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chin to raise my head. No man had ever touched me like that. The heat in my face deepened. He tipped his head in a gesture of kindness. “My concern is for my ward, the Lady Jane. She has suffered a great loss. We all have. This letter troubled her. I ask only to ascertain the motivation behind it.”
    The Lord Admiral dropped his hand, but he had taken a step closer to me. I could smell scent on him. Spicy and lingering, like Christmas wine. “How long were the duchess and my nephew there? Why did they come?”
    I wanted to look away, but he sought my gaze. “They came to hunt, my lord.”
    His eyes widened. “To hunt?”
    I detected a layer of hostility in his question, but not toward me.
    “Yes, my lord.”
    “And were they successful?”
    Surely the admiral knew a wardrobe seamstress would have little reason to hear of the successes of hunting parties in Bradgate’s woods. But I had the distinct feeling we were not talking about stags.
    “I do not know, my lord.”
    He stood there, studying my face, contemplating, I think, if I would be an ally or an obstacle in the days and weeks to come with regard to his plans for Lady Jane’s future. Then he smiled at me. Thoughtful and serene. His countenance was disarming.
    “It was my pleasure to meet you, Lucy. Perhaps I shall see you again on a happier day.”
    “I am dreadfully sorry for my lord’s loss.” I curtsied.
    “Yes. It was a great loss indeed,” he said, and then he swept past me. I watched him take the stairs. At the turn in the stairs, he looked up at me and smiled. Then he disappeared into the wide entry.
    When I turned to make my way to the wardrobe and my cot, I saw that Lady Jane was standing on the stair that led to her rooms. I had no idea how long she had been standing there. Perhaps she had been there the entire time the Lord Admiral spoke to me. She looked so sad, and I could nearly hear her mourning dress whispering, “She weeps, she weeps.”
    “Does my lady have need of anything?” I said as I curtsied to her.
    She closed the distance between us. When she was near to me, she nodded toward the staircase the Lord Admiral had flown down.
    “Did you see who that letter was from?”
    “My lady?” It hadn’t occurred to me that she had not read the letter before the admiral took it from her.
    “The letter in the Lord Admiral’s hands. Did you see who it was from?”
    I had not intended to read anything not addressed to me, but I had, indeed, seen the name Edward and the line he had written just before he signed it. I hesitated.
    “I will not be angry,” she said in earnest. “The Lord Admiral was there in my sitting room when my trunk was opened. He saw the letter before I did. Was it from my mother?”
    Was it dread or hope in her voice? I could not tell.
    “Please, tell me,” she whispered.
    “It was not from my lady’s mother.”
    Her shoulders seemed to relax. Or fall. “Who was it from, Lucy?”
    “From … from young Edward Seymour, my lady. He and his mother, the duchess, were visiting Bradgate when I left.”
    “Edward.…,” she breathed.
    “Yes.”
    She looked past me toward the darkness of the windows that stretched the height of the corridor. Toward home, no doubt. “Edward,” she said. Her reverie seemed a private matter. I could not guess what she knew about the Protector’s son being at Bradgate. Talk below stairs was just talk. And I could not guess how she might feel about a betrothal to the Lord Admiral’s nephew. Or to anyone.
    “If you will excuse me, my lady.” I curtsied and took a step away, but she reached out a thin arm and touched my elbow.
    “Wait. Did you read it?”
    “No, certainly not, my lady!”
    “I do not mean while you traveled here. I mean when he stood there with it. Could you read any part of it?”
    I swallowed hard. Unease lay in her young voice. “Please?”
    “Edward Seymour offered you his heartfelt condolences, my lady.”
    She nodded. “That is what you saw? That is all