by Jane Feather
“This will do.”
He thought as he jumped down into the boat that it would have been nice if Ashton had offered to send his own barge to fetch them. Luisa, while trying to persuade him to take her downriver to Richmond one night, had waxed most eloquent on the barge's elegance and commodious seating. She had not taken kindly to his refusal to attempt such a journey in the dark of night, on a part of the river that was unfamiliar and known for its unpredictable currents and eddies. A stream of Spanish insults had fallen upon his head. Only to be as fervently withdrawn with a flood of apology.
Robin grinned slightly at the memory and wondered again how Luisa would manage herself this evening. It would be an interesting test of her resourcefulness, something in which he placed considerable faith.
“What's amusing you?” Pippa demanded, taking his proffered hand and stepping down beside him.
“Oh, just a passing thought,” he said airily. “The sacking seems clean enough.” He gestured to the thwart.
Pippa brushed it with her hand, then spread out the skirts of her cloak before she sat down. She regarded Robin closely. “Just a passing thought?”
“Aye.” He took the seat opposite her. Jem took his place in the stern with the boatman, who began to pull for midstream.
Robin didn't hesitate to deflect the conversation from his own thoughts. “What is it that you like so much about Lionel Ashton?” he asked directly. He was no more inclined than Pippa to tread lightly when it came to the welfare of those he loved.
“Who said I liked anything about him?”
“'Tis obvious, Pippa. The man is charged with overseeing your every move and you don't seem to resent it in the least. That's not like you.”
He paused, and when Pippa said nothing, continued a little diffidently. “It seems to me that there's something between you. This afternoon I noticed it. I would almost call it a closeness.”
He scrutinized her expression in the dusky gloom. He had a sense, a premonition almost, that Pippa was in some danger. He didn't know where it would come from or what it would be, but he could almost smell it in the air, and he had spent enough years living on his wits to know that smell as clearly as if it were the devil's sulphur.
“I do like him,” Pippa said. She could see little point denying it. There was no need to admit to anything else. “I don't know why. He seems to like me too.”
“I can understand that.” Robin leaned over, covering her gloved hands with his own. “But . . . but, Pippa, you must be careful. You're already out of favor at court. You are carrying your husband's child—”
“My husband is unfaithful to me.” Pippa interrupted him, sliding her hands free of his light grasp.
“You cannot be sure—”
“I am certain.” She stared at him, her eyes fixed, daring him to disagree with her.
In the face of that conviction Robin could only believe her. “I am sorry,” he said after a minute. “Truly sorry, Pippa.” Then, still hesitantly, he said, “But you know what they say about two wrongs?”
“Don't lecture me, Robin. You know nothing about it.” She looked up into the sky where the evening star was bright and a gibbous moon was rising over the trees lining the river.
He sighed. “Maybe not. But when it comes to family I'm all you've got for now, Pippa. I can't watch you do something that will ruin you.”
Pippa laughed suddenly. “Oh, how dramatic, Robin. I'm not going to be ruined! Surely it's good that I find my jailer a pleasant companion. You would not begrudge me some pleasure in his forced company?”
“No . . . no, of course not.” Just not too much. But Robin kept the addendum to himself. “When is the babe due?”
“I'm a little uncertain, but I would guess in late April or very early May,” she said. “I do appreciate your concern, Robin, but you must see that there's no need. Lionel has as much a care for my reputation as do you. You would not else have been here with me now. What could tongues find to wag about in a quiet supper party with a child and her duenna and me accompanied by my brother?”
Child?
Immediately diverted, Robin reached up to adjust the set of the plume on his flat velvet cap. He would gain nothing from Pippa with further questioning . . . at least not tonight. He flicked at the small ruff at his neck, lifting the lace edging with a fingertip. “You approve of my dress then?”
“Certainly. I am always telling you that you should wear blue. With eyes like yours it would be foolish to wear any other color.”
Robin shuffled his feet. “There is nothing special about my eyes.”
