“You sound like Cecil. Too many years in my dear Spirit’s household have made you an overly serious young man,” the queen said, pleased with his artful apology. “Sit down, dear Midas. Tell Us what you have touched and turned into gold these past weeks.”
“I’ve received important information from the East,” Richard told her. “My sister Heather writes that Sultan Selim is dead. Prince Murad is now sultan. His mother and his wife favor trade with England.”
“Your sister married whom?” Elizabeth asked.
“Prince Khalid, the sultan’s cousin.”
“Each of the Devereux girls have proven themselves to be loyal Englishwomen, especially the youngest sister,” Burghley interjected.
Richard glanced at his mentor. “I have a scheme that will make the three of us rich.”
“My dear Midas, you are already rich beyond avarice,” Elizabeth teased.
“Then you can be certain that I am incorruptible and do this for you,” Richard said. His expression became animated as he explained his plan. “Grant me a royal charter for my latest venture, the Levant Trading Company, and we will share the profits. Eastern diplomacy moves slowly. I calculate three years will see us fully operational.”
“And what share goes to the Crown?” Elizabeth asked.
“The lion’s cub deserves the lion’s share of fifty percent,” Richard answered. “Burghley and I will split the other fifty, and England will prosper with this powerful ally.”
“Seventy percent,” the Queen insisted.
“Sixty,” Richard shot back.
“You have a deal,” Elizabeth said. “Cecil, you will see that he gets the charter without delay.”
Richard opened the package he’d brought with him. “The sultan’s mother sends this humble gift to show her good faith.”
The humble gift was a fan. Its feathers were a billowing rainbow of hues set with diamonds, and its hilt, a mass of emeralds, sapphires, and rubies.
“And this comes from the sultan’s wife.” Richard produced a nosegay of porcelain flowers also set with priceless jewels. “We’ll need to send reciprocal gifts. Heather informs me this is the way of eastern diplomacy.”
Impressed with her newest trinkets, Elizabeth examined them closely and asked without looking up, “And how shall we reward your sister’s loyalty?”
“Her loyalty needs no reward.”
“You have served Us well, Richard,” Elizabeth said. “Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”
Richard hesitated for a fraction of a second and then began, “About my tour of duty in Ireland—”
“You’re much too valuable to serve abroad,” Burghley interrupted, earning himself a censorious glance from his protégé.
“Request denied,” the queen said. “Peers of my realm may not serve abroad unless they have an heir.”
“I request permission to produce one,” Richard said.
“What? Shall you visit the market and purchase a son?”
Burghley chuckled, a sound that few people ever heard.
Richard flushed hot with embarrassment. “I request permission to marry and produce an heir.”
“My dear boy, protocol requires you to select a bride first and then ask Our permission,” the queen explained as though speaking to a child. “Whom did you have in mind?”
“I have an interest in the virtuous and lovely Morgana Talbot, Ludlow’s daughter,” Richard lied, hoping he‘d happened upon a suitable name.
One woman was much the same as another. Marriage was a business venture, and love was unnecessary to sire an heir. He needed to get to Ireland to help protect his oldest sister’s family from the greedy vultures governing there. Perched in Dublin Castle, those corrupt English birds of prey awaited the opportunity to swoop down upon the Irish nobility and seize whatever they could. Only a rich man like himself stood beyond temptation’s reach. Otherwise, civil war was inevitable.
“Do you love Us so little that you would leave Us to take a wife?” Elizabeth asked.
“Lady Morgana’s simple prettiness could never compare with your beauty,” Richard assured her, then gifted her with one of his boyish smiles. “You hold my loyalty, my admiration, and my heart in thrall. Morgana Talbot is merely a poor substitute for you.”
“Impertinent flatterer.” Elizabeth tapped the top of his hand with her fan’s jeweled hilt. Richard flicked a glance at Burghley, whose hand covered his mouth to hide a smile.
“Get Talbot’s permission and then court the girl,” Elizabeth told him. “You are a financial wizard and a born courtier. We cannot understand what you find so appealing about war.”
