In the Garden of Sin Read Online Free PDF Page B

sheep eyes at him as she returned his smile. “Master Knowles.”
    Next came Elle, riding astride in a billowing blue satin skirt that was split in front, revealing matching breeches and hose— a shameless style of dress unique to Venetian courtesans, which the Frenchwoman had adopted as a riding costume. Shewore a mannish hat very much like that of the English courtiers, only perhaps with a few more plumes. The effect was actually quite fetching.
    When Elle told us that we were but a few miles from Château de la Grotte Cachée, all four of us raised a cheer. Ten days in that jolting, rattling carriage had left us woozy and aching. Like the other noblemen, Buckingham usually rode, surrounded by his yeomen and retainers, although he did have a very elegant carriage in which he retired from time to time, often with Knowles for company. As Buckingham’s gentleman of the bedchamber, it was Knowles’s responsibility to keep the duke well dressed, well fed, and supplied with devoted and genial companionship.
    Domenico Vitturi, who rode by next, not only greeted us warmly, but touched his heart as he bowed, a courtly gesture of which I had grown quite fond. His traveling costume consisted of a black doublet, breeches, and hose, with a buff leathern jerkin and tall boots folded over at the tops. In contrast to the Englishmen, he wore a flat, brimless, Venetian-style felt cap. To my mind, his attire—the cap in particular—bespoke a restraint and self-assurance that was more attractive by far than the peacock ostentation of his companions.
    “We few shall be riding ahead to the château to ensure that all is in readiness,” he said, meeting every pair of eyes in the carriage save for mine. He often appeared to be subtly dodging my gaze, just as I dodged his. I wasn’t quite sure why this was. He didn’t seem to harbor any mislike toward me, and I certainly felt no animosity toward him. In fact, the more I saw of him—of his gallantry toward the novices, his easy camaraderie with his fellows, and the evenhandedness and quiet authority he displayed with his staff—the more I admired him.
    Bringing up the rear of the little group on horseback weretwo stalwart yeomen of the Duke of Buckingham, followed by the duke himself, who was widely regarded as the handsomest man in England. Dressed in the dashing cavalier style favored by King Charles, he had wavy chestnut hair, a pointed beard, and deep blue eyes that were uncommonly striking. Yet for all his beauty, and his reputation for charm and wit—he was the courtier’s courtier, after all—he rarely smiled, or engaged in good-natured banter with the other gentlemen. Indeed, there was an aura of melancholy about the man that evoked my pity despite his aloofness and his baffling accusation against my uncle.
    “Your Grace,” Lucy said to him with a little duck of her head.
    The duke did not so much as glance in our direction as he rode past the carriage. Like Knowles, he was a married man with a child. This was the only reason I could fathom for his attitude of studied indifference toward the wanton beauties with whom he was traveling—that and perhaps his glum spirits. Buckingham’s purpose in visiting Grotte Cachée was primarily to hunt wild boars in the woods and moorlands surrounding the castle, which were said to be teeming with them. French boars, Elle had told me, were known to be far superior to their English counterparts.
    The duke was surrounded at all times by burly attendants charged with preventing anyone from getting close to him without his leave. Several times I had tried to speak to him, only to be rebuffed in no uncertain terms. Yeomen even stood guard over him while he slept. I prayed that he would be more approachable once we were at Grotte Cachée. If not, I would have to concoct some ruse to breach the fortification he had established around himself.
    When he was just out of earshot, Lucy lowered her voice and leaned forward. “He thinks he’s Lord