The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(43)
So Philippa was matchmaking. Why? Maisie wondered. And how could his sister imagine that Stephen would ever look twice at a plain Scotswoman when he had the memory of Ailis Kavanaugh in his heart? Stephen had walked away from Ailis, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be searching for another gorgeous beauty, all fire and passion, to match him.
Of course, Philippa had never met Ailis. Perhaps the woman thought Stephen’s work in Scotland had something more personal to it than professional. Even clever women can be wrong on occasion, Maisie mused.
Stephen kept her entertained throughout supper. It had been a less profitable visit than Maisie might have hoped, seeing that the Princess of Wales was engaged with the king and Matthew Harrington could hardly take his eyes off Philippa. She had been accorded a meeting with Robert Cecil, the princess’s secretary, and met several times with Madalena Arias. Maisie had also spent one illuminating afternoon with Stephen’s older sister, Lucette. The dark-haired beauty—with the blue eyes, some said, of the late English king—was not as unsettling as Philippa, but she had a formidable intelligence. Though her studies had been largely academic, Lucette was quick to question Maisie about her business, and not only followed the discussion but asked some truly insightful questions.
When the sisters withdrew from the hall at the end of the wedding banquet, Maisie tracked Stephen’s gaze to where his brother sat in close conversation with Matthew. Stephen chuckled softly.
“What?” she asked.
“Matthew is being subjected to various warnings. It was my task with Lucie’s husband, Julien. Now it’s Kit’s turn. It’s what brothers do.”
“Not my brother.”
Stephen’s sharp eyes turned to her. “Your brother never even met Finian Kavanaugh, did he?”
She shook her head. “Even if he had cared to—which he never would have—I can’t imagine that Robert would have intimidated a man forty years older than himself. Especially an Irishman. Luckily for me, Finian was kind enough.”
“Kind enough that you do not find the thought of marrying again distasteful?”
“Why would I marry again? As a wealthy widow, I control my own future.”
“Mariota, you will always control your own future. Of that I have no doubt.”
Every time he called her by her given name, it made uncomfortable things happen to her heartbeat. Fortunately for her peace, a page appeared behind the two of them and, bowing, presented a message to Stephen.
The seal was unmistakably royal.
Stephen broke it open where they sat and after a moment said, surprisingly, “It’s for both of us.” He handed it to Maisie to read herself.
13 August 1585
Whitehall Palace
Lord Stephen Courtenay is commanded to Her Majesty’s presence at court as soon as can be arranged. He is to bring with him Mariota Sinclair of Edinburgh. We have business to discuss between the three of us.
HRH Elizabeth
Maisie raised her eyebrows in surprised query. Stephen was wearing his particularly blank face that told most people so little. But she was not most people. Maisie had learned to read the tiny twitches of jawline and eye that revealed his uneasiness.
“I would wager,” she said brightly, “that it will take your queen less than five minutes to offer to buy my military company for England’s use. Well, probably not buy it. Probably she will want it for nothing. Do you think you are likely to be swayed by her patriotic arguments?”
His lips twitched with definite amusement. “It doesn’t matter, does it? The company is yours. I will do what you tell me.”
And there was that damned irregular heartbeat again. Stop it, Maisie scolded herself. Confine yourself to the things you do well and leave romance to the beauties.
—
When news reached London of Philippa Courtenay’s precipitate marriage to a man whose birth could only be considered less exalted than hers, the rumours began flying of how soon a baby would be born. Elizabeth stopped what she could in her own circle by freezing disapproval. Minuette seemed untroubled by the gossip, though Elizabeth thought Dominic was likely furious at such idle discussions of his daughter’s virtue. But despite Minuette’s acceptance of the marriage, and their sincere approval of Matthew, Elizabeth knew how much her friend was hurt and surprised that they had not been told beforehand.
So when Stephen Courtenay reached London, Elizabeth allowed him to spend an entire day with his parents in their house on the Strand before summoning him to court. Let him tell stories of Pippa and Matthew to ease his parents’ concern. But once Stephen arrived at Whitehall, she ensured that the pageantry was fully in place. She received Stephen and Mistress Sinclair in the throne room, made more impressive by the absence of a crowd. Only Burghley was with her. She had not even considered bringing Walsingham into this meeting—Stephen had little cause to feel fondly about her spymaster. And vice versa. In fact, Walsingham had opposed this particular idea of hers from the beginning.
Stephen entered with the kind of indifferent grace his father possessed in spades. He made the appropriate genuflections, as did the woman at his side. Elizabeth studied Mariota Sinclair in the time it took the two of them to advance the length of the room. Dressed exquisitely in a silver and black brocade that Elizabeth envied, the slender girl carried herself well despite her lack of height. She was obviously fair, though her hair was severely parted and almost entirely contained in a black velvet hood. As young as Maisie Sinclair was, Elizabeth recognized a kindred spark of intelligence and self-possession in her face.