For the first time, Dominic registered the young man’s surname. “Percy—is he a relative of the bride?”
Minuette sniffed. “He and Eleanor are twins. Though one would never guess—Jonathan is quite cultured. He’s a musician, currently with the Bishop of Winchester. I think I’ll ask William to bring him to court.”
It seemed she was as unhappy with this marriage as Dominic. Because of William’s willingness to let Giles return to court so soon?
They both looked round as the music stopped. But William immediately clapped for more and went straight to Eleanor, standing next to her new husband. William did not even ask—simply took possession of her hand. Then the music struck up and they were dancing.
In spite of himself, Dominic was impressed by Giles Howard’s self-control. Only a flicker of his eyes betrayed possible discomfort. Whatever he had agreed to—unspoken or not—it could not be pleasant to stand by and watch your wife smiling radiantly in another man’s arms.
Dominic knew this was as close as William would come to publicly shaming Howard. Affairs in the English court were conducted circumspectly; gossip might run riot, but the only ones who would know for certain where Eleanor spent her nights were the gentlemen who escorted her to the king and then stood guard outside the door. For once Dominic was heartily relieved to be working for Rochford—there was no way he meant to stand twenty feet away while William bedded any woman.
Though Dominic had not been precisely celibate in the last two years, campaigning left little enough time for dalliance, and Rochford now drove him with an intensity that left no energy for anything else. When he wasn’t attending the Lord Protector, he was studying foreign affairs and the history of English diplomacy. In truth, watching Rochford work was the greatest tutorial. It had been a revelation to see what could be accomplished with the raise of an eyebrow, a few judicious words, and an occasional veiled threat.
“She is very lovely.” Minuette’s voice made him jump. Her gaze was fixed on William and Eleanor. “I imagine he’ll be happy with her.”
Dominic turned sharp eyes to her, wondering which “he” she meant. Surely she didn’t realize … surely she did. The entire court knew what was being enacted here tonight.
Before he could think how to change the subject, Minuette did it for him. “I have been speaking to the queen’s ladies, but they have told me nothing I did not already know about Alyce. It’s just that I didn’t want to know some of it.”
Since a dead woman seemed a safer subject just now than a living one, Dominic asked, “What do you know?”
“That she was ambitious, and poor, and not in the least sentimental. She used to laugh whenever I would talk about love or even kindness. ‘No one marries for love,’ she’d tell me. ‘That’s just a story we tell ourselves to cover our own natures.’ ”
Dominic didn’t ask if Alyce was ambitious and poor enough to be bought—clearly she had been. “So how did a woman so hardheaded fall pregnant?”
“Perhaps she knew herself less well than she thought,” Minuette said. “Perhaps she was surprised by love. She may have been reckless—but she could never be stupid. Whatever she did, she did it knowingly.”
“Any idea with whom?”
She shook her head and smiled ruefully. “I could have sworn that she didn’t look twice at any man. But then, I could have sworn that I would never again be in the same room with Giles Howard.”
“Minuette—”
“And when shall we be dancing at your wedding, Dominic?”
The abrupt change of subject left him floundering. “What wedding?”
“I hear the women talking. You have only to look around you to find any number of willing brides.”
Unable to bear her direct and unsuspicious gaze, he looked over her head to the painting of Henry VII hanging behind her. The miserly face of William’s grandfather helped him speak
Minuette sniffed. “He and Eleanor are twins. Though one would never guess—Jonathan is quite cultured. He’s a musician, currently with the Bishop of Winchester. I think I’ll ask William to bring him to court.”
It seemed she was as unhappy with this marriage as Dominic. Because of William’s willingness to let Giles return to court so soon?
They both looked round as the music stopped. But William immediately clapped for more and went straight to Eleanor, standing next to her new husband. William did not even ask—simply took possession of her hand. Then the music struck up and they were dancing.
In spite of himself, Dominic was impressed by Giles Howard’s self-control. Only a flicker of his eyes betrayed possible discomfort. Whatever he had agreed to—unspoken or not—it could not be pleasant to stand by and watch your wife smiling radiantly in another man’s arms.
Dominic knew this was as close as William would come to publicly shaming Howard. Affairs in the English court were conducted circumspectly; gossip might run riot, but the only ones who would know for certain where Eleanor spent her nights were the gentlemen who escorted her to the king and then stood guard outside the door. For once Dominic was heartily relieved to be working for Rochford—there was no way he meant to stand twenty feet away while William bedded any woman.
Though Dominic had not been precisely celibate in the last two years, campaigning left little enough time for dalliance, and Rochford now drove him with an intensity that left no energy for anything else. When he wasn’t attending the Lord Protector, he was studying foreign affairs and the history of English diplomacy. In truth, watching Rochford work was the greatest tutorial. It had been a revelation to see what could be accomplished with the raise of an eyebrow, a few judicious words, and an occasional veiled threat.
“She is very lovely.” Minuette’s voice made him jump. Her gaze was fixed on William and Eleanor. “I imagine he’ll be happy with her.”
Dominic turned sharp eyes to her, wondering which “he” she meant. Surely she didn’t realize … surely she did. The entire court knew what was being enacted here tonight.
Before he could think how to change the subject, Minuette did it for him. “I have been speaking to the queen’s ladies, but they have told me nothing I did not already know about Alyce. It’s just that I didn’t want to know some of it.”
Since a dead woman seemed a safer subject just now than a living one, Dominic asked, “What do you know?”
“That she was ambitious, and poor, and not in the least sentimental. She used to laugh whenever I would talk about love or even kindness. ‘No one marries for love,’ she’d tell me. ‘That’s just a story we tell ourselves to cover our own natures.’ ”
Dominic didn’t ask if Alyce was ambitious and poor enough to be bought—clearly she had been. “So how did a woman so hardheaded fall pregnant?”
“Perhaps she knew herself less well than she thought,” Minuette said. “Perhaps she was surprised by love. She may have been reckless—but she could never be stupid. Whatever she did, she did it knowingly.”
“Any idea with whom?”
She shook her head and smiled ruefully. “I could have sworn that she didn’t look twice at any man. But then, I could have sworn that I would never again be in the same room with Giles Howard.”
“Minuette—”
“And when shall we be dancing at your wedding, Dominic?”
The abrupt change of subject left him floundering. “What wedding?”
“I hear the women talking. You have only to look around you to find any number of willing brides.”
Unable to bear her direct and unsuspicious gaze, he looked over her head to the painting of Henry VII hanging behind her. The miserly face of William’s grandfather helped him speak
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