Finding Kate

by Maryanne Fantalis

  I tried not to hide my face in my hand.

  “Among the king’s party, there will be gentlemen of title and rank who have braved hardship alongside the king these last few years and fought alongside him at Bosworth last month, helping to ensure his place on the throne. Even our own young Benedict has achieved good fortune in so doing, being knighted on the very field of battle.”

  Eleanor clapped her hands for him, and I had to breathe against the fluttering of my heart at the simple mention of his name.

  What did his return bode?

  I could not keep silent. “And in addition to lands and titles and gold, the king wishes to give them the one remaining gift they need to secure their good fortune.”

  Uncle Lionel gave me a sour look. “Why such anger in your tone, niece? It does not cheapen you or your cousins to speak in this way. You are indeed worthy prizes that need to be earned, true rewards for worthy men. So should you think of yourselves.”

  Eleanor looked confused. “Prizes? Where? Are there prizes for us?”

  My uncle stroked her hair. “Never you mind, sweet thing. I shall find you a gift when the king comes. Would you like that?”

  “Oooh, yes, please, Uncle!” Eleanor clapped again. At least, it seemed, Uncle planned to keep her safe from the predations of men.

  Grace leaned over and took my hand in hers. “Father,” she said, “surely you will not offer us like calves at the spring market.”

  “Of course not,” he said. “You will meet the gentlemen when they arrive, and you will have opportunity to speak with them, get to know them, and they you. But in the end, this is a decision for those older and wiser than you, and you will be guided by us.”

  “Uncle,” I said, as my cousins nodded, “if I may be permitted to speak…”

  “My dear Beatrice,” he said with an indulgent smile, “when have we ever been able to silence you?”

  I smiled back. “Uncle, I think we would all agree that cousin Mary is full ready for marriage. Indeed, one can scarce stop her from throwing herself in the path of any man she sees.” I pulled my leg aside to avoid her backward-thrown elbow. “Further, I think we all agree that Eleanor is yet young and innocent and should be protected from such as would be required of her in marriage. At least for a time.” My uncle nodded, and I continued. “Grace, as your child and heir, is the greatest prize among us.” I squeezed her hand to show I meant no disrespect with the word. “She will be greatly sought after as a bride. Yet her temperament is shy and reserved, and she is uncomfortable speaking with strange men. Permit me to remove myself from the hazard so that I may spend my time with her, helping her to be wooed and to prepare herself to be a bride.”

  Now my uncle frowned. “Beatrice, you are an heiress in your own right. Many men would overlook your sharp tongue for your fortune and your fair face.”

  I sighed. Was that meant to make me feel good about myself? “So you say, Uncle, and so it may be, but you do not consider that mayhap I do not wish them to do so.”

  If possible, my uncle’s look grew darker. “Are you saying that you do not wish to marry?” All my cousins, too, looked at me, incredulous. “I know you have said this from time to time since you were younger than Eleanor, but your aunt and I always thought it was a game you were playing, a jest born of your high spirits and agile wit.” The cloud forming on his brow grew ever more fearsome. “Are you saying now that you have no intention of heeding me?”

  Careful, Beatrice. “I intend no disrespect, Uncle. But consider that you and Aunt Ursula will need someone to care for you in your age and infirmity…”

  He scoffed and waved a hand at me. “Let not my weakness be an excuse for you to reject a proper suitor. I have been infirm half my life and have never needed anyone to care for me.”

  “Except for Mother,” Grace teased with a gentle smile.

  “And you shall take her place when I am old and feeble, will you not, my dear girl?”

  “Of course, Father,” she replied, inclining her head.

  “There, you see?” Uncle said, turning his gaze back to me. “My daughter will care for me, so you have no excuse for your foolish saying.”

  “I suspect there is some other reason Beatrice does not want to share, Father,” Grace said, still gripping my hand with hers. She was right, of course, though she did not know quite what it was.

  “Well, I urge you to converse with yourself roundly and talk yourself out of it,” he said, pushing himself out of his chair. “By the time the king departs, I intend to have only one child unmarried under this roof.”

