been so far that season. I had slept little and could not eat for the roiling of my stomach at the thought of lying with Janyn that night—so I would have been shivering with chills no matter what the weather.
Gwen, Nan, Dame Agnes, and her maidservant, Kate, dressed me. The red escarlatte gown had been so well fitted that I could freely move about, dance a jig, reach and bend, despite how it hugged my body like a second skin. The color brought a blush to my cheeks on a day when I might otherwise have lacked it. I wore a delicate circlet of gold and pearls, a gift from Dame Tommasa. My slippers were of red satin and a leather that had been tanned to match the dark gold of my surcoat, made from Janyn’s betrothal gift to me.
“You are a vision of beauty,” said Dame Agnes, almost choking on the words as her eyes filled with tears.
Gwen held a small mirror so that I might see myself. I turned back and forth, twisting and bending, standing on tiptoes and crouching. I could see only tantalizingly small parts of the costume at one time.
“Would that we had a larger mirror!” I said.
When someone knocked on the door, Kate went to see who it was while the other three hid me from sight with their bodies.
“Dame Margery,” the maid said, stepping to one side.
My stomach fluttered. I had wondered when Mother would appear, for I knew that no matter how she felt about this marriage she would not forgo an opportunity to be, if not the center of attention, then very nearly so.
The others moved away, as if unveiling me. Mother stood in the doorway, uncertain of her welcome. In her finest silk gown and a crespinette sprinkled with pearls she looked as much a bride as I did, except that her fair hair did not fall free.
I stretched out my hands to her. “Mother. I am glad you are here.”
As if distrusting my gesture, she tucked her arms behind her. Taking a few steps closer, her pretty pale gray slippers peeping from beneath her hem, she gave me a little bow, then turned to Dame Agnes and did the same.
“I shall leave you with your daughter while Kate dresses me,” said Dame Agnes. “Would you like Gwen to leave as well?”
Mother shook her head. “I should like her to stay as witness that I have come in peace.” Her voice held a sharp edge with which I was familiar. She felt ordered about, unappreciated, and would soon lash out at someone in retaliation. Probably me, the person she apparently blamed at present for her unhappiness.
“Peace?” I softly repeated. “We are not at war, Mother.”
“Your father thinks otherwise, Alice. Come now.” She moved over to the window, her silk gown richly rustling as she walked. “There are things I must tell you.”
Dame Agnes bowed out of the room with her serving maid. Gwen busied herself with tidying the chamber.
Now Mother reached out to examine my surcoat, feeling the two layers, then lifting my skirts a little to see my shoes.
“You’ve done well for yourself, Alice. Such rich cloth, fine leather, silver and gold. And pearls in your hair.” She frowned as she touched her own headdress. “You have studied me.”
I’d had no part in choosing the pearls, but there seemed little point in correcting her. “I do not think it unnatural for a daughter to emulate her mother,” I said, working to keep my voice soft, calm.
She waved away the comment. Her eyes bored into me, hard and cruel, as she said, “I must tell you what to expect tonight.”
Had I not already been apprehensive about the bridal bed, her look and tone would have made me so. “There is no need. Dame Agnes has told me all that I need to know.”
Mother raised an eyebrow. “So she said. But she does not know your betrothed as I do.”
“What has that—” I realized what she was implying and my hand flew up toward her face.
She caught it and laughed. “Were you unaware that I knew Janyn? How could you think your parents would agree to your betrothal to someone they did not know?”
I
Gwen, Nan, Dame Agnes, and her maidservant, Kate, dressed me. The red escarlatte gown had been so well fitted that I could freely move about, dance a jig, reach and bend, despite how it hugged my body like a second skin. The color brought a blush to my cheeks on a day when I might otherwise have lacked it. I wore a delicate circlet of gold and pearls, a gift from Dame Tommasa. My slippers were of red satin and a leather that had been tanned to match the dark gold of my surcoat, made from Janyn’s betrothal gift to me.
“You are a vision of beauty,” said Dame Agnes, almost choking on the words as her eyes filled with tears.
Gwen held a small mirror so that I might see myself. I turned back and forth, twisting and bending, standing on tiptoes and crouching. I could see only tantalizingly small parts of the costume at one time.
“Would that we had a larger mirror!” I said.
When someone knocked on the door, Kate went to see who it was while the other three hid me from sight with their bodies.
“Dame Margery,” the maid said, stepping to one side.
My stomach fluttered. I had wondered when Mother would appear, for I knew that no matter how she felt about this marriage she would not forgo an opportunity to be, if not the center of attention, then very nearly so.
The others moved away, as if unveiling me. Mother stood in the doorway, uncertain of her welcome. In her finest silk gown and a crespinette sprinkled with pearls she looked as much a bride as I did, except that her fair hair did not fall free.
I stretched out my hands to her. “Mother. I am glad you are here.”
As if distrusting my gesture, she tucked her arms behind her. Taking a few steps closer, her pretty pale gray slippers peeping from beneath her hem, she gave me a little bow, then turned to Dame Agnes and did the same.
“I shall leave you with your daughter while Kate dresses me,” said Dame Agnes. “Would you like Gwen to leave as well?”
Mother shook her head. “I should like her to stay as witness that I have come in peace.” Her voice held a sharp edge with which I was familiar. She felt ordered about, unappreciated, and would soon lash out at someone in retaliation. Probably me, the person she apparently blamed at present for her unhappiness.
“Peace?” I softly repeated. “We are not at war, Mother.”
“Your father thinks otherwise, Alice. Come now.” She moved over to the window, her silk gown richly rustling as she walked. “There are things I must tell you.”
Dame Agnes bowed out of the room with her serving maid. Gwen busied herself with tidying the chamber.
Now Mother reached out to examine my surcoat, feeling the two layers, then lifting my skirts a little to see my shoes.
“You’ve done well for yourself, Alice. Such rich cloth, fine leather, silver and gold. And pearls in your hair.” She frowned as she touched her own headdress. “You have studied me.”
I’d had no part in choosing the pearls, but there seemed little point in correcting her. “I do not think it unnatural for a daughter to emulate her mother,” I said, working to keep my voice soft, calm.
She waved away the comment. Her eyes bored into me, hard and cruel, as she said, “I must tell you what to expect tonight.”
Had I not already been apprehensive about the bridal bed, her look and tone would have made me so. “There is no need. Dame Agnes has told me all that I need to know.”
Mother raised an eyebrow. “So she said. But she does not know your betrothed as I do.”
“What has that—” I realized what she was implying and my hand flew up toward her face.
She caught it and laughed. “Were you unaware that I knew Janyn? How could you think your parents would agree to your betrothal to someone they did not know?”
I
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