“I’m retrieving my cloak only, my lady,” she said, glancing down at the dark green woolen gown she wore. “I will not pretend that I have returned to my old life; the queen will know that as a falsehood.”
“But her respect—”
“I will earn her respect again,” Roselyn said firmly as she disappeared into her own chamber.
But when she tried to work the clasp on her cloak, she found that her hands were shaking uncontrollably. This would be her only chance to save Spencer. What she did this afternoon could result in his death—or a life with him.
~oOo~
But not until Roselyn stood in the arched doorway to the queen’s privy chamber did she realize just what she had to face.
Two years before, she had made herself an outcast to these people who now turned to look at her with contempt. Every courtier and nobleman was dressed in bejeweled satins and silks, puffed and painted.
Her parents, the Earl and Countess of Cambridge, stood near the queen as if they’d been invited to watch Roselyn’s final defeat. Though she thought her father might feel sympathy, he wouldn’t dare to show it beneath the cold, watchful eyes of his wife.
To face it all again hurt more than she could have imagined. It was as if beneath these condemning eyes, she relived every mistake she’d made and was judged anew for them.
But for Spencer she would bear it all; for Spencer she would make public every misery with which she’d been punished for her recklessness: poverty, neglect, even the death of her child. She could only apologize for her past mistakes, and pray that the queen would listen to her.
Roselyn lifted her chin and walked slowly down the path opening between the courtiers, with Spencer’s mother at her side. Soon she could see the raised dais where Queen Elizabeth sat on her golden throne beneath a canopy of estate. She wore elegant black and white satin, encrusted in garnet and rubies that glittered when she moved, along with the jewels that decorated her ears and throat and fingers. Beneath her red wig, the queen’s whitened face wore a stern frown.
To the queen’s right, Spencer and Alex stood unbound near a phalanx of guards. The brothers still wore the same rumpled garments, but looked unharmed. Roselyn’s relief nearly brought her to tears, and she shook off Lady Thornton’s restraining hand to run to Spencer.
When he did not acknowledge her, she searched his beloved face, but he looked over her head. The agony of his rejection made her feel light-headed with bewilderment. She saw Rodney Shaw’s smug face at the front of the crowd, surrounded by the smirking expressions worn by all the courtiers.
Once again she’d embarrassed herself before them all.
Roselyn straightened her spine, gathered her courage, and turned back to face Spencer. She refused to believe that every bit of gentleness and consideration he’d shown her had been false. While the crowd tittered, she gazed into the eyes that had so often concealed things from her, and saw desperation. She knew suddenly that he was trying to protect her from association with him, that he would deny himself her comfort and help if those things meant dragging her down with him.
And she loved him so for the attempt.
With the return of her courage rushing upon her like wind filling out a ship’s sails, she walked to the queen’s dais and swept into a deep curtsy.
Spencer knew that everyone in the privy chamber could see the tension in him, and sweat trickled down his temples. He didn’t care if it made him look guilty; it was all for brave Roselyn, who presented herself a target in a futile effort to protect him.
He knew every courtier here—had wooed the women, teased the dowagers, fell into his cups with every young rakehell. But only Roselyn dared to stand by him—Roselyn, who had more cause than anyone to despise him. Before the entire court he had rejected her, yetstillshe would not leave. She was ready to destroy herself to save him, and he was humbled by her bravery.
He would do anything to protect her from scorn—and he would give anything to be with her always, to prove that he was worthy of her.
Queen Elizabeth’s expression did not change as Roselyn straightened from her curtsy. “Lady Roselyn, what have you brought us?” she demanded.
Spencer watched as his mother came forward and stopped Roselyn’s hand before it could enter the pouch at her waist. She put a small box in Roselyn’s hands and pushed her forward.
One of the ladies of the Privy Chamber brought the gift to the throne. While Queen Elizabeth admired the rope of pearls and diamonds, Spencer could only stare at his mother, who stood at Roselyn’s side like a guardian in black. He finally understood that it was easy for her to accept the scorn of others, as long as she could be with his father. He was ashamed of himself for worrying about her heritage, when he should have been ashamed of his own behavior.
“Lady Roselyn,” the queen said, “why did you interrupt the business of our government?”
“Your Majesty,” she answered in a clear voice, “I have evidence that will help you clear Lord Thornton and his brother of these false charges of treason.”
“It is impertinent of you to suggest that we need your help,” the queen said haughtily.
But her gaze slid to Spencer, and though he kept his face impassive, he could not help wondering what Roselyn was talking about, and worrying that she would make herself a formidable royal enemy should her “evidence” be contrived.
Queen Elizabeth glanced back at Roselyn. “Nevertheless, we shall view this evidence you have brought us.”
Roselyn reached into the pouch at her waist and withdrew a folded piece of paper. Again, one of the queen’s ladies brought it to Her Majesty.
“What is this?” the queen demanded.
