She could hold off his questions no longer. “Lady Truegood remains at court until the morning, when she departs for Sussex. You are unlikely to see her again.”
“Is she dining in her chamber tonight?”
“It is no business of yours, sir. You are advised to stay well clear of her, and of us!”
Hatton bowed, always willing to avoid a confrontation, or having to explain himself, and slipped away.
Thomasin felt the anger rising in her chest. She did not yet wish to spoil the queen’s evening, so she made her way up the side staircase and along the corridor, to her parents’ apartments. With any luck, she would catch Cecilia still awake, and might bid her farewell and hear her plans for departing in the morning.
Cecilia had changed into a plain, dark blue gown and appeared fairly sanguine about the day’s events. “It will all depend upon the weather, of course,” she said, waving towards the window, where stars where finally visible. “It has indeed been terrible, dangerous for travelling.”
“The snow has stopped now,” Thomasin replied, “and if you managed to pass the roads to get here, hopefully you will return without incident.”
“No more snow is expected tomorrow,” added their father, who had changed into his bed gown. “There may even be the beginnings of a thaw. You will be wise to get away before the slush, whilst the ground is still frozen and firm.”
“It is a pity,” Cecilia continued, as usual oblivious to the embarrassment she had caused. “I am here now. I don’t see why I can’t stay.”
“If you can’t see the upset you have caused,” said Thomasin, incredulously, “then you had best go, as you are likely to cause more.”
“Very well,” said Cecilia haughtily. “I sometimes think my married name suits you better. It is you who are true good, not I.”
Thomasin ignored this foolish comment, with its insensitivity towards Ellen. “You should set out bright and early, to ensure you arrive before nightfall.”
Thomasin stayed a little while longer as they shared wine and spiced cakes, and reminisced over Christmases past at Eastwood Hall and their younger siblings, Lettice, Digby, Alice and Susanna, who had been left with their nurse in the countryside.
“It will only be a few years before I will be sending Lettice to join you,” sighed Lady Elizabeth. “She is quite a pert little lady of fourteen, chattering all day long about coming to court and seeing the queen.”
Thomasin nodded, remembering her own arrival, but hoping in truth that her sister’s ambitions might fade, and she might choose a quiet country life instead of plunging into such a sea of intrigue and deception. “See how she goes. She may not be ready, and there may not be a place for her. She still has so much to learn.”
“Indeed, she does,” said Lady Elizabeth, rising slowly from her chair. “Now, kiss me goodnight. I must get to bed, if I am to attend the tournament tomorrow.”
“Sister,” Cecilia said to Thomasin, lingering after their parents had retired to bed, “are you very angry with me?”
Her question roused Thomasin’s emotions, but her plight also brought pity.
“You should not have come.”
“I have not seen you all in such an age, and it is so lonely at Raycroft, far from anywhere.”
“There is Hugh’s mother.” Thomasin recalled the strange old lady, whose mind was clearly unhinged.
“Yes,” said Cecilia, “which makes it a thousand times worse.”
“You must make the best you can of it. You clearly want for nothing material.”
“But it is my heart, my soul, Thomasin — they cry out for companionship.”
“Then take a lady’s maid. It is the situation you chose, remember? Others would be happy to have your good fortune. But I must return to the queen. I bid you good night.” She turned to go, but Cecilia hurried towards her.
“Wait! Tell me, was that William Hatton I saw in the hall?”
Thomasin’s anger immediately rose to the surface, as it was only a short while since Hatton had asked her the very same question. “I would not know. He is not someone I ever seek, and nor should you. Think instead of your journey in the morning.”
“Very well, as you like.”
But Thomasin left her parents’ chamber with a knot in her stomach.
At the entrance to the service corridor, Rafe Danvers was waiting in the shadows. Thomasin saw him at a distance and recognised him at once. She drew back. She had forgotten his intention of trying to speak with her after dinner, and she was tired and distracted, wishing only to seek her bed. She knew he would try to win her over, to urge her back into his arms, to press his lips upon hers. Once upon a time she would have run to him, thrown herself against him, pressed her mouth to his. She knew that desire was still inside her, buried somewhere, but tonight was not the night for it.
