Love in a Mist

by Patricia Grasso

  Richard crouched down to be eye level with his wife. “Dearest, what are you doing?”

  “I’m tickling the—” Keely broke off at the sudden realization that he hadn’t been asking her to tickle the carpet. She heard the laughter directed at them and turned a stricken expression upon her husband.

  “Darling, I was asking you to dance,” Richard said, but his lips twitched with an urge to laugh.

  And that was Keely’s undoing.

  Mortified beyond endurance, Keely leaped to her feet and raced through the shocked crowd out of the hall. She heard her husband calling her name, but she never looked back or stopped. The sound of the courtiers’ laughter chased her through the maze of corridors to her own chamber.

  Keely slammed the door shut and leaned back against it. Hot tears of humiliation streamed down her cheeks. She could never face those people again. Her husband’s world would never be hers. She didn’t belong there. Cut from a different mold, Keely knew she would never fit into the life of a courtier. A descendant of Welsh princes and a Druid priestess she may be, but to these Englishmen she was merely an ignorant Welsh bastard who’d forced her presence on her unsuspecting noble sire and tricked England’s favorite son into an unwanted marriage. She was truly the Princess of Nowhere.

  Keely crossed the chamber and sat on the edge of the bed. She needed to escape this world of unhappiness.

  Home. Like a siren’s song, the misty mountains of Wales called to Keely.

  Oh, what a coil she’d wrapped herself in. Leaving the earl would shatter her heart, but staying in his world would destroy her.

  Surrendering to hopelessness and sorrow, Keely covered her face with her hands and wept for what was. And for what could never be.

  The door opened and closed quietly. Richard crossed the chamber to the bed and sat down beside her. He put his arm around her and drew her against his comforting strength. His heart ached at the sight and the sound of her weeping.

  With his handkerchief, Richard wiped the tears from her face. “Elizabeth requires her courtiers to remain in the Presence Chamber until she leaves, a sign of respect for the Crown.”

  “I am no courtier.”

  “The Countess of Basildon is most assuredly a courtier,” Richard said with an encouraging smile, trying to put a brave face on the embarrassing situation.

  Keely gazed at him through violet eyes swimming with tears. “I must return to Wales, my lord. Our marriage can be annulled.”

  “’Tis impossible once a marriage is consummated, sweetheart.” Richard sounded more reasonable then he felt. No matter what happened, he’d never let her go.

  “A divorce will do.”

  Richard tipped her chin up, gazed into her eyes, and felt her pain. “For better or for worse, we are husband and wife until death do us part.”

  “As every noble in England saw, ’tis for the worse.

  “Not so.” Drawing her into his embrace, Richard stroked the delicate column of her back in a soothing motion. “The fault lies with me. Am I forgiven?”

  “’Twas my ignorance that caused such hilarity,” she said, absolving him of any guilt.

  “’Twas my ignorance that caused the hilarity, sweetheart. I used a courtier’s figure of speech with a lady who’d never attended the court.” Richard gazed into her disarming violet eyes. “Return with me now, and we’ll dance together. Within the hour, those shallow minds will fix upon a different piece of gossip. Trust me, beauty.”

  Keely lowered her gaze. “I cannot.”

  “The longer you hide yourself away, the longer those blockheads will smile behind their hands.”

  “You misunderstand,” Keely said. “I never learned to dance.”

  “That’s a problem easily solved.” Richard stood and gently forced her to rise with him. When she faced him, he bowed to her in courtly manner.

  Taking her cue from him, Keely managed a wobbly smile and curtsied. “Now what do I do?”

  “Keep this part of your arm pressed against your body,” Richard said, demonstrating as he spoke. “Hold your open palms up toward me. Sway your right side toward my right side and touch your palm to mine.” When she’d done as he’d instructed, Richard said, “We'll do the same with our left palms.”

  “’Tis simple,” Keely said, her easy smile enchanting him.

