Valentine (55 page)

“’Tis over two months since you returned to court, my lady,” Martha observed, setting her jug of water on the dresser.

“Two months,” Pippa muttered. There were times when it seemed much longer, longer even than the three months of terror in the Tower, when the scaffold on which Lady Jane Grey had died stood on the green beneath their windows, an ever-present reminder of the penalty for treason.

Stuart had hardly been an ardent lover since his wife’s return. She tried now to remember how it had been in the few weeks after their wedding night before her imprisonment. He had been diffident on their wedding night but she had thought little of it. The passionate flirtation of their courtship had died a sudden death, but again she had thought little of it. Indeed she had had no time to think of anything amid the bloody turmoil of Wyatt’s rebellion, the mass executions that followed it, and the terrifying danger in which Elizabeth and her friends had stood.

And now her husband only coupled with her when she was sound asleep.

Did the act disgust him? Did he see it simply as a distasteful duty best accomplished swiftly and with minimal contact?

The thought was so startling her head jerked up of its own volition and she winced at the renewed pain behind her eyes.

Perhaps it wasn’t the act itself that disgusted him, but his wife. He no longer found his wife appealing. Perhaps in her absence in the Tower he had taken a mistress, a woman more to his taste.

Pippa stood up and slowly pulled her nightshirt over her head. “Fetch a bath, Martha. I would bathe this morning.”

“Yes, madam.” Martha hurried from the chamber.

Pippa went to the glass of finely beaten silver and surveyed her body with clear-eyed criticism. She was thin. Bony. Scrawny. Now, the Lady Elizabeth was thin, but elegantly so. Slender was the word one might use.

Pippa thought caustically that there was nothing elegant about the wavery image of the bag of bones in the mirror.

Strange how she had never questioned her physical appearance before. She peered closer, wondering if it would be possible to count the freckles that thickly scattered her very white complexion. Not a hope in hell. Her eyes were not unattractive though. They were more gold than green in the sunlight and slightly slanted. Her hair was thick, at
least, even if it was an unruly mass. But the color was quite pretty.

“Madam, will you retire behind the screen, the men are bringing up the bath.”

“Oh, yes. I didn’t hear you come in.” Pippa abandoned her inventory and slipped behind the worked screen to wait until the bustle in the bedchamber had ceased and the sound of the door closing on the burly servitors ensured privacy once more.

She emerged and stepped into the copper tub with a sigh of relief. Her body felt used and that wash of distaste made her lip curl.
Why?
Just what had gone wrong with this marriage? She took up the washcloth and scrubbed at her inner thighs with rough vigor.

On Queen Mary’s accession, Pippa had joined the household of the Lady Elizabeth, the queen’s half sister. With all the excitement of the queen’s disputed accession and Mary’s final triumph over the machinations of the Duke of Northumberland, Pippa had thought life beside the clever and vibrant Lady Elizabeth could only provide stimulation and adventure. And indeed it had, in the first six months after the queen’s coronation.

Stuart Nielson, a distant relative of Elizabeth’s on her mother Boleyn’s side, had joined the court. And from the very first, it seemed, he had singled out Pippa for attentions that went far beyond the skillful flirting that she enjoyed so much.

Pippa closed her eyes as the warm water soothed her. She remembered the first time she had laid eyes upon him. It was at a joust at Whitehall, part of the coronation celebrations. Stuart had unhorsed his opponent in one try of the lance. At the banquet and dancing that night he had been made much of for his skill, both on the dance floor and in the lists, and the women of the court, both attached and single, had openly admired his beauty.

Pippa soaped a foot in leisurely fashion. Had she been flattered by the way he declared his preference for Lady Philippa Hadlow? On reflection, she didn’t think so. She’d played in the fields of courtly gallantry for six years; she was immune to flattery unless it amused her.

It had been a whirlwind courtship. Her mother and stepfather had encouraged it, probably because they had despaired of her ever marrying; her sister Pen had almost thrust her into Stuart’s arms; even her stepbrother, Robin, usually overly critical of her flirtatious activities, had made a friend of Stuart and had pronounced himself perfectly satisfied with his sister’s choice.

