“For the peace of my own conscience.” Minuette itched to be elsewhere, but she would not rush Lady Rochford. She was gambling that the woman would not be able to resist being important.
“Dear me,” Lady Rochford replied. “A conscience at court—how remarkable.”
She stood and beckoned Minuette to follow her to a corner somewhat secluded by several high-backed chairs. Settling into one with her back to the rest of the room, Lady Rochford waited for Minuette to sit, then said, “What is it you wish to know?”
Taking in the duchess’s ostentatious gown embroidered in gold thread and the costly jewels around her neck, Minuette knew she had been wise to armour herself in a similar, if less showy, gown of intricately pleated silk. Jane Boleyn set great store by the perquisites of her position and she respected only those who could match her. Minuette settled in to ask her questions without being either pleading or condescending.
“The de Clare sisters, Alyce and Emma. I understand their parents were in the service of yourself and your husband.”
“They were.”
“Do you remember them?”
“Of course.”
Minuette tried to hold onto her patience. “What can you tell me about them?”
Lady Rochford arched an eyebrow in a face that was remarkably smooth for her age. “That one is married, and one is dead.”
So much for patience. “Why was Alyce brought to court, and not Emma? Alyce was the younger sister, after all.” Minuette had met Emma de Clare, now married none too well to a gentleman farmer, and knew how much the older sister had resented the younger one her opportunities. Not that she could see what bearing any of that had on Alyce’s death.
Interest sharpened Lady Rochford’s unnaturally white face (everyone knew she powdered it liberally with white lead and vinegar), though she was still clearly determined to be unhelpfully brief. “I had intended to bring Emma into my household at court after her father’s death. My husband objected.”
“But he allowed Alyce at court.”
“Not in my household.”
No, that was true. Why had Alyce been placed with the queen rather than the duchess? It argued greater favour, from Lord Rochford at least. Why would he have preferred Alyce to Emma?
Lady Rochford waited as though she could see Minuette’s thoughts tumbling over one another. Smiling grimly, she said, “My husband has his own criteria for appropriate women at his court.”
Hiscourt, notthe king’scourt. Fascinating. “What made Alyce more appropriate than Emma?”
“Precisely what you are imagining.”
“Lady Rochford—”
“If I have to spell it out for you, then you should be in a convent. If they still existed in England. Everyone keeps telling me how innocent you are, how sweet, how refreshing in your directness and such a bright counterpoint to Elizabeth’s intensity—everyone except my husband.”
Minuette nearly shivered at the notion that people were gossiping about her, and that Lady Rochford was listening. But she couldn’t resist a final question, although she wasn’t at all certain she wanted the answer. “And what does your husband say about me, Your Grace?”
Lady Rochford rose. Pinning Minuette in place with her gaze, she replied, “My husband says nothing. But he watches you.”
She swept away, leaving Minuette feeling as though she’d been in the clutches of a cat that had determined at the last moment not to eat the mouse. Yet.
CHAPTER SIX
15 April 1555
Richmond Palace
It has been the most wonderful day of celebration. Yesterday was Easter and a service was held in honour of the two newest titled dukes of the realm. Today was their investiture. The Earl of Surrey is now the Duke of Norfolk, and he looked so young and serious throughout the ceremony that I cannot help but believe he is truly interested in serving England. My stepfather is at court for his nephew’s investiture, and I know he wishes to speak with me. But not today, for I can only think of one thing today.
Dominic Courtenay, Duke of Exeter…there is nothing William could do that would give me more pleasure.
Except to dance at my wedding.
Minuette spent so long getting dressed that Elizabeth actually went on to the dancing without her. She could not regret it, though, for she was conscious of how well she looked tonight. Her gown was new, made with fabrics that William had (discreetly) gifted her: a sky blue satin underskirt and bodice, with an overdress and sleeves of white embroidered in shades of blue and green. The pearls and sapphires of the necklace Dominic had given her almost two years ago complemented the dress perfectly. She matched them with pearl drop earrings borrowed from Elizabeth and a silver-gilt ribbon studded with minor gems wound through her loosely piled-up hair. Even her shoes were perfect, blue silk with a velvet bow on each.
