Rose (Flower Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF

Audience Chamber,” Chrystabel intoned softly.
    “You’ll curtsy to this empty throne as well.” She glided toward the canopied seat. “Charles does actually sit here to receive visitors in the daytime.”
    “Does he never sit in the other throne?”
    “ ’Tis naught but symbolism, dear. Ceremony.”
    Rose had been sure she’d find the Court’s pageantry intriguing and exciting, but in truth, it all seemed a little silly!

    The next chamber made her jaw drop open, and it had nothing to do with the gaudy decorations—or even the spectacular clothing and jewels that adorned all the people milling about.
    Staring, she drifted slowly through the room by her mother’s side. There, in that dark corner, a woman sat sprawled on a man’s lap, her head thrown back in laughter.
    Across the chamber, a fluttering curtain left the distinct impression that there was action of some sort going on behind it.
    Nearby, another couple were kissing. No, more than kissing. Rose squinted, wishing there were more chandeliers overhead, or that the yeomen holding flaming torches would move closer to . . . her eyes widened. The woman’s stomacher was unhooked down one side, hanging drunkenly, and the laces beneath were undone, and the man had his hand—
    He turned a bit, and his gaze met Rose’s for a moment.
    Or at least she thought it had—she couldn’t be sure, given how quickly she shifted to focus on the ceiling above. But the monarch painted there in his golden chariot did nothing to erase the shocking-but-intriguing mental picture. There, the painted Charles was surrounded by naked angels, just as the real Charles was apparently surrounded by naked—
    “Come along, dear. We’re about to be announced.”
    “Announced?” She’d been so shocked, she hadn’t even realized she’d finally made it to the chamber where Their Majesties waited.
    Rose had always considered herself unshockable, but suddenly she felt like an innocent country mouse. Father had been right all along, she thought. Court was no place for a well-bred young lady.
    Good thing she wasn’t so young anymore.
    The couple in front of her bowed and curtsied and moved out of the way, and she found herself approaching a red-canopied dais.
    “Lady Trentingham!” the stuffy usher called. “Lady Rose Ashcroft!” Rose held out her satin skirts—so plain compared to the jewel-encrusted gowns of the other ladies—
    and dropped into a deep curtsy. When she came up, she aimed a smile at King Charles, a bit startled to find that he was, after all, just an ordinary person.
    She’d seen paintings, of course, but of a younger man, and somehow not such a real one. The King was forty-seven now, and a bit of gray-streaked hair peeked out from beneath his long, curled black periwig. His dark eyes were as sharp as ever, though—or at least as sharp as Rose had always heard. They swept her from head to toe, a gaze both approving and more than a bit lascivious.
    Well, he was known for that.
    In contrast, Queen Catharine’s eyes were a warm, liquid brown. She wasn’t a beauty, but her looks weren’t displeasing, either—she looked sad, and a little world-weary.
    After fifteen years of marriage, she had yet to present her husband with a child.
    Since Rose stood before Catharine, she mimicked what her mother was doing with Charles, lifting the Queen’s hand to press a kiss to the back.
    She was rewarded with a smile. “ ’Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Catharine told her in flowing, Portuguese-accented English.
    “The pleasure is mine,” Rose returned. Really, she couldn’t imagine why her sisters had gone all fluttery over the prospect of meeting the monarchs. They were, after all, just people.
    She switched sides with her mother and bent her lips to the King’s hand.
    He gripped her fingers. “You’re as lovely as your mother.”
    Beside her, Chrystabel blushed. Rose grinned at Charles.
    “Your reputation is well deserved, Your Majesty.”
    Still