Secrets at Court Read Online Free PDF Page B

her
lady.
    ‘We must craft the celebration carefully,’ the Countess was
saying. ‘It must not be so gay that it dishonours those taken by the pestilence,
yet it must be grand and appropriate to a future King and Queen.’ A perplexed
pout quivered on her lips. ‘And yet, it is a ceremony for two who are already
married.’
    ‘Not in the eyes of the Pope.’ Anne swallowed, wishing she
could recall the words. She knew better than to speak so bluntly to her lady.
Sparring with Sir Nicholas had made her tongue tart.
    Lady Joan blinked, as if her pet monkey had suddenly nipped
her. ‘The Pope will get his chapels. All will be as it must.’
    ‘If Sir Nicholas obtains the proper blessing from the
Archbishop.’
    Now, the Countess turned her full gaze on her. ‘You assured me
there was nothing to fear. Have you spoken to him again? Has something
changed?’
    Yes . He was asking questions, the
very questions neither she, nor her lady, wanted to answer. But to say so would
be to admit she had whiled away a few minutes in the sunshine with a handsome
knight who actually looked at her . To admit that
instead of avoiding him, she had spoken to him of wants...
    She cleared her throat and shook her head, looking at her
stitches instead of at her lady. ‘I only mean that if he is looking into the
past, he might become curious. He might ask more questions.’
    Reassured, the Countess waved her hand. ‘He will find
little.’
    That, of course, was what she was afraid of. And what would
Nicholas Lovayne do then? No doubt he would be loyal to his Prince, just as she
was to her lady.
    ‘I know!’ The Lady Joan stopped her pacing. ‘After the wedding,
we’ll have a celebration. A tournament before all the people to prove that we
have triumphed over the death that haunts our land.’
    Anne smoothed her fingers over the silver stitches, holding
back a pointed reply. Only Jesus Christ triumphed over death.
    But her lady was speaking of dresses and colours...
    ‘Shall he come to the wedding?’
    ‘Who?’ Her lady returned to the bench and placed cool fingers
on Anne’s forehead. ‘Are you ill? You are not like yourself today.’
    No, she was not. She was still dizzy with confusion. ‘I meant
Sir Nicholas. Since he helped to make it possible.’
    A shrug. ‘I suppose so.’
    ‘Then how am I to avoid him? Until he leaves for Canterbury, I
cannot refuse to speak to him without creating questions.’
    The smile, always the smile that disguised the workings of her
lady’s mind. Anne tried to compose her face so, but she was not good at
lies.
    ‘No, no. I see. You are right. He has done us a great service.’
She patted Anne’s hand. ‘Stay close to him. Treat him as a close friend.’
    She had wanted only forgiveness for the sin already committed,
not an obligation to seek him out again. ‘I am not a woman to capture a man’s
attentions.’
    The look of pity on Lady Joan’s face made her wince. No. Her
lady had not thought so either. ‘I only meant you should keep him amused.
Diverted. Men without war must be kept busy.’
    ‘Perhaps that would be better left to someone who could dance
with him.’ The thought of deliberately getting close to Nicholas Lovayne
unsettled her. As if she might, like the moth, singe her wings on the flame.
    ‘A woman need not dance with a man to keep him
entertained.’
    Anne knew that as well as anyone. She knew enough how to
distract people so they would not notice...other things. She made the final
stitch on the Prince’s badge, glad to lay it aside. Black and silver were dreary
colours. ‘This one is finished, my lady.’
    ‘Good. Now, show me how the aumônière is coming. Will it be ready next week?’
    Anne put aside the Prince’s badge to show her lady the
needlework that would become an alms purse. Because her feet did not work, her
fingers worked even harder. How many pouches had she created in her time? Ten?
Twenty? Fifty? Each one given away for a man to give to his lady, or for