“Oh, yes, there is,” Pippa crowed. “They are the very twins of your father's. I doubt my mother would have fallen so readily for Lord Hugh if it hadn't been for his eyes.”
“Sometimes, for a sensible woman, you talk arrant nonsense,” Robin declared roundly.
“Oh, I am not always sensible,” Pippa said with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “But believe me, brother dear, you are not the only one to notice things about people. You are very different these days with your newfound interest in cleanliness and clothes. I would wager that you are courting.”
“More arrant nonsense!” Robin exclaimed. He was not courting. Of course he was not.
“Those must be Ashton's water steps,” he called out a little too loudly. Pointing to the bank, he stood up too soon in his eagerness to have an end to this conversation, and the wherry rocked violently. He fell back heavily onto the thwart and his hat flew off.
Jem leaped for it, catching it the instant it was about to fall into the water.
“Oh, well done, Jem.” Pippa applauded. “That would have been a sad loss.”
Robin picked himself up and retrieved his cap if not his dignity. The wherry bumped the water steps and the man waiting for them above took the painter and made the boat fast.
Robin climbed up onto the quay, straightening his doublet, dusting off his cloak and hose. Pippa came up the steps lightly and joined him. She looked around her with interest.
The mansion threw light from its many windows across the sweep of lawn to the iron gate that separated the garden from the river. It was a substantial house, with a wide stone terrace and parapets. A beautifully outfitted barge was tied up at the steps.
Pippa nodded thoughtfully. Lionel Ashton, it seemed, was a wealthy man. Not that that was surprising. Most of the Spaniards who had come with Philip were rich. But as far as she knew none of them had London houses.
But then how many of them had wards to house?
“This way, my lady . . . my lord.” The man who had been waiting for them held a lantern high and preceded them through the iron gates. He wore a resplendent livery of green and silver. Robin sent Jem back with the wherry and followed Pippa and their guide. The grounds were familiar to him, but he had never entered the house, so it was easy for him to appear as unfamiliar and curious as Pippa.
Luisa turned around in front of her mirror of silvered glass. “Oh, Bernardina, do you think this mantilla goes with this gown? Should I not wear the green silk? See, there are threads of green in the embroidery here.” She picked at the embroidered flowers on her orange damask underskirt.
“My dear child, there is no need to get so excited,” Bernardina said, but with a fond smile. Luisa looked particularly well this evening. The gown of ivory velvet over the vibrant underskirt set off the warm pink glow of her complexion. She could well understand the girl's exhilaration, indeed felt some herself. They had been so long out of society.
It had been so long since there had been a truly lively conversation at the supper table. And she was looking forward to demonstrating her skills as chatelaine to Don Ashton. He would find that she had provided a most delectable repast for his guests, and he would see how perfectly his ward conducted herself in company.
“Did Don Ashton give you the names of his guests?” Luisa asked, unpinning the virginal white mantilla that she wore and reaching for the green silk.
“No, I had barely time
to exchange a word with him. He was in a hurry on his way to dress.” Bernardina took pins from the dresser and began to arrange Luisa's mantilla to her satisfaction. The green against her black hair was very striking.
“But he did say they were brother and sister. There could be no objection from your dear mother to a family party.”
Luisa made a small moue of dismay. A brother and sister sounded like poor company. An elderly pair who kept house together, presumably. Don Ashton would, of course, go out of his way to find the most boring and respectable guests.
But even a brother and sister would be more enlivening company than dear Bernardina and her embroidery frame for an interminable evening. And if they were truly respectable enough even for Bernardina then a reciprocal invitation could be accepted. And maybe she would meet other people there.
Luisa's spirits, never down for long, rose on a surge of optimism. She would charm this dull and elderly pair with her wit, her sweet Spanish docility, and her music, and they would open the doors for her.
She flicked at the mantilla that Bernardina had pinned to her looped braids. “I do think it is better. Do you not?”
“Certainly,” the duenna agreed. “You have impeccable taste, my dear. You get it from your mother.”
