Katherine took her hand. “Perhaps we can walk in the garden?” She turned to her fiancé. “John, would you mind if Juliet and I spent a few moments together?”
For the first time in minutes, he faced them. His glance strayed to Juliet, lingering upon her delicate heart-shaped face. “Katherine, we must not delay. My father has invited several guests to meet you at dinner. ’Tis almost noon, now.”
“I know. Please?”
He softened, nodding. “Be quick,” he said.
Juliet took Katherine’s hand, giving Hawke a grateful look. The two girls hurried outside and into the garden. Beneath a cherry tree they paused. “Juliet—is something bothering you?”
Juliet looked at Katherine, suddenly miserable. “How lucky you are,” she whispered. “To be marrying a man like Sir John.”
Katherine froze, imagining that Juliet was about to confess her sudden attraction to John Hawke.
“My uncle intends for me to be betrothed by my sixteenth birthday, which is but six weeks away. He has narrowed down the possible candidates for my hand to three men. Oh, God! Lord Carey is three times my age, although still of a fine figure—but he has already had two wives and six children. Ralph Benston is a skinny pimply-facedboywho cannot keep his hands to himself. And the third suitor, Simon Hunt, he is actually very kind, but he is hugely fat. I hate them all!” Juliet cried.
“Oh, Juliet,” Katherine said, relieved that her fears were at least not being voiced aloud. But she sympathized with Juliet, greatly, and she did not know what to say. A lady did not marry for love, but good matches were possible. “Can you discuss this with Hixley? Can he not select a husband for you of whom you also approve?”
“’Tis impossible.” Juliet said. “He doesn’t care at all how I feel. He is leaning toward Lord Carey, who is so terribly frightening. I do not know what to do; how can I marry a complete stranger, who only wants Thurlstone, and live as this man’s wife for the rest of my life?”
Katherine took her hand. “You are very beautiful, Juliet. I am sure all three men want you as much as Thurlstone.”
Juliet colored. “That is horrible, too! Could you take a man you did not love into your bed, let him touch you, kiss you?” She shook.
Katherine instantly felt guilty, thinking of Liam O’Neill. She was spared having to make a reply, because Juliet said bitterly, “But you do not have this kind of problem. You are marrying a handsome, noble man. How I envy you, Katherine.” She looked away, flushing. “How lucky you are,” she whispered.
“Yes, Iamlucky,” Katherine returned, still feeling guilty—and now her heart lurched hard.
Shortly afterward, she and John left for Hawkehurst, Juliet waving good-bye, her color far too high, a smile fixed upon her lips—her gaze following Hawke. Katherine waved back, but Hawke did not. To the contrary, he seemed determined to ignore Juliet, staring straight ahead out at the moors. But once again, his cheeks were flushed, and Katherine thought that his gaze was troubled.
I am wrong, Katherine thought, suddenly dejected.Lightning did not flare white-hot between them. Of course, Juliet would find him handsome, every woman does. But he is to be my husband. I am to be his wife. He does not find her attractive—it is I he loves.
And to make matters even worse, Liam O’Neill dared to intrude yet again, and in her mind’s eye he was smiling—and his smile was mocking.
19
Gerald sat in the dark hall of St. Leger House alone. He was cursing his own daughter.
She had disobeyed him, betrayed him. She had not heeded him at all. She had not enticed and entrapped Liam O’Neill, Gerald’s last, desperate hope. No, the queen had betrothed her to a damnable Englishman instead, and not just any Englishman, but one unquestionably loyal to the Crown, Sir John Hawke, the captain of her Guard. Did Katherine not understand that, with every day he spent in forced exile in Southwark, he was breathing his last dying breaths? He could not live like this, impoverished, impotent, and in exile, he could not. How could she have done this! And to ignore his summons, by damn!
He could not help thinking that she was every bit as headstrong as her mother had been. Suddenly he felt an intense longing for his first wife, Joan. Although she had been thirty-six to his sixteen when they had first met, their passion had known no bounds. Joan had still been stunningly beautiful, somehow far more beautiful than pretty girls half her age. And in bed…Gerald sighed. She’d had tricks of which he’d never dreamed. Her passion had been as willful as she.
But she had been fiercely loyal to him, despite the fact that her son was the earl of Ormond and her husband’s enemy. Joan hadneverbetrayed him. She had been loyal to him, and she had loved him, until the day she died.
It was one of the great regrets of his life that she haddied alone at Askeaton, without him, while he was in the Tower, a prisoner of the queen. But that had been seven achingly long years ago.
“Gerald? Why do you sit in the dark?” his wife asked, bustling into the room.
Gerald blinked as Eleanor lit candles until the cold, barely furbished hall was ablaze. In some ways she reminded him of Joan. She was very beautiful and very clever—and headstrong as well. A good helpmate, as Joan had been. “I am brooding, what do you think?” he said.
“Well, there is nothing you can do,” she said bitterly, reading his thoughts exactly. “You should disown that treacherous daughter of yours, aye, you should!”
Gerald would never disown Katie. She was disloyal and she deserved a beating, but she was his only daughter and his only child from those few years with Joan. “Disown her?” He laughed, as bitter as Eleanor. “I own nothing now—how can I disown her?”
“She and John Hawke have returned to London this day. If you do not go to speak with her, I shall,” Eleanor stated, her eyes blazing.
Gerald eyed Eleanor. “I want no discord between the two of you,” he stated. “Besides, this matter is not over yet—not until the church bells are ringing.”
Eleanor blinked at him. “What are you thinking, my lord?”
