provide a male heir to the throne. But who would want to lie with him now, king or not? They say his fat legs are covered with oozing ulcers. He is grotesque!”
“Watch your tongue, or you’ll be arrested for treason,” Micheline’s tone was light yet laced with caution. “Or perhaps His Majesty will find a way to dispose of Robin and claim you as the next queen!”
“I would have to drink poison before the wedding night,” Cicely parried, laughing.
Micheline put a hand on Nora’s shoulder. “My family is packing to leave London for the summer, but I will try to help you before we go. Andrew has said you are welcome to stay here, but I understand your need to be independent.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “I may have an idea for a house that would suit you very well. What name will you take?”
Gratitude welled up in Nora. Although she felt strong and confident she could navigate the challenges ahead, underneath she was conscious of being alone and vulnerable. “You are so kind.” She wanted to embrace the duchess but gave her a radiant smile instead. “I thought I might call myself Mistress Lovejoy. If I encounter anyone who knew me before, when I was weaving at court with my father, I will tell them I married in Scotland but am now a widow. What do you think?”
Cicely clapped in delight. “It’s wonderful.”
“I agree,” said Micheline, clasping Nora’s hands. “Welcome to London, Mistress Lovejoy!”
Chapter 25
The journey to Surrey was made in the Duke of Hastings’s closed carriage, which had been recently imported from Belgium. Lennox had never seen anything like it, not even at the Scottish royal court. Of course, Lennox would have preferred to ride on horseback rather than shut up inside the dusty, jouncing coach, but he couldn’t leave his father to travel alone.
Conversation was nearly impossible, given the noise of the wheels over the rocks and ruts of the roadway, yet it seemed the duke was content just to look at Lennox from the seat facing him.
“It was kind of Sandhurst to lend you a doublet. You look exceptionally fine in it,” his father said when they came to a smoother, quieter stretch of road. “Heller, my tailor, will arrive at Greythorne Manor within the fortnight. I’ve described you to him and asked that he bring what he can—doublets, hose, and so on. Clothing that might fit you with a few alterations.”
Lennox glanced down at the new spice-brown doublet he wore with his belted plaid. The relatively simple garment had been a first step, he decided, toward assimilating into this new world, though he couldn’t yet imagine putting away his lengths of muted green tartan. One step at a time, Lennox thought, smiling at the duke. “Thank you.”
Soon, the carriage rumbled up a long drive lined with beech trees. A fine manor house built of red brick, its rooftops decorated with ornate chimneys, came into view. It was laid out in four wings that enclosed a central courtyard, with a gatehouse facing the drive. His father was watching him, waiting for his reaction.
“Ye have a very impressive home indeed,” Lennox said.
“Ah, it’s gratifying to hear you say so, my son. I know it’s very different from Scotland.”
Unexpectedly, Lennox’s heart tightened. This leafy estate, all red brick and sculpted gardens, was quite the opposite of wild, dramatic, stone-built Dunvegan, where one arrived by water and ascended through a sea-gate. He closed his eyes, seeing Magnus, Alasdair Crotach, Ciaran, Fi, and all the clansfolk he had known since birth. Yet he’d left Skye to seek out the truth, and now, here he was. Had the time come for him to stop thinking of himself as a MacLeod?
Lennox tried to draw a deep breath, but the knots remained inside him.
The coach moved past the gatehouse, where a barrel-chested, ginger-bearded man waved them through. In the open courtyard, a chubby boy rushed from the stables, smiling.
“Welcome home, Your Grace!” he called.
Lennox looked up to see the duke produce a large handkerchief, which he used to dab his eyes. “God’s wounds,” the older man exclaimed. “What’s come over me?” As he spoke, he lifted a hand in greeting to the boy. “It’s young Burley, Charles’s groom. I suppose just the sight of him, coming out like that, reminds me of my son.”
“How long ago did you lose him?” Lennox asked softly.
“Two days before Easter.” His voice was choked.
“Just one season ago.” Lennox wanted to lean forward and touch him. “I can