The Spymaster's Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page B

such work in Arthur Gregory. You do not make me…proud with these fanciful and unwomanly ideas.”
    She had no breath left to argue. He didn’t disbelieve her, as she had feared. He simply did not care whether she could remove a signet seal. Her skill was a burdensome embarrassment.
    â€œLet me hear no more, unless you deliberately wish to add to my cares.” He stood too suddenly and winced with pain, his dark gaze on her. “Such disobedience brings shame to you, Frances, to your dear husband, and to me. Remember, resignation and submission are the greatest womanly virtues, and not to be ignored because you fancy your learning and brain. I made a mistake in allowing you to read and study beyond your sex.”
    Of course, she knew that many people thought thus, but it hurt her more when it came from him, who had heard her lessons with such pride, a pride that disappeared once she reached womanhood.
    He swayed and she put out a hand to steady him, but he waved it off, his proud face adamant. “I’ll send my man Robert Pauley to escort you to Whitehall. Be ready to leave in three days…and be ready for Robert Pauley.”
    Frances was puzzled. “Father, what should I be ready for?”
    â€œHe has great pride for a commoner, but is a good man for all that, and a trustworthy one.”
    This information barely reached her before her father, scowling, was walking swiftly toward his waiting barge, his back straight despite the cost to him in aching joints.
    She had to clutch tight to the bench to stop herself from running after him, begging his forgiveness, trying to make him understand. No, that would need more time than he had. She would convince him at court.
    Patience…she must learn patience. If she would be an intelligencer, patience was a prime skill to have, and she must own it in plenty. Somehow she would convince her father that she was worth more than he thought, and through him perhaps she could convince Philip. Staring after her father, she lifted an already wilting rose to her nose, the petals drifting across her breasts. Perhaps convincing Philip would take even more than her father’s great skills. She surprised herself with how quickly her girlish dream was revived. And it was too late…altogether too late. It had been too late for her the first day Philip saw Penelope as a just-blossoming girl at Chartley.
    Lifting her gown from the dusty path, Frances ran to the dock to wave her father off. She watched the oarsmen take the barge to midstream and pick up the tide, its flags flapping in the wind, a drum in the bow thumping as the oars kept time. She waved her kerchief, and once her father lifted his hand in farewell, as if half forgiving her.
    Frances raced back to the manor house. She was going to court!
    T he next three days were a happy frenzy of airing her gowns, making them more fashionable with the addition of cutwork lace and the black and gold silk embroidery of Jennetand the maids. Several seamstresses were called in from nearby Mortlake to sew new gowns, bodices, oversleeves, and cloaks. Panels and taffeta lining were added to good country gowns so that they would be full and outstanding enough for court, although Her Majesty had declared they must be no wider at the hem than four feet. Two of her favorite places, Nonsuch Palace and her hunting lodge, Oatlands, were small. Moreover, no other gowns could be as wide as the queen’s.
    Cobblers were called, and the sound of hammers echoed through the great hall from early morn until dark. In a few days many pairs of pinked leather slippers in a rainbow of colors, some with fashionable wooden heels, all lined with satin or tufted velvet to match her gowns, were quickly made. Frances tried on every pair, testing the best of them for the hop and leap of the lavolte, the queen’s favorite dance, knowing that she often asked her ladies to dance for her.
    Frances smiled at the story her father had told