Читать книгу Taming The Tempestuous Tudor - Juliet Landon - Страница 10

Chapter Two

Beginning its life as a spring on the slopes of Highgate, the River Tyburn rattled gently down to the northern banks of the Thames near Westminster, where it was straddled by the gatehouse of the large residence called after it by Lord Jon Raemon of Risinglea. Tyburn House was an imposing mansion of decorative timberwork above stone foundations and surrounded by extensive gardens that sloped down to a jetty where wherries came to release their passengers. In the warm and welcoming hall where preparations were being made for supper, Etta presented her father with a snow-flecked peacock feather. ‘For your hat,’ she said, ‘from the Royal Wardrobe.’

Lord Jon received the gift with a smile, turning it this way and that before handing it back to Etta. ‘You shall stitch it on for me,’ he said. ‘It’s a beauty. Tell me about your visit to the Wardrobe. Did you find what you were looking for?’

‘Yes, Father. Very informative it was. I learned quite a lot.’

‘Good. And was your Uncle George there?’

‘No. Some buyers. Merchants, I think. That’s all.’ Somehow, she felt that to speak Master Nicolaus’s name might break the spell of intrigue that had just begun to surround him. And for the next three days, that experience had to suffice as heavy snow covered London, when no travel except the most urgent business was undertaken. At Tyburn House there was plenty to occupy her in the preparation of scented water for finger bowls and creams for chapped faces and hands. There were household accounts to be checked, lists to be made, visits to the nearby poor folk, shirts and smocks to be stitched by the white reflected light of the snow. But none of this could prevent Etta’s thoughts from revolving around the events at the Royal Wardrobe, the dim warmth of the storeroom, the scents and shimmer of cloth, and a man’s proximity that was quite unlike the innocent familiarity she had been used to. Asking herself why or how he was any different, a host of answers came to mind: his authority, his amazing good looks, his knowledge and intelligence—all of which placed him on a higher level than anyone else of her acquaintance. And, of course, his manner of conducting a flirtation by analogy to that exotic merchandise. Had he practised that on other women? Was she about to fall for his velvet words? Was it his years that had given him the audacity to speak to her that way? Well, she thought, nothing will come of it. A man in trade would never be her father’s choice.

After four days and nights of white-blanketed lawns and rooftops, the overnight rain washed away the snow and filled the River Tyburn up to its banks to roar away into its powerful sister and to lift the boats almost to the level of the jetty. ‘Just what we needed,’ said Lord Jon. ‘Now we can receive dry guests instead of damp ones.’

‘Guests, Father?’ Etta said. There was something in the way he said the word that had an ominous ring, making her look sharply at him. A shiver ran along her arms as, in a sudden flash of awareness, she feared the worst. ‘Anyone I know?’

‘Not unless you know Baron Somerville,’ he said, nonchalantly, walking away.

‘When?’ she asked her mother, later.

‘The end of the week, dear. He’ll be staying over one night, I suppose, now the days are so short. You’ll like him.’ Like. In the sense of like to marry.

‘How do you know I will, Mama?’

‘Why, love? Because your father and I do. Now, I have to go and speak to Cook.’

Their strategy of silence on the matter was hardly surprising, Etta thought, after her constant refusals to discuss the merits, or otherwise, of previous suitors. Obviously, they now believed that there was little point in supplying her with any details other than his name and title, when she would automatically resist. So, other than offering her the information that the guest was ‘quite a few’ years older than her and had not been married before, they remained annoyingly tight-lipped, which appeared to indicate that Baron Somerville’s need to father heirs had so far lay dormant. Too busy hunting, Etta supposed. Or too shy of women. Or both.

Her cousin Aphra, with whom she had visited the Royal Wardrobe, was invited to stay with them that week. Greeting her, Etta quipped, ‘I think I need some moral support.’

‘Do you, Ettie? Why?’ Aphra held a special place in everyone’s hearts as the sweetest and kindest of women, fair and slender, graceful in thought and deed, serene and as steadfast a friend as anyone could wish for. Everyone knew that, one day, she would find a wonderful husband and Etta looked upon her as an elder sister. ‘They’ve found a husband for you, haven’t they?’ Aphra said. ‘Don’t look so surprised. Your expression gave it away. Come on, it may not be as bad as all that.’

‘I think it may be worse, Affie.’ It was nothing new to Aphra to be the recipient of Etta’s woes, but this time the only help she could offer was in her calming influence and companionship, and the advice to speak with her parents about her concerns. Predictably, the conversation was brief.

* * *

Knocking on the door of her parents’ bedchamber, Etta entered at her mother’s call, taking in the sweet aroma of last year’s lavender and burning applewood. Half-dressed, they were both being pinned and laced into the various items of clothing, looking oddly lopsided. ‘May I speak with you a while?’ she said, sitting on the oak chest at the end of their bed.

Discreetly, the servants left the room. Her father’s demeanour had not changed all morning from the determined expression he now wore and she knew that this time they would insist. ‘Father,’ she said, catching the anxious glance her mother sent in his direction, ‘this time you’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘We’ve made our choice, Etta,’ he said, tying the last of his points. ‘You cannot expect us to change our minds. You must trust us to know what’s best.’

