understand,” she said meditatively, “is why you and Nat are still apart.”
I set my cup down with a clatter. “But I’ve just told you—”
“You’ve told us that you kept away from Nat so he could prove himself,” Sybil said. “And very noble it was of you too. But he has proven himself, Lucy. The two of you never cross paths, so maybe you don’t know, but you should see what it’s like when he comes to Court now. Everyone in London shows him honor and respect.”
Norrie nodded. “They know he’s the man who saved us from famine—first with potatoes and then with that new strain of wheat last year.”
“And he has a reputation as an excellent negotiator,” Sybil said. “Henry says he can be trusted with anything. ‘My right-hand man,’ he calls him.”
“But that’s just the King,” I objected.
“ ‘Just the King,’ ” Sybil repeated, dimples showing. “Lucy, do you have any idea how many people yearn for Henry’s favor? And how much prestige there is in having it? You should see how people fawn over Nat now.”
I’d noticed that people said his name differently, but Sybil was right. I hadn’t grasped quite how much his position had changed. “They fawn? Really?”
“Yes. You can see he doesn’t care for it, so the sensible ones don’t. But the rest do. Everyone at Court knows his worth now.” Sybil gave me a sideways look over her cup of chocolate. “Including the ladies.”
“The ladies?”
“Clemence isn’t the only one who swoons at the sight of him,” Sybil said. “Though she’s probably the nicest.”
This didn’t exactly comfort me.
“He’s considered one of the most eligible men in the kingdom.” Sybil spoke dispassionately, as if she were assessing the prospects of a stranger. “He doesn’t come from great wealth, of course, but because of his position at Court, people are certain he’ll rise. And now that he’s become Lord Walbrook—even if Henry did have to twist his arm to accept the title—many families are willing to overlook the facts of his birth.”
“Oh, they are, are they?” How very magnanimous, after all the times they’d sneered at him for not knowing who his parents were. “The beasts.”
Sybil’s dimples showed again. “My point is that Nat’s done what he set out to do: He’s made a place for himself. There’s nothing to stand between you anymore.”
“And no earthly reason at all,” said Norrie, “that the pair of you should keep avoiding each other.”
Sybil nodded. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. You’ve both waited long enough. You just need a chance to talk to each other, and it will all come right.”
I traced the rim of my cup. I dearly wanted to walk into the picture they were painting, where the waiting and the longing and the anguish were over. But so much still seemed to stand in the way.
“He’s coming back to London now,” I told them. “For the opening. The King told me today.”
Sybil looked ready to cheer. “Wonderful! This time you must stay and wait for him. Promise me you will.”
“He hasn’t said he wants to see me,” I pointed out. “He hasn’t written.”
“Maybe he thinks you’ve changed your mind,” Sybil said.
My worst fear raised its ugly head. “What if he’s changed his mind?”
“Then you’ll find out.” It was Norrie who spoke this time, in her briskest voice. “Best you know now, rather than sit around for years waiting.”
“Yes,” said Sybil. “You really must speak to him. I think—”
A cry from beyond the door interrupted us. “The Chantress! I need the Chantress!”
I rose from my chair, Sybil and Norrie close behind me. But before I could reach the door, Lord Gabriel raced through it.
His breath came in great gasps, as if he had been running hard, and his polished boots and immaculately tailored coat and breeches were spattered with rain. “The King needs you, Chantress. You must come at once.”
“The King?” Sybil’s hand flew to her heart. “Is he hurt?”
“No, no. Nothing of the sort,” Gabriel assured her, bowing to her with all his hallmark charm. “He just needs the Chantress. I can’t say more, I’m afraid. Chantress, will you come? His message asks that you sail to Greenwich Palace to meet him.”
“Of course.” Greenwich was where he’d planned to see the Lord High Admiral; it was a good five miles downriver from Whitehall. I turned to Norrie and Sybil. “I’m sorry, but I must go.”
Norrie was used to quick good-byes. She let me go with a word of caution and a hug. Sybil’s leave-taking was