“I believe she is a good lady.”
They paused to let another couple pass, then parted ways to sweep about and returned, joining both hands. Allessandro pulled Thomasin a little closer. His physical presence was powerful, his scent something like amber — exotic, almost ecclesiastical, above the tones of his sweat and skin. She was close enough to see the grains of his skin, her eyes level with his chin.
“How long do you remain in England?”
One of his arms passed around her waist. “Until this business is over. My father needs my assistance. He is quite unwell, in truth. He is unable to complete his duties alone.”
“I am sorry to hear of his infirmity.”
“But not of my presence?” Allessandro replied quickly, then flashed his smile again. “I have always wanted to come to England. My father was here before, ten years ago, but I was just a boy in school then.”
“You stayed with your mother?”
“Alas, my mother is with us no more. I was sent to be educated, along with my brothers.”
“I am sorry.”
He gave the briefest nod of acknowledgement. “But when Father received this commission, I was determined to visit. And I am glad I did so: this court, this king, this land, it is all so magnificent!”
Thomasin smiled. “I am sure Italy has many magnificent places too.”
“Do you know it? Have you been there?”
“I only know what a friend told me.” Again, she squashed the thought of Nico down. “But he was from Venice.”
“And I am from Bologna, a day’s ride to the south.”
The chords changed and the dancers paused to regroup, then in two long lines, they came forward again to meet their partners.
“You are from London?”
“No, Suffolk. I came to court last year.”
“It is a sad business, this matter of the marriage between the king and queen.”
“Very sad,” said Thomasin guardedly, remembering that she was speaking with the son of the papal legate.
“What do you make of it? Is the marriage true?”
Thomasin turned away, curtseyed as the chords resounded and gave him a wide smile. “I cannot say. Only the experts can determine that.”
It was at that moment that she became aware of the outer doors opening. A woman stepped inside, dressed in a long black cloak, newly arrived and dusted with fresh snow. At once, Thomasin thought of Anne, but the Boleyns were seated together in the corner, watching the hall. The dance was just coming to an end, and the motion caught people’s attention, making them turn to see who was making an entrance.
Stepping dramatically across the threshold, the figure pulled back her hood to reveal an exquisite golden headdress studded with diamonds. She shed her cloak and stood before them in dazzling tissue of gold and silver, shot through with strands of scarlet. Her throat, arms and hands were laden with jewels. She was brighter, richer in dress, than anyone else present, as if the sun had risen in the midst of winter. The hall was stunned into silence; even the queen, king and Anne turned to stare at her magnificence.
Cecilia Truegood fixed her watery blue eyes upon Thomasin. “Well, Thomasin? Aren’t you going to come and greet your sister?”
NINETEEN
“Cecilia!” Lady Elizabeth Marwood hurried over, her pale face full of questions. “What are you doing here?”
“The same as you, Mother,” Cecilia replied, handing her cloak to her servant. “I would have been here yesterday, but we were quite snowed in at Raycroft. The house sits in a dip, did you know? I never realised it myself. When it rains or snows, it does so harder than elsewhere.”
“But your clothes,” continued her mother, conscious of other eyes in the hall, trying to pull her daughter aside, “all this gold and silver, all these jewels — it is a little overdone, don’t you think? Magnificent, but overdone.”
“I am at court, Mother. If I cannot wear this at court, where might I wear it? And if I have such riches, should I keep them locked away?”
“But you are more dazzling than the queen and all her ladies. You should be more sensitive to rank.”