‘But if you thought love was the best reason for you and Mother to marry, then why not me, too?’

‘Love?’ Both parents’ eyebrows lifted as they stared at her. ‘Love?’ her mother repeated. ‘Etta, have you done something foolish?’

The temptation to pursue this line was almost overwhelming. ‘No, Mother, I haven’t. I just want some say in who I spend the rest of my life with. As you did.’

‘As it happens, Etta,’ said her father, ‘that’s what we want, too. You may not have given it much thought, but fathers don’t usually give dowries along with their daughters to any man who declares his love for them. There’s a lot of money at stake here and any father who throws that away on a young man’s declaration of love is a fool. Your mother and I had got beyond that stage when we agreed to marry. I’m sorry if that sounds mercenary, my dear, but these are important considerations that parents must take very seriously. We’ve found a man with enough wealth to make that unlikely. The love will develop as you get to know each other. I expect.’

‘Now go and finish your dressing,’ her mother said, ‘and try to take this with a good grace. We expect you to make yourself agreeable to our guest.’

There was no more she could say to them. All her personal preparations had been accomplished, hair washed and braided, skin scrubbed and perfumed, dresses chosen, pressed and mended, frills starched and gathered to perfection. She had chosen to wear a high-necked gown of deep-pink satin over a Spanish bell-shaped farthingale, the bodice making a deep vee at the front, stiffened by whalebone. Sitting down was only achieved with care, so now she stood with Aphra at the mullioned window of her room that gave them a view of the gardens with the great river beyond and the jetty where a small barge was coming in, its four oarsmen steering it skilfully against the tide.

‘He’s got his own barge,’ said Etta, ‘and his boatmen have liveries. That’s serious wealth, Aphie. That’ll be him, climbing out.’ The small diamond-shaped panes of thick glass made it difficult to see any details, only that the manly figure leaping out of the barge did not quite fit Etta’s mental image of a middle-aged aristocrat.

‘He’s tall,’ Aphra said. ‘Can’t see any more. Shall we go down?’

Purposely, they took their time, lingering to catch sounds of greetings and laughter, Etta readying herself to show a confidence she was far from feeling. Her mind slipped back to her meeting in that dim storeroom with the man who had made her feel womanly and desirable, when there had been no talk of wealth, dowries, bargains or filial obedience. Those had been moments she had kept safe in her heart, not even sharing them with Aphra. Now, she might as well forget them and face her real future.

He was standing with his back to the door as Etta and Aphra entered, accepting a glass of wine from his hostess, his tall frame matching Lord Jon’s as only a few other men did. He had obviously taken great care to make a good impression, for his deep-green sleeveless gown was edged with marten fur worn over a doublet and breeches of gold-edged green velvet, slashed to show a creamy white satin beneath. As he turned to greet them, they saw gold cords and aiglets studded with seed pearls, and in his hat was a drooping peacock feather like her father’s. He smiled, creasing his handsome face, making his eyes twinkle with mischief. ‘Mistress Raemon,’ he said, softly, ‘your prediction was correct. We have met again, you see?’

A hard uncomfortable thudding in her chest made words difficult. ‘Father, there’s been a mistake. This man is not who you think he is. He was at the Royal Wardrobe when Aphra and I went there. His name is Master Nicolaus.’

Why were they all smiling?

Looking slightly sheepish through her smiles, her mother came forward to lead Etta by the hand. ‘Yes, dear. He is also Baron Somerville of Mortlake. We know you have already met. That was intentional. Shall you make your courtesies?’

‘No, Mother. I shall not. There is some deception here. Why did he introduce himself to me as Master Nicolaus? What is it that he’s not told me that he should have? Be honest, if you please.’ Her voice was brittle with anger and humiliation, and anything but welcoming. She had tried to make him understand that he was not the kind of man with whom she would form a relationship. She thought he had accepted that.

The smile remained in his eyes, though now tinged with concern. ‘I have been honest with you at all times, mistress,’ said Baron Somerville, reminding her of his deep voice and seductive tone, the reassuring words. ‘My name is Nicolaus Benninck, from Antwerp. Recently, the Queen honoured me with the title of baron. I am one and the same person, you see. I believe you were kindly disposed to the one, so it stands to reason that you will feel the same about the other. How could it be otherwise?’

But the colour had now blanched from Etta’s face as she made it plain what she thought of such reasoning. ‘It may have escaped your notice, sir, that I am a grown woman, not a child of six to join in this kind of game. What is it you wished to gain from this deceit, exactly? Do you try the same nonsense with everyone you meet? Does your new title embarrass you so that you could not have spoken of it?’

‘Henrietta!’ her father barked. ‘That’s going too far. You are being discourteous to our guest. You should apologise at once.’

‘The discourtesy is to me, Father. Tell Baron Somerville his journey is wasted. If a man is not honest enough to tell a woman of his status, on two separate occasions, then one must wonder what else he will keep from her. If I did the same, Father, you would have me locked in my room on nothing but bread and water.’

‘You’re taking this quite the wrong way,’ said Lord Jon, crossly.

