The Rogue's Princess (16 page)

‘You think I should marry Kit?’

‘No, no, I’m not telling you what you must think through for yourself.’

Mercy knew she really had already made her choice. ‘Oh, Aunt.’

Rose gathered her to her shoulder. ‘Oh, Mercy.’

‘Sometimes life is so bitter.’

‘It is indeed.’

Tobias had to admit life wasn’t too bad back at Lacey Hall: he had his pack of hounds to amuse him, a younger sister to tease, a nephew to spoil, his mother and his brother’s wife, Ellie, to spoil him, and Will to argue with. If only these long spring
and summer days wouldn’t have to end. He’d promised on his honour to join Staple’s Inn in September as a stepping stone to joining Gray’s Inn for his training as a lawyer. The prospect sat like a cloud hovering on the horizon of his sunny days. The thought of actually reading all that dry stuff – statutes, muniments, leases, testimonies – made his toes curl.

To divert his thoughts in a more pleasing direction, he challenged his brother to a game of tennis in the court their father had built in one of his richer periods near the stables of Lacey Hall. Only in his early twenties, Will was in danger, in Tobias’s opinion, of forgetting to leaven each day with a pinch of fun. Fortunately, the earl’s mood had improved since news had reached him that his ship had come in from the Indies. What had for a few sticky months seemed a rash investment now appeared a triumph and Will was talking of going up to London to oversee the breaking up the cargo, fearing otherwise his agents would cheat him of half his profit.

Imagining the ball a scrunched up page from his law books, Tobias smashed it past his brother, winning a point.

‘Hey ho, brother, where’s the fire?’ Will asked, scooping the ball up with his racquet. ‘I thought we were only warming up?’ He tossed the ball high and served it with force off the wall. It bounced on the Hazard Chase one-yard line, requiring Tobias to stretch to reach it. His return went into the net.

‘Got to keep you sharp, Will. We can’t have you turning into a fat old nobleman who can’t move without six footmen to lift him.’ Tobias threw the ball back to his brother on the service side of the net. To be fair to his brother, there was little chance of that as Will led an active life, much of it in the saddle keeping an eye on his lands, but it was the task of the younger
brother to goad the elder. ‘Do you know that the service was invented by old King Henry when he got too fat to pick up the balls? He had servants throw them up in the air for him.’

Will lined up his shot. ‘Are you saying, sprout, that I’m going that way?’ He struck the ball right at Tobias who only just moved in time to hit it into the side penthouse. It rolled back to fall on the Chase Yard. Will fluffed the return.

Tobias spun his racquet. ‘What’s the score? Thirty-fifteen to me I think.’

‘You crow too soon, cockerel. I’m only now getting serious.’

The first set in the match stood at five games all when their sister Sarah and Will’s wife, Ellie, came into the court to watch, taking refuge in the Dedans behind the server. Ellie had the two-and-a-half-year-old Wilkins in her arms, having left the youngest of the brood, a little girl born in March, with her nurse. Will had the good fortune of being the one with the serve for this deciding game of the set.

‘Go on, Will, smash him out of court!’ yelled Sarah. The two youngest Laceys always took sides against each other as a matter of honour.

‘Lord, what did I do to deserve this?’ complained Tobias with a theatrical flourish to the heavens. ‘I face a hostile mob of marauding citizens – and Lady Ellie –’ he excused his sweet-natured sister-in-law from the general condemnation – ‘with only my racquet to protect me.’

Wilkins jammed his fist in his mouth and sucked very fiercely, wondering why his father and uncle were firing missiles at each other.

Will won the game, but barely, sneaking a crafty spin down
the service line. He ran to his wife and child, kissed Wilkins on the nose before passing him off to Sarah, then lifted Ellie and spun her on the spot.

‘All hail the conqueror!’ laughed Ellie.

‘It’s only the first set,’ grumbled Tobias. ‘And he had the serve in the last game.’

‘But the proof is in the score, Tobias: Will is clearly the better player.’ Sarah smirked at him, enjoying his temporary defeat. And it would be temporary, Tobias vowed.

Will clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I believe that time in London has made you a little soft, brother.’ He backhanded him in the stomach. ‘Too much beer and lazing about at the Theatre.’

That was too close to the truth for comfort.