  We scrambled to our feet, Eleanor whispering in Mary’s ear, “Which one?” as we curtsied to him.

  Mary whispered a quick explanation in her sister’s ear, then whirled on me. “What on earth are you about, Beatrice?” she demanded. “You cannot mean to remain unmarried.”

  Just the word “unmarried” set my teeth on edge, for I could only hear it as we had spoken it two years ago, Benedict and me, before he left to join King Henry in France, back before King Henry was King Henry, when he was still merely the Earl of Richmond living in exile: said with anger and bitterness and hurt.

  “So you will depart unmarried then, and leave me thus, with no promise, no hope?”

  “Aye, I will. Beatrice, you know I must.”

  “Then go, and God’s blessings on you. I hope never to see you again.”

  In reply to Mary, I could only toss my head and say, “I may marry or not, for certes not in a fortnight. Uncle Lionel will not frighten me into it. I have not met a man who could tempt me to surrender myself and my freedom.” Which, of course, was not true. I had met him, and he had left.

  “But what will you do with your life if you do not marry?” Mary was incredulous. Indeed, what else was there for a woman of wealth and title?

  I sighed. “I am sure, if Uncle grows tired of keeping me and my sharp tongue in his house, I can find a place among the good sisters over in Woking.”

  Grace blinked. “Surely you do not mean to enter the church? Beatrice, you would make a terrible nun.”

  I laughed. “Aye, you are right. I could not be a nun. A Mother Superior, mayhap. I do so enjoy telling people what to do.” My cousins laughed with me. “Or do you suppose I might go to sea and become a pirate?”

  Grace groaned. “Oh, Beatrice, will you not be serious?”

  “Nay, not till a hot January.”

  The sudden scurrying of servants toward the front of the house alerted us to the arrival of the royal party. Mary and Eleanor looked at each other, eyes wide, and hurried out of the hall, while Grace and I followed at a slower pace, arm in arm. I persuaded myself that our stateliness was natural to our greater age and dignity, but in fact it was simply a combination of Grace’s shyness tilting toward abject fear with my reluctance to face what awaited me in the courtyard: seeing Benedict again – Sir Edmund now. Why could I not cease repeating that to myself, like rubbing lemon juice into a cut? How would he seem? What would he say? What should I say?

  Out in the packed dirt yard, horses stamped and paced, stirring up little whirlwinds under their hooves. Their earthy scent lingered in the air. Stable boys scurried to hold their headstalls and place wooden blocks for riders to dismount. Porters lugged trunks, baskets, and boxes into the house, suggesting this was more than a pleasant afternoon’s visit. On the other side of the yard, three servants helped an older woman in head-to-toe black out of an elaborate litter. Uncle Lionel and Aunt Ursula stood with my cousins at the bottom of the steps, speaking with a well-dressed, serious-looking man wearing a gold circlet about his brows. I might have more courage than Grace, but even I missed a step. That could only be King Henry.

  “Deep breath,” I whispered, squeezing her arm as we descended the steps. “And pluck up your courage.”

  We descended the stairs to join the group there. For a few moments, at least, I could observe our new sovereign unnoticed. Because he had claimed his throne by conquest and defeated King Richard III in batt
le, I had imagined a strong and gallant knight, a man accustomed to feats of arms and days in the saddle. Someone physically imposing, charismatic, and charming.

  That was not this king.

  King Henry was entirely ordinary, like someone had scrounged in the basement of a church and found a likely clerk or not-yet-professed monk and dragged him up into the daylight, swapped his habit for finery, and put a circlet on his head. His hair was the color of dirty dish-water and hung arrow-straight to his shoulders. His eyes were pale – perhaps blue, perhaps grey – as he squinted in the sun, and he was neither tall nor imposing. In fact, he looked suspicious, as though he could scarce believe this was happening, as though he suspected someone was lurking with a knife ready for his back, or a posse was about to toss him into the Thames.

