“Eloise,” my mother tried.
My stepfather launched himself from his cushions and slapped me across the face. “Ingrate.” Spittle flecked his lips. “Blood tells, as I knew it would. You will marry him, and he will have the keeping of you. That is all.”
I touched my fingers to my stinging cheek, barely feeling the pain. “I am twenty-two years old, nearly twenty-three. I do not need your permission to marry as I please.”
Sir Philip raised his hand to slap me again, but my mother made a noise of distress. He glanced at her in derision but took a step back. “You are impudent and disrespectful,” he informed me. “Felsham will cure you of that. He is not afraid to punish his wife.”
My fury mounted. “I cannot leave the service of my princess. She does not like her ladies to desert her. She will never allow me to go.”
“Your monarch is not Elizabeth, but her majesty, Queen Mary,” Sir Philip said with a sneer. “I am certain Mary will give me every power to take you from Her Grace’s household and marry you where I see fit.”
I had no doubt he could do just that. Mary was soppy about her true and loyal subjects, and she’d gleefully send away Elizabeth’s favorite little seamstress if she had excuse to do so.
I forced my voice to cool. My gamble might not work, because Mary still might have the power to stop me, but I had to try.
“I cannot marry your friend,” I said, returning my stepfather’s irritated glare with an icy one of my own. “I am married already. Last week in a parish church in Bedfordshire. To a Mr. James Colby.”
Silence descended upon the room for a few thick moments. Then my mother let out a little scream and pressed her hands to her face.
My stepfather gaped at me exactly as I had gaped at him, before he lifted his hand and expertly and thoroughly beat me.
Chapter 22
I must retrace my steps and explain how it happened that when my stepfather was ready to bind me into an unwelcome match, I was already legally sworn to a more welcome one.
After I’d begun receiving the letters from my mother this winter, I had sought out Colby at Hatfield, cornering him alone in the gardens one late January afternoon.
He’d been speaking of Sir Christopher’s plans and our part in them when I’d grasped his sleeve and said, “James, you would do me a very great favor if you would marry me.”
Colby had stilled, his red brows climbing slightly higher on his forehead, his only reaction. “Marry …”
“Yes, right away, please. I would be in your debt.”
Colby regarded me for a few moments while chill winter wind whipped at my hood and threatened to dislodge it.
“May we wait?” he’d asked after a time. “Elizabeth will be on the throne sooner than we think, and I need you where you are now. After that …”
“No, James, it must be now.” I told him in rapid words about my mother’s letters and my fear she’d marry me off. “My stepfather will do it—I know he is making her write the letters. If I marry where they choose, I will have to leave Elizabeth, and you would certainly lose my help. I will have nothing to do but sit in a house saying rosaries all the long day. Please, James.”
He watched me with his pale blue eyes, taking in every hurried word. “Are you certain?” he asked quietly. “Considering what you know about me? I can think of several gentlemen who are above suspicion I could convince to take you. You could continue your work that way, and Elizabeth would keep you at her side.”
“No.” My answer was adamant. “Of all the gentlemen of my acquaintance, I can only envision myself married to you. That is why I asked you.”
Colby looked away from me, across the green to the woods beyond the village, where Elizabeth sometimes rode out to hunt.
“This is not what I wanted,” he muttered.
I’d come to this interview prepared to make a businesslike arrangement with James—if he married me, I would somehow make it worth his while, perhaps use my influence with Elizabeth to bring