lady,’ Frances soothed, ‘most of it based upon half-truths and hearsay. The court will soon have fresh matter to occupy their conversations at dinner.’ She hoped her smile conveyed greater certainty than she felt. Somerset’s enemies would be quick to seize upon this – Villiers more than anyone.
The young woman’s face hardened and she stood abruptly. ‘I have detained you for too long, Lady Tyringham,’ she said, her voice clipped.
Frances remained seated as she held the cold stare. Lady Somerset had taken a risk in confiding in her. Her own husband was one of the King’s favourites and, for all that this young woman knew, he might twist the controversy to his advantage. ‘You may rely upon my discretion, my lady,’ Frances said, rising to her feet. ‘I hope that the matter will soon be forgotten and you can journey to Sherborne as planned. The welfare of your child is of far greater importance than the fleeting scandals of this place.’
Her companion remained tight-lipped as Frances curtsied and walked slowly from the room. She had travelled only a few paces when the sound of the door slamming echoed along the cloister.
The King had decided to dine in private that evening with just a handful of favoured attendants. Frances knew she should count herself blessed to be among them – it was rare that the invitation extended to their wives – but the encounter with Lady Somerset had unnerved her and she found herself longing for the seclusion of the apartment.
So far, the conversation had been limited to the forthcoming hunting expedition, for which Frances was grateful. It had also enabled her husband to hold his master’s attention for longer than usual when Villiers was present. She could not help feeling a stab of triumph at Sir George’s obvious irritation. Lady Somerset was also present and looked radiant in a gown of azure blue satin, her creamy white bosom showing above the daringly low neckline. Her eyes had regained their former sparkle and she seemed the perfect model of composure as she listened with rapt attention to the chatter, even though Frances guessed that her nerves must be pulled as taut as her bodice.
‘Tell me, Rob, what news of the Tower?’
The words were softly spoken but cut across the conversation like a rapier blade through silk. Frances darted a glance at Somerset, who bristled at his rival’s familiarity. Next to her, his wife remained perfectly still and Frances sensed she was holding her breath.
‘All is well, I believe, George,’ he replied nonchalantly, then took a swig of wine. ‘When shall we depart for Hertfordshire, Your Grace?’ he continued, turning to the King. ‘The weather seems set fair so we ought not delay.’
James opened his mouth to reply, but Villiers cut in. ‘Oh?’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Have you received no further reports of the Lady Arbella? I hear she lies mortally sick. I am surprised there are no rumours of foul play. You know how people like to gossip whenever there is news of sickness.’
‘God grant the meddlesome woman soon chokes out her breath,’ James muttered, reaching forward to spear a large piece of venison. ‘She has done nothing but plague me since I took the throne of this Godforsaken kingdom.’
Frances’s scalp prickled at the mention of the King’s most no torious prisoner. Though she had been embroiled in the plot to put Arbella Stuart on the throne, she had never had any desire to further the arrogant woman’s schemes.
‘I am sure her miserable life will soon be at an end, Your Grace,’ Sir George simpered. ‘Perhaps you should ask Rob to speed Death’s progress. He and his beautiful wife have more experience than most in such matters.’
‘Damn you, Villiers!’ Somerset cried, leaping to his feet. A goblet clattered to the floor, its contents spilling red on the white marble tiles. ‘What do you mean by that?’
Sir George affected a look of surprise, but Frances saw his mouth twitch at the corners. ‘Why, my dear Rob, how flushed you are! I do hope you have not caught a fever. You know that we must not put His Grace at risk of contagion.’
‘Answer me, churl,’ Somerset muttered, his voice dangerously low.
‘Peace, my lords.’ Thomas’s voice echoed in the ensuing silence. He stood and placed a restraining hand on Somerset’s arm, but was angrily shaken off. The King looked from one favourite to the other with a mixture of dismay and, Frances thought, anticipation.
After several tense moments, Sir George gave a shrug,