not even know me.” She slipped her hand into her pocket and clutched the ring. “It’s just . . . so hard to leave London right now. Leave Will.”

“Will?”

“I told you and his lordship. We want to marry.”

“Ah, yes. But that can wait. You have a higher duty.”

“To stay in the north for how long?” Weeks? Months?

“For as long as you are required.”

A year?
she thought wildly.
Will’s mother will surely tell him the truth.
“Please, my lady, can you not find someone else?”

“Justine, stop this.” She took her by the shoulders and said sternly, “Our family owes everything to Elizabeth. You understand? Everything. All our fortune, all we have, is due to her. So
your
good fortune, in being one of us, is due to her as well. And now, when she needs you to make this small effort on her behalf, I will not have you let her down over a trifling matter of—”

“Trifling? Will is my life!”

Anger flashed in her ladyship’s eyes. She murmured crossly, “Love. How blindly it governs us.” She turned away as though too upset with Justine to stay face-to-face with her. Voices sounded in the garden below. She went to the window and laid her palm on the glass as thought in an effort to compose herself. Justine watched her, waiting in agony. She loved Lady Thornleigh and it made her sick to cross her, but what she was asking was too much. Justine sank onto the edge of the bed, waiting for she knew not what.

“Fair weather for traveling,” her ladyship said, looking out at the garden. “Yet the long journey north will be hard on Lord Thornleigh. There is a problem with his leg. Have you noticed?”