‘On the contrary, Father. I find it patronising in the extreme to be fed misleading information as if I could not manage the truth. But that’s not all, is it, my lord? Didn’t you also tell me you were a mercer?’ She turned to her mother, her eyes blazing with scorn. ‘A mercer! I ask you, Mama, is it in the least likely you and Father would expect me to marry a mercer? Really?’

Her father’s eyebrows twitched. ‘Henrietta, you had better say no more. Baron Somerville is one of London’s most successful mercers, a merchant of some standing, a freeman and alderman of the City of London, and the owner of several shops on Cheapside. Your mother and I have always had the greatest respect for mercers, otherwise we would not have been invited to their banquet last month. The mercers are one of the most influential companies, and one of the wealthiest. You yourself were impressed by the event.’

Still white with shock, Etta listened to this list of distinctions with a growing confusion, trying desperately to link what Master Nicolaus had told her about himself, which was very little, with what he might have said if he’d been trying to impress her. ‘You didn’t say you had spoken to my parents on that occasion,’ she said to Lord Somerville. ‘Why could you not have told me?’

‘Because, mistress, I did not speak to them. I said I’d seen you there with them, but there was no opportunity for us to be introduced. Your father and I have spoken since then, and...’

‘Yes, I see,’ she retorted, ‘and decided on a clever little plan to deceive me. The peacock feather. That was a sign, I suppose? Carried by me to my father. What a jest! How you must have laughed up your sleeves at that, both of you.’

‘Etta,’ said her mother, ‘you have already said far too much. We expected some resistance to whomever we chose for you, but this is as much to do with names as much as anything else, isn’t it?’

‘No, Mama. It isn’t. But never in all my born days did I imagine you would choose a mercer for me to live with, over a shop in Cheapside. I thought you had higher hopes for me than that, knowing of my ambitions. How on earth...am I...to...oh!’

Covering her face with her hands, she turned and ran to the door, fumbling with the latch until Aphra opened it for her, following her out and calling after her up the stairs, ‘Etta! At least come and talk about it!’

But the door to Etta’s room slammed and Aphra knew, as they all did, that her cousin felt betrayed. To Aphra’s relief, their guest showed none of the signs of consternation one might have expected. As he smiled at her, she noticed that his teeth were white and even, his skin still glowing after the river breeze.

‘We have not been introduced,’ he said to her, ‘but I hope you will take Mistress Raemon’s place until she re-establishes contact with us.’

‘Aphra Betterton,’ she said. ‘Sir George’s daughter.’

‘Ah, of course! You were there...’

‘I was, my lord. And if I had known you then, none of this would have happened, would it? I blame my father for not doing his duty on that day.’

‘He was busy, Mistress Betterton.’

‘Blame me, Aphra,’ said Lord Jon. ‘I thought it might work. Indeed, your aunt and I were convinced it would. A bad start, I fear. But come, let’s go into the parlour for some refreshment. Ginny, shall you go up to her?’

* * *

In the privacy of her bedchamber, Etta berated herself for a fool. Unable to see their plan as anything other than a ploy meant to deceive her, Etta was effectively blinding herself to any of the advantages. Knowing what the reply would be, Lady Virginia did not ask for admittance, but walked straight in. ‘Etta darling, this won’t do,’ she said. ‘Lord Somerville is a very attractive suitor.’

‘Well I’m not attracted to him,’ Etta said, keeping her back to her mother. ‘Any man who can deceive me in such a manner is profoundly unattractive to me and I want no more to do with him and I’m ashamed and hurt...yes, hurt, Mother...that you and Father could think to marry me to a mercer. A tradesman.’ The words fell out of her mouth in a torrent and ended in a squeak of fury, and Lady Virginia saw now that tears were getting in the way, a typical Tudor response that Lady Virginia had seen time and again in the five-year-old Princess Elizabeth. It would be interesting to hear, she thought, how the new Queen would react to anyone who tried to impose their will upon her in matters of the heart.

‘Dry your eyes at once, Etta,’ she commanded. ‘This kind of behaviour will cut no ice with your father. You are a grown woman and this is most unbecoming. Whatever you feel, Lord Somerville is our guest and you must act accordingly out of courtesy to us all. Come now, mop your face, come downstairs with me and be civil.’

Etta realised that there would be more to it than civility. ‘Mother,’ she said, turning to show brown eyes sparkling with tears of anger, ‘is he...are you...so determined on this...this union? Is this really the way you wish to make an arrangement?’

‘Etta, the way we’ve made the arrangement is neither here nor there. All women must accept their parents’ choice unless they are widowed and even then marriages may be arranged for them. It’s what happened to me and it will happen to you, too.’

‘You always told me that you and Father were in love when you married.’

‘We were, in a way. But that didn’t mean I was given any choice in the matter.’

‘So you mean that Father will insist on it?’

‘Yes, dear. There is no good reason to prevaricate any longer. Lord Somerville and your father have already entered into negotiations. That’s all there is to it.’ Her heart softened towards her beautiful stepdaughter, so intelligent and sensitive, brimming over with vitality and expectations.