Luisa's eyebrows flickered a little at this. Her mother, for as long as she could remember, had dressed in unrelieved black. She was certainly a graceful figure, with the perfect poise dictated by her rigid adherence to society's rules of conduct, but it was hard to see where taste came into an endless succession of black gowns and mantillas.
However, Luisa reflected that when it came to her daughter's clothes her mother had shown no such restraint. She had made certain that Luisa was always dressed beautifully, although with perfect decorum. So perhaps Bernardina was right. Luisa felt a flash of sympathy for her mother, wondering if she might have enjoyed a more varied wardrobe if the role of wife and constantly bereaved mother and then widow hadn't dictated otherwise.
“Your fan, my dear.” Bernardina handed Luisa a painted black silk fan. “You will have little need of it tonight, 'tis cool enough, but the correct gestures can be so graceful.”
Luisa smiled and demonstrated with a flick of her wrist. She looked at her duenna over the top of the fan and Bernardina gave a little gasp. “You must not flirt, child! Indeed you must not.”
“Oh, 'tis just a game, dearest.” Luisa kissed her faded cheek. “I will not disgrace you, I promise.”
“Of course you will not.” Bernardina tutted and patted her shoulder.
Luisa glanced towards the unshuttered casement. “Oh, they are coming. See the lights.” She flew to the window, then, hearing another gasp of remonstrance from her duenna, stood against the wall, hidden by the curtain, watching the wavering light of the torch on the path below. Two cloaked figures followed the liveried watchman.
“Come . . . come . . . we must be in the hall to greet them,” Bernardina said urgently.
Luisa let the curtain fall and followed Bernardina. At the head of the stairs she heard her guardian in the hall below.
“Lord Robin . . . Lady Nielson . . . I bid you welcome.”
“Our thanks for your hospitality, Mr. Ashton,” Robin of Beaucaire said easily.
Luisa's slippered foot, extended to touch down on the top step, hung immobile. Her breath stopped in her chest. Robin. Her breath returned in a great swoosh. Robin and his sister. How she had longed to meet this Pippa who had defied the queen, who had been imprisoned in the Tower, and yet had managed to live the life she chose.
She was gripped with a thrill of near unbearable excitement that mingled with a delicious twinge of fear. What could possibly have possessed him? Was he teasing her? Testing her? Or had it simply been an accident that brought him here? He would not invite discovery . . . surely he would not?
Her chin lifted, her mouth curved in a confident smile. Either way he would see that she could handle herself in any situation. And if he had hoped to discompose her, he would discover that Luisa de los Velez of the house of Mendoza could play any game he could.
She flipped open her fan and followed her duenna down the stairs.
Sixteen
Lionel moved forward as his ward and her duenna descended to the hall. “Lady Nielson, allow me to present Dona Bernardina de Cardenas.”
Bernardina swept a stately curtsy that Pippa reciprocated with a friendly smile.
“And my ward, Dona Luisa de los Velez.” He took Luisa's hand and drew her forward.
Pippa smiled at the girl. “I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Dona Luisa.” Lionel's ward was not quite the child she had expected, she reflected. And she was certainly beautiful with those amazing dark eyes, creamy skin, and that glossy black hair. A little plump, perhaps, but many men considered that an asset in a woman. She cast Lionel a quick glance and wondered if he did.
Lionel introduced Robin to the two women. Robin bowed with great ceremony to Dona Bernardina and with rather less formality to the younger lady. His eyes skimmed over her and she kept her own gaze demurely on her feet.
“My lord,” she murmured from behind her fan. “I bid you welcome.”
“My thanks, Dona Luisa. And how do you find this country of ours? I trust you're enjoying your stay.”
“'Tis very quiet, sir,” Luisa said, peeping at him over her fan. “I find there are fewer diversions here than in Seville.”
“Well, that is a fault to be laid at my door,” Lionel declared, ushering his guests into the parlor at the rear of the hall. “I have been so occupied with affairs of state that there has been little time to introduce Dona Luisa to court society.”
“If the truth be told, Dona Luisa, you are missing very little,” Pippa said. “Most of the so-called entertainments are terminally dull.”
