Court of Foxes Read Online Free PDF

the shining head bent listlessly over the glass of coloured water. But enough was enough and Mrs Brown hurried forward to block the aperture, bobbing and bowing, tripping over her own curtseys as she did so; all too conscious of stifled hysteria behind her as the Marchesa and her second footman went off in a fit of the giggles. She came out hurriedly into the corridor and closed the door behind her. ‘My lord the Earl of Tregaron? Apologies, my lord, I did not know you came in person. My lady’s compliments and thanks, my lord, and I will hand her the flowers.’
    A slender young man, dark yet brilliant, by no means over tall. Small, white-powdered tye wig; laced, ruffled, brocaded, decidedly on the over elegant side and carrying, despite the warmth of the evening, the inevitable enormous muff. A little whipper-snapper girl of a man: her first thought was that Gilda would make two laughing mouthfuls of him and gobble him up. She stood with the great, burning bouquet of roses in the crook of her arm. ‘I’ll see that her ladyship has your card, my lord.’
    He was staring past her as though he could still see, even through the closed door, that golden head and the lovely, calm, sad, sweet face. He said vaguely: ‘Card?’ and brought his eyes to meet hers. ‘There is no card.’ But as she turned to go, he caught her by the plump wrist. ‘But a message,’ he said. ‘You’ll give her a message from me?’
    A message. She allowed herself to look troubled; a little resistance often brought about a bribe. ‘My lady the Marchesa doesn’t receive messages, my lord, she refuses all acquaintance.’
    ‘I don’t aspire to acquaintance. I have no introduction. One day, perhaps… But a message…’ He still held her wrist and now with his free hand searched in a pocket and counted out into her willing palm seven gold coins. ‘One for each word of the message. Seven words — only seven. Will you speak them?’
    A little whipper-snapper girl of a fellow; and yet… The ring of his fingers was very hard and firm about her wrist, as with his right hand he opened out the fingers clutching the golden guineas to her palm. ‘Seven gold pieces — for seven words. Will you tell her what I want her to hear?’ And he whispered the words to her and so left her, blundering a little as he walked away from her, down the long corridor. She opened the door and went back into the flower-filled room.
    The Marchesa Marigelda, white skirts bunched in a clutching hand, was waddling across the floor, sketching a bob at every third step, nid-nodding, ‘Yes, milord, no, milord, compliments and thanks, milord…’ but so choked with laughter that no coherent sound came out of her; her brother leaned, hugging his aching ribs, against a wall. ‘Oh, Mother, for God’s sake stop this terrible girl, she’ll be the death of me yet…!’ Gilda collapsed, exhausted, her arms about her mother’s neck. ‘You excelled yourself, dearest, we thought you would fall straight forward, flat on your nose. “Yes, milord, no milord, compliments and thanks, milord…” ’ She waddled off again, stumbling over one foot, righting herself just in time, nid-nodding to right and left. ‘I will see that milady receives the flowers, milord…’ She straightened up at last and asked, still laughing: ‘Tregaron himself! My goodness! What did he say?’
    ‘He said,’ said her mother, standing there, not laughing at all, the red roses clutched, vividly glowing, in her arms, ‘that I should give you a message. Only seven words…’
    Only seven words. I will love you till I die.

CHAPTER THREE
    A ND SO THE UNATTAINABLE Lady at last succumbed to an intrusion of her resolute privacy. Brown Eyes was reported as certainly abroad on an extensive tour of Europe and the family was adamant in refusing to wait upon such small hope as might be based upon a single bouquet and an exchange of glances. Besides, the gentleman was now known to be formally affianced, and