* * *

To have continued the talk of dishonour and treachery over dinner would have been unthinkable, for Etta had been well schooled in good manners and the arts of hospitality. Even so, she could not pretend that nothing had happened to change how she felt about the man, his deceit, his profession. Her deeply felt anger at the deceit overpowered the meal to such a degree that she tasted nothing of the roast meats and savoury sauces prepared with such care, and it was only because Aphra was there to converse with their guest that the diners managed without Etta’s usually bright contributions. Politely, she spoke when she was spoken to, but since Lord Somerville made no attempt to coax her to say more on any subject, she found the meal miserably tasteless and tense.

There was still an hour of daylight left, though it was only mid-afternoon when they rose from the table. Etta had it in mind to excuse herself immediately, but her father had other ideas before she’d had time to speak. ‘Henrietta, I think our guest would like to see the gardens with you before it gets any darker.’

There was no way out. Much too quickly, Tilda brought her woollen cloak, and since it seemed to have been taken for granted that their guest would soon be one of the family, no escort followed them out on to the paved pathway leading to the herbier. With the intention of walking quickly to avoid any attempt at conversation, Etta marched away down the path between low hedges of hyssop, lavender and thrift, brown-spiked and tangled grey, reflecting her mood. But there was to be no evading the long stride of her companion who, without her knowing quite how it happened, managed to steer her into the trelliswork allée covered with the winter stems of honeysuckle and climbing roses. Shielded from the house, Lord Somerville wasted no time in bringing her contrariness under control, catching her beneath one arm and swinging her round to face him.

Momentarily off balance, all her resentments, hurts and loss of face rose up to the surface and, with all her pent-up energy, she aimed a blow at his head which, if it had connected, would certainly have hurt him. But he was too quick for her. He had noted how her anger had simmered throughout the meal and how that, before too long, something would explode. In the blink of an eye, her wrist was caught and held away into the small of her back, his grip so painfully tight that no amount of twisting or writhing would dislodge him or prevent her other wrist from joining the first.

‘Let me go!’ she snarled. ‘Let me go! I do not want you. Not now or ever!’

‘Yes, I know all about that. Saints alive, woman, I never met anyone with so many preconceived ideas about men as you. And when you find a man you like, you’re prepared to dislike him because he’s even better than you thought he was. What kind of nonsense is that?’

‘It isn’t nonsense,’ she said, pulling against his restraint. ‘I’m prepared to dislike you, sir, because of your deceit and because I told you of the reasons for our mismatch well before this. You lied to me about—’

‘No, I didn’t. I spoke only the truth, mistress. If you put your own slant on it, that’s your fault, not mine.’

‘So why could you not have told me who you were, instead of...?’

‘Shop-owner, ship-owner, mercer and merchant. I am proud of what I do, mistress. I have not lied to you, but nor did I tell you everything, either. What man would be flattered to know that it was his wealth and status that won the heart of a woman, rather than the man himself? Fathers may arrange marriages for their daughters along such lines, but I don’t entirely fall in with that principle. And don’t pretend you were not interested, because I know differently.’

‘In a wily knave like you, my lord? Never. I would rather—’

Whatever her high-flown protest was to have been, it was cut short by his kiss, hard, thorough and long enough to make her forget. Wedged with her head on his shoulder and unable to move away, she could only wonder at the change in him from soft-spoken courteous gentleman to this, as if the sudden revelation of his title had endowed him with an authority of a far more potent kind. If this change had any direct link to the change in her, too, then she conveniently forgot it. It was, however, a side of him she had not expected and one which, if the truth be told, she found exciting, for it suggested that she could protest all she liked but would still be as desired as she was before. ‘Let me go,’ she said, not quite as emphatically as she had intended. ‘If you think I appeared to be interested in you, my lord, you are mistaken. I was more interested in what you had to tell me about the fabrics That’s why I returned—to take another look at them.’

His hold on her relaxed. ‘And look where that got you, mistress,’ he said. ‘Was it worth all the effort?’

‘No, it certainly was not, my lord. How could you ever have believed I would take kindly to being manipulated in this way?’

‘I believed your father when he assured me it was probably the only way, mistress. He still does. But if you’d come down off your high horse, you’d see the advantages rather than the hurt to your pride. Recall, if you will, how you enjoyed talking with me about fabrics and the exotic places they come from, and about the latest trends in fashion. I could show you much more than that: the warehouses, the furriers and cordwainers for your leathers, the shoemakers, the very finest tailors.’

Her stony expression almost softened at that, but there was yet another cause to keep her anger simmering, too good not to use as ammunition. ‘I wish to attend the royal court,’ she said. ‘Of what use would finery be if I could not show it there? I believe the Queen knows of me, my lord, and it is my dearest wish to meet her.’

Placing an arm across her back, he moved her along the allée and out into the knot garden where a tiny wren flitted beneath their feet into the foliage. ‘It’s not quite as rosy as that, mistress. Surely Lord and Lady Raemon have explained the position to you?’

‘If you mean they have doubts about her wish to see me, then, yes, they have done their best to pour cold water on the idea. I’m not at all convinced.’