“I worry for my sister Kathryn,” Richard admitted. “She writes that Ireland is in turmoil.”
“Tyrone’s countess,” Burghley reminded the queen.
Elizabeth sighed. “We find that We sent wolves to govern in Ireland.”
“By the way, Kathryn writes that she is suffering a severe roofing problem,” Richard added, “but her husband’s request to import lead has been ignored.”
“Lead can be made into ammunition,” Burghley said.
“Send Richard’s brother-in-law whatever he needs,” Elizabeth ordered. To Richard, she added, “You’ve a sister in Scotland. No special request from her?”
“None at this time,” Richard lied.
He was not about to tell the queen that his Scots brother-in-law barraged him with requests to aid in having Mary Stuart released from her English captivity. Even Brigette’s three oldest sons now wrote him beseeching letters asking that their queen be returned to Scotland. For all his family loyalty, Richard dared not push Elizabeth too far.
The queen stood, indicating the audience had ended. “Our subjects await Our presence in the hall.” At that, she breezed out of the chamber with Burghley.
Richard followed behind them and stood in the entrance to the banquet hall. The gift-giving ceremony was about to begin.
Elizabeth sat in the castle’s most comfortable chair, set upon a raised dais. The Sheriff of Leicestershire approached, bowed formally, and presented her the usual silver-gilt cup filled with gold coins.
“It is a remarkable gift,” Elizabeth said, looking at the cup and its contents. “I have but few such gifts.”
“If it pleases Your Majesty, there is a great deal more than gold in it,” the sheriff said.
“What might that be?” the queen asked, a puzzled smile on her face.
“The hearts of all your loving subjects.”
“We thank you, Mr. Sheriff,” Elizabeth said. “It is a great deal more indeed.”
Richard filled with admiration and love for Elizabeth. In spite of her womanly vanity and difficult temperament, a more magnificent monarch had never sat upon England’s throne.
“You always wear that pained expression as if you walk about with a pike stuck up your—” Richard whirled around to find the Earl of Leicester standing beside him. He stared at the queen’s longtime favorite.
“Her Majesty’s summer progress should be a time for gaiety,” Dudley said. “Don’t you ever laugh? Smile, at least?”
“Laughter indicates empty-headedness,” Richard said, “and smiling hides deceit.” With that, he turned to leave the hall.
“Departing so soon?” Dudley asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. “We shall miss you.”
“Shropshire and a bride await me.” Richard walked away, the unusual sight of a speechless Leicester bringing the hint of a smile to his lips.
Chapter 2
Keely soaked in a tub set up in her rented chamber at the Boar’s Head Inn, near Ludlow Castle in Shropshire. The dreary chamber, only slightly larger than a closet, had a single window overlooking the cobbled innyard, but the room was tidy and clean, as were the linens on the cot.
Would her father acknowledge her? Keely conjured their poignant reunion scene in her mind.
With graceful dignity she would walk across Ludlow Castle’s great hall. Robert Talbot, sitting in a chair in front o
f the hearth, would rise at her entrance and clutch her against his chest. He’d call her daughter; she’d call him father. Together they would shed tears for the loss of Megan. Then her father would promise to love and protect her, erasing the pain of the eighteen years they’d missed.
Such a perfectly heartwarming picture. Too perfect. Troubling thoughts intruded upon that perfect daydream.
Where would she go if Robert Talbot turned his back on her? He’d abandoned her mother all those long years ago. How had Megan possessed the blind faith that this irresponsible English lord would love his natural daughter and proclaim their kinship to the world? She was merely his bastard.
And Rhys! She hadn’t even had a chance to bid her beloved brother a final farewell. What had Rhys done upon discovering her gone, outcast by Madoc?
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and Odo’s voice rang out, “Are you ready, little girl?”
“I need a few minutes more.”
Keely stepped out of the tub and toweled herself dry. She dressed in a skirt of soft lightweight wool, the same violet color as her eyes, and a white linen blouse with scooped neck and long full sleeves that gathered at the wrists. She pulled her black leather riding boots on and slipped the jeweled dragon pendant over her head. It glittered against the crisp whiteness of her blouse.