  Then the king, noticing our movement, fixed us with a sharp gaze, and suddenly, I was a mouse in the shadow of a hawk. He offered a pleasant smile, though, and said to my uncle, “Lord Ashley, I believe this is your daughter come.”

  Beside me, I could feel Grace shrinking in on herself. How she hated to be called upon to be polite, to exchange cordial greetings. We both curtsied deeply, Grace keeping her head bowed to shield her blushes from view.

  “Her mother has many times told me so,” Uncle Lionel said, trying to set Grace at ease with a familiar jest.

  “Were you in doubt, sir, that you did ask her?” The king’s tone was so serious, I glanced up, but a faint smile tugged at his lips.

  “Nay, your majesty, of course not,” Uncle Lionel said, joining the laughter at the king’s remark. Aunt Ursula forced a laugh, seeming rather weary of the jest after all these years, and excused herself, setting off across the yard to welcome the ladies of the royal party. Eleanor and Mary trailed after her. Uncertain whether to accompany her, having just arrived, Grace and I stayed.

  “There can be no doubt,” the king said, taking Grace’s hand to help her rise and gesturing me to do the same. “One can clearly see the stamp of her father on her face.”

  Poor Grace shot a glance at me, begging for help without words. She knew she was supposed to make some witty remark in reply, but she was ever tongue-tangled in the presence of strangers, especially men, especially men of rank. Ordinarily, I would reply in her stead, but this was the king. Even I must forbear…

  “Oh, heaven forbid!” Uncle Lionel said. “No woman should be so cursed as this.” He waved a hand at his visage, which could not, in truth, be called handsome.

  “Nevertheless, be happy, Lady Grace,” the king said. “For you are like your honorable father.”

  Grace fumbled for something to say. “Well, then, I must be happy, for your majesty commands it, and it is good to be honorable.”

  Not witty, I thought, but at least to the point.

  My gaze, following my aunt, wandered over the yard, though my attention remained with Grace. Most of the horses had been moved off into the stables, and the baggage had been ported into the house, so individual people were easier to see. My aunt spoke with the woman in black and a young woman swathed in a shimmering veil of golden silk, as though the sun itself had descended to wrap itself about her. A small group of women in elegant clothes waited nearby. This must be the princess and the ladies of her household. Men stood in knots, chatting and laughing nearby, awaiting their summons to enter the house. Some I knew, neighboring lords or old friends of my father who were now allies of the king, while others were strangers here. My eyes, traitors that they were, sought even a glimpse of him whom I did not want to see. Did not want? Nay, longed to see.

  “Shall we go in, your majesty?” Uncle Lionel said, gesturing to the king to precede him up the stairs.

  “Nay, my lord, we will go in together.”

  My uncle bowed, sensible of the honor, and walked up the stairs beside our sovereign. The king slowed his progress, placing two feet on each step and conversing with my uncle about the history of Ashley House so that my uncle’s limp became a thing of little consequence.

  My respect for this king grew.

  Grace began to follow them in, and before I fell in behind her, I looked back over the yard to see if we should wait for my aunt and the other ladies. Amidst the general buzz of voices commenting upon the size and condition of my uncle’s house and property – my home! – I could not help straining against the noise to try to discern that one voice, that one note in the symphony.

  And then I saw him.

  He stood with a group of gentlemen in company with the Duke of Surrey, to whom my uncle owed fealty. The duke had led the men of his duchy in support of King Henry against the former king, and I could suppose that Benedict, who had joined King Henry in his exile in France, must have reunited with the duke upon their return to England. Benedict had his arm around another man’s shoulders, leaning close and saying something in his ear. The young fellow, darkly handsome, put his fingers to his lips to squelch his laughter. The two of them were clearly bosom friends.

  The courtyard fell silent, and my vision narrowed to Benedict alone. My body went rigid, and I seemed unable to recall how to breathe.

  Sir Edmund now, and in such exalted company. Would we be expected to bow before him?

