Much Ado About Marriage (33 page)

He tucked the cover under her chin, lingering for no reason. When he and Fia were alone, things seemed so easy and simple. Yet the second they parted, the doubts began, taunting him with dark memories.

But right now it was just he and Fia, and he could fight those thoughts. He bent and gently kissed her lips. She smiled in her sleep, a soft sighing smile that whispered of magical dreams, and for a moment, a flicker of regret washed over him that he didn’t know those hidden thoughts.

Was she thinking of him? Or of her triumph if she managed to charm the queen into sponsoring her plays?

His smile faded. What if she smiled about something—or someone—else? Did he know her so well that he could swear there’d never been a man who’d held her heart before she’d met him?

He mentally shook himself. What madness was this, that he was even jealous of her dreams?

His own dreams were filled with her. The odd awake-dream he’d had from her odd amulet haunted him still, and he had dreamed it while asleep.

Yet another sign that he had to fight this attraction. He was becoming more besotted, more enthralled, drawn to her and yet afraid of what would happen when he lost her. Somehow over the last weeks, he’d stopped fearing the loss of his family dignity and feared instead for his own heart. He didn’t want to lose Fia, no matter the price. He didn’t know when the change had occurred, only that it had, and it frightened him more than anything in his entire life.

Was this how Father felt about Mother? Was this why he married a woman so obviously destined to leave him? Why he couldn’t bring himself to allow her the freedom to enjoy life or even me, her only son? And am I now becoming that man? Oh God, please, no.

He forced himself to turn away and quietly left the room.

He didn’t know how he’d do it, but he would regain control over his desires. If he could do that one thing, then perhaps he could also find a way to keep this marriage. Perhaps he could even be strong enough to forge this relationship into something that would keep the inevitable from happening. Because if he didn’t, God help them both.

Mary gawped. “Lord Montley! Why—Where did—” She pressed a hand over her eyes. “Lord Montley, why on earth are ye dressed as a
woman
?”

“I’m teaching Lady Fia the proper management of her skirts and petticoats.” Robert held his arms out wide, the gown he’d loosely laced over his doublet and hose displayed about him. “What do you think of Mistress Roberta?”

As Mary tried to find her voice, Fia chuckled. Robert stood poised on his toes, in one of Fia’s new dresses. The gown was uncinched to allow room for his much larger frame and the skirts barely reached his shins. The full sleeves tied but halfway up his long arms, his own shirtsleeves billowing below, and the gaping stomacher hung across his chest like embroidered armor.

Even more amusing was the huge red wig sitting precariously upon Robert’s black hair.

The giggling maid shook her head. “I think ye need yer noggin examined.”

Fia laughed. “Aye, he’s mad, but he knows all of the tricks of walking and dancing with such monstrous layers of cloth.”

Robert curtsied. “Thank you for such a gracious compliment.” He held out a hand to Mary. “Come, mistress! What thinkest thou? And do not say I make an ugly woman, for I vow I would not believe you.”

“Och, ye make a bonny lass, Master Robert, exceptin’ yer mustache and beard. If not fer them, I’d-a thought ye one o’ the queen’s ladies-in-waiting.”

Robert flicked open his fan and simpered over the top of it. “I vow, I am overcome! I know not what to say to such exaggerations.”

Mary chuckled as she reluctantly turned to Fia. “I came to see if ye’d like me to bring yer luncheon here, or if ye’d like to eat in the dining hall.”

“Has Thomas returned from his ride?” Fia tried to keep her voice light but could tell from the way Robert and Mary exchanged glances that she’d failed.

Robert lowered the fan. “I say we eat in here so we may continue our lessons without delay. The queen may send for you any day now, and you must be ready.”

“Aye, that’s a good idea,” Mary said, bustling to the door.

Fia turned back to Robert. “I’m afraid I haven’t been a very attentive pupil today.”

“Your mind was elsewhere—mainly staring out yon window for the return of your husband.” Robert pulled the wig from his head and tossed it onto the bed, winking at her. “Don’t look so embarrassed, sweet. If you cannot stare at your own husband, whom can you stare at?”

Ah, there was the rub. Her husband was a complex man and she was never sure how he would react to her. Though
Thomas no longer spoke of an annulment, he still blew hot and cold—warm and laughing one moment, silent and brooding the next. She didn’t know what to make of it, and it made her heart ache like mad.