Keely brushed her hair and plaited the ebony mane into one thick braid. She opened the door and said to her cousins, “Please come in.
“Did you bathe?” She inspected them up and down. “I must say, you do look handsome.”
“You‘re looking fine yourself, little girl,” Odo returned the compliment. “Are you ready to meet your father?”
Keely squared her shoulders with determination. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Should we take our belongings with us?” Hew asked.
“We’ll fetch them later if there’s a need.” Keely smiled at them, to bolster her own courage as much as theirs. Then she grabbed her cloak and headed for the door.
The ostler had Merlin and her cousins’ horses saddled and waiting in the cobbled innyard. Flanked by Odo and Hew, Keely mounted her horse and started down the road toward Ludlow Castle.
A timeless beauty shrouded the village and countryside of Ludlow. Overhead the sun shone in a clear blue sky, and from the west blew a gentle summer breeze. Thatched-roof cottages dotted the forested, sparsely populated horizon. Colorful wild flowers—dark pink bull thistle, blue chicory, orange and pink day lily, goldenrod, pale pink marjoram—blazed in wanton disarray.
Ludlow Castle, gray and forbidding, loomed before them like a primeval beast cast in stone.
Keely’s breath caught in her throat. Anxiety tightened her stomach into a mass of knots, and her heart pounded. Dealing with so many uncertainties was a less than placid business.
Keely forced herself to take several calming breaths. A coward she might be, but no one would know it.
“The ducal flag waves from that tower,” Odo said, pointing toward it. “The duke is in residence.”
“I don’t feel well,” Keely said, losing her nerve, trying to turn Merlin around. “We should return tomorrow. I’ll be feeling better by then.”
“You’ve come this far and must go all the way,” Hew said, his horse blocking her retreat.
Keely wanted nothing more than to bolt all the way back to Wales, but forward was the only path left open to her.
Since England was a land at peace with itself, Keely and her cousins rode across the permanently lowered drawbridge, through the outer ward, and into the inner courtyard. No one stopped or questioned them until they entered the main building.
“State your business here.” A high-ranking servant manned their entrance to the great hall.
“Who are you?” Keely hadn’t meant to sound so haughty. Bastards had no business being arrogant.
“I am Mr. Dobbs, the duke’s majordomo,” the man informed her in a lofty tone of voice. “And you are?”
“Lady Glendower,” Keely answered with a tentative smile. “I have urgent business with the duke.”
Dobbs looked down his long nose at her and noted her common attire. The chit didn’t appear to be any kind of lady that he'd ever seen.
“His Grace is busy,” Dobbs said, trying to usher them outside. “Come back another day.”
Though her courage was slipping away, Keely stood her ground. If she left now, she’d never return.
“My business with His Grace takes precedence over any other. Please inform him of my arrival.”
The majordomo opened his mouth to order them away, but a woman’s voice sounded from inside the hall, “Who is that, Dobbs?”
Dobbs turned toward the voice. “A young woman who insists she has business with His Grace.”
“Bring her to me.”
The great hall was like nothing Keely had ever seen. The enormous chamber had a high-beamed ceiling and two gigantic fireplaces. Colorful banners hung from the rafters, and vivid tapestries adorned the walls.
Keely stared at the owner of the voice, a blond-haired and blue-eyed angel. A year or two younger than Keely, the woman wore an ice-blue silk gown that showed her figure to best advantage. A rather plain, stern-looking older woman stood beside the angel.
“My lady, I present Lady Glendower,” Dobbs introduced them, placing special emphasis on the word lady in front of Keely’s name. “Lady Glendower, I present Lady Morgana, His Grace’s daughter.”
Morgana Talbot gave her full attention to the petite intruder. She assessed the other girl’s delicate beauty—shining ebony tresses, flawless ivory complexion with a hint of roses upon her cheeks, and curvaceously slim figure. With a start, Morgana realized the girl’s eyes were violet—the same rare color of her father’s. Her gaze fixed on the blazing dragon that appeared to be the missing half of the pendant her father always wore.
