Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,37

have had a trifle too much wine.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t tell Harry. He would be angry.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. He would be shocked, actually, for I am not a habitual drunkard, Master Stokes.”

“I did not think so.”

“My mother had a poor head for wine, and she drank little of it as a consequence. Usually I try to follow her example. But…” I lost track of what I was going to say and giggled instead.

“I remember seeing your mother once or twice. She was a beautiful woman.”

“Yes.” Half to confide, half because I badly needed the support, I leaned against Master Stokes. His belief in the sobering effects of fresh air had been woefully misplaced; I felt giddier than ever and more reckless than I ever had in my life. “Did I ever tell you that my mother seduced my father?”

“No.”

“Well, she did. It was easy, I suppose. She was the Queen of France, after all, and she was very beautiful. Mind you, she was a widow, and they married immediately. But it was still a seduction.” I snorted. “She used to tell me the story of their marriage. She made it sound so very respectable, but I could read between the lines. I am not entirely stupid, no matter what Harry and Jane say.”

“They say that?”

“Not in so many words. But they think it. Why, he did not even bother to tell me about the Protector. And yet he told Jane!”

“Perhaps he did not think you would be interested. Your ladyship is not a friend of the Protector, are you?”

“No. But it is the principle of the thing! Husbands should tell their wives these things. Not only their daughters. I am nothing to him, Master Stokes, but something to get with child now and then, and as of late, I have failed even at that.” I shrugged in a way I had learned from my mother, who in turn had learned it from her brief stay at the French court. “But of course, to get a woman with child, you must lie with her, and he hardly ever does that. He says it is because I almost died giving birth to Mary, but in truth, Master Stokes, I think it is that he simply does not care.”

“My lady—”

“Oh, I know, I should not be telling you this. But who else can I tell? It is not the sort of thing one wants to tell another woman. We have our pride. And, too, I am the Mar…Mar… Mar… the something of Dorset. Many a woman would like to be me. Why should I disillusion anyone?” My head was beginning to hammer. I made an effort to rise. “I am going to go and get some more wine.”

“No. That would be unwise.”

“But I am unwise. In fact, some think me downright stupid.” I leaned back against Master Stokes’s shoulder and closed my eyes. “I may be stupid, but at least I am not ugly. You don’t think me so, do you?”

“No.” Master Stokes gently dislodged me from my resting place. “I am going to find your ladies to help me escort you to your chamber. You need to sleep.”

“My ladies think you are quite handsome. Do ladies ever tell you that, Master Stokes?”

“No.”

“Well, they should. You are handsome. And very, very kind.” Master Stokes attempted to raise me to a standing position, but I shook him off. “And you won’t tell Harry about this?”

“No.”

“You swear?”

“Yes, if you promise to let me help you up so I can find your ladies.”

“Very well,” I said, attempting to rise also and instead sinking back to the ground. I giggled again. “But it will not be as easy as you think.”

Somehow, Master Stokes got me to my feet at last and back to the hall, where I sagged on a bench as he went in search of my ladies. Fortunately, my sodden condition went unnoticed: all eyes were on the hobbyhorse prancing about and emitting guttural neighs that sounded suspiciously like George Medley.

Master Stokes quickly arrived with my ladies, who had been looking for me. I blew him a parting kiss good-bye as they steered me toward my chamber. “Good night, kind and handsome Master Stokes,” I said. “Don’t let some lady seduce you. You are innocent about such matters, I fear.”

“I won’t, my lady,” Master Stokes promised.

Mercifully, my ladies managed to haul me away before I could give any more parting advice to Master Stokes.

I longed to spend the rest of the next day in bed, nursing my hangover and