Micheline's back. "It seems harsh punishment for something that the cardinal may not have been able to control. I mean, the pope has final say, does he not?"
"You're right, fondling, but more than just the divorce brought Wolsey low. You know the intrigues that abound at a royal court. The cardinal was a shrewd, powerful man who made many enemies—and probably earned them." He ran a hand through his hair and smiled grimly. "Be that as it may, I have never been intimately acquainted with the machinations of King Henry's court. I stay away as much as possible, and prefer it that way."
"Good." As they passed under one of the bridges recently built to connect the old palace with its new wings, Micheline reached out to Andrew and he grasped her hand firmly. "I never felt comfortable at Fontainebleau. I like a cozier home... and the company of only a few people whom I love and trust."
"We are of one mind." Sandhurst smiled, then raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Twilight approaches. Why don't we return to my conveniently cozy home and explore this matter in greater depth?"
Chapter 23
April 4-6, 1533
Andrew and Micheline ate a light supper that night, then adjourned to the second-floor library. A pile of letters and accounts due waited on Sandhurst's desk, so he sat down to review them while Micheline happily perused the bookshelves.
"What a wonderful collection!" she exclaimed.
He glanced up and smiled absently. "I'm glad you think so. The library at Sandhurst Manor is much more extensive, and perhaps I shouldn't allow you access to it."
She whirled around in alarm. "Why not?"
"There's always the possibility that you might bury yourself in books and forget about your husband."
There was a gleam in his brown eyes that made her blush. "You are wrong, my lord. That possibility does not exist if you are to be the husband in question."
"I do believe I am, unless the prospect of becoming Rupert's relative has given you second thoughts." Sandhurst spoke absently as he sorted through a stack of long-neglected business.
"Oh, no, I can tolerate Rupert," Micheline was replying. "I'm sure I'll deal perfectly well with your family. I must say, though, that it is difficult to comprehend that you and Rupert were sired by the same man!"
He broke the seal on a letter and smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Deciding to venture forth a bit further on the subject of Rupert, Micheline said, "Actually I feel rather sorry for him. He seems to mean well, and although I understand why he irritates you, I can't help thinking that—"
"Sweeting, at any other time I would love to chat with you, but right now I really must see to all this correspondence that's accumulated over the past two months."
"Oh, of course. I'm sorry."
Sandhurst didn't seem to hear. Micheline watched him for a while, enjoying the sight of his serious, candlelit expression. Shadows played over his cheekbones and the firm line of his jaw. From time to time he would run his fingers through his ruffled hair or touch the swan's feather to his mouth before making an entry in his ledger.
The books! she reminded herself at last, and turned around to confront them. A bright fire blazed in the white stone fireplace nearby, and there were beeswax candles in sconces on every vertical beam between the library shelves, affording Micheline enough light to read the titles.
There were books on every subject: philosophy, languages, proverbs, geography, medicine, chemistry, botany, and history. In addition, Micheline discovered volumes of poetry, songs, memoirs, drama, and even romance. Many she had already read and knew that English translations had been made, yet Andrew kept the original versions.
"I'm sorry to disturb you," she exclaimed after an hour had passed, "but I am so curious! Have you read all of these?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes, of course. Most of those books are duplicates of my favorites from the library at Sandhurst Manor," he answered without looking up.
Micheline was impressed. Her thoughts skipped back to the night they'd spent at Queen Eleanor's cottage, when she had been amazed to learn that the man she believed to be lowborn had been to school. Now it turned out that Sandhurst had not only attended Oxford but was apparently self-taught as well. They both had curious minds, and that was an important trait to have in common.
Another hour passed. Micheline settled down in a chair by the fire and looked through the large pile of books she'd chosen, trying to decide which to read first.