Keely knew the angel standing in front of her was her half-sister. Were there other siblings? Noting her sister’s expensive gown, Keely glanced down at her own sad attire and felt ragged. She was, in truth, the poor relation.
Each sister saw in the other the very qualities she lacked. In that instant, natural enemies were born.
“Lady Glendower, I present my companion, Mrs. Ashemole,” Morgana Talbot introduced them.
Keely nodded at the older woman.
Mrs. Ashemole looked her up and down. Her expression told Keely that she failed to pass inspection.
“His Grace is away,” Morgana said. “Could I be of assistance?”
“The ducal flag flies over Ludlow,” Keely answered.
“You misunderstand. My father is visiting friends,” Morgana said with an insincere smile. “What business do you have with him?”
“I’m afraid ’tis a private matter,” Keely replied. “I’ll return in a few days.”
“His Grace is an important man who cannot grant interviews to anyone who wishes,” Morgana insisted. “State your business, and I will relay the message.”
“Thank you, but I'd rather not,” Keely said, turning away.
“My father hasn't seduced you with promises of a position, has he?”
Keely whirled around and stared open-mouthed at her sister.
“Seducing beautiful women is my father’s favorite hobby,” Morgana said.
Keely blanched and stepped back as if she’d been struck. Had coming to Ludlow Castle been a mistake? Megan had never been wrong about the things she “saw.” Something here was amiss. Keely could almost see frightened hate leaping at her from her half-sister.
“I apologize for intruding upon your day,” Keely said. “I will return another time.”
“Whom shall I tell His Grace to expect?” Morgana asked.
Keely forced herself to give her sister a serene smile. “Tell His Grace that his daughter came to call.”
“Fraud,” Mrs. Ashemole snapped. The word sounded like a curse upon her lips.
From behind her, Keely sensed Odo and Hew start forward. She held her ha
nd up to stop them.
“Dozens of my father’s bastards live between Shropshire and London. Of course, he never acknowledges them,” Morgana said, her voice filled with venom, so at odds with her angelic expression. “Dobbs!”
The Talbot majordomo, apparently eavesdropping, rushed into the great hall.
“Throw this bastard off my property,” Morgana ordered.
Dobbs looked at Keely, hesitated, and started toward her. The terrifying sight of the two Welsh giants advancing on him stopped the servant in his tracks.
“No need to trouble yourself, Mr. Dobbs,” Keely said, maintaining her poise. “I can find my own way out.”
Blinded by tears, Keely fled the hall and flew down the stairs. She nearly toppled a young man over in her haste to escape the humiliating rejection she felt.
* * *
Fifteen-year-old Henry Talbot, the duke’s only son and heir, stepped aside for the beautiful vision racing toward him. He started up the stairs again and saw two giants bounding down them. Leaping out of their way, the boy pressed his back against the wall.
Checking the top of the stairs, Henry verified that no one was about to trample him. His path was clear. He headed to the great hall, where his sister was in a dangerously high rage.“How dare that slut march as bold as you please into this hall,” Morgana was complaining as she paced back and forth in front of the hearth.
“Calm yourself, my lady,” Mrs. Ashemole said. “The wench is a fortune-hunting fraud.”
Morgana whirled around and frowned at the older woman. “She wouldn’t dare show her face here again.” From the corner of her eye, the blond beauty spied her younger brother walking toward them. “Mrs. Ashemole, please leave me to visit with my dear brother.”
Henry snorted with contempt as the older woman left the hall. His sister’s smiles always meant trouble for someone—usually him.
“Ashemole can be so tedious,” Morgana said. “Though, I do admit the woman is uncommonly loyal.”
“Ashemole is well paid for her loyalty,” Henry replied. “Who was your lady visitor?”
“The slut was no lady,” Morgana snapped. “The minx had the audacity to march into our hall and demand to speak with Father.”
Love in a Mist Page 3