Read Online The Tudor Secret by C. W. Gortner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: C. W. Gortner
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without blemish or wrinkle.
But it was her eyes that transfixed me; cruel, appraising, and appallingly shrewd, those eyes belied the indifference of her expression, tyrannical as only those born to privilege can be.
I couldn’t hold her stare for long and dropped my discomfited gaze to her hem. I saw that her left foot, squashed into a ludicrously delicate slipper, twisted inward, grossly misshapen.
I heard her chuckle. “I was an expert rider in my youth. Are you? A rider, that is?”
My reply was low, cautious. “I am, Your Grace. I was raised among horses.”
“He was raised at our manor,” interposed Lady Dudley, a perverse challenge in her voice. “He came to us by chance twenty years ago. Our housekeeper at the time found him—”
A terse wave of the duchess’s ringed fingers cut her off. “What? Have you no family?”
I glanced at Lady Dudley, though I knew she’d give me no succor. Her lips parted, showing teeth. With a sudden drop of my stomach, I wondered if I was about to be cast off. It happened. Masters transferred or exchanged servants for favors, to pay off debts, or to simply dispose of those who ceased to please. Was this why she’d brought me to court? Had all my aspirations been mere fanciful notions?
“No, Your Grace.” I couldn’t keep the quaver from my voice. “I am an orphan.”
“A shame.” The duchess’s tone indicated she’d heard enough. She said briskly to Lady Dudley, “Madam, your charity is to be commended. I trust the boy proves worthy of it.” Her hand flicked at me. “You may go.”
Overcome by relief, I bowed, remembering not to turn my back on a person of the blood royal. Just as I took a step backward, praying I wouldn’t bump into another chair, Lady Dudley leaned to the duchess and said: “Il porte la marque de la rose.”
She couldn’t realize I understood her words, unaware I’d studied French with the aid of one of Robert’s discarded lesson books. The duchess sat as if petrified, her ferocious gaze fixed on me. I froze in my tracks. What I saw in her narrowed eyes chilled my blood.
He bears the mark of the rose.
I felt sick. Lady Dudley stepped back from the chair, offered the duchess a brief curtsy. The duchess seemed unable to move. Behind her, lurking at the fringe of the group, I caught a tawny flicker. I blinked, looked again. It was gone.
A heavy hand came down on my shoulder. I wheeled about to find fury etched on Master Shelton’s scarred face. He hauled me to the sideboard. “I thought I’d seen you off with that wench. Instead, here you are getting yourself into trouble again! Is this to be my reward, eh? Is this how you repay me for everything I’ve done for you?”
His reprimand fell on me like rain. My mind whirled, though I had the forethought not to give voice to my tumult, even when he stabbed his finger at my chest and said, “Don’t dare move. I’ve something to do; and when I get back, I expect you to be here.”
He strode off. I caught my breath, my mouth dry as bone. With almost painful trepidation I slid my hand to the top of my hose. Further down, near my hip, where points held my codpiece in place, I could feel it. It took all my strength not to strip away my clothing, to reassure myself it couldn’t be possible.
The rose—Mistress Alice had called it that. She said it meant I was blessed. But how did Lady Dudley know? How could she have discovered something so intimate, which I’d thought belonged to a lonely boy and a laughing, red-cheeked woman, his only friend in a hostile world? And why would she have wielded it like a weapon upon someone who had no reason to care?
Anger flared in me. Mistress Alice was gone. I couldn’t stop mourning her; but in that instant, God help me, I almost hated her for wrecking our memories, for violating our trust. It did not matter that no doubt Lady Dudley had seen my birthmark when I was a babe; all I could think was that she’d been granted a confidence I believed was
But it was her eyes that transfixed me; cruel, appraising, and appallingly shrewd, those eyes belied the indifference of her expression, tyrannical as only those born to privilege can be.
I couldn’t hold her stare for long and dropped my discomfited gaze to her hem. I saw that her left foot, squashed into a ludicrously delicate slipper, twisted inward, grossly misshapen.
I heard her chuckle. “I was an expert rider in my youth. Are you? A rider, that is?”
My reply was low, cautious. “I am, Your Grace. I was raised among horses.”
“He was raised at our manor,” interposed Lady Dudley, a perverse challenge in her voice. “He came to us by chance twenty years ago. Our housekeeper at the time found him—”
A terse wave of the duchess’s ringed fingers cut her off. “What? Have you no family?”
I glanced at Lady Dudley, though I knew she’d give me no succor. Her lips parted, showing teeth. With a sudden drop of my stomach, I wondered if I was about to be cast off. It happened. Masters transferred or exchanged servants for favors, to pay off debts, or to simply dispose of those who ceased to please. Was this why she’d brought me to court? Had all my aspirations been mere fanciful notions?
“No, Your Grace.” I couldn’t keep the quaver from my voice. “I am an orphan.”
“A shame.” The duchess’s tone indicated she’d heard enough. She said briskly to Lady Dudley, “Madam, your charity is to be commended. I trust the boy proves worthy of it.” Her hand flicked at me. “You may go.”
Overcome by relief, I bowed, remembering not to turn my back on a person of the blood royal. Just as I took a step backward, praying I wouldn’t bump into another chair, Lady Dudley leaned to the duchess and said: “Il porte la marque de la rose.”
She couldn’t realize I understood her words, unaware I’d studied French with the aid of one of Robert’s discarded lesson books. The duchess sat as if petrified, her ferocious gaze fixed on me. I froze in my tracks. What I saw in her narrowed eyes chilled my blood.
He bears the mark of the rose.
I felt sick. Lady Dudley stepped back from the chair, offered the duchess a brief curtsy. The duchess seemed unable to move. Behind her, lurking at the fringe of the group, I caught a tawny flicker. I blinked, looked again. It was gone.
A heavy hand came down on my shoulder. I wheeled about to find fury etched on Master Shelton’s scarred face. He hauled me to the sideboard. “I thought I’d seen you off with that wench. Instead, here you are getting yourself into trouble again! Is this to be my reward, eh? Is this how you repay me for everything I’ve done for you?”
His reprimand fell on me like rain. My mind whirled, though I had the forethought not to give voice to my tumult, even when he stabbed his finger at my chest and said, “Don’t dare move. I’ve something to do; and when I get back, I expect you to be here.”
He strode off. I caught my breath, my mouth dry as bone. With almost painful trepidation I slid my hand to the top of my hose. Further down, near my hip, where points held my codpiece in place, I could feel it. It took all my strength not to strip away my clothing, to reassure myself it couldn’t be possible.
The rose—Mistress Alice had called it that. She said it meant I was blessed. But how did Lady Dudley know? How could she have discovered something so intimate, which I’d thought belonged to a lonely boy and a laughing, red-cheeked woman, his only friend in a hostile world? And why would she have wielded it like a weapon upon someone who had no reason to care?
Anger flared in me. Mistress Alice was gone. I couldn’t stop mourning her; but in that instant, God help me, I almost hated her for wrecking our memories, for violating our trust. It did not matter that no doubt Lady Dudley had seen my birthmark when I was a babe; all I could think was that she’d been granted a confidence I believed was
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