whom he had shared the brutal hells of their boyhood years at Westminster School, was lounging beside one of the long windows overlooking the bowling green, his indolent posture belying the taut power and decision that Nick knew so well. An elaborate periwig fell to his brocade shoulders; diamond buttons on his coat sleeves winked in the light from the window. His eyelids drooped slightly, concealing the razor sharpness ofthe gray eyes beneath. A lace-edged handkerchief fluttered from his beringed fingers, and a burst of laughter rose from the admiring group of ladies clustered around him. De Winter was a wit with a notoriously sharp tongue, and no scruples as to where and to whom he directed that sharpness. He was feared by many, but no one would show it, any more than they would fail to listen when he pronounced.
Nicholas strolled over to the group, pausing to acknowledge greetings, exchange a word of news, a light remark. He learned that again the king had not left his privy chamber this morning, where he was closeted with the Duke of Buckingham and two other favorites, my Lords Bristol and Ashley. Increasingly, His Majesty was cutting himself off from the conversation and opinions of the majority of the court.
“Why, Nick, my dear fellow, how goes the world with you?” De Winter hailed him.
“Indifferent well, Richard,” replied Nicholas airily, bowing with great ceremony to the ladies, his plumed hat sweeping the floor. “I fear I caught cold last night.”
De Winter’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Indeed, I am sorry to hear it, but ’twas a foul night. I was kept withindoors, myself, by some unexpected visitors.”
“A fortunate occurrence,” Kincaid said with a degree of dryness. “I should have been glad to have been so prevented from making my own journey.”
“Lord De Winter has been telling us the most outrageous story,” a lady in orange taffeta informed Nicholas with a trilling laugh. “It is said that during a ball at Lord Lindsey’s last week, a babe was born in the middle of the coranto. The infant was caught in a handkerchief, but no one knows who is the mother, no lady acknowledging the child, and everyone continuing with the dance.”
“Ah,” said Nicholas thoughtfully. “But I understand that my Lady Fawcett has since been confined to her bed.”
“Nick, you have outdone me!” cried De Winter. “I must retreat in shame.” With a sweeping bow, he removed himself from the circle, leaving Nicholas to entertain the ladies withfurther scurrilous tales before he, too, made his excuses and sauntered along the matted gallery to take the stairs to the Privy Garden.
De Winter was waiting for him at the King Street Gate, at the far end of the garden. “My apologies for last night,” he said without preamble. “You had difficulties?”
“’Tis a long story, Richard.” Nick told the tale as they walked toward the Strand, then proceeded to expound his proposition to his rapt companion. “When you see her, you will see what I mean,” he finished. “Such extraordinary beauty. Never have I seen its like.”
De Winter looked at his friend, wondering if perhaps something had addled his senses. “Is she, indeed, a maid? It seems unlikely, my friend, although I would not doubt your word.”
“I have no empirical evidence,” Nick said with a slight shrug. “But I would stake my honor upon it. She is quite the most unusual wench.”
“Desirable enough for Buckingham? He has more interest in flesh and blood than in the fey.”
Nicholas gave a short laugh. “Desirable enough, Richard! I know not how to keep my own hands from her at times. And she is most definitely of this world.”
“And Killigrew will take to her?”
“When she is groomed,” Nick said with absolute certainty.
“And you can rely upon her cooperation?”
“Her only desire is to tread the boards,” Nicholas said. “And I am convinced she has no small talent. Indeed, I am often hard-pressed to
Nicholas strolled over to the group, pausing to acknowledge greetings, exchange a word of news, a light remark. He learned that again the king had not left his privy chamber this morning, where he was closeted with the Duke of Buckingham and two other favorites, my Lords Bristol and Ashley. Increasingly, His Majesty was cutting himself off from the conversation and opinions of the majority of the court.
“Why, Nick, my dear fellow, how goes the world with you?” De Winter hailed him.
“Indifferent well, Richard,” replied Nicholas airily, bowing with great ceremony to the ladies, his plumed hat sweeping the floor. “I fear I caught cold last night.”
De Winter’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Indeed, I am sorry to hear it, but ’twas a foul night. I was kept withindoors, myself, by some unexpected visitors.”
“A fortunate occurrence,” Kincaid said with a degree of dryness. “I should have been glad to have been so prevented from making my own journey.”
“Lord De Winter has been telling us the most outrageous story,” a lady in orange taffeta informed Nicholas with a trilling laugh. “It is said that during a ball at Lord Lindsey’s last week, a babe was born in the middle of the coranto. The infant was caught in a handkerchief, but no one knows who is the mother, no lady acknowledging the child, and everyone continuing with the dance.”
“Ah,” said Nicholas thoughtfully. “But I understand that my Lady Fawcett has since been confined to her bed.”
“Nick, you have outdone me!” cried De Winter. “I must retreat in shame.” With a sweeping bow, he removed himself from the circle, leaving Nicholas to entertain the ladies withfurther scurrilous tales before he, too, made his excuses and sauntered along the matted gallery to take the stairs to the Privy Garden.
De Winter was waiting for him at the King Street Gate, at the far end of the garden. “My apologies for last night,” he said without preamble. “You had difficulties?”
“’Tis a long story, Richard.” Nick told the tale as they walked toward the Strand, then proceeded to expound his proposition to his rapt companion. “When you see her, you will see what I mean,” he finished. “Such extraordinary beauty. Never have I seen its like.”
De Winter looked at his friend, wondering if perhaps something had addled his senses. “Is she, indeed, a maid? It seems unlikely, my friend, although I would not doubt your word.”
“I have no empirical evidence,” Nick said with a slight shrug. “But I would stake my honor upon it. She is quite the most unusual wench.”
“Desirable enough for Buckingham? He has more interest in flesh and blood than in the fey.”
Nicholas gave a short laugh. “Desirable enough, Richard! I know not how to keep my own hands from her at times. And she is most definitely of this world.”
“And Killigrew will take to her?”
“When she is groomed,” Nick said with absolute certainty.
“And you can rely upon her cooperation?”
“Her only desire is to tread the boards,” Nicholas said. “And I am convinced she has no small talent. Indeed, I am often hard-pressed to
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