One ring, plain and silver, adorned my finger. My mother had given me the ring, telling me it had been my father’s. The band was thin, beaten, and worn, without much value, but it was my only link to a man I’d never see again, and I wore it every day.
Attired and fed, I gathered my sewing basket and made my way downstairs to Elizabeth’s chamber. All as usual.
However, I could not put the previous day’s events out of my head. I recalled the almost savage look on Seymour’s face as he cut up Elizabeth’s dress. I remembered Catherine’s taut laughter as she abetted her husband in dallying with another woman. And then Elizabeth, glaring at Aunt Kat and insisting she had done nothing wrong.
When I reached Elizabeth’s rooms, I took my place on a bench near an open window. Soft late-April air slid around me, bathing me in pleasant scents.
From my basket, I lifted out the bodice the Parisian netting I’d begun the day before and laid it across my lap. I had already stitched in the boning and now needed to sew the side seams. My work must be carefully done, or the points in front would not match, and I’d have to start all over again.
The chamber was filled with Elizabeth’s gentlewomen, young and middle-aged, pretty and plain, highborn and gentry. Elizabeth had already been dressed and was seated near the fire, but two ladies hovered around her, one settling her hood, the other shaking her skirt so it would lie straight.
Elizabeth was in a sunny mood, jesting with her ladies as she chewed on red strawberries, bright as jewels, an open book in her lap. She seemed content, but I could not be.
I worried for her, and I worried I would say the wrong thing to her about Seymour. I feared Elizabeth would ask me of him, and I’d not be able to say a word in case I spoke unwise ones.
I made one last stitch and beckoned to a lady. “Please, tell Her Grace that we must have a fitting.”
The gentlewoman nodded and returned to her mistress. I saw Elizabeth brighten, which relieved me. Sometimes, she did not like to leave her books for any reason, but she did like to try on clothes.
Elizabeth rose from her seat, letting the lady’s maid loosen her gown and pull it from her shoulders. I left my bench, smoothing out the half-made bodice I’d just stitched.
At that exact moment, Seymour strode into the chamber. He was dressed for hunting, in riding boots, plain doublet, and trunk hose, a half-cloak swirled over his formidable shoulders. Elizabeth, caught in dishabille, sent Seymour one startled glance before rushing to a standing screen across the room and ducking behind it.
“How now?” Seymour demanded. “Is the lady so modest? Must you hide from your step-papa?”
Only I seemed alarmed. The gentlewomen giggled or shot Seymour coquettish glances as they banded together. They formed a tittering mass before the screen so that Seymour could not get at the half-dressed Elizabeth.
“You challenge me, my lovelies.” Seymour laid a firm hand on the arm of a younger lady. “I have touched you, my dear. Now, you may not sit down until you have touched me. But you must catch me, first.”
The lady, instead of being indignant or frightened, responded to the game with glee. She dove for Seymour, who easily evaded her. The others joined in as Seymour dodged about the large chamber, a trail of ladies chasing him.
I remained in my corner, watching the proceedings in trepidation. Elizabeth remained behind the screen, but I heard her excited laughter.
It was a bizarre scene, this grown man chasing and being chased by ladies, their skirts rippling. The gentlewomen screeched and ran here and there, while I hovered near the window, Elizabeth’s half-made bodice clutched to my chest.
Seymour dodged past me and tore the bodice from my grip. I desperately lunged for it, but he held the bodice above his head, smiling playfully. A cold light lurked in his eyes, as though this foolery meant something deeper and more dangerous.
“Tell your mistress to come out,” Seymour commanded me. “Else I’ll rip it to shreds.”
“Your lordship.” My voice was a gasp. “No, please.”
Seymour’s eyes narrowed in dislike as he waved the bodice over his head. “Come and get it, kitten.”
He knew I could only reach the garment by climbing him, and also that I would never do such a thing. He’d read my character when I’d fled from him in the passageway many nights ago. I’d seen through his vile flirtations and rejected him.
“Tell her,” he repeated, voice hard.
Mutely, I shook my head.
Seymour clutched the bodice, and then he tore it in two, a heartbreaking sound. I could only clasp my hands in despair as Seymour rent the fabric again and again, tearing out the painstaking seams I’d spent the morning making. I had to watch my hard work ruined beyond repair by a man who valued it not.
Elizabeth did not emerge. She was enjoying the game, if the laughter that recurred meant anything, but fortunately, she’d decided to be prudent this time. Perhaps she’d taken Aunt Kat’s admonition to heart.
Seymour tossed the pieces of bodice to the floor, where they lay unmourned by all but me. The ladies continued the romp, but Seymour was growing weary of it.
I believe he’d simply have shoved the screen aside to reveal Elizabeth, had not Aunt Kat burst into the chamber. Despite her lecture the night before that she and I should let Seymour do as he pleased, she gazed about in horror.
“Ladies!”
