Sex in the 16th Century by Juliet Landon

Author:Juliet Landon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises
Published: 2007-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Seraphina yawned behind her hand as Bess made the final adjustments to her gown of russet velvet and cinnamon silk. Elizabeth Tudor seemed to exist on a minimum of sleep and expected her courtiers to do likewise. The last nine days had become a hectic procession of banquets, masques, and hunts as the Yule celebrations had reached an almost feverish pitch. She yawned again, wondering where the Queen found the energy to hunt, dance half the night, and attend to matters of state.

‘I told you to retire as soon as the Queen did last night,’ Bess said. ‘What possessed you to sit up at cards?’

‘I felt like it,’ Seraphina lied. She had been bonetired, but the Earl had invited Grace and herself to play cards and she had not wanted to leave him alone in Grace’s company. Not that it had made much difference, she thought bleakly. For all the attention he had paid her, she might as well have been invisible.

Bess made a disapproving noise in her throat. ‘Just because the Queen must live every moment as if it were her last, you don’t have to. I swear you’ve lost what flesh you had this last week. She’ll have no courtiers left by Twelfth Night, if she carries on at this rate!’

‘After spending so much of her youth with the threat of the axe over her head, you can scarce blame her for being so greedy for pleasure,’ Seraphina said, grimacing at her reflection in the mirror and deciding Bess was probably right. Her face was all eyes and mouth, and as for the rest of her—she sighed, wishing she were as well endowed as Grace. If she were, then perhaps the Earl’s eyes would follow her instead of Grace, and perhaps he might look at her as he had done at Mayfield when they had first met.

‘That’s better,’ Bess smiled, as she made a last tuck about Seraphina’s tiny waist and pinned it in place. ‘These colours suit you wonderfully well.’

Seraphina forced her attention back to her reflection in the mirror. Since the fabrics were so luxurious, she had chosen a simple style: a low square neck, the tiny waist shaped to a point, from which the overskirt divided to show the cinnamon silk kirtle beneath. Only the sleeves were elaborate, the outer wing sleeve, lined with silk and trimmed with fox, fell to the hem, the undersleeve of russet velvet was slashed and pinked to let tiny puffs of her cinnamon silk chemise be pulled through. Bess was right; the autumnal colours of the gown did suit her, reminded suddenly of the day she had first met the Earl in the woods at Mayfield. Had he thought of it when he had chosen these materials as a gift for her? No. She was a fool to even let the thought cross her mind.

‘The silk alone must have cost a fortune. The Earl is very generous,’ Bess said approvingly as she twitched out a fold of the skirt and stood back to admire her handiwork.

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