The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(6)
Maisie drew a slightly shaky breath and took the seat Matthew offered her. Discussing money was simple. It was the thought of discussing Stephen that made her pulse flutter.
The hour that followed was more exhilarating than any Maisie had spent in a long time. Despite her polite protestations, the young Princess of Wales had an astute business mind. She and Matthew Harrington between them grilled her thoroughly, and by the end of the hour they had several new investments planned.
And then, with apparently artless ease, the princess took Matthew with her and left Maisie and Philippa Courtenay alone. Dressed in dove-grey damask, this youngest Courtenay daughter had her twin’s good looks—sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes, hair like dark honey, save for a streak of glossy black that shone like Stephen’s.
“Lady Philippa,” Maisie said warily.
“Call me Pippa. Everyone does.”
Since she couldn’t quite bring herself to do that, Maisie simply nodded as though in agreement while silently vowing not to call her anything. And then she waited to be asked uncomfortable questions.
“Is Stephen ever going to recover from loving his Irish woman?”
Well, that was rather more uncomfortable than even she had bargained for. “It depends on how you define recovery.”
A flash of amused respect from Lady Philippa. “I define it as not needing to turn to hard drink or easy women to salve his pain.”
“Surely your twin can give you more accurate information than I can, seeing as how they are together in France.”
“But Kit never met Ailis Kavanaugh. You were there. You watched it all happen. And before you tell me that you were far too simple and innocent to understand what was going on…don’t bother. Your pose of childlike blandness does not fool me in the slightest.”
It had been a long time since Maisie had met an adult who bothered to look behind the masks she wore. Stephen had been the last, and that only briefly and in flashes between his obsession with Ailis. It was something of a relief to shrug her shoulders and answer bluntly. “Your brother is not a man to be broken by anything save his own conscience. Stephen loved Ailis very much. But any chance they might have had vanished the moment her daughter died. It wasn’t his lies or their different religions or political aims that ruined them—it was Stephen himself. He will never forgive himself for young Liadan’s death. I think he believed that walking away from Ailis was his penance for the child’s murder.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Stephen will not take refuge in alcohol.” Maisie didn’t dare think about women. What did she know of how men eased their pain in that way? “He will not retreat from the path he has laid before himself—to serve where he can to the best of his ability. It is your queen’s loss if it is not to be in England.”
“That sounds rather cold.”
“You asked for honesty, not comfort.”
Lady Philippa smiled, but there was something sad to it. And piercing. She seemed to be looking deep into Maisie’s own cold comforts as she said, “You are not wrong, but I do not think you see the whole of my brother. There is more to Stephen than duty, and a heart with room for more than one love. I do not think passion has finished with him quite yet.”
In defiance of protocol, Maisie stood up first. She had no experience with passion and no desire to discuss it with this self-possessed young woman who also happened to be Stephen’s sister. “My business is with numbers,” she said with finality. “I shall leave passion and penance to those better equipped to recognize it.”
Lady Philippa rose with a grace Maisie envied and her smile grew mischievous. “Thank you for your honesty, Mistress Sinclair. I will not forget it. Or you.”
A promise, or a threat? Maisie couldn’t decide which.
17 November 1584
Kit,
What have you been writing to Anabel lately? She is entirely too cheerful. It’s making the household nervous. When Anabel is cheerful, she is apt to be doing something reckless. I can only hope the recklessness is confined to her letters. And yes, I know, I sound like a fidgety old maid. It’s because you’re not here and Stephen’s not here and Lucie and Julien have hardly stirred from Compton Wynyates in a year. Her last miscarriage was so far along that she had begun to hope. And when that hope was dashed yet again…I am so worried about her and yet I cannot do anything!
We did have an interesting visitor while in York. Matthew has been doing business on Anabel’s behalf with Maisie Sinclair, the Scots widow who was in the Kavanaugh household with Stephen. Her brother nominally runs the Sinclair family’s main concerns out of Edinburgh, but she, I suspect, is the true inheritor of her grandfather’s genius. When she agreed to meet with Matthew on her way back to Scotland, I persuaded Anabel to go along because I wanted to ask the girl about Stephen.
Maisie Sinclair was very defensive—not on her own behalf, but on Stephen’s. I find that intriguing. She seems to think he is choosing to lose himself in duty in order to bury his unrequited love for Ailis Kavanaugh. What do you think? Does he talk about Ireland? Does he talk about the letters he sends and receives from Maisie? Does he ever say anything at all beyond work?
Write to me soon, and rather more fully than you are wont. It is not fair that Anabel gets all your words and I so few.