Read Online Court of Traitors (Bridget Manning #2) by V.E. Lynne - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: V.E. Lynne
Ads: Link
at her.
Anne Bassett came to the great double doors and entered breezily through them. Bridget followed and bowed her head modestly as they passed through the presence chamber, keeping her eyes carefully averted from the curious gazes that met her there. Mistress Bassett then came to the privy chamber and walked with more circumspection through its entranceway. Everyone gathered there turned as one at her arrival. The queen stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by her attendants and, at her right hand, by the Lady Mary. All the women, led by Lady Rochford and Edward Seymour’s wife, Lady Hertford, regarded Bridget’s ingress with disapproval bordering on hostility. The Lady Mary was the only one who smiled and showed a hint of kindness in her eyes.
“Your Majesty,” Anne Bassett announced, “Lady de Brett is here.” She stepped aside and Bridget took her place. The queen looked her up and down for a few moments and then signalled, with a toss of her head, that she should approach further. With downcast eyes, Bridget walked as close as she dared to the queen and sank into the deepest curtsey she could manage, her skirts spreading out around her like a silver puddle. The silence in the room was deafening, and Bridget had to work hard to stay in position and not topple over sideways.
Eventually, just when Bridget thought she was going to collapse in a heap, Jane spoke. “Stand up, Lady de Brett,” she ordered, her voice shot through with queenly imperiousness. “We have looked upon your nimble curtsey long enough.”
Bridget stood up slowly, careful not to allow even the slightest wobble in her legs. She lifted her gaze with equal deliberation and met, dead on, the wintry stare of Queen Jane Seymour. Her eyes held all the warmth of an icicle, and her face was whiter than snow. She regarded Bridget as if she was the last person in the kingdom that she wanted, or had ever wanted, to see.
Bridget returned her look in what she hoped was a suitably submissive manner. While the queen remained deliberately mute, she had time to contemplate her appearance at close quarters. Jane was quite possibly wearing every gemstone that the king’s Jewel House possessed within its considerable coffers. The diamonds around her neck almost seemed as if they were choking her, and every one of her delicate fingers, resting proudly across the expanse of her belly, glimmered with wide golden rings. Anne Boleyn had set out to stamp her authority on the court by the sheer force of her presence and personality; that approach was not available to Jane Seymour. Lacking that type of charisma, she had chosen another way to make her mark: a flagrant display of wealth to advertise her newly acquired power. In the end, though, no amount of flashing diamonds or softly glowing rubies would matter. Jane would be judged not by the impressiveness of her jewels but by the issue of her womb.
The queen was a short woman, tiny really, and thus the curve of her stomach was rendered especially pronounced. Bridget recalled that a Te Deum had been sung at St Paul’s to give thanks for Jane’s quickening in May. It was now nearly August, which meant that the queen must be fast approaching her time. Soon she would take to her chamber with her women and await the birth of her child. God willing, it would be a boy. Did Jane want Bridget to be one of the ladies who attended her through the travails of childbirth? No, she dismissed that idea immediately—it was so absurd. The reason for her summoning to the queen’s privy chamber could have nothing to do with the forthcoming royal confinement.
Jane seated herself whilst indicating that Bridget should remain standing. “Welcome to my court Lady de Brett. I must say that the married state suits you well. Your looks have improved greatly since last I saw you - your countenance has taken on the proper cast of a mature and dutiful wife. There is nary a trace of the naïve,
Anne Bassett came to the great double doors and entered breezily through them. Bridget followed and bowed her head modestly as they passed through the presence chamber, keeping her eyes carefully averted from the curious gazes that met her there. Mistress Bassett then came to the privy chamber and walked with more circumspection through its entranceway. Everyone gathered there turned as one at her arrival. The queen stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by her attendants and, at her right hand, by the Lady Mary. All the women, led by Lady Rochford and Edward Seymour’s wife, Lady Hertford, regarded Bridget’s ingress with disapproval bordering on hostility. The Lady Mary was the only one who smiled and showed a hint of kindness in her eyes.
“Your Majesty,” Anne Bassett announced, “Lady de Brett is here.” She stepped aside and Bridget took her place. The queen looked her up and down for a few moments and then signalled, with a toss of her head, that she should approach further. With downcast eyes, Bridget walked as close as she dared to the queen and sank into the deepest curtsey she could manage, her skirts spreading out around her like a silver puddle. The silence in the room was deafening, and Bridget had to work hard to stay in position and not topple over sideways.
Eventually, just when Bridget thought she was going to collapse in a heap, Jane spoke. “Stand up, Lady de Brett,” she ordered, her voice shot through with queenly imperiousness. “We have looked upon your nimble curtsey long enough.”
Bridget stood up slowly, careful not to allow even the slightest wobble in her legs. She lifted her gaze with equal deliberation and met, dead on, the wintry stare of Queen Jane Seymour. Her eyes held all the warmth of an icicle, and her face was whiter than snow. She regarded Bridget as if she was the last person in the kingdom that she wanted, or had ever wanted, to see.
Bridget returned her look in what she hoped was a suitably submissive manner. While the queen remained deliberately mute, she had time to contemplate her appearance at close quarters. Jane was quite possibly wearing every gemstone that the king’s Jewel House possessed within its considerable coffers. The diamonds around her neck almost seemed as if they were choking her, and every one of her delicate fingers, resting proudly across the expanse of her belly, glimmered with wide golden rings. Anne Boleyn had set out to stamp her authority on the court by the sheer force of her presence and personality; that approach was not available to Jane Seymour. Lacking that type of charisma, she had chosen another way to make her mark: a flagrant display of wealth to advertise her newly acquired power. In the end, though, no amount of flashing diamonds or softly glowing rubies would matter. Jane would be judged not by the impressiveness of her jewels but by the issue of her womb.
The queen was a short woman, tiny really, and thus the curve of her stomach was rendered especially pronounced. Bridget recalled that a Te Deum had been sung at St Paul’s to give thanks for Jane’s quickening in May. It was now nearly August, which meant that the queen must be fast approaching her time. Soon she would take to her chamber with her women and await the birth of her child. God willing, it would be a boy. Did Jane want Bridget to be one of the ladies who attended her through the travails of childbirth? No, she dismissed that idea immediately—it was so absurd. The reason for her summoning to the queen’s privy chamber could have nothing to do with the forthcoming royal confinement.
Jane seated herself whilst indicating that Bridget should remain standing. “Welcome to my court Lady de Brett. I must say that the married state suits you well. Your looks have improved greatly since last I saw you - your countenance has taken on the proper cast of a mature and dutiful wife. There is nary a trace of the naïve,
Similar Books