‘I learnt a lot with Kit,’ Tobias said defensively, not that he could share those particular lessons with ladies present. ‘I think I might know an honest merchant who could handle your cargo for you – a mercer, John Hart.’

‘You can vouch for the man?’ Will downed a tankard of small ale and wiped his brow and hands on a linen towel.

Tobias nodded. ‘I can swear that he’s a man of the strictest principles.’ So strict he disapproved of players. If Will struck up a business relationship with Hart, Tobias reasoned, that might sweeten the man to accepting the earl’s half-brother as a son-in-law. At the very least, he might think twice about upsetting Will by snubbing the Laceys and losing the prestige of having the Earl of Dorset for a client.

See, Kit
, thought Tobias,
I’m not so green. I can plot with the best of them.

Will threw the towel aside. ‘I’ll pursue the matter when I
go to London. Perhaps you’ll come with me to make the introduction?’

Tobias grinned, delighted to be taken seriously for once. ‘My pleasure.’

‘Still, I’m pleased you came home when you did. It’s a testing time for all of us and London is not a safe place to be. I wouldn’t want you rattling about there on your own. The wars in the Low Countries aren’t going well. Lord Leicester is having a hell of a battle with his so-called allies among the Dutch. The Queen is particularly …’ Will searched for a phrase that did not smack of treason, ‘changeable at this moment, people falling in and out of favour with little warning.’ He kissed his wife and moved away from the spectators’ gallery. ‘There’s talk – most private talk – of a plot discovered against Her Majesty, one involving a certain queen in our keeping.’

Tobias paled. ‘Is that so?’

‘According to Lord Burghley. I think this year will settle that lady’s fate, one way or another. We must all take care that no hint of disloyalty touches us. Jamie is in a very vulnerable position, what with his wife being so close to the Queen’s person. Your serve.’

11

Kit could not remember the last time he felt this excited. He had received an invitation to accompany the Belknap family on a river excursion to Greenwich to celebrate the arrival of May, and Ann had whispered to him that Mercy was to be one of the party. Obtaining leave for the day from Burbage had proved easier than he anticipated as his manager was all in favour of him furthering his relationship with the wealthy goldsmith for the sake of the Theatre.

‘If you can manage to slip into the conversation that the stage canopy needs new paint, I’d be most obliged,’ Burbage said as he dismissed his leading man to walk a very different kind of public stage. ‘A loan – or gift – right now would be very welcome.’

Kit met the Belknaps down at the river steps. At first he could not see Mercy among them and feared that Ann had got her information wrong. Mistress Belknap, however, put his mind at rest when she brandished the lute before stowing it in the bottom of the boat.

‘I do so hope, Master Turner, we can prevail upon you to entertain us again. I have secured the presence of your sweet accompanist, under the strictest terms of chaperonage, of
course,’ her eyes sparkled, suggesting she would be as effective a guard as her daughter. ‘She should be here any moment.’

When Mercy finally arrived under the escort of her brother, Kit made himself inconspicuous, turning to talk to the boatmen at their oars. He waited until he heard the farewells to Edwin before coming out of hiding to face Mercy.

‘Mistress Hart.’ He kissed her fingers and bowed.

Being forced apart for so long made the moment fraught with more emotion than it otherwise would have had. He could feel a slight tremble run through her, see her green eyes swim with tears. Of joy, he hoped.

‘Master Turner.’

He squeezed her hand before releasing it to involve himself in the bustle of departure. Yet with every laughing comment made to Belknap, every compliment paid to one of the Belknap ladies, he was aware of exactly where Mercy stood, like the sun beating down on dark raiment, heating the spot where it touched the skin.

The weather favoured them with a sunny passage across the Thames. Kit found himself at the opposite end of the boat from Mercy, thanks to the alderman taking him aside for a conversation about the latest investment news. The goldsmith appeared to think such matters perfectly suited to a holiday, and perhaps for him, who lived and breathed news on the ’Change, it was the most fascinating matter. Kit might be a reformed man when it came to planning for his future, but his heart was more in the poetry of the stage than the prose of daily life. He finally escaped death-by-percentages when he offered to accompany their little voyage with a few tunes on the lute. It was duly passed to him by the eager Mistress Belknap and he spent the remainder of
the journey working his way through the songs he had etched in the strand for Mercy over the last months. Their gazes often met across the length of the boat and he loved how she mouthed the words along with him, too shy to join in, but too moved to resist this much.

The two oarsmen headed southeast to where the green pastures of Greenwich spread to the margins of the water. The Queen was not in residence in her palace so the parks were open to citizens of good standing. Not one to stint on comforts, Alderman Belknap had sent servants on ahead to prepare a feast for them to enjoy under the canopy of the newly leafed trees. They were greeted by the welcome sight of trestle tables already spread with a generous dinner of many sorts of cold meat and other delicacies. Thanks to some manoeuvring on Ann’s part, Kit was seated next to Mercy at the end of the board, giving them as private a space as possible in open company.

‘My love, how have you fared?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘I feared that your father would punish you for my audacity in approaching you as I did.’

Her lashes veiled her green eyes from his gaze. He could count the light sprinkling of freckles across her nose – a delightful feature that he would enjoy tracing with his lips, making sure he paid homage to each one. Did she have them elsewhere, he wondered?

‘My father is not a harsh man, Kit, whatever else you may think. He hates to correct us and only uses words and reason.’

‘But he cast out your aunt.’

‘Only because he thought it his Christian duty.’ She sighed. ‘I fear he takes a very firm line on those he believes to be within
the fold of believers and those who stand outside. But, fortunately, she is happily situated in service to a friend of yours.’

Kit grinned. ‘Aye, I know. I think there may be an autumnal romance brewing there – Milly believes so. She is a great admirer of your aunt – but not so great a one as her father.’

Mercy gave a little bounce of excitement. ‘Is that so? That would be very good for them both if it proves true.’

After the board had been removed, the party broke up into smaller groups, walking beneath the trees in twos and threes. No one objected to Kit taking Mercy’s arm.

‘Stay within call!’ cautioned Mistress Belknap as she oversaw the stowing of the plate.

‘We will, mistress,’ promised Kit, hurrying Mercy along an unfrequented path. ‘Please take note she did not say “stay within sight”,’ he added in a low voice.

Looking around him for a suitable retreat, he spotted a fallen tree, splayed roots making a barrier between them and the path. He guided Mercy to sit on the trunk, first brushing it off with a handkerchief so his lady would be perfectly at ease. A song thrush broke into its call somewhere in the beech canopy; leaves rustled in the impatient wind.

‘Well,’ he said, eyes twinkling.

‘Well,’ she echoed, close to laughing.

‘Have you been thinking, as I have, that we must be the most fortunate lovers in all history to have such friends to bring us together?’

Mercy looked back to where the Belknap girls were playing with a tennis ball in the sunlight. They were teasing each other and cheating with the raucous familiarity of long acquaintance. ‘Yes, we are blessed.’

Kit had so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to do, he didn’t know where to start. Mercy beat him to it.

‘I hear you’ve been making some interesting decisions of late. Ann and my aunt have done nothing but praise you for the sober turn to your character. You are quite a stranger to the alehouses, they say.’

Kit grimaced. ‘Believe me, the alehouses are no loss. Nothing contents me, but either to be with you or to make plans to bring us together.’

Mercy reached out a hand to trace his jaw. ‘Oh, Kit, you make me feel very humble. I’ve done nothing to deserve you.’

He smiled and turned his face to kiss her palm. ‘You are you: that is enough.’ Bending down, he plucked three strands of grass and wove them into a ring. ‘Here. I cannot afford gold – yet,’ he winked, ‘but wear this for me.’ He bit off the ragged ends and pushed the grass ring on to her finger. ‘Mercy, I do not know any words for this. Perhaps I should have consulted the poets and learnt my part, but too late. You are left with the plain man speaking plain words, a worthless rogue daring to address a merchant princess. Will you marry me? Will you be mine?’

She covered her left hand with her right, caressing the ring he had made for her. ‘It is better than gold to me.’

Kit smiled, though his heart was pounding as he waited for her response. He was not so sure of his own charms to think her refusal not a possibility. ‘I fear that is not good enough, my lady. I need a reply. See, you have me here on my knees; I’m not rising until you answer.’

Mercy kissed the ring. ‘Is that so? You are planted there like a doorstop?’