Robert waved the fan. “Come, let’s continue with our lessons. Your curtsy has grace, but you lack an imperial air. In court, style is everything.”

He slapped the wig back onto his head and lifted the impossibly large fan. He tossed her a pouting smile and floated across the room in a surprisingly accurate imitation of a gentlewoman approaching royalty.

“You turn and bend and curtsy like so.” His voice had an almost singsong quality to it.

“You belong on a stage,” Fia said reverently.

He straightened and gave her a mock frown. “I just hope I’m never again forced to such lengths to keep the attention of a woman. If I didn’t wear this garb, you’d still be plastered to yon window.” He shook his head, the red curls bobbing. “You are ever hard on my pride. Now, come and see how easily such a commanding air can be accomplished.”

She rose from her seat and was immediately aware of the stiff skirts and petticoats that bound her. She hated her new clothing. “’Tis too heavy, this skirt,” she complained, kicking the stiff lengths out of her way as she went to his side. “I am likely to faint from the weight, and this stomacher is too tight. It presses my breasts up ’til they nigh overspill.”

Robert assessed her rounded breasts where they bulged over the edge of her neckline. “The ladies of the court wear far lower and far more revealing bodices than yours, milady.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Though I must admit that there are few who show to such advantage.”

“I shall probably catch an ague from such exposure.” She tugged at the ruff around her neck. “This thing has been starched until it resembles a piece of wood.”

“Do not touch it; you’ll mar it.”

“I want to do more than mar it. I want to rip it from my throat and toss it to the ground.”

Robert appeared shocked. “You would not!”

“I would stomp it, too, except these shoes keep falling from my feet.” She held up a foot, where a jeweled slipper hung precariously. “I wish I had my boots.”

He shuddered. “Those boots look like something a farm laborer might wear.”

“They are comfortable and allow me to walk where I wish without worrying about mud.
These
shoes are barely fit for walking.”

“Those are jeweled slippers and worth a fortune, so cease your quibbling!”

“I am to be silent, though I am trapped by stiff skirts, a tight waist, and an overzealous ruff,” she retorted, “while you cavort about in loose-fitting velvets and fine cambric shirts? Men always have the best of it.”

Robert addressed the heavens, his wig sliding off onto the floor. “How can such a comely woman so hate the trappings of beauty?”

“Only the ones that pinch and scratch and bind.”

“Come. Practice your curtsy again. You are so close to perfecting it.”

She gritted her teeth but did as she was told, coming forward, then dropping into a deep curtsy. “Well?”

Robert tapped his bearded chin with the end of the fan. “You still lack the correct air. How can I convey that to you?” He pulled his gown off and laid it upon a chair, then
took several swift strides about the room, hands clasped behind him. “Fia, suppose you pretend that this is one of your plays?”

She tilted her head. “My plays?”

He stroked his beard as inspiration struck. “Aye, pretend that you are the heroine from your play
The Beggar Prince.”
He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “You will be the lovely, innocent Mirabella, come to ask the evil queen to release your beloved from the dreadful death she has planned for him.”

He grabbed up the wig and planted it back on his head, going to stand by the fireplace. His chin rose to an unnatural height; his mouth pinched in vigorous disapproval. He stared down his nose. “Approach your queen!” His voice rose into the querulous whine of a displeased ruler.

Fia threw herself into her part, affecting an expression that was at once both brave and frightened. Lifting her own chin to match his, she swept across the room and sank into a deep and respectful curtsy.

“That’s it!” Robert grabbed her about the waist and swung her around. “I trow, you are near ready to meet the queen.”

Fia disengaged herself, his last words quelling her excitement.

“Do you really think this will be enough, Robert? Or do we play at a fools’ game?”

He looked puzzled. “Fools’ game? You think we’ll fail?”

She sank into the window seat, dropped the confining slippers from her feet, and leaned against the cool pane. “When it comes to our interview with the queen, I suppose nothing and fear everything.” She pulled her feet up and hugged her knees, looking out onto the garden.

“Fia, don’t look so sad,” said Robert bracingly. “You’ve made it to London; you have the benefit of a great position and the attention of a notable man—what more could you ask?”

