The Virgin's Daughter (Tudor Legacy #1)(8)

That last might be stretching things, but Minuette had trained her daughters how to run a household and estate of hundreds, and it was no small task. Part of each day, Lucette was expected to help with the necessary mending and sewing for the family and to take turns with Pippa visiting those in need. The rest of the time was hers, for study or sport. The first was generally mathematics or languages—occupied in large part with correspondence between herself and Dr. Dee—and the second was most often hawking or long rides with Pippa.

The girls were always accompanied on their rides by at least two grooms and often by one of their brothers. With Stephen already gone north, Kit offered to ride with them on a chilly Thursday the beginning of April, but Pippa turned her twin away before Lucette could as much as open her mouth.

“Just the grooms, Kit,” his twin said. “I know you were set on going into Exeter today.”

“Take Matthew along, at least. He won’t mind.”

No, Lucette thought, Matthew won’t mind in the least. The only child of Dominic Courtenay’s right-hand man and her mother’s closest attendant, Matthew Harrington had been devoted to Pippa since childhood. He was the only person, apart from Kit, who seemed to understand every twist of her sister’s mysterious mind.

But Pippa dismissed the idea at once. “Matthew needs to study. Lord Burghley has agreed to take him on in the treasury. He’s to go to London next month, I won’t have him disturbed.”

Perhaps Pippa’s insistence on riding without familiar company should have alerted Lucette that she meant to pry. But her little sister always managed to take her by surprise.

“So why are you really going to France, Lucie?” Pippa asked as they walked their matching dappled horses in tandem.

“Why don’t you tell me?” She meant to be lighthearted, but thought she sounded suspicious instead.

Pippa’s face lit up with the sudden, dazzling smile of their mother. Lucette had always envied her that resemblance, though her eyes were the jewel-green of Dominic’s. “What if I said you ended with a French husband after all? Would you stay home?”

“Depends on the husband.”

“Poor Julien LeClerc. Why did you so take against him all those years ago?”

How did Pippa know that? They’d all been children then—all right, Julien had been sixteen, but she had been ten years old during that visit and Pippa no more than six.

But then, Pippa always knew far more than anyone should. Except, perhaps, for Dr. Dee.

Why don’t you teach my sister? Lucette had asked him once.

She doesn’t need me, he’d answered.

Lucette narrowed her eyes now and said crossly, “I promise you that my very last purpose in going to France is to secure a husband.”

“I know,” Pippa said serenely. “But you are so much fun to tease.”

“Are they going to oppose me?” she asked. No need to specify her mother and Dominic.

“Do they ever oppose you?”

No, Lucette thought, not since I was fifteen. Because they were afraid that, pushed to a choice, Lucette would choose court and Elizabeth.

“What will you do this summer?” Lucette asked abruptly. “Other than Anabel’s visit to Wynfield Mote.”

“I’m not entirely sure Anabel will be allowed at Wynfield Mote this summer. I suppose it depends on how events proceed with King Philip’s visit.”

“So you will not see her?”

“No, I will. Kit and I will ride on to Pontefract to join her when you leave for court.”

They rode a little way in silence, then Pippa said suddenly, “Father fears that if you go to France, you will not come back. He thinks you will choose a French husband simply to avoid having to return home.”

“Told you that, did he?” Lucette asked it drily, but could not help the twitch of her eye.

Instead of answering the (admittedly rhetorical) question, Pippa asked instead, “Are you ever going to call him Father again?”

Keeping her face averted and her voice steady, Lucette retorted, “What makes you think he wants me to?”

“Talk to him, Lucie. It’s been years since the queen’s mischief. Time is only hardening your pride and his fear.”

The queen’s mischief—a neat if understated phrase for what Elizabeth had wrought on Lucette’s fifteenth birthday. When the queen had presented her with an elegant necklace of enameled Tudor roses “because your father would have wished it” and then told Lucette to ask her parents why.

But that had not been the final breach between Lucette and Dominic. No, that she had wrought wholly herself, with only her folly and pride to blame. And that she had never told Pippa.

Not that one had to tell Pippa.

“I have no doubt at all that he will insist on accompanying me to court and Dover when I sail,” Lucette said finally. “Perhaps we will talk then.”

And perhaps horses would fly her across the Channel to France.

13 April 1580

Pontefract Castle

Dearest Father,

Thank you for the silks. The colours are lovely and will make gowns such as are rarely seen in England. Which was surely your intention.

I look forward to your visit, scarcely able to believe that it has been five years since the last time we saw each other. You will find your cielita much grown since then, but hopefully just as pleasing to you.