‘Then I don’t suppose I shall be any more successful, mistress. But I think you should be aware of the problems that would arise. The young Queen will not tolerate any competition, especially on a personal level. She has sent most of the late Queen Mary’s women home and now retains only six maids. Her ladies are either personal friends or women the late Queen didn’t like. What’s more, even if I did attend court regularly, she would be unlikely to accept you simply because you were my wife. I understand that she enjoys having men around her, but she doesn’t make any accommodation available to their wives. Nor will she feed them.’

‘She would accept me. How could she not like her own half-sister?’

Their stroll along the gravel came to a halt as he turned her to face him. ‘Listen to me, Henrietta. In many respects, you are alike and from a distance you could be taken for her, but anyone who’s seen her at close quarters would see that she doesn’t have your beauty. And that’s the first thing she’d see. I shall not be taking you to meet her. That would be asking for trouble.’

‘That’s as roundabout a compliment as ever I heard,’ she said, beginning to walk away. ‘You paint a harsh picture of her, my lord, and a fulsome one of me. I refuse to believe she and I are so very different.’

Again, his hand caught a fistful of her fur cloak, pulling her back to him. ‘You have a lot to learn then,’ he said, ‘and one is that I don’t flatter women as other men do to soften them up. The second is that your obstinacy and wilfulness are on a par with hers and that when I said it could be tamed, I meant it. You would do well to take my advice, Henrietta, if only to keep out of trouble.’

Etta glared at him with all the indignation of a thwarted young woman seeing for the first time that she would have to deal with a man as obdurate as herself. ‘Tamed, my lord? You would prefer a pliant and obedient wife, then?’

‘Yes, woman,’ he said, holding her still by her elbows. ‘I would prefer a pliant and obedient wife to a shrew. What man would not?’ He bent his head to hers, looking deeply into her eyes with a piercing glare that made her blink. ‘But you will not be twisting me round your little finger as you have been used to doing with your father. Your relationship to the Queen will not help you as much as you think. In fact, you may discover that you’d rather not be related. And, yes, you may glare at me like a tigress, Henrietta, but with me you’ve met your match. And tomorrow, we shall discuss our wedding plans.’

‘No need to wait for tomorrow for that, my lord,’ she said sharply, shaking his hands off her arms. ‘That can be arranged in one word. Simple! The shortest possible ceremony with the fewest possible witnesses. There, how does that sound?’

She did not fully expect to be taken at her word on this, when everything she had said so far had been countered with some argument, and she had anticipated that publicity, grand guests and a show of his good fortune would be essential requirements for a man of his considerable standing and wealth. So when he agreed with her that a simple ceremony was very much to his taste, she realised with a nasty thud under her ribs that her retaliation had rebounded on herself instead of him.

‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘I shall go ahead and buy a special licence to avoid all that time-wasting, if that’s what you prefer. It’s not cheap, but probably cheaper than feasts and dresses and all the trimmings. Worth it, to get things over and done with.’

Etta tried out what she hoped might be an impediment. ‘But what about the Queen?’ she said, frowning at his eagerness to comply. ‘As a relative, surely I shall need her permission?’

‘I don’t see that that will be necessary, mistress, when she has not yet recognised you as her relative. Has she?’

‘No. Not yet.’

‘Well then, the sooner we get the formalities out of the way, the better. She’s very unlikely to go searching for beautiful young female relatives, is she? In fact, quite the opposite, I’d say.’

This was not at all what she had wanted, or expected, but to say so was now impossible. By pretending to oblige her, he must know that he was acting to the contrary. And whose fault was that? ‘It will take a while for you and Father to complete the formalities,’ she said. ‘There’s the matter of dowries and jointures.’

‘That’s already in hand,’ he said, setting off towards the house. ‘Our lawyers are already drawing up draft agreements. I’m not difficult to please.’

‘Already? What do you mean, already? When?’ she yelled.

Ahead of her, he stopped and turned, his face a picture of merriment. Shaking his head with laughter, he came back to her. ‘When?’ he repeated. ‘As soon as I saw you, Henrietta. At the Mercers’ banquet. I spoke to your father the very next day. I know my own mind, too, you see.’

‘And you had the audacity, my lord, to flirt with me at only our second meeting? Because you thought you were on safe ground? I find that behaviour disgraceful. Does my father know you went so far?’

‘What, that I might have stolen a kiss, had I tried?’

‘Enough!’ she yelped. ‘You are a knave and I neither desire you nor do I wish to marry you. I want nothing you can offer me. Nothing!’ She would have dodged round him to walk away, but the pathway was narrow between hedges of box and, with one sidestep, he barred her way. Goaded beyond endurance by his trickery and his unyielding bulk, she pummelled his chest with her fists as she had not done since childhood fights with her brothers. ‘Nothing!’ she yelled. ‘Nothing!’

Easily, he caught her wrists and held them together on his chest, obliging her to stand close to him. ‘Yes, you do,’ he said, softly. ‘Oh, yes, you do, mistress, though I know you’ll not admit it. If you’d truly not liked the look of me, even a mere mercer, you’d not have returned for a second look, would you? You came to see me, not the fabrics, little schemer. And I have quite a lot to offer you. Now calm down, or do you want me to kiss you here, where we’re being watched from the house?’

‘No, I do not. Neither here nor anywhere else.’

Smiling, he let her go, retaining one of her hands in his. ‘Good. Now walk with me up the path and show me the rest of the gardens, if you please.’

Like her royal half-sister, Etta had a pragmatic streak strong enough to influence those decisions and emotions that might have looked to the uninitiated like the perversity of an indulged and beautiful woman. Being aware of this, her step-parents intended to overrule their wayward daughter in the matter of marriage to Lord Somerville, once the peacock feather had signalled her interest. But for Etta, even through the humiliation of defeat, the bitter pill was made easier to swallow by knowing that this handsome creature was not to be compared to other young noblemen she had met, neither in manner, ability, intelligence or success in business. Nor would he easily be deterred from having his way, once he had decided on it. And in this particular, Etta was determined to test him to the limit, for he had deceived her, whatever excuse he gave, and he would not be allowed to forget. As for making love in the future, she was angry enough to hold out against him for as long as she could, for they had spoken neither of affection nor love and, as far as she was concerned, he had forfeited any right to expect it.

Her body, however, told her a different story, now she had tasted his kiss and felt the hard power of his arms. The man was despicable, unprincipled and arrogant, yet her conscience told her that, as his wife, she would have to call on all her reserves of will-power not to let him dent her armour. Or was it already too late for that?

* * *

With her parents and Aphra, Baron Somerville was totally at ease, showing no signs of the opposition that would have daunted men of lesser confidence. But as she sat in dignified silence, Etta was able to discover, through their interest in him, how much of the world he had seen. As a man of Flemish origin, a ship-owning merchant, he had travelled far and wide, even up to the ice-cold northern lands where waterfalls fell from the sky, animals swam beneath the sea, where lights danced in the night and jets of hot water spurted from the ground. In any other circumstances, she would have asked questions and shown an interest in the man she was to marry, but pride forbade this now and her eyes found other answers in their surreptitious examination of his thick, silky hair, his eloquent hands and the zest for life that shone from his eyes. As she watched, it became clear why he had packed so much into his thirty years, why he had won the admiration of his guild and why his business ventures had flourished on the back of his ambition. It came as no surprise to her to learn that an aimless life at court was to him a waste of time unless he could contact those men he needed. Perhaps, she thought, he saw her as a useful acquisition with her resemblance to the Queen, a way to attract attention to himself and to make contacts that might otherwise have taken longer. Everything about him added to her impression of drive and capability, even the way he had conducted this speedy claim to her hand, efficient even by her father’s standards. Asking herself if she might have preferred a longer, slower wooing, she had to concede that her interest in him had been immediate, but that she had made some serious errors by her pique and overreactions. What this predicted for the next phase in their relationship Etta hardly dared to think, in the light of his considerable energies.

* * *

Nicolaus was not a man to be easily daunted by opposition, however, though opposition from a woman was something unfamiliar to him. But then, he had known that this one was different—as a successful merchant, he had taught himself to look out for rarities and Mistress Henrietta Raemon was about as rare as one could get, with her looks and breeding.

The breeding, of course, was something of which she was intensely aware and proud, and which, he thought, must be why she wished to make contact with her half-sister Elizabeth. Presumably, then, she had set her heart on acquiring a courtier husband, and although not exactly disappointed by this stance, Nicolaus believed it was unrealistic and rather naïve of her to set such an unnecessary target, especially when her father had alerted him at the beginning to his daughter’s dream of finding a potential for love in her future husband. Taking this hope seriously, Nicolaus had suggested a way of finding out what was more important to her, girlish romance or a courtier husband. For him to conceal his new title and any mention of his wealth and status from her at a trial meeting had been his suggestion, meant to discover any sign of attraction upon which they could base a relationship that would suit them both. Had he not been reasonably sure of the success of this plan, he would not have suggested it.

His friendship with Lady Raemon’s brother-in-law, Sir George Betterton at the Royal Wardrobe, had been the link by which he could make himself known to her without any of the resistance her parents had warned him about. She was, they said, fascinated by fabrics and fashion, as most women with her connections were. What better, then, than an innocent invitation from Sir George to see the Queen’s coronation robes? From the first meeting, his experience with women had assured him of her interest, not only in the materials of his trade but in himself, as a man. Suspecting that she would return for a second look, he had arranged with Sir George for a little privacy and, because he was trusted, his precious moments with her had proved to him that she found him attractive. Her refusal to allow a kiss was no great matter and her aversion to a mercer as a suitable husband had not deterred him either, thinking that her attitude would surely be softened when she learned what else he had to commend him. Perhaps he had underestimated what a complicated character she was. Perhaps his little deceit had been a step too far? Or was it not only that she was a complicated lady, but also an insecure one, too?

Her stepfather had made him aware of Henrietta’s parentage, which would account for her resemblance to the new Queen, but since neither of her parents had been known to Nicolaus, this information had not concerned him. It was only when he had met Lady Raemon at a later date, when she had mentioned Etta’s wish to attend court, that he had been made aware of their concerns, wanting only to protect her from what they saw as the inevitable malicious gossip of those who had known that particular mistress of the late king. Having been exposed to such wounding jealousies themselves, they knew what could happen to Henrietta if she was ever, as a young and innocent woman, brought into contact with court life. The fact that he, Nicolaus, had assured them of his lack of interest in this direction had been an added bonus to his suitability as a husband, though with Henrietta, it had been exactly the opposite. He was not only a mercer, of all things, with a home above a shop, but a most unlikely source of access to the Queen’s presence, too.

Etta had not had the chance to explain to him exactly what lay behind this urge to make contact with her half-sister, but her reason of a mere relationship did not seem to him to justify a rejection of everything else he had to offer. If that was not a sign of insecurity, then he did not know what was. What did she want, apart from to see her sibling? What had that outburst been all about? More to do with a thwarting of her hopes, he thought, than with being the wife of a mercer.

Settling down into the warm feather bed that night, Nicolaus wondered if her lovely cousin Aphra would be of any help to him in explaining the deeper reasons for her unexpectedly violent aversion. He had felt Etta’s body soften under his kiss, the way it had in his dreams. He had desired her from his first glance and knew he would have to make her his wife. Now, he saw that he would have to tame her to come to his hand, for she was of a wilder and more passionate breed than any he’d had dealings with so far. So much for her royal parentage. His last disjointed thoughts were of the peacock feathers. Such a boyish thing to do. No wonder she had not thought it funny.

* * *

The gardens at Tyburn House were not only extensive but also beautifully designed and kept in pristine condition throughout all the seasons. Few of Lord and Lady Raemon’s guests were allowed to leave without first taking a look at the knot gardens and borders, the fountains, water courses, and Lady Raemon’s delight, the large topiary hedges cut into the most fantastic shapes, lining the pathway to the orchard. Hoping to escape Lord Somerville’s company before he returned home, Etta walked with her cousin along the path where a tall pudding-shaped tree would surely have hidden them from sight if they’d not first been seen by the tall figure of the mercer. For some reason which she could not name, Etta felt the thrill of excitement at his approach, for not even she could have faulted his appearance, the virile masculinity of his walk, the assurance of his bow as he swept off his hat, the proud reach of his arms as he replaced it. Etta knew she would not be allowed to get away with any more of her incivility, yesterday’s furious objections having been dealt with quite pitilessly. A night of broken sleep and long periods of contemplation had told her that, this time, she would be obliged to accept, though perhaps not with the good grace her mother had commanded.

At his approach, Aphra disappeared with a diplomacy Etta did not appreciate. Even so, she retained a grain of satisfaction from knowing that, since supper last evening, she now knew much more about him than he had so far discovered about her. And she would have kept it so, had he not insisted on trying to redress the balance. ‘Tell me about yourself, mistress,’ he said, walking beside her.

She looked away into the distance where high shaped hedges enclosed them. ‘I don’t talk about myself to order,’ she said, ‘as some do.’

‘Not even to the man you’ll wed?’

‘If the man I’m being obliged to wed could not bestir himself to find out more before he offered for me, then I’ll be damned if I’ll spell out my life story for his pleasure. Most men would have shown some interest before they made an offer.’

‘I showed an interest, mistress,’ he said, laughing. ‘Ask your parents.’

‘Then you know all you need to know, my lord. There is no more.’

‘I see. Then you are content for me to find out for myself?’

‘No, I am far from content. I thought you knew that, too.’

‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘Most intriguing. Your parents told me you were fluent in French, Italian and Spanish. Is that what you mean by no more?’

‘Don’t patronise me, if you please. I’m not a child to recite what I have learnt for the benefit of my elders. Women seldom receive any credit for their learning, at the best of times, and it was not at my father’s request that I joined my brothers in the schoolroom. It was my wish to find out if I could match the Princess Elizabeth’s abilities. But so far I have not. I don’t have her Latin and Greek yet, nor her Welsh. And I don’t suppose I play on the virginal as well as she does, or dance. I doubt if I shall ever know now, shall I, my lord?’

He refused to rise to the bait. ‘I find that quite remarkable,’ he said. ‘It’s a pity, in a way, that you never had the chance to meet Lady Jane Grey. She was a scholar, too. Unlike her two sisters. They’re feather-brained to a degree. Jane didn’t dance well, though, and I’m sure you do.’

‘Again, I’m hardly likely to dance before the court unless I can...’

‘Go there, yes, Henrietta, I think I have the message now, I thank you. I can see we may be plucking on that one string until it breaks.’

‘Yes,’ she said, stonily. ‘I intend to.’

‘So how many children shall we have, mistress? Have you thought about that yet?’

‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ she cried, turning her head to avoid seeing his grin. They walked on in silence until Etta slowed and stopped, realising that her coldness was not going to help matters, yet it was the only defence she had.

‘Etta?’ he said. ‘Look at me. Can we be friends now as we once were? Just as a start? It will make things easier for both of us if we can talk about this.’

Turning to face him, she tried hard to find the same sincerity he had shown before he’d revealed his conspiracy to influence her decision. Her long silence signified the mental conflict still raging in her mind until finally she sighed with a slight shake of her head. ‘As for being friends, my lord...that counts for little, doesn’t it, when my future has been decided for me? I thought at one time that we could be friends, but you have lost ground since then and I shall need some persuading that your integrity is what I thought it was. Don’t ask from me any more than I can give, if you please. I have little choice, it seems, about becoming your wife, but you can hardly lay the blame at my door if you find you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. I am my father’s daughter and I am being forced into this situation.’

‘It was never my intent to forfeit your trust, Henrietta. Perhaps my determination to have you for my own, before anyone else, blinded me to the way it might be seen as underhand. But nor do I believe for one moment that I’ve taken on more than I can handle.’

Etta slid a hand to her cheek to cool it, knowing that he referred to her incivility. ‘I have not been used to having a man other than my father telling me what I must do, sir. It will go hard with me. And you, too.’

‘I think I know that, mistress, without you telling me.’

‘But you’ve had women, I suppose? All of them compliant?’

‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve had women, but you are the first I’ve ever offered marriage to.’ His hand moved through the shadows to touch her brow, then to trace a line down her cheek, his thumb brushing against her lips, feeling her tremble.

They parted slightly as something told her to stand firm, not to relent against this tender invasion, but the coldness she tried to summon was slow in coming and now the messages she was sending were the wrong ones. Etta knew how well he would be able to decode them. Placing a warning hand on his shoulder, she tried to hold him away, but it was too late and, before any words would come to her aid, she was being held against him with her face slanted across his.

The warmth of his mouth blanked her mind to everything except the thrilling sensation, and no matter that he’d had women before her, she believed in that moment that she was indeed the only one he had ever wished to marry. For those unfettered moments of honesty between them, each revealed to the other that desire would rise above all other conflicts, with or without their permission, for his kiss was persuasive. Had she not retained that indignation and hurt about being manipulated, she might have given in to the moment, the thrill, the newness of surrender. But she pulled away, moving back into the shadow of the hedge to hide her confusion, one hand covering her mouth. ‘No,’ she whispered, ‘this is not...’

‘Listen to me, Etta,’ he said, easing her back to him. ‘This is what we want. It’s what we wanted from that first meeting. We both know it. But it doesn’t mean your surrender if you don’t want it to. You can fight me until you tire of fighting, but from time to time, sweetheart, we can indulge in a truce without shame to either of us. We shall be married within the week and think what a waste that would be if we were to spend our wedding night in useless animosities. That would be pointless. Is that what you intended?’

‘It’s my only weapon,’ she said, looking away into the dimness.

‘What? How can you say so, woman? You of the thousand pinpricks.’

‘That’s an admission, coming from you,’ she said.

‘Do your worst, Etta. I can handle you, but don’t stifle what could be an endless capacity for loving, just to try to hurt me. Our new Queen may do as she pleases about marrying, but you don’t have to emulate her in that, too. Be yourself.’

‘Is this meant to...?’

‘Oh, I know what you’re thinking, that I want a submissive wife in all things. But, no, that’s not what we’re talking about, is it? I’m talking about you denying yourself to get back at me. You were made for love, Etta. Not just that kind of love, but compassion, empathy, kindness, generosity. I cannot believe that this recent resentment will last for ever. That’s not the Tudor nature, is it?’

‘How do you know that, my lord?’

‘I’m learning every day. I think you could keep most men guessing as to which was the real Henrietta, just as the Queen does with her courtiers. But I’m getting to know you, sweetheart, and I’m better placed to discover every single facet.’

‘Bad, as well as not so bad?’

‘Yes, you need a strong hand. I can protect you. I can share all I have with you. Will you not do the same for me?’

Materially, she had little to offer him except what her father had decided she was worth in wealth and estate, but if he meant to know about all her vices as well as the virtues, she would show him exactly what he was taking on before she succumbed completely to his charms. ‘What I have, my lord, is what you see and what you will eventually find out about. I am prepared to share with you my deep humiliation and anger, that’s all. You think you can change me. Taming is what you call it. But I do not intend to change at any time in the near future, not until I have achieved something of what I have set out to do. Uncompromising that may sound, but it was you who wanted the connection, not me. I suppose my father will have warned you about what you’re taking on,’ she said, allowing him to hold her hand against his chest, ‘and I’d be a fool to add anything more to his list. In fact, I dare say he’s quite relieved for you to take responsibility for me. As for the rest, it’s no more than you deserve, is it?’

Even in the dim light of that winter morning, she could see the dark slits of his eyes twinkle with a mischievous laugh. ‘As you say, my beauty,’ he whispered, bending his head close to hers, ‘it will be no more than I deserve.’ He touched her lips with his own before she could move away, then released her hand. ‘Now, I must catch the next tide if I want to reach my home by midday. I want you and your parents to visit me at Cheapside, just to satisfy you that a mere mercer can reach your high standards. Bring your cousin Aphra with you, too. She might help to convince you of my suitability.’

‘Please, don’t say any more about that. My intention was not to insult you, or the mercers in general.’

‘What was it, then? Is it that I’m not a courtier? Is that it?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I am no nearer to the royal court than I was before and I find that hard to accept, my lord.’

‘Then let’s shelve the problem for the moment, shall we? You may find that, eventually, there will be other things to occupy your time and energy, mistress.’

She would have been a dullard indeed not to have known what he alluded to, but she did not think that, in the circumstances, the prospect was very enticing. Nor, if she could help it, was it even feasible.