“There now—how Kit will admire you when he sets eyes upon you. And if you choose not to welcome his attentions, court is full of hopeful young lordlings, looking for royal favor. What better place to find a handsome, well-set-up husband than here, amongst the queen’s most wealthy and loyal subjects?”
A distant bell echoed down the passageway outside. Suddenly, Jane was all bustle and authority. She signaled to the maid. “Gatty, the door if you please. Where are my gloves? You were told to have them cleaned for Mistress Barchard to borrow. Oh, but you are a careless wench. That’s it, thank you… although why I should be thanking you, I have no idea. Come Alys—put all unwelcome thoughts from your head, and enjoy your first evening at Elizabeth’s court.”
Taking a last look at herself in the glass, Alys found a confidence she’d never felt before. But whether it would be enough to convince Kit he was of no importance to her remained to be seen.
Chapter Forty
Kit forced himself to stop chewing the inside of his cheek. His hands were sweating, something he’d never experienced before. He must be sick—nervousness was something Sir Christopher Ludlow had never suffered from, and he was confident his expected interview with the queen would have a satisfactory outcome.
Yes, he was undoubtedly unwell, for now, his knees shook. Ridiculous to imagine it was anything else. But it was a great pity neither Queen Bess, nor Alys would find him at his best.
Where was Alys? He’d pretended indifference since her rejection of his suit, but it was a pretense he was struggling to maintain. He’d thought of her every waking moment—and even a few sleeping ones—and prayed for a solution to their quarrel.
When she entered the banqueting room with Jane Haslitt by her side, he barely recognized her. But even if he’d not known her, she would have stolen his breath. Her head was held high, and she wore her new raiment with aplomb as if she’d been carrying silk and jewels on her back all her life. She was stunning, and from the way the other men stared as she came into supper, they were of the same opinion.
An ear-splitting cacophony of bombardes and shawms erupted from the gallery, and he jumped. Then a heavy hand came down upon his shoulder, and he looked into the face of Hubert Norris as the man settled in next to him.
He didn’t like the way the other man’s eyes flickered to the garter about Kit’s leg, then up to the gold chain about his neck, both gifts for his past service and loyalty. Though Kit’s senior by several years, Norris sported none of these marks of royal esteem. Jealousy made men devious.
Norris broke the bread in front of him and proffered half to Kit. Absent-mindedly, he took it, his eyes still riveted on Alys.
“That, I take it, is the young lady who proved so helpful to you in bringing down a nest of traitors.” Norris waved a hand in Alys’ direction.
He’d rather have her beside him than Norris. The man was swarthy-looking, and he never made direct eye contact for long. “Aye, that is she.”
“And no doubt the queen will be showing her gratitude to both you and the lady?”
“Aye, she may.” He wasn’t in the mood to talk to Norris. Surely the man would get the hint.
Norris sipped at his wine. “And the conspirators are at present in the Tower, awaiting their trial, I hear.”
“That is so.” Where was Alys going to sit? Who would have the ear of the newest beauty at court? Not that he should mind. It was no business of his.
“When might that be, I wonder?”
“I know not. Forgive me, Norris, I am rather out of sorts this night. I mean not to be rude.”
“Oh, no, no!” Norris grinned, waving his goblet cheerfully. “I quite understand. Here am I, bombarding you with questions to which, like as not, you have no answer—my apologies. I have heard Walsingham likes to keep his spies in ignorance to some extent, even of one another. That must lead to complications—I wonder how you managed?”
“We managed well enough.” Kit pushed a steak of mutton around his plate. “But if you really wish to have your questions answered, you should appeal to Sir Francis himself.”
“Perhaps I should.” Norris twirled his goblet between his fingers. “Or even tax Bess with them. I wonder whether this plot was connected in any way with the Spanish. As you know, I have traveled there many times, and have seen at first hand the exasperation of the king. It seems Philip cannot understand how one monarch may keep another a virtual prisoner, particularly when Mary is Elizabeth’s own cousin. But then, I understand your Mistress Barchard was cousin to the woman she betrayed, so mayhap ’tis not so unnatural after all.”
Kit gave Norris his full attention. “May I recommend the Pies of Parys? They are very fine tonight.”
“Ah.” Norris good-humoredly tapped his nose. “I know when I’ve been told to mind my own business. If you don’t wish to regale me with the tale of your derring-do, I shall have to respect your wishes. But I warn you, sir, I shall have the whole tale eventually.”
Thankfully, the man then turned his attention to the gaudy female sitting opposite, so Kit could continue his meal in peace. This tranquility was short-lived, however, when he caught Norris staring hard at Alys. As soon as she sensed this perusal, she looked right at him, and blinked, her cheeks darkening.
Kit scowled. If she must reject him, and find other admirers at court, she could
