‘A cup of wine?’ he asked.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Taking the cup, I remained wary. ‘You wished to see me.’
‘Indeed.’ Unfailingly urbane, yet he looked weary to my critical eye. He was missing Katherine, I thought. It had been a difficult year, with an unmendable rift between them of my father’s making. Yet what choice had he, when Walsingham heaped England’s ills on his shoulders? I regretted Dame Katherine’s absence, and so did he. His temper was short.
‘It is my opinion,’ he pronounced, having poured wine for himself and taken the seat opposite me, ‘that you have entertained the court sufficiently with your conduct in the company of John Holland. I think I have rarely seen you so lacking in dignity since you grew out of your childhood. I wish such behaviour to stop.’
Abruptly I stood, the wine splashing in the cup, unable to sit under such an unexpected attack in so harsh a tone.
‘Sit down, Elizabeth.’
I sank back, my fists clenched around the stem of the cup. Had I expected this? Perhaps I had when the summons had been delivered. But had my behaviour been so very bad? I had laughed and danced, encouraged by John’s charm. Had I abandoned dignity? I did not think so. I had merely thrown myself into the joyous celebration of the day.
Without doubt, I could find all manner of excuse.
But had I flirted? Undoubtedly I had. An honest assessment of my behaviour brought a flush to my cheeks as if I had already drunk the wine that had splattered the front panels of my gown. And now my father, witness to it all, would take me to task.
‘I do not wish your name to be coupled with that of Holland,’ he said, still pronouncing every word carefully as if I would wilfully misunderstand. ‘You will not allow it. You will remember what you owe to your name. Your behaviour will never be less than unimpeachable.’
‘Nor will it, sir.’ I was not a little hurt.
‘Don’t be foolish.’ There was no sympathy in my father’s face. ‘After Holland’s close attention to you yesterday, and your willingness to be encouraged in all sorts of extravagance, I doubt there is anyone in this place who is not commenting on it this morning.’
I felt the flush in my cheeks deepen.
‘Which I regret, sir.’ For I did, in the cold light of day. And in all honesty: ‘You are not the first to point out the error or my ways, sir.’
My father’s straight brows rose in query. ‘Do I understand you have already been taken to task?’
‘Henry has expressed his disapproval. He was very forthright.’
The Duke was lured into a dry smile, which did not fool me for an instant. I was still not forgiven. ‘And do I imagine that you accepted his criticisms?’
‘No, I did not,’ I admitted. ‘Henry informed me of Sir John’s affair with Isabella. Which I already knew. I did not need reminding.’
‘Did he? I am impressed.’
‘Princess Joan also discovered a need to warn me.’
My father gave a harsh laugh. ‘Did she now? The Princess is always full of surprises and has this family’s welfare securely fixed in her heart. What a shame she was not born a man. Her nose for politics is superb.’ He sobered, bending a forbidding eye on me again so that I shuffled in my chair, sipping the wine to moisten a suddenly dry throat. What penalty would he demand of me? Whatever it was, I would have to accept it.
‘You should have listened to Henry,’ the Duke observed. ‘He has a mature head on his shoulders. But I don’t suppose you did. Indeed I’m certain you didn’t since you spent most of yesterday in Holland’s company. And don’t tell me that you were unaware of it, Elizabeth. It could hardly be missed when the Queen of the Lists lavished all her attention on the Champion at the banquet and the subsequent dancing. What were you thinking? I thought you had been raised to know how to conduct yourself, whether at court or in your own home. Your mother would be ashamed of you. And so would Dame Katherine. You do not bestow your favours on one man to the exclusion of all others unless you wish to be an item of salacious gossip. And certainly not if that man is John Holland. He has a reputation that would scorch the hide of a wild boar. You need a longer spoon than you possess, my daughter, to sup with the likes of John Holland.’
I bristled. ‘Sir John says that his affair with Isabella is at an end.’
‘So were you perhaps planning to replace that lady in his bed?’
Guilt spread beneath my skin when my father used that particular tone.
‘No! I would not.’
Perhaps denial sprang to my lips more speedily than truth merited. I had thought about what a night in his arms would be like.
‘You deny it, my daughter, but would you have refused him if he had offered? He is a man of enormous charm and eloquence. It would have been the worst move you could have made. You must know how dangerous it can be to put yourself into the hands of men such as Walsingham who would delight in finding ammunition against our family.’ His lips were white with passion, one fist clenched on his knee as he loosed the reins of control a little to make his point. ‘You know I speak from experience. I’d not have you make the mistakes that I made.’
Such an admonition astonished me, that he would acknowledge his affair with Katherine to be a mistake. And that he would use it to enlighten me, his errant daughter.
‘Did you not love her?’ I said without thinking.
‘I loved her. I still love her. But I would not have you follow the path I took. The consequences can be painful beyond acceptance, and I’d not have that for you.’ The timbre of his voice softened at last. ‘You may resent my words, but I have your wellbeing in mind.’
I had the grace to hang my head and study the swirl of wine in my cup. ‘I am sorry.’ The words were stiff, difficult to say. I sighed. It was impossible not to read the pain.
‘I understand his attraction, Elizabeth,’ he said gently, encouraging me to look up into his face again.
‘I like him.’
‘I am sure you do.’
‘He makes me feel like a woman who is beautiful and desired. For herself.’
‘I imagine he does. I imagine he makes any number of women feel the same.’
‘He seeks me out because he enjoys my company.’
‘Do you think so? I think you are unaware of the turbulence in this particular stream.’ He paused, chin raised, listening to an outburst of laughter from beyond the window that overlooked the inner courtyard. ‘Come. Let me show you something.’ He offered his hand, tucking mine through his arm, and led me to the window. ‘I am not angry with you.’ He smiled. ‘I was, but I know this marriage has its difficulties for a high-spirited woman. But you are quite old enough—and intelligent enough if you will put your mind to it—to understand. Look down there. It is a lesson in alliance-making that you will not find in the books of your childhood. Who do you see?’
Obediently, intrigued, pleased to be forgiven, I looked down to the source of the laughter and raised voices. It was Richard surrounded by a group of courtiers. Some were standing, some sitting. A page was handing round drinking cups. A minstrel strummed on the strings of his lute, but no one was listening. All attention was centred on Richard.
‘Who do you see?’ the Duke repeated.
‘My cousin the King. Dressed like a peacock for a feast. I swear he wears cloth of gold and rubies in bed …’
‘Never mind that. And who is with him?’
Presented as I was with a strange foreshortened view, it was difficult to see. ‘A group of courtiers. Richard’s friends, I expect.’
‘True. Then who is not there?’
I glanced up at him, sensing for the first time where this might be leading. My education was coming on in leaps and bounds.
‘The Queen.’