  His wife was entirely too beautiful for him to resist. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, healing the emotional pain she’d endured that evening. When she entwined her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, Richard murmured, “The queen be damned.”

  He lifted her into his arms and placed her across the bed, then lay down beside her. He yanked the bodice of her gown down, freeing her breasts, and kissed her dusky nipples.

  “Ahem.” Another voice sounded within their chamber.

  Dazed with desire, Richard turned his head slowly and looked toward the doorway. Willis Smythe stood there, his gaze fixed on the sight of Keely’s bared breasts.

  Keely tried to cover herself. Unfortunately, her husband’s body pressing her down prevented movement.

  “The queen demands your presence,” Willis informed them.

  “Get out,” Richard ordered, his voice soft but deadly.

  ”But Elizabeth—”

  “I said, get out.”

  Willis Smythe didn’t need to be told a third time. He inclined his head and left the chamber.

  Richard looked at his wife’s crimson face and regretted his decision to remain at court until after the Christmas holidays, but it was too late to change his mind. He’d already promised Elizabeth they would stay through Twelfth Night, when the court was scheduled to move to Richmond Palace, her winter’s warm box. Leaving early would be insulting at best and suspect at worst.

  Richard rose from the bed and adjusted his codpiece while his wife covered her breasts. “’Twill never happen again.”

  Keely nodded. Their lack of privacy was no fault of his.

  “I’ll make our excuses to the queen.” Richard gave her a quick kiss. “Lock the door, and do not open it for anyone but me.” He left the room but waited outside until he heard the bolt thrown.

  With anger etched across his face, he marched down the corridor. Gaining the Presence Chamber, Richard made his way through the crowd. He reached the dais and waited in silence until Elizabeth deigned to acknowledge his arrival, then bowed low in front of her.

  “We have noted your rudeness in leaving Our presence without permission,” Elizabeth said.

  Richard flicked a glance at the smirking Earl of Leicester, who stood close beside the seated queen. “Majesty, I do beg your generous pardon. My wife took ill suddenly.”

  “’Tis serious?” Elizabeth asked, playing the courtiers’ game, a dissembling pastime consisting of two players—monarch and courtier—and any number of spectators. Everyone in the hall knew that she had witnessed the entire fiasco of his wife tickling the carpet.

  “I believe ’tis the excitement of being in your presence,” Richard said, his smile sincere. “I’m positive my wife will feel much better in the morning.”

  Elizabeth nodded. His polished excuse brought the hint of a smile to her lips. She always enjoyed playing the courtiers’ game with her dear Midas, who was an exceedingly worthy opponent.

  “May I have leave to return to my chamber and offer my wife whatever comfort is possible?”

  “Carry your lovely bride Our heartfelt tidings for her quick recovery, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Majesty.”

  Richard bowed and backed away. Turning toward the assembly, he scanned the chamber until his gaze fell on Willis Smythe dancing with Lady Jane. He marched onto the dance floor and pushed his way through the couples who stopped dancing to watch his unprecedented behavior.

  Lady Jane saw him first but missed the murderous gleam in his eyes. “Have you come to your senses and dumped the little taffy?”

  Richard ignored her. He fixed his gaze on his friend, who waited for whatever w
as coming. “We’ve shared many things, but never make the mistake of counting my wife among them,” Richard warned. “Look at her again, and that hour will be your last on this earth.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and shoved his way through the titillated audience of courtiers.

  “Basildon!”

  Richard halted at the hall’s entrance and turned in the direction of that voice. He saw the only other man there who was dressed completely in black, Lord Burghley.

  “Is there a problem?” Burghley asked.

  Richard flicked a glance over his shoulder in the direction of his former friend. “No longer.” Without another word, Richard quit the chamber.

  Chapter 14

  Life at the Tudor court was hell. Keely endured the longest six weeks of her life. She learned to smile at people she disliked. She learned to find her way through Hampton Court’s labyrinth of corridors. She learned the pavane, the slowest and most stately dance for couples.

