The Lady and the Poet by Maeve Haran

Latin and Greek. She says your grandfather has mistaken you for a boy.’
    The tone in which he said these words implied that he did not share this illusion and I found myself blushing, a habit I detest.
    ‘My grandfather is a very learned man. He looked for a pupil. I was more apt than the others. Perhaps you share the common notion that learning in women should not be encouraged? It makes us as cunning as foxes, so he maintains.’
    Master Manners fixed his clever blue eyes on my face. ‘I have great admiration for the fox.’
    To my surprise I saw my cousin Francis stride across the lawn towards us. I had not seen him since I came to London as he had remained at my aunt’s house in Pyrford, some few miles from Loseley.
    ‘Francis!’ I greeted him. If I had been alone I would have run the few yards between us and flung myself on him. Francis was more to me than my brother, since we had grown up together while my own brother lived with my father and my stepmother. ‘What a pleasure! When came you to London? Have you met Master Manners?’
    Francis bowed. He was only a year older than I but seemed suddenly the gentleman. ‘I arrived from Pyrford this morning. I came to say that your aunt, my mother, requests your help with some task indoors.’
    Master Manners smiled and bowed. ‘Her gain will be my loss, Mistress More.’
    ‘That fellow has some address,’ Francis whispered as he threaded his arm through mine. ‘He sounds almost like a Frenchman.’
    ‘Aye. He has a silvery tongue, but at least he is not a dull dog like Bett’s husband.’
    ‘Oho. So the suitor your father has selected is not so far from your taste after all?’
    ‘I said not that, Francis. Simply that he has a fluency and a certain wit.’
    ‘But wit is the quality you prize above all, Ann. I have heard you say so often.’
    ‘As long as it is coupled with a good heart and an honourable soul.’
    ‘You ask not much, cousin,’ Francis teased me.
    ‘Why does my aunt want me?’
    ‘She felt you had spent long enough with the well-named Master Manners. He must not be allowed to tire of your company. And I think she feared if you were alone for too great a while, Mistress Ann More might…’ He paused, searching for words.
    ‘Say aught that requires a brain?’
    ‘Ann, Ann. Outspoken as ever.’
    ‘And what of your own courtship, Francis, with Mistress Mary Hawtrey, heiress to the manor of Chequers in Buckinghamshire?’ I teased.
    Francis sighed. ‘Well enough for a match decided for us when we were in our cradles. Mary is an amiable young woman.’
    ‘Yet there is no love between you?’
    ‘What hath love to do with marriage? You are too sweet on such things, Ann. One would believe you had buried yourself in bowers of green with shepherds trilling on flutes and swains plighting love all day at Loseley. Marriage is a business arrangement, as you well know. Love can be found elsewhere.’
    ‘And what if I like it not to be a business arrangement?’
    ‘Very likely you will have to make the best of it, knowing the temperament of your good father.’
    I shrugged, conceding that on this Francis and I would not agree. I changed the subject to avoid quarrelling. ‘Tell me about Master Donne, is he as great a libertine as people say?’
    ‘Master Donne? My stepfather’s secretary? He writes clever verses, full of wit and paradox that are passed round the Inns of Court. They talk of love and witty seductions and are much prized, or so I’m told.’
    ‘Francis,’ I said, as brisk as if I ordered a batch of loaves, ‘I would like you to bring me some.’
    ‘Ann!’ Francis looked as if I had announced I was a secret Papist and believed not in the Thirty Nine Articles. ‘They are not for pure young gentlewomen.’
    ‘Good.’ I bit my lip and looked down demurely.
    ‘Ann, I cannot.’
    ‘Francis, I have done many things for you. I have lied when you were out with your roistering friends, and assured my aunt you were at your