Whitehall Episode 12: More Harmony in Her Bright Eye by Madeleine Robins

Author:Madeleine Robins [Robins, Madeleine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical, romance
ISBN: 9781682100790
Publisher: SerialBox Publishing
Published: 2016-08-23T04:00:00+00:00

Charles kissed her hand, then her cheek—so publicly! Catherine blushed. “Bless you, sweet, for your understanding.”

Then he was gone, with a steward and half a dozen liveried men following after.

Catherine, Lady Chesterfield, and Lady Bath had returned to the queen’s chambers. There was no business to do—who would go out in such weather?—and cards palled. Her musicians were worrying at a French passacaille, but Catherine found she missed the simplicity of Lady Eleanor’s cittern. That lady—the queen hoped she was happy at home with her family; even to Catherine’s outsider’s eyes Lady Eleanor had never seemed comfortable at court.

The lamps barely stayed lit; the wind that shrieked and wuthered outside seemed to find its way into the chambers.

“Don’t fear, Your Majesty.” Lady Chesterfield’s voice was low and calm. “The palace has withstood worse storms, and greater cold. This time last year—”

Catherine nodded. A year ago there had been snow. She had been in England, an English wife, for a year and a half, long enough to see how the seasons changed.

“Lady Chesterfield, perhaps you will read to us?” she suggested. “The king has given me a book of poems . . .”

The dark afternoon slid into a dark evening, and the queen decided to retire early. Her ladies undressed her, and the maid Jenny took away her gown and shift while Lady Bath put Catherine into her nightdress and cap. Lady Chesterfield fussed, but the queen enjoyed the kindliness of it.

At last Catherine said her prayers and settled in to bed, with Lady Bath beside her. Early on, when she had been more the foreigner and unused to the formalities of the English court, the queen had not been much in the way of talking to whichever lady shared her bed. Tonight, with the cold wind weeping through the halls, Catherine might have welcomed conversation. But Lady Bath was asleep almost the moment her head touched the pillow. Catherine sighed; the sound was echoed by Feliciana, curled in the lee of her breast. In the shadowy dark, Jenny moved around the room finishing her work, then lay down on the pallet at the foot of the queen’s bed. Since Catherine’s illness, the younger woman rarely left her mistress at night, lest she be needed.

The queen closed her eyes and slept.

Catherine woke to the sound of the rattling of rain against the windows and the eldritch keening of the wind. And something else, a rushing of water somewhere close by. But the bedchamber, like her withdrawing room, faced northward on the Privy Garden; the river was on the south side of the building.

“Your Majesty—” At the foot of the bed, Jenny rose from her pallet and turned to the hall, but before she could take a step the door opened and the king was framed in the dim light, with Lord Bath behind him. Both men wore boots and rough doublets, as if they had been out riding; both, Catherine realized, were soaked through.

When they stepped into the room, Catherine heard sloshing.

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