And then Minuette said the unexpected. “I’m not going with her. I have told William no.”
Dominic shifted so he could look at her face. In the moonlit shadows filtering through the trees, she appeared absolutely serious. With a steady voice that cost him an effort, he replied, “You cannot stay at court, Minuette.” Why did she even want to? Because she couldn’t bear to be parted from him? Or was it William who had persuaded her to stay?
Again, uncannily, she spoke straight to his worst instincts. “This isn’t about William! Honestly, Dominic, can you not see that part of him will be glad to have me gone? You miss the strain in him. He is warm-blooded. And though he has no wish to offer insult to my face, I imagine he will welcome the opportunity to seek relief.”
Dominic gave a strangled laugh at Minuette’s cool assessment of the nature of William’s strain—and its remedy. “If you aren’t going with Elizabeth, then where?”
He heard the laughter beneath her words. “The new Duke of Exeter has not been paying attention to the right kinds of gossip. You should be listening to the women, Dominic, then you would guess what is coming.”
He let himself answer in kind. “Be as superior as you like, my love, but at least tell me straight out what I have missed.”
“On the last day of the French delegation’s visit, it will be publicly announced that Lady Rochford is going to return the favour. She will go to Paris, bringing with her several young ladies who will remain to serve in Elisabeth de France’s household until she grows up enough to marry William. He has asked me to go as well.”
“Not to remain?” Elisabeth de France was not even ten years old yet, surely William didn’t mean to send Minuette away for so long…not that William meant to marry Elisabeth in any case. He was finding it hard to follow all the twisted pathways of secrets.
“Of course I won’t stay for more than a few weeks,” she replied. “I’ll return when Lady Rochford does. But that’s not the important part.”
Minuette going overseas, an ocean between them—how could that not be the important part? Dominic’s heart couldn’t decide whether to stutter or stop all together.
“I have asked William if, rather than going to Hatfield with Elizabeth, I might go to Wynfield until it is time to leave for France. I told him I wished a little time to myself away from the pressures of publicity and travel. He has given me permission.”
She bit her lip, and when she spoke again her voice was husky. “And if I am at Wynfield…”
She did not finish. She did not need to. Dominic felt his blood quicken at the thought of Minuette away from court, away from prying eyes and sharp tongues, away from Elizabeth and, especially, William. He could visit Wynfield. Indeed, William might even ask it of him, as he had asked him numerous times since November to dance with Minuette or sit with her at pageants or otherwise keep her occupied when the king was busy.
She ran her fingers along the line of his jaw, making his heart stutter in quite another manner. He could see only the pale shimmer of her face as she whispered, “You will come to Wynfield, won’t you?”
He answered her with his lips and his hands. She moved against him, and the tree trunk dug into his back and the ground was hard but he didn’t care, he would have stayed there all night if he could, with the warmth of her lips and the softness of her throat and the elusive curves of her figure beneath the stiff bodice.
Reluctantly they parted at last and Dominic pressed his lips to her hair, waiting for his breathing—and hers—to even. Then he led her back to the orchard’s edge, where she would slip away first. She lifted her head, and for one moment Dominic thought she would kiss him once more. He should have known better, for the walls of Hampton Court rose before them and they were ever careful to minimize their betrayal.
Only after she vanished through the outer door that would lead her through the back lanes of the kitchens did Dominic let his mind wander to the possibilities of Wynfield and the pleasures of being alone with Minuette in a house not owned by William.
On her last day at court before retreating to Hatfield, Elizabeth went hawking with William and the French, after which, when she and William were alone, growing irritation with her brother spilled out into a blazing row.
The catalyst was William’s casual announcement to the French and various English court members that Prince Erik of Sweden would be sending his brother to pay court to Elizabeth on his behalf. But the seeds of the argument had been planted long before—from the moment months ago when William had told her he meant to marry Minuette. If he married for love, then her chance of doing so vanished. Though she accepted that, she was human enough to fiercely resent it.
“I don’t want him here,” she told William flatly once they were behind closed doors. “You can just send straight back to Erik and tell him his brother is not welcome in England.”
“No, I can’t. It’s a reasonable request, and politically wise at this point. Erik expects I would like to balance the effects of my expected French marriage with a staunchly Protestant husband for you.”
“And what does he gain?”
“You. This isn’t political for Erik. The man is genuinely enamoured of you.”
“The man has never met me.”
“Which is why he’s enamoured of you.” His tone was somewhere between irritation and amusement.
Elizabeth struggled to keep her voice level. “I won’t do it. I won’t meet with an envoy from a prince whose suit you have no intention of granting.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you were truly going to marry Elisabeth de France, then Erik might indeed be a serious prospect for me. But you are going to marry Minuette. And when you do, all hell will break loose with the Catholics. That’s where I come in.”
“Go on.”
He must have known she would figure it out; she felt a burst of resentment that he was humouring her. “When you break the French treaty, you’ll need Spain on your side. What better way to achieve that than to marry me off to Philip?”
