“Enough, you silly girl.” Aunt Kat waved me away. “Go on with you.”
I curtsied and fled, relieved I’d diverted her attention from the torn fabric and speculation on why I, of all people, had let it be ruined.
From that day forward, I took care never to be caught in the halls alone. If I had to travel to dark corners of the house, I trotted in the footsteps of a housekeeper or other maids. When I sewed, I did so in the presence of Aunt Kat and Elizabeth, or Catherine and her entourage.
Always being in company was made easier for me, because the Chelsea house was quite full. Catherine had her ladies, at least a hundred of them, and Elizabeth’s own ladies and gentlemen were there to wait upon her. We began to be rather cramped, which suited me, because I could hide within a crowd and avoid Thomas Seymour.
Once he caught sight of me in the great hall during an evening’s revelry and shot me a smile. Though my heart pounded in panic, I pretended not to notice. Seymour mimed a cat with claws, his grin widening.
After that distant encounter, he said not a word to me, nor even looked my way when we were in the same chamber. He seemed, to my relief, to forget all about me.
I could not avoid Seymour altogether, try as I might. As the man of the house, he had his own retinue, which crowded us further, and he expected his orders to be obeyed before his wife’s.
The servants, fiercely loyal to whatever master or mistress they served, fought among themselves. I’d often overhear snatches of their conversations.
“That wine is for Her Grace Elizabeth,” one would declare.
“No,” another would growl. “’Tis to go to the queen dowager.”
“Her Grace Elizabeth always has this wine.”
“It is the queen dowager’s private stock.”
“Nay, sir, it was purchased by Her Grace Elizabeth’s household.”
“His lordship commands the wine be brought to him,” would come a male servant’s inevitable reply. “It will be given to his lady the queen or Her Grace Elizabeth at his pleasure.”
Thus endeth the argument.
In fine weather, Elizabeth took extensive walks in the gardens that Catherine adored and had her gardeners tend with care. I often accompanied Elizabeth, being one of the few women her age in the household. She’d also long ago professed me a favorite, her liking for me heightened by her affection for Aunt Kat.
I never made the mistake in believing that Elizabeth thought me anything more than a useful companion. I was not as highborn as the baronets’ wives and daughters who comprised her gentlewomen, but she liked to confide in me things she would not the others. Harmless Eloise the seamstress did not tell tales.
One particular morning, when the sky was as blue as the kirtle I was sewing for her, my lady Elizabeth and I wandered the gardens in an aimless fashion. We walked arm-in-arm, she in silks, I in serviceable linen and wool.
Our meandering surprised me, because Elizabeth usually laid out her plans for walks like a general heading into battle.
“Where are we going, Your Grace?” I asked after a time.
“I do not know. Where shall we stroll, Eloise?” Elizabeth slanted me a half-smile, an odd light in her eyes.
“The gardeners have arranged geraniums in the front walk,” I offered. “They are quite beautiful, scarlet against the green.”
“No.” Elizabeth gripped my arm and half dragged me toward the far end of the garden, beyond which the river flowed. The water’s scent was fresh, as it flowed from the heart of the countryside. “I would like to walk among the hedges.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
I acquiesced, first because I would never disobey one of her orders, and secondly because it was clear that Elizabeth would tow me with her to wherever she wanted to go. She propelled the pair of us to the long hedges at a rapid march, no more ambling.
“What think you of this gown, Eloise?” she asked as we went. “Does it suit me?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” My answer was breathless as I struggled to keep up with her. “I made certain of it.”
The gown in question was black and gold silk with a fine woolen overskirt, good for brisk walks in the garden. The bodice bared a small bit of Elizabeth’s pale bosom, flattering her slender frame. The gown was quite modest, because Aunt Kat would allow Elizabeth to wear nothing but decorous attire, but her exposed throat, shoulders, and chest made it alluring.
An enticing young lady, the ensemble announced. Within whom first longings had begun to stir. Untouched, untried, waiting.
Elizabeth’s lips twitched at my answer. “Your talent is formidable, Eloise, as is your pride. Guard against pride, my dear, or it will be your downfall.”