Pippa pulled a face that was half smile, half grimace as she thought of Robin’s firmly stated approval. It wasn’t that she discounted his opinions, quite the reverse, but sometimes he could be very pompous.

“Madam, will you dress now?” Martha’s discreet tones brought Pippa’s reminiscing to an end.

She rose in a shower of drops and wrapped herself in the towel Martha handed her. “I think I’ll wear the peacock-blue gown with the rose-pink underskirt,” she announced. She needed something to lift her spirits. It was so unusual for her to feel depressed and out-of-sorts that it took considerable effort to force herself to think of what pleasures the day ahead might hold.

“Should I prepare a powder for your head, my lady?”

“If you please, and I’ll break my fast. Just ale and some bread and cheese.” Pippa dropped the towel and went to the domed window that looked down upon the park. Brightly clad figures were already strolling along the graveled walks. A party of Spaniards crossed the lawns to the terrace beneath her windows. They walked close together, hands always at the ready on their sword hilts. They were much disliked by the English court, and were subject to assault in the streets if they were unlucky enough to meet a
group of rowdy Londoners. Their melodious yet incomprehensible speech rose on the air.

Pippa’s lip curled, her long nose twitched slightly. She found them as a whole arrogant, pompous, and totally lacking in humor. But these days she had little choice but to smile courteously, dance when asked, applaud at their entertainments.

House arrest in Elizabeth’s company at Woodstock would be infinitely preferable, she decided, as she turned to take her undergarments from the waiting Martha.

Half an hour later, a hunk of bread and cheese in hand, she examined her reflection once more in the mirror. Clothes were a distinct improvement. The vibrant colors and rich flowing materials disguised her prominent bones and gave a degree of luster to her white skin so that the freckles weren’t quite so conspicuous. She had tamed her rebellious hair with a caul of delicate gold netting and the glint of the gold set off her tawny eyes.

Yes, dressed she presented a rather attractive appearance, although far from conventional beauty. But then, of course, when her husband sought her company in bed she had only her bare bones to offer him.

Her head throbbed anew and she dabbed a little lavender water on her handkerchief and pressed it to her temples. The headache powder was taking longer than usual to bring relief.

She turned as the door opened behind her. Stuart entered smiling. “Ah, how well we complement each other,” he said approvingly as he took in her costume. “I tried to guess what gown you would choose and I see I guessed right.”

The smile was a facade, Pippa thought. Both the smile and the charming tone. She couldn’t tell whether it was simply anger at their earlier argument that lay beneath the surface or something deeper.

However, she offered a responding smile. Their shared pleasure in the luxurious materials and colors of dress had been another factor in their early attraction for each other. Stuart had always gone to great pains to ensure that his own garments complemented hers. This morning was no exception. His doublet of topaz velvet, the sleeves slashed to reveal the lining of dark blue satin that matched his striped hose, was a perfect foil for her own turquoise and rose.

He came over to her and delicately brushed a crumb from her lip before taking her hand and lightly kissing the corner of her mouth. He whispered, mindful of Martha’s presence in the chamber, “Forgive me for last night, Pippa dearest. I was overdrunk and careless of your needs.”

She could allow herself to believe him; it was so much easier than dealing with her own doubts and questions. His smile now seemed warm and genuine, and she knew well how fond he was of wine and how much he and his cronies could drink over the card table.

“I would not care for it to happen again,” she said, her own voice low.

He bent his head to kiss her again, and she didn’t see the shadow that passed across his eyes.

He said brightly, “Come, madam wife, we are bidden to the queen’s presence chamber. I understand the Spaniards are to arrange a tourney of canes later this morning and we are all to take part. Poor sport, I think it, but we must be courteous to our guests.”

There was a brittle edge to his voice that Pippa found a little puzzling, but then she dismissed it. The Spaniards’ preference for the tame jousting with canes rather than lances was a matter of ridicule and scorn among the Englishmen at the court and an athlete of Stuart’s standard would be particularly contemptuous. But, of course, Philip of Spain was the queen’s husband and the vagaries of his retinue must be smiled upon.

They left the chamber arm in arm. The wide corridor outside was thronged with servants and courtiers. The antechamber to the queen’s presence chamber was even more closely crowded, but way was made for Lord and Lady Nielson. They passed into the queen’s presence and the double doors closed behind them.