The Queen's Rival (19 page)

“Perhaps if she once believed the same things you now do—”

“Stop!” Bess cried, and bolted for the window. As she tried to collect herself by glancing down into the courtyard, she saw that most of the horses used on the long journey to Dover had been led back to the stables and only a few servants remained. They were still unloading the carts that had accompanied the massive royal entourage. The king. Dover.
The cliff. . .
Finally, Bess drew in a steadying breath and turned back around. “I am happier than you shall ever know that you are here,” she said with a slight tremble to her voice. “But there are some things you simply do not understand.”

“And even more things that
you
do not. Sister, please. I’ll not tell anyone, but I bid you, take great care.”

“No matter what I may feel, my loyalty is to the queen, who allowed me to come to court, and I told him as much myself.”

George Blount slapped his forehead then, his eyes rolling to a close. “You have spoken that familiarly with the king?”

“I do not expect you to understand someone you do not know,” Bess snapped in reply.

“And you do? Pray, take care with this
friendship
, Sister,” he warned, “or you may get well more than you ever bargained for.”

They stood looking at each other stubbornly, both angry, and at an impasse that had come as suddenly and swiftly as their reunion.

“I shall be careful, I promise,” she finally said, knowing even as she spoke the vow that she was flirting with danger. Bess was a different person now in more than appearance, changing every day into the kind of woman who courted danger, no matter the risk.

To Gil, it had felt a lifetime that Bess had been in Dover.

He had missed everything about her, and he kept his mind on the details of her, picturing them over and over, until he could make her real again—her golden hair that always looked to him like silk, her wide, expressive blue eyes, her slight countryside accent that she tried her best to conceal. He even missed her charming naïveté. Yes, Gil knew without a doubt, especially now, that he was hopelessly in love with Bess Blount. There was no one like her, and tonight at the banquet he planned to take her aside, risking everything, including his pride, and tell her so. The timing seemed particularly suitable since Elizabeth Bryan, now Carew, was not here to warn him against it. Either way, the draw to gamble was far more powerful than any fear that might have stopped him.

He glanced down at the ruby and pearl pendant that had once belonged to his mother. It was a modest piece of jewelry by court standards, but it was dear to him, and he meant to give it to Bess tonight when he told her that he loved her.

Excitement, fear, and anticipation, a potent brew, worked swiftly inside him now. Gil had been planning every detail of the scene almost since the moment Bess had left for Dover. Somehow he would draw her outside with him for a breath of cool night air, and there beneath the stars he would finally confess his love. He wanted desperately to tell her that he had thought of nothing and no other girl since they first had met. He laughed at himself and at the slightly pathetic image his thoughts conjured as he stuffed the pendant back in his pocket and began to look around the banquet hall for her as it slowly filled with courtiers to celebrate the king’s return. Perhaps all of that would be a bit much for one night, he silently amended, shaking his head. It would be enough for now to give her the token, Gil decided instead, and to see where that might lead them.

The queen was not at the banquet that evening since she had begun her formal lying-in in preparation for the birth of the royal child. Elizabeth, who had not returned from her wedding trip, was not there either, so Bess felt a hesitation she had all but forgotten concerning the evening ahead. She was still a little angry at George who all her life, until today, had understood her. But he loved her, she knew it, and she was grateful that tonight he would be there to support her, no matter their disagreement.

Her dress for the evening was a new one. Rich burgundy and gold brocade was styled over with ivory lace at the hem and square neckline and along the fashionably long bell sleeves. Her small cap was to be worn at the back of her head so that the front of her blond hair still showed slightly above her forehead in the latest fashion from France. Bess checked herself in the mirror one last time, then pinched her cheeks to brighten them while George waited, dressed elegantly in a silk doublet and trunk hose, which she knew must have cost their parents a small fortune, much like her dress. But, as they always said, one must look the part, no matter what. Such was the requirement of succeeding at court among princes, dukes, earls, ladies, and duchesses.

When they arrived, the banquet hall was already brimming with glittering courtiers, ambassadors, and noblemen, so Bess and George were able to slip virtually unnoticed beneath the beamed, vaulted ceiling and into the very center of everything. The music was light, played from a minstrel’s gallery above, but the summer air was already thick and full of a noxious mix of sweat and perfume that made Bess quickly feel like escaping.

She missed the cool country air of home at times like these, but her attraction to the king trumped everything else. Since Dover, Bess had played their private conversation over in her mind a thousand times. She had closed her eyes and felt his hand on her face and ignored all the things that separated her from him—his position, the age difference, and his marriage. In her fantasies, none of that mattered, just the words he had spoken to her on that windswept cliff like lines from a book.

“Is it like this all the time?” George asked her of the elegant crowd, bringing her out of her private thoughts.

“Whenever the king feels the inclination for a public banquet it is. He seems to have that inclination rather often lately. And if there aren’t banquets, there are masques or pageants, hunting parties, or jousting tournaments. Very few moments at court are dull.”

“I cannot wait to catch a glimpse of him for myself. All of my life I have imagined what a king actually looks like.” George began to search the crowd excitedly.

“Oh, you will know when he has arrived,” Bess said with a chuckle. “There will be no mistaking that. But he really does look just like a normal man, albeit an incredibly handsome one.”

