Read Online By His Majesty's Grace by Jennifer Blake - Free Book Online Page A

regardless of his birth. He had not achieved his current position by being either stupid or unwary.
    Easing to a sitting position, she retrieved the bag of marzipan and tied it closed before tucking it under a pillow. She shook the excess water from the litter’s curtain, used the hem of her skirt to wipe her arm where she had been splattered and tidied her veil that had somehow parted company with her hair. She was still tucking in stray tendrils when she heard hoofbeats coming closer.
    “Lady Isabel? Are you all right in there?”
    The voice belonged to Viscount Henley. It would be like him to make a commotion if she failed to answer. She shoved the curtain aside to gaze up at him with bland inquiry. “As you see, sir. Why should I not be?”
    “No reason. I just thought…” He stopped, his broad, scarred face turning an unbecoming shade of purple. “I mean, you were so quiet in there.”
    “I was attempting a nap, if you must know.” She crossed her fingers as she voiced that small lie. It was better than explaining her preoccupation.
    “Your pardon, milady. Is there aught I can get you, aught you need?”
    The man was a champion on the jousting field and arrogant with it at times. Eldest son of an earl, he had lost everything some three years before when his father was attainted for treason by Richard III, after rising in support of Edward IV’s heir, the very young Edward V, who had disappeared into the Tower. His title was complimentary now. What income he had came from sojourns on the continent where he participated in the tournaments held by kings and nobles, gaining ransom from hostages taken after victory on the field. Though lacking the estates which would have made him an acceptable husband, he was persistent in his addresses, with a habit of lying in wait for her in dim corners. Graydon, though standing as Henley’s friend, had always discouraged his suit, being unwilling to give up her fortune to a husband. For once, she had been grateful, as it saved her from having to put him off herself. It also meant she could afford to be gracious.
    That had been before Henry had decided she should be wed.
    “Not at the moment,” she answered as pleasantly as she was able. “Mayhap later.”
    “Aye, milady. I’ll listen for your call.”
    No doubt he would, she thought with a sigh as she dropped the curtain. She would not be making a request of him, however, not if she could help it. She would ask nothing of any man.
    So they traveled southward toward London and beyond, down the old north road of the Romans through towns and villages large and small, until they clattered onto King’s Street. This thoroughfare, thronged with horses and carts, hawkers and beggars and strolling gentry, brought them finally to the ancient gates of Westminster. Winding through its narrow, fetid streets, they reached the myriad buildings and courtyards of soot-streaked stone known as Westminster Palace.

4
    I sabel barely had time to remove her cap and veil before the door of her chamber, one of many allotted to less important personages housed at court, was flung open. A flurry of skirts and flying veils signaled the arrivals of her two sisters with whom she had shared the tiny space before leaving for her wedding journey, and would again for the time being. First inside was Catherine, three years younger at twenty and known to all as Cate, with Marguerite, the youngest at sixteen, following closely on her heels. Laughing, exclaiming, they welcomed her back with fierce hugs and a spate of anxious questions.
    “Why have you returned so soon, dearest of sisters? Not that we are not glad of it, you may be sure, but we thought you gone for months, even years.”
    “What occurred? Did Henry’s most loyal henchman reject you? Did you prevail upon Graydon to turn back?”
    “Did our curse, perchance, overcome Henry’s decree? Tell us at once, before we run mad with curiosity!”
    “No, no and yes,” Isabel answered, swallowing