Love.
She gave Robert a brief smile. “I look forward to meeting the queen.”

“I’m sure you do. ’Twill be a relief, in a way.”

“More than you know.” She toyed with the lace edge of her gown. “Robert, do you think Thomas might come to love me? Not now, of course, but perhaps in a year or two?”

“Lass, I’d say he is already wholly, completely besotted.”

She managed a little chuckle. “I wish that were so. Once in a while, I think he’s beginning to care, but then the next day . . . It’s as if he pulls away every chance that comes his way.”

“Aye, his heart and head are warring with each other.” Robert sighed. “’Tis a gargantuan war, and I can’t say which will win. He’s a stubborn man and he paid dearly for his parents’ lack of love.”

Robert frowned. “Come! Such a sad face will haunt my dreams and I’ll awake as hollow-eyed as a troll. Tell me what pretty trifle will lighten that brow. A silk fan? Another pair of jeweled slippers?”

Fia smiled and stood, determined to shake off the uncertainty that held her in its sway. “Nay. There’s naught.”

“Brave child. What you need is a diversion.” He looked about the room. “What if I told you a tale of intrigue regarding a secret hiding place?”

“’Tis a true tale?”

“’Tis possible. This hiding place was a favorite of the family who lived here and hid their jewels and gold during
less certain times.” As Robert spoke, his gaze flickered to the fireplace and then away.

Fia suddenly remembered Thomas searching inside the chimney when she came into this room and a trill of excitement flashed through her. “Robert! This secret hiding place . . . is it in here?”

Robert’s smile faded. “No, ’tis in another house. One on the opposite side of the Thames.”

“Nay, ’tis in this house. I know it.”

“Then ’tis somewhere outside—in the stables mayhap.”

Fia went toward the fireplace. “’Tis here, isn’t it?”

“No! I didn’t say it was in here! How can you—”

She knelt before the fireplace and began to search about the stones with anxious fingers. “Where is it?”

“God’s wounds,” Robert protested. “Fia, don’t! If you trigger the opening, Thomas will blame me for my loosed tongue and then—”

She turned from the fireplace. “So it
is
here!”

He grimaced. “Aye, but you cannot tell Thomas that you know.”

“I’ll not tell him a thing. What’s hidden in there?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“A
real
treasure?”

Robert groaned and collected his doublet, pulling it over his head and lacing it at the neck. “Forget I ever mentioned it. You, my lady, have a mischievous spirit that I cannot resist. You ask and I blurt out things like the veriest of fools.”

Fia could see from Robert’s expression that she’d upset him, so to calm his fears, she took a chair by the massive fireplace and twirled a strand of hair about a finger. “I promise not to tell who mentioned the hiding place.”

“Good. Meanwhile, I left you a list upon the desk of all the members of the court and their titles. When you’ve time, you might wish to read through them, for ’twould not surprise me if the queen sends for us soon.”

“I hope so.”

He made his way to the door. “I’m leaving to visit my sisters. Call if you’ve a wish to try your hand at that new card game I taught you.”

“I will. And, Robert?”

“Aye?”

“Thank you again. I can never repay you for your assistance, whatever the outcome.”

His expression relaxed and he bowed, his blue eyes twinkling. “The pleasure is mine, lass.” With a wink, he left.

Fia chuckled, watching him stride down the hallway until he disappeared from sight. The second he did so, she hopped up and went back to the fireplace.

The things she could do in her plays with a hidden treasure vault! And now she was able to see a real one, and note how it worked and how large it was, and any number of crucial details. All she had to do was discover exactly where it lay.

She ran her hands over the intricate stonework flanking the fireplace. Perhaps it was just a loose stone behind which things could be hidden, though that seemed rather pale. ’Twould be much more interesting if there were a release mechanism of some sort.

“Hmm. Where could that be?” Heedless of the soot, she bent over to look in the wide opening, scanning for an odd seam, a small lever—
something
that would indicate she’d found the hidden area.

Behind her, Thomas walked into his bedchamber carrying his boots, muddied from his ride. He saw Fia half-inside the huge chimney, her bare feet peeping from beneath her soot-embellished skirts.
She is looking for the casket. Good God, is she a traitor?