The Dark Lady's Mask by Mary Sharratt Page A

hand. “Will you follow him to Denmark, my lady?”
    â€œAnd leave my only child behind? Or risk Robert’s health by taking him along?”
    â€œMy lady,” Aemilia said, wishing she could find the words to ease Mary’s pain.
    â€œIt’s all very well for you.” Lady Mary looked away, her eyes welling, as though Aemilia’s sympathy was more than she could bear. “You have your music and books for consolation.” Aemilia froze to see Mary pick up the copy of Dante from the bedside table. “But shouldn’t you keep them in the library and schoolroom where they belong?”
    â€œMy lady, I—” Aemilia stopped short at the sight of Lady Mary opening the book and reading Lord Hunsdon’s dedication.
    The look Mary gave her was enough to turn Aemilia to cinder. “So you’ve been accepting gifts from the Lord Chamberlain behind my back.”
    â€œMy lady, he left it in the schoolroom for me to find. If you think it unseemly, pray, return it to him. I never wished to bring dishonor on your household.”
    â€œAnd how may I return it to him when he’s already left?” Lady Mary asked, her voice scathing.
    Aemilia dropped her gaze to hide her disappointment. So he had indeed gone without saying farewell. Perhaps he’d meant to say good-bye, but not finding her, had left the book behind instead.
    â€œThe book is yours to do with as you like,” she told Lady Mary.
    But something else had diverted Mary’s attention. When she stooped to pick something off the floor, Aemilia felt her throat constrict. Lady Mary dangled the breeches in the space between them. Her face was so angry and wounded, Aemilia had to look away.
    â€œMy lady, forgive me,” she began, wondering how she would explain riding out as a boy.
    â€œThese are my husband’s.” Lady Mary’s voice rang in cold accusation.
    Aemilia shook her head and held her hands out to ward herself as she divined what ugly conclusion Lady Mary must have drawn. “No, no, my lady, I swear I never—”
    â€œDon’t you dare dissemble.
Look
at me!” Lady Mary took Aemilia’s chin in a bruising grip. “I’ve kept you fed and clothed for four long years since Susan saw the last of you. Now tell me how you came in the possession of my husband’s breeches.”
    â€œI wear them for riding,” Aemilia said lamely.
Ask Lord Hunsdon,
she was tempted to add, but he was no longer there.
    â€œLiar! You’re no better than the slattern who bore you.”
    Mary’s blow knocked her sideways. When Aemilia forced herself to sit back up, her mouth was wet. She touched her lips then drew her hand away to see her fingers bright with blood.
    Lady Mary was standing over her. “Peregrine never kept his promise to me, so why should I keep my promise to him?” She hurled the book and breeches at Aemilia. “By tomorrow morning, I want you gone.”
    Â 
    A EMILIA TOLD HERSELF THAT this was her last chance, that she’d truly nothing left to lose. Her face still smarting, she dressed in her men’s clothes and ran to the stables. Rushing past the groom and stable boys without looking or speaking to them, she saddled and bridled Bathsheba.
    â€œMistress Amy?” the groom asked, his voice rising in concern.
    Before he could stop her, she sprang into the saddle and was off, tearing down the Four Mile Riding. The ancient double-planted oak trees streamed past and the wind stung her injured lip as Bathsheba raced forward, pure muscle and momentum. They swept by the gatehouse and headed south toward the highway where they continued at a steady ground-covering canter until Aemila sighted the black stallion and rider. She spurred forward, as shameless as a mare in season.
    When she caught up with Lord Hunsdon, she was panting, the sweat pouring down her cheeks like tears. He looked at her in alarm, reaching out his hand.
    â€œMistress