Thomasin shifted slightly in her seat. She was elbow to elbow with her father in the centre, and her cousin Ellen Russell sat on the far side. Sir Richard Marwood had slept much of the way, waking only to insist they stop for refreshments, before falling asleep again, while Ellen sat quietly, lost in contemplation.
“I am surprised that Lady Truegood extended her kind invitation to all of us,” Lady Elizabeth continued, wrinkling her nose. “Especially given that she has never met me, only you, Thomasin. And even you, Ellen, were included in the invitation, much to my surprise.”
Again, Thomasin turned her head to hide her amusement. Her mother had no idea of the romance that had blossomed between Hugh Truegood and Ellen at Greenwich Palace that summer, which was the sole reason for the family’s invitation to Raycroft. But she was not about to correct her mother. The secret was still hidden in Ellen’s heart.
“And the son,” continued Lady Elizabeth. “You met him at Greenwich?”
“At Hampton Court,” replied Thomasin. “Actually, no, it was in the hunting lodge at Windsor, just before we had to flee from the sweat, but he came with the king to Greenwich afterwards, didn’t he, Ellen?”
Ellen’s round face lit up with the smile that could transform her simple features. She was not a traditionally attractive woman, but there was something pleasing about the symmetry of her large eyes and small, rounded nose. Her colouring was warm, a mid-brown that was best described as mousy, but she shone with a healthy openness, incapable of deceit.
“And what is the son like?”
Thomasin met Ellen’s eyes, offering her the question, but her cousin was content to let her answer.
“Very personable. He is a merchant to the Low Countries, and he has seen the emperor, so you can imagine he was approved of by his aunt, Queen Catherine.”
“Oh,” said Lady Elizabeth. “A merchant?”
“A little more than that. He runs an entire trade network. Someone has to, or else how would you wear such fine cloth or hang tapestries in your chamber?”
“But his mother is a lady. I wonder why she permits it.”
Thomasin frowned. “Even ladies can fall upon hard times.”
“He is the most kind and thoughtful gentleman you could meet,” piped up Ellen. “His manners are far better than many of the lords supposed to be above him.”
Lady Elizabeth and Cecilia exchanged raised eyebrows. “Of course, we forget you are accustomed to observing such distinctions, Ellen, being raised among merchants in the north,” Lady Elizabeth replied.
“I am accustomed to gentlemen,” Ellen replied simply, refusing to take offense at their slur upon her humble origins, “from my time serving with the queen.”
The horses drew to a halt at a crossroads. In the fields opposite, an army of men were scything down the hay and gathering it into golden bundles. Women and children walked behind them, gleaning the strands left behind and carrying them in their aprons. Some stopped and held up their hands to shade their eyes as they looked at the Marwood coach, with its four grey horses and aristocratic crest.
The sweet smell of their harvest reached the occupants inside.
Sir Richard snorted and jolted awake. “Are we here?”
“Not yet,” replied Lady Elizabeth, looking outside.
“What have I missed?” He straightened his shoulders.
“Trees, fields, trees, more trees,” said Cecilia in a bored tone.
One of the farmers had come up to speak with the coachman, wiping his brow in the sun as he held off his carved scythe. He had an open, friendly face, tanned by outdoor work. As Thomasin watched, he nodded and pointed down the road to the left. The horses started up again and the coach rumbled on.
A village flashed past, with beamed houses built close to the road, a pretty church and busy forge. Barely were they out the other side, when the trees rose up again and the road became narrower, rising and falling. One side of the road fell away steeply, into a tree-lined valley, making Thomasin a little uneasy about the carriage wheels going too close to the edge. The trunks were thick and ancient, the silence complete.
“This must be the Ashdown Forest,” said Ellen. “Hugh wrote that it comes up to the edge of the park and the hunting is excellent.”
“Did he?” asked Lady Elizabeth, in an arch tone.
“I am sure we are near.”
Ellen was right. Presently, the trees on one side gave way to a walled park, running the length of the road. After another mile, they turned in through a pair of tall cast-iron gates, and in the distance they saw the dignified, red-brick splendour of Raycroft Court.
TWO
The Marwood carriage drew up outside a wide-fronted house with mullioned windows and a central tower. It faced east, capturing the afternoon sun, which was that distinctive September shade of yellow. The bricks were interlocked in the fashionable Flemish style, laid in a black diamond pattern. Stacks of twisted chimneys stood out against the blue sky.