“But there must be dancing . . . music . . .” Luisa protested. “Pray take the chair, Lady Nielson.” She indicated a straight-backed chair with carved arms and sat herself on a stool beside it.
Pippa took the chair, thinking with a little shock of surprise that this girl was treating her with all the respect due an elder. Which, of course, in Luisa's eyes she was . . . a respectably married matron. Pregnant into the bargain, although Luisa couldn't know that. It was a novel position in which to find herself, and Pippa wasn't entirely sure that she enjoyed it.
Robin declined a seat, preferring to follow Ashton's lead and remain standing beside the hearth where a small fire had been kindled against the gathering chill of an autumn night.
Dona Bernardina, her stiff black skirts standing around her as if on their own legs, perched elegantly on the very edge of a chair cushioned in green velvet.
She offered an observation in Spanish. Luisa was quick to translate. “My duenna asks if you are well, Lady Nielson.”
“Very well, I thank you.” Pippa bowed her head in the duenna's direction. “I trust you are well also.”
A quick exchange and Luisa said, “Dona Bernardina is very well, she thanks you for your consideration.”
Dear God, was this going to go on all evening? Pippa searched for some other platitudinous courtesy and suddenly met Lionel's gaze. It was so full of comprehending laughter she choked on her carefully constructed sentence.
Dona Bernardina issued a stream of incomprehensible words and Luisa jumped to her feet, offering wine to the stricken guest.
Pippa waved it away, managing between violent fits of coughing to say, “No . . . no, I thank you. I don't care for wine.”
“Lady Nielson prefers mead,” Lionel said, going to the sideboard where reposed a silver jug and a decanter of Venetian crystal. He poured from the jug into a chased silver goblet and brought it to Pippa.
Bernardina plied her fan in a vigorous attempt to cool her guest's overheated complexion, while Pippa tried politely to dispense with her ministrations, all the time acutely aware of the concern lurking beneath Lionel's blandly social countenance as he waited for her paroxysm to cease before handing her the mead
.
Robin remained beside the fire, judging that Pippa had no need of his attentions. How had Ashton known she preferred mead these days? Robin had only just discovered it himself.
“Lord Robin, may I offer you wine?” Luisa was at his side. A fragrance of orange blossom and jasmine surrounded her. It was exotic. English women had no such perfume. It was exotic and yet somehow natural, as if it was embedded in her skin and hair.
“My thanks, Dona Luisa.” He took the proffered goblet and her fingers brushed his hand in a fleeting gesture that could have been accidental, except that it wasn't.
“A pastry,” Dona Bernardina said in halting English. “We have made some Spanish delicacy for our guests.” She fetched a silver tray from the sideboard and presented it to Pippa, who was now gratefully drinking from her goblet, Lionel still at her side.
Pippa looked for the most innocuous-seeming of the sweetmeats. Her childhood sweet tooth had diminished over the years and these days seemed to have disappeared almost completely.
Lionel took a pair of silver tongs and lifted a tartlet from the tray. He placed it on a tiny silver dish on the low table beside her chair. “This is filled with goat's cheese and a little honey. I think you will like it.”
“If you say so, sir,” Pippa murmured, taking a delicate bite. It was delicious. Her mouth curved, and despite the formality of the occasion she could not help observing sotto voce, “Once again your knowledge of what would appeal to a pregnant woman amazes me.”
He was clearly not amused. A frown crossed his eyes. “Spanish ladies of rank do not discuss such matters in the company of men,” he reproved in a low voice, glancing first towards Dona Bernardina, who was occupied with the platter of sweetmeats as she earnestly made her own choice, then to Luisa.
“They are not listening,” Pippa pointed out, smiling, quite unaffected by the reproof. “Luisa seems to find Robin's company more amusing than mine. Not that I would blame her for that.”
She took another appreciative bite of the tartlet. “And her duenna is rather more interested in sweets than she is in our conversation at the moment. Not that I would blame her for that. These are quite delicious.”