  My ears filled with a strange susurration, an echo of my heart, pounding an erratic lament in my chest. Drawing a deep breath, I tried to force calm into my body. But I had not seen him in two years, almost to the day. How could I be calm when he had returned to our home, when he was laughing and talking in our courtyard as though he had never left? No, not that: because we all were the same but he was entirely different. He was broader than before, wider in the chest and shoulders, thicker in the arms. He wore a beard now, rich and coppery in color, a shade or so darker than his hair. And there was a white, L-shaped scar below his left eye. How had that come to be?

  My eyes were like minnows, darting to him and away.

  As my aunt reached the stairs with the other women and it became clear that no introductions would be made at this moment, I slipped into place behind her, alongside my cousins. We continued up the stairs, and all the while I fought the desire to look back at the yard, to see if the men were following, to see if Benedict had noted me or not, to know what he thought upon seeing me.

  It was all I could do not to run to him.

  It was all I could do not to slap his face with all my strength.

  As I was mounting the stairs and fighting this battle within myself, I found myself walking beside a young woman clad all in black, her raven hair covered by a black lace veil, her pale face unsmiling. I roused myself from my absorption in my own thoughts.

  “Are you well, my lady?” I asked.

  She shot me a glance, her eyes a soft shade of grey that belied the wicked intelligence I could see there. “Quite well, I thank you,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”

  “You seem…” I tipped my head, considering. “Out of step with the rest of the ladies who accompany the princess.”

  She focused on the steps beneath her feet for a moment, then said, “I am nothing like those other ladies.”

  Her tone, more than her words, stung, and I should have left her to her thoughts as I could tell she preferred. “From your dress, I suppose that you are in mourning?”

  Another pointed glance came my way and I was thankful that her eyes could not launch arrows lest I end in an early grave. “Aye, I do mourn. And yet, I am dragged about the land to make merry in the homes of strangers until the king is pleased to release me.”

  At my perplexed look, she sighed and explained, “I am the king’s ward, upon the death of my brother in the recent battle. My father died less than two years ago, so I had scarce given over mourning him when my dear brother died. I am utterly alone in the world now.” She paused and swallowed hard. “I know not if I ever will be happy again.”

  I bowed my head. “Forgive my impertinence in inquiring. My mouth ever runs ahead of propriety and good sense.”

  That coaxed a ghost of a smile from her lips. “Indeed,” s
he said. “My brother always chided me that I did not speak enough when I should, so mayhap you will teach me boldness while I am here, howsoever long that may last.”

  We had reached the top of the stairs. I placed a hand on her arm. “I shall endeavor to help you, in whatever way I may.”

  “For that sentiment, I thank you.”

  As we passed beneath the great archway of the doors, I noted – how could I not? – Benedict walking with his fellows into the hall as well. They were noisy, boisterous, openly eyeing us women, nudging and elbowing each other. I caught the exact moment Benedict spotted me: he halted in mid-stride, head turning, gaze drawn seemingly against his own will.

  Our gazes locked with all the force of lightning striking the ground. I could not breathe. Could he?

  With slow, languid movements, he leaned closer to the dark-haired gentleman beside him, saying something in his ear again. The fellow laughed and shoved his shoulder. My brows drew down, my whole being curled in. What were they saying about me?

  The lady beside me sniffed. “What do you suppose they see?”

  “He is stunned by our beauty, of course,” I said, loud enough to be heard, intending to be heard. She laughed, a bold, musical sound, catching the attention of all the men.

  All the men except Benedict, who still had not shifted his gaze from me. He leaned toward his fellow again, about to speak.

  Words boiled up within me and spilled out, unbidden. “Can it be that you are still speaking, Sir Edmund? Nobody cares to hear you.”

  “Well, well,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “My dear lady Disdain! Are you yet living?”

  Oh, aye, I deserved that. Still, it stung.

  I scoffed. “Is it possible that Disdain should die while she has such good meat to feed on as you, sir?” I dipped a little curtsy, mocking his new title. “Courtesy herself must convert to disdain when in your presence.”