  The thought of learning the sprightly five-step galliard was enough to give Keely the hives, but she needn’t worry about that formidable dance until the following year. Keely carried the earl’s child and pleaded her condition on the grounds that the lively galliard could dislodge their baby.

  Suffering with morning sickness gave her a good reason to miss the Sunday service in the Chapel Royal. She’d used that particular excuse this very morning.

  “How do I look?” Keely asked, turning in a circle for her tiringwomen.

  Her high-necked gown had been created in sapphire blue cashmere with a matching shawl and slippers. She wore the gleaming dragon pendant.

  “How lovely you are,” May gushed, clapping her hands together.

  “The most beautiful woman at court,” June agreed, bobbing her head.

  “I owe my appearance to my talented tiringwoman,” Keely said, returning their compliments.

  “Women,” June corrected her.

  May reached out and pinched her sister’s arm. “Tiringwomen do not correct their ladies.”

  “So sorry, Lady Keely,” June apologized, rubbing her arm. “Your beauty will shame all those other ladies.”

  “I doubt that,” Keely said, walking toward the door. “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck,” May and June chorused together.

  Keely started down the corridor that led to another corridor, which brought her to the wing of the palace that housed the queen’s privy chambers. She carried a large tapestry bag containing her husband’s linen handkerchiefs, which she intended to embroider.

  This invitation was the first she’d received to visit the queen’s privy sitting room for an afternoon of sewing with the other ladies. Keely worried which topics would be suitable for conversation. She’d never enjoyed a close female companion except her mother.

  Keely recalled her husband’s parting words to her that morning. “Keep your lips closed and your ears open. Above all else, be discreet.”

  Reaching the end of the last corridor, Keely faced the entrance to the Long Gallery and hesitated in indecision. The Long Gallery was the only path she knew to the royal apartments.

  Keely was no coward, nor did she fear the dead. But, the torment of the soul trapped within the gallery had sickened her the last time she’d entered.

  Summoning her reserves of inner strength, Keely opened the door and stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind her.

  Keely stood still, and her gaze scanned the chamber. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. She moved forward several paces, felt a prickly draft teasing the nape of her neck, and stopped short.

  Keely looked at the rows of long tapered candles on either side of the gallery. Once again their flames burned steadily.

  Keely refused to retreat. Steeling herself against the unseen, she walked deeper into the gallery. An oppressive heaviness settled upon her, and bleak hopelessness weighed her spirit down. An unfamiliar name surfaced into her consciousness: Cat Howard. Something evil had happened in this chamber to a woman named Cat Howard.

  Losing her nerve, Keely whirled around and dashed out of the Long Gallery. Alone in the corridor, she tried to compose herself. When reality seeped into her senses, Keely considered a logical way out of this untenable predicament. She was unable to pass through the Long Gallery, but only a fool would refuse the queen’s invitation. One did not snub Elizabeth and live to tell the story.

  And then there was the matter of her husband. Richard would be furious if she failed to attend the queen.

  Keely needed to get to that royal sitting room. There had to be another route.

  She squared her shoulders and walked back down the corridor. Rounding a corner, she spied a page dressed in the queen’s livery. “Please wait, boy.”

  The boy stopped and turned around.

  “Can you tell me how to get to the royal apartments?”

  The freckle-faced boy gave her a grin. “Walk through the Long Gallery, my lady.”

  “I mean, other than through the gallery.”

  “Through the privy garden.”

  Keely dazzled the twelve-year-old with a relieved smile and thanked him.” What’s your name?”

  “Roger Debrett.”

  “Lead the way to the privy garden, Roger.”

  “With pleasure, Lady Devereux.”

  Roger led her outside the palace to the wide expanse of lawns that teemed with courtiers. The two of them passed dozens of nobles and servants who were coming or going to the courtyard and the stables.

  At one point, Keely saw her father speaking with the Earl of Leicester and waved to them. Finally, Roger halted in a deserted section of the landscaped garden.

  “Here we are,” he said. “The privy garden lies on the other side of the wall.”

  Keely looked from Roger to the wall. Her gaze slid past and then returned to the majestic leaf-barren oak that stood like a sentinel beside the wall.

  She advanced on the oak, calling over her shoulder, “Give me a boost.”

  “Sneaking into the queen’s garden is unwise,” Roger advised her, beginning to regret escorting Basildon’s beautiful countess here. Borrowing trouble was folly in the extreme. He wanted to live long enough to futter a few pretty maids.

  “The queen invited me to sit with her this afternoon,” Keely told him.

  “Why don’t you walk through the Long Gallery like everyone else?”

  “’Tis haunted.”

  The boy gaped at her in surprise. “A ghost haunts the Long Gallery?”

  Keely nodded in all seriousness. “Will you give me a boost?”

  Roger waged an inner battle. On the one hand, he feared catching trouble. At the same time, he itched to be away and spread the gossip that Lady Devereux believed the Long Gallery haunted.

  Giving her a mischievous grin, Roger crouched down and cupped his hands together. Keely placed a slippered foot in his hands, and up she went.

  Keely inched her way carefully along the oak’s thickest branch and leaped the short distance to the top of the stone wall. She sat down and caught the tapestry bag that Roger tossed her. “My thanks for all your help.”

  “At your service, Lady Devereux.” Roger grinned and bowed from the waist, but he lingered where he was to be certain she didn’t injure herself leaping into the garden.

  Keely threw her bag down. From her sitting position, she dropped into the garden but turned toward the wall when she heard the page calling.

  “Lady Devereux, are you well?”

  “Fine, Roger. Thank you.”

  Keely spared a moment to brush the dust from her skirt and then turned in the direction of the palace. What she saw formed her lips into a perfect O of surprise.

  Standing less than ten feet away, three people stared at her. Queen Elizabeth and Lord Burghley appeared shocked. Richard looked furious.

  Keely silently cursed her stupidity for failing to cast an invisibility shield around herself. There was nothing to be done for it now. She dropped a throne room curtsy as the three of th
em advanced on her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Richard demanded.

  Keely looked from her angry husband to the queen and Burghley. She couldn’t seem to find her voice.

  “Answer your husband,” Burghley ordered. “What are you doing in the queen’s garden?”

  “Her Majesty invited me to sit with her this afternoon,” Keely said.

  “Yes, but why are you vaulting over the wall to get here?” Elizabeth asked in an amused voice.

  Keely wet her lips, gone dry from nervousness. Before answering, she glanced at her husband. His gaze warned her to caution, but as she saw it, only the truth would suffice in this matter. Nothing else made sense.

  “A fear comes upon me whenever I step into the Long Gallery,” Keely told the queen.

  “What do you mean by a fear?” Lord Burghley asked. “Explain yourself.”

  Keely looked at Richard. Her husband had developed a twitch in his right cheek. Dropping her gaze to the ground, Keely answered, “I believe a ghost haunts the Long Gallery.”

  Keely peeked at her husband. The twitch had spread to his left cheek.

  “You’ve seen a ghost in my gallery?” Elizabeth asked, astounded.

  “I never saw it,” Keely qualified, shaking her head. “I sensed its presence.”

  Heedless of protocol, Keely looked at her husband and pleaded for understanding. “I started to walk through the gallery, but its aura of hopelessness frightened me. I swear, my lord, I tried to do as you bade me.”

  Her remorseful expression softened Lord Burghley. He glanced at his furious protégé and remarked, “If Lady Devereux climbed undetected into the privy garden, others could do the same. We must tighten Her Majesty's security.” He looked at Keely. “You have drawn our attention to a most important matter, Lady Devereux. We owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  Richard snapped his head around to stare at his mentor. He couldn’t credit what he’d just heard.

  “Her Majesty's safety is of paramount importance,” Burghley went on. “Don’t you agree, Richard?”