“What shall I do tomorrow when you go to see the queen?” Philippa asked.
“You shall stay in your bed, resting from our journey, and then you may walk in your uncle’s gardens. The river is a most fascinating sight, and you will enjoy it. Especially as it is summertime,” Rosamund told her daughter.
Finally the majordomo came to tell the lady of Friarsgate and her daughter that the tub was now filled and awaiting them.
“Good night, dear Tom,” Rosamund said to her cousin as she excused herself.
“Good night,” he called as they departed the hall. “Sleep well, cousin, for tomorrow you must be at your best.”
Upstairs, Lucy had scented the bath with her mistress’ white heather, and the room was perfumed with the smell.
“Help Philippa first,” Rosamund instructed her young tiring woman. Then she went into her bedchamber and sat in the window seat looking out over her cousin’s gardens and the river. Night had fallen, and she could but see the lanterns in the boat traffic on the water. She remembered the rather suggestive statues in the garden and smiled to herself. It was unlikely that Philippa would understand the nature of them, and she would be able to observe well the male anatomy, which would serve her in good stead one day.
Tomorrow, she thought. Would she see the king tomorrow? They had parted on good terms. She must assume that while he would be curious, and perhaps even angry about her involvement with the Earl of Glenkirk, he would forgive her if she asked him nicely. Nicely. Would it involve surrendering herself to him again, to prove not just her loyalty to him, but her devotion? It was disquieting to even consider such a thing, but she must look at her situation from all sides in order to be prepared for whatever was to come.
Finally Lucy came to her saying, “Mistress Philippa is tucked snugly into her bed, my lady. Will you bathe now?”
Rosamund arose from her place by the windows. “Aye, but first let me bid my daughter sweet dreams,” she said. She had not heard Lucy and Philippa come into her bedchamber to enter the child’s room. Now she clicked the small latch and went into the little bedchamber herself. The lock was most silent. “Good night, my darling,” she said to Philippa. “Dream only of good things, and may the angels guard you.”
“I will, mama. This is the most wonderful bed. Uncle Tom always has the nicest things about him.”
“Aye, he does,” Rosamund agreed. She bent and kissed her daughter.
“Mama? The king will be kind to you, won’t he? He won’t put you in the Tower?” Philippa’s little face looked anxious.
“No, poppet,” Rosamund assured her. “The king has always been most kind to your mama. I’m sure he will be again.” Then, blowing out the candle on the little night-stand by her daughter’s bed, she exited the room, leaving the door ajar in case Philippa would need her in the night.
Lucy helped her to disrobe, gathering her mistress’ traveling garments up carefully. “Some will need washing, others a good brushing, my lady. What will you wear tomorrow?”
“I cannot think,” Rosamund said. “Just hang my gowns in the garderobe. You pick for me, Lucy, and have the gown ready when I awake.”
“Yes, my lady,” the young tiring woman said. Then she helped her mistress into her tub. “We’ll have to do your hair tonight, my lady. It’s full of dust, and won’t show to its best advantage unless it is clean. You’ll want to make a good impression when you return to court. ’Tis said the king likes a pretty woman.”
“It is the truth, Lucy,” Rosamund told the girl. “But remember that such thoughts are not voiced for fear of offending the queen. Queen Katherine is a most genteel lady who expects decorum from the women around her. Long ago the king became involved with one of her ladies, but which of a pair of sisters no one was certain. Both were wed, and their husbands were important men with family connections. Both ladies were exiled from the court in disgrace, and the queen was most distressed. But worse, their husbands were embarrassed before their king. Pretty women must be most circumspect around his majesty.” Then Rosamund settled back to let Lucy wash her long auburn hair.
And when it was done and pinned atop her head, Rosamund washed herself quickly, for the water was beginning to cool. Finished, she stepped from her tub, and Lucy wrapped a warmed bathing sheet about her and then dried her with another towel. Still wrapped in the sheet, Rosamund sat down by the fire, unpinned her hair, and brushed it until it was dry. Then, after slipping on a clean lace-trimmed chemise, she left her dayroom where the tub had been set up and climbed into her own bed.
“Will that be all tonight, my lady?” Lucy inquired politely.
“Aye. Find your own bed, Lucy. You are no less tired than the rest of us. Good night,” Rosamund said. And then she closed her eyes. She was in London again. Something she had never considered. Tomorrow she would go to court and face the king.
Tomorrow. What would tomorrow bring? And why was Rosamund Bolton of such interest to Henry Tudor? Well, perhaps tomorrow would bring her the answers she needed. Despite her exhaustion she was restless for some time before she finally fell asleep.
Chapter 16
“Good morning, my lady,” Lucy said, coming in with a tray for her mistress. She set the tray down on the table near the fireplace.
“Good morning,” Rosamund responded. “Philippa is still sleeping. Let her be until she awakens naturally.”
“Yes, my lady,” Lucy responded. “Now, come and eat. It is past eight o’clock, and you have not much time if you are to be at Westminster on time.”
Rosamund sat down at the table. “Nay,” she agreed. “It would not do for me to be late. Is Lord Cambridge up yet?”
“Oh, yes, my lady. And he is already driving his man to distraction with all his fussing about what he will wear today. He wished to know what you will wear.”
“What did you choose, Lucy?” Rosamund asked her tiring woman.
“Well, my lady, considering your position right now, I thought it best to err on the side of flattery when you go to reacquaint yourself with the queen. I chose a gown of Tudor green for you,” Lucy said. “It is a simple garment, modest in its design, for you do not wish to appear ostentatious.”
“I was not aware I had a gown of Tudor green,” Rosamund said slowly.
“It is one that was made for you in San Lorenzo. I remade it with a more suitable neckline and sleeves,” Lucy informed her mistress. “Let me show you.” The tiring woman hurried from the bedchamber to return a moment later with the gown. She spread it out for her mistress to view.
Rosamund would not have recognized it for one of the dresses that Celestina had made her but for the paneled underskirt with its delicate windflower and butterfly embroidery in silver matte threads. Gone was the bodice with the deeply scooped neckline, and billowy sheer silk sleeves. In its place was a bodice with a square-cut neckline, the sleeves now tight at the wrist with silver embroidery and covered by wide new sleeves of the same silk brocade as the gown, with large turned-back cuffs. It was a gown made to suit the height of fashion.
“You did this?” Rosamund was very surprised.
“Yes, my lady,” Lucy said, blushing with pride.
“You are extraordinarily skilled with your needle, Lucy,” her mistress said. “Thank you, for you have rendered a