As George rolled his eyes at her, Bess felt the press of a firm hand at the small of her back. When she turned, she was met with Gil Tailbois’s good-natured smile.

“There you are at last,” Gil said, and his cheeks seemed to flush at the sight of her.

Or perhaps, she thought, with a little rush of humility, it was only because the hall was so warm already. Yes, she would prefer that to have been the cause of it, rather than herself.

“You must be George,” Gil said, turning his attention smoothly to Bess’s brother. “I heard you had come. The family resemblance is remarkable.”

“Considering my sister’s great beauty, I shall take that as a compliment,” George replied with a suddenly easy smile of his own.

“It is meant as one. I am Gilbert Tailbois, ward and aide to Bishop Wolsey, and fortunate enough to have become a friend to Mistress Blount.”

“My sister seems the fortunate one,” George returned.

The trumpet fanfare announcing the king’s entrance was a welcome distraction from Bess’s thoughts. She knew where things would go from here. Her brother would be anxious to dissuade her from indulging in her infatuation with the king. She could tell that Gil was quickly becoming an attractive option for him.

“I have something for you,” Gil said, leaning in to whisper to her as everyone dropped into formal bows and curtsies. “But I would rather give it to you later if there is a quiet moment.”

“You did not have to do that.”

“Oh, but I did,” Gil replied with a little wink.

The king had never looked more handsome, Bess thought, as he smiled and nodded and strode past her with Bishop Wolsey, tall and stately, beside him. The king was near enough now that she could smell his personal scent, a heady combination of musk, civet, and ambergris. Her heart quickened. His doublet was sewn of sapphire blue velvet, trimmed in gold, and ornamented with glittering stones. His legs looked even more long and muscular in white beneath his padded blue trunk hose. When he looked at her directly, Bess thought herself the most fortunate girl in the world that a man like the king knew her and acknowledged her in public.

“You were right,” said George as the chatter rose up again. The king had taken his seat at the head table beneath a long blue silk tester emblazoned with an H and a crown above it. “There is no mistaking the king, but I have to disagree that there is anything ordinary about him.”

“Indeed, there is not.” She chuckled. “On second thought, I suppose you are right.”

Watching the king’s every move, eager to have him catch her eye again, Bess leaned toward her brother as they were shown by a gentleman usher to their seats; the tune played on a lute, harp, recorder, and pipe softened.

Beneath the ceiling, brightly painted with Tudor roses and hung with decorated banners, there was a cornucopia of food and drink laid out in bowls, flagons, and goblets. Wine from Gascony flowed from intricate silver ewers, along with Malmsey and claret; sturgeon baked in steaming pastry was brought out and served on gleaming platters, set beside roasted peacock, spiced goose, and ginger veal. The flames from thick white candles on the tables and blazing torches in iron sconces on the walls made the hall seem almost magical in the evening light. Bess was simply unable to stop herself from taking everything in as if it were her first banquet.

She was so filled with excitement that she did not notice at first Gil take the chair on her other side. All she saw was the king’s gaze continually light upon her, move away, then return as he was brought into one conversation after another around him.

Is he staring?
she wondered as he looked at her again, or was she so increasingly drawn to him that her mind was making too much of the moment?

She was studying him so intently that she did not see that her own parents were seated beside George now, or that Gil had drawn something from his doublet and was nervously clutching it in his hand. Nor did she see Lord Mountjoy watching the scene from across the room, scowling and shaking his head at her. At the very moment when Gil lifted his hand and leaned toward Bess to speak, a heavily carved silver goblet was set on the table before her. The deep-voiced, liveried esquire behind her leaned over her shoulder.

“His Royal Highness bids you enjoy the contents with his compliments. It is from his private collection,” the young servant said.

“The king sends you wine?” George asked in surprise.

“He never has before.”

When she glanced over at the king, he lifted his own goblet to her and nodded as if they were sharing a toast. She lifted the cup to her lips then, and, tipping it, she tasted not wine but instead felt something cold and hard hit her lip. It was a gold and pearl necklace dotted with a small, perfect cabochon ruby that she poured into her palm with a little shriek.

“What the devil?” George gasped.

“Aptly named,” Gil remarked beneath his breath.

The king smiled and once again nodded to her. This time there had been no mistake. The King of England had given her a costly gift and undercut Gil’s moment completely.

“This is absolutely a dream. It cannot be happening,” Bess murmured, feeling a flush of excitement warm her cheeks.

“More like a nightmare, if you ask me,” Gil grumbled. “But it does not surprise me at all.”

“You make too much of a small gesture,” she weakly defended, caring little at this moment whether Gil Tailbois found it a nightmare or not. Naturally, he was only envious that the king was not bestowing favor directly upon him, and in such a clever and casual way. At least, that was what Bess told herself so that she would not feel another rush of guilt for the queen, who could not possibly approve of her husband settling tokens upon her young maids in her absence. But he had told her he did not take mistresses, and Bess wanted desperately to believe that. She wanted to believe that this attraction between them was unique and that she was unique to him. After all, he had confided something very personal to her about his brother. That had to have meant something. It had certainly meant something to her.