waited long enough for this day."
"Six years." Sandhurst nodded. "Unfortunately, I have a feeling her troubles will worsen rather than cease. Our king is not the sort of man who finds contentment in the blessings of the present. He tends to want what he does not have."
* * *
The Lord and Lady Sandhurst were privileged guests at the banquet that followed the coronation. Cicely, the only other family member who had been invited that day, sat next to Lord and Lady Dangerfield at one of the four long tables that ranged down Westminster Hall, while Micheline had a place at the queen's table on the dais with other chosen ladies.
Although the king was not present, he watched the feast through a hole in the wall of a closet he'd had specially made in the adjoining church of St. Stephen. Lord Sandhurst was one of the marquesses designated to serve the new queen. He was the carver, while others executed the tasks of cup bearer, officer, and chief butler. Lords of the realm performed lesser serving duties.
Queen Anne, under her cloth of estate, with Cranmer seated to her right, was in her glory. She allowed her old favorite Thomas Wyatt to pour scented water from a ewer over her hands, and then the first course, consisting of twenty-seven separate dishes, was brought in. During the banquet the Duke of Suffolk and Lord William Howard rode up and down the hall on horseback, accompanied by the sounds of trumpets and hautbois to herald each new course.
Not for the first time that week, Micheline wished she and Andrew were back at Sandhurst Manor. She would have gladly traded all the rich food and titled company for a hard gallop on Primrose over the sunlit Cotswold hills followed by an afternoon in Andrew's arms on a bed of meadow grass and wildflowers.
* * *
"Good morrow, my lady!" Betsy Trymme entered the spacious bedchamber carrying a tray of warm gingered bread and rosy peaches. "How are you feeling?"
"Sleepy, but so happy to be back." Micheline sat up in bed and smiled. "I've missed this house and all of you."
"And we've missed you, my lady." Betsy set the tray on a chest beside the bed and beamed down at her mistress. "It's as if you've lived here always. Even my husband agrees that it's hard to imagine those days when Lord Andrew was unmarried."
"Speaking of Lord Andrew—"
"He's gone to the stables. Didn't want to wake you. He's quite concerned about you, you know, and bade me bring you this food when you woke."
Micheline moved to get out of bed. "What time is it?"
"Half past nine, my lady." Firmly, Mistress Trymme pressed her back into the pillows. "There's no hurry. Lord Andrew and your Primrose will wait. You've a baby to think about, you know. I've even brought you a mug of fresh milk. His lordship tells me you've not been eating properly this past week, and I mean to rectify that! Just have yourself a nice quiet breakfast and I'll have a bath sent up for you."
She sighed in surrender. "It would seem I have no choice."
"None whatever!" Betsy declared with a grin.
Before the housekeeper disappeared out the door, Micheline called, "How fares Lady Cicely—and Mistress Topping?"
"Lady Cicely went riding with her brother, and Mistress Patience is doing needlework in the gallery, my lady."
"Oh. Well, thank you again."
Alone, Micheline sipped the rich milk, then set it down and stared up at the green velvet tester. It was a great relief to be back at Sandhurst Manor, but her contentment was marred by several worries that she hoped were minor. Before they left London, Rupert had informed Sandhurst that their father wanted them to take care of some business of his there, then suggested that the women go on to Gloucestershire without them. Andrew had refused, saying that his wife was his chief concern, but Micheline sensed that part of him regretted cutting short their stay in the city, for she knew that he must have business of his own to look after. She felt so bad about the effect her "condition" was having on his activities that she insisted that he go about his affairs without her the last two days in London, even to the extent of pressing him to take Cicely to a masque at Whitehall Palace that she felt too fatigued to attend herself.
Somehow, Patience inserted herself into the group traveling to Sandhurst Manor. It seemed the least they could do, inviting her