There was nothing she would have liked better than to roam the gardens at this hour, in the soft, cool green places and among the roses blooming greyly in the moonlight, with the stars spread above. Yet she knew better and paused, having to be content to look down the steps and imagine that world. Others, though, were bolder.
At the bottom of the stairs, embraced by the darkness, two figures stood in conversation, heads bowed close, drawn together, although you could still have passed a hand between them. Thomasin drew back when she spotted Ellen and Hugh Truegood, unwilling to break up their meeting and interrupt whatever was passing between them. Her cousin looked happy but earnest as she spoke, and Thomasin guessed that she was explaining her difficult situation. As she continued, Truegood took both of Ellen’s hands in his and said a few words of comfort. Thomasin retreated under the archway, pleased to see their obvious connection.
“My Lady?”
Nico had approached her on silent feet. He slipped into her wake like a shadow, his former brilliance somehow dimmed, the light in his golden eyes reflective of resentment or shame.
“Nico Amato. I wondered whether you would appear here at Greenwich.”
He made a low bow. “I go where I am bidden, as do you.”
“And is the palace to your liking?”
“It is a most beautiful palace, greatly to my liking, although my service is less so.”
Thomasin raised her eyebrows in a question.
“Much has happened since I last saw you, my Lady. But believe me, I have thought of you often.”
Thomasin could not deny that she had thought of him too, but she was not about to admit that. She eyed him suspiciously, the butterflies in her stomach stirring. He was as handsome as she remembered, with that lean, sleek look, the groomed head, the elegant limbs combined with sturdiness. The memory of his lips upon hers in the garden at Windsor returned. Yet his eyes were sad.
“You have not thought of me?”
“I have been busy, very busy, about the queen’s business.”
“Of course you have, moving from one place to another. It must be a change from your life at Windsor.”
“Yes, the sweat has done that.”
“And it has allowed you to spread your wings a little. No longer the chained bird you once were, I think?”
These words were unexpected, and Thomasin did not know how to reply. She recalled how astute, how perceptive Nico could be.
“You received a harsh welcome from the queen, did you not?” she asked.
“It was not undeserved.”
She gave him credit for the admission.
“The old gentleman is your father?” he asked.
“Yes, my father, Sir Richard.”
“He is very proud of you, it is plain to see.”
Thomasin looked back to the hall.
“And the situation between the king and queen rumbles on. I see there is no end in sight, no relief whilst he is torn between the queen and Lady Anne.”
“You are right there; it is an unhappy situation for all.”
“And you, Thomasin?” He pronounced her name slowly, dwelling on each syllable. “Are you happy?”
Happiness was not something she had dwelt on lately, as she had been so busy observing it, or the lack of it, in others.
“I’d hoped to see you before we left Windsor,” he continued, without waiting for an answer. “I assure you that I had no choice but to follow where Vernier led, as dependent upon his favour as I am. I had no part in that move, but the sweat made it essential for us to leave at once. You understand that, I am sure.”
“And the plot? To gain information about the queen to undermine the emperor?”
