front of him. “And so, my lady, would you like to step in upon her backbone?”
I smiled and then, on legs made wobbly from riding, I took him up on his invitation, walking through the door into a sort of short hall. To my left was the great hall, projecting two stories in height with large expanses of mullioned windows playing a game of shadow and light on the floor. Nicholas bid me walk farther into a long corridor that stretched away from me on both my sides. To my left was a grand staircase, and it was there that Nicholas led me.
Up those stairs and off a long gallery, the twin of the corridor beneath it, were my rooms. Two of them. An inner and an outer chamber. I reveled in the luxury of painted wainscoting and intricate tapestries, the fabulous curtains at the windows and the woven matting beneath my feet. There was a great bed with its four posts carved in flowers and vines and topped with indigo feathers. The mattress was covered with azure damask fringed with gold, and crimson velvet bed curtains hung from its rails. As soon as Nicholas left us, Joan and I went and sat on it, falling backward into its softness.
“I could spend the rest of my life in this very bed.”
“And I could spend the rest of mine right here beside you.” Joan spoiled the sentiment by poking me in the ribs with her elbow.
“Stop.”
“Move.”
“I command you to stop.”
“And I command you to move.”
“You are a worthless servant.”
“Perhaps, but you have trained for this for years. And if you do not move, the earl will have to wait on you.”
Nothing could have made me move faster.
Joan helped me out of my traveling clothes and into my best dress, my marriage gown, as quickly as she was able, but still the earl was waiting for us, pacing the corridor as we descended.
We rode in the same manner as we had come: accompanied by Nicholas and the earl’s men. We entered the palace grounds through a crenellated gate and rode wide around some painters working a golden drapery upon the walls. The area was bustling with people and animals, and even the horses were dressed in finer livery than most of the people I had beheld in London.
We left our horses in Nicholas’s care and entered the palace.
The earl offered me his hand, though he did not look at me, and we walked, hands held before us, down the long gallery that ran the length of the building. His silk-clad arm, embroidered with silver love knots, matched my own in color. We traveled between groups of men whispering and scowling, shuffling sheets of paper in their hands. They were clothed in all the colors of a summer’s flower garden. And around them, like bees careening from blossom to blossom, ran pages. Sun had doused the passage with light, glinting off jewels and causing stiff lace ruffs to glow. It made the men look like the very flowers they resembled. There stood a plump, frilly carnation-colored gillyflower. And there, a French marigold dressed in cloth of gold, turning toward the sun so he would sparkle.
A smile played with my lips, but I swallowed it when we entered the Presence Chamber. The finery in the gallery was gaudy in comparison.
The whole of my life had been focused on getting me to court. All of the lessons. All of the money. All of the advantages I had been given. But none could have prepared me for the scale of this grandeur. The throne was worked in brown velvet, embroidered with gold, and set with diamonds. All about were instruments of music made of glass, of silver, or of gold. The walls themselves were laid with gilt. Light blazed from myriad gold chandeliers, hung from golden cords. Everything glittered, from the jewels on the ladies’ dresses, to the mantel of the fireplace, to the gown of Her Majesty, the Queen.
The earl led me forward toward the dais, then paused to whisper to one of the women clothed in white attending Her Majesty.
The woman nodded and approached the Queen, curtsied, and, when acknowledged, stood and spoke to
I smiled and then, on legs made wobbly from riding, I took him up on his invitation, walking through the door into a sort of short hall. To my left was the great hall, projecting two stories in height with large expanses of mullioned windows playing a game of shadow and light on the floor. Nicholas bid me walk farther into a long corridor that stretched away from me on both my sides. To my left was a grand staircase, and it was there that Nicholas led me.
Up those stairs and off a long gallery, the twin of the corridor beneath it, were my rooms. Two of them. An inner and an outer chamber. I reveled in the luxury of painted wainscoting and intricate tapestries, the fabulous curtains at the windows and the woven matting beneath my feet. There was a great bed with its four posts carved in flowers and vines and topped with indigo feathers. The mattress was covered with azure damask fringed with gold, and crimson velvet bed curtains hung from its rails. As soon as Nicholas left us, Joan and I went and sat on it, falling backward into its softness.
“I could spend the rest of my life in this very bed.”
“And I could spend the rest of mine right here beside you.” Joan spoiled the sentiment by poking me in the ribs with her elbow.
“Stop.”
“Move.”
“I command you to stop.”
“And I command you to move.”
“You are a worthless servant.”
“Perhaps, but you have trained for this for years. And if you do not move, the earl will have to wait on you.”
Nothing could have made me move faster.
Joan helped me out of my traveling clothes and into my best dress, my marriage gown, as quickly as she was able, but still the earl was waiting for us, pacing the corridor as we descended.
We rode in the same manner as we had come: accompanied by Nicholas and the earl’s men. We entered the palace grounds through a crenellated gate and rode wide around some painters working a golden drapery upon the walls. The area was bustling with people and animals, and even the horses were dressed in finer livery than most of the people I had beheld in London.
We left our horses in Nicholas’s care and entered the palace.
The earl offered me his hand, though he did not look at me, and we walked, hands held before us, down the long gallery that ran the length of the building. His silk-clad arm, embroidered with silver love knots, matched my own in color. We traveled between groups of men whispering and scowling, shuffling sheets of paper in their hands. They were clothed in all the colors of a summer’s flower garden. And around them, like bees careening from blossom to blossom, ran pages. Sun had doused the passage with light, glinting off jewels and causing stiff lace ruffs to glow. It made the men look like the very flowers they resembled. There stood a plump, frilly carnation-colored gillyflower. And there, a French marigold dressed in cloth of gold, turning toward the sun so he would sparkle.
A smile played with my lips, but I swallowed it when we entered the Presence Chamber. The finery in the gallery was gaudy in comparison.
The whole of my life had been focused on getting me to court. All of the lessons. All of the money. All of the advantages I had been given. But none could have prepared me for the scale of this grandeur. The throne was worked in brown velvet, embroidered with gold, and set with diamonds. All about were instruments of music made of glass, of silver, or of gold. The walls themselves were laid with gilt. Light blazed from myriad gold chandeliers, hung from golden cords. Everything glittered, from the jewels on the ladies’ dresses, to the mantel of the fireplace, to the gown of Her Majesty, the Queen.
The earl led me forward toward the dais, then paused to whisper to one of the women clothed in white attending Her Majesty.
The woman nodded and approached the Queen, curtsied, and, when acknowledged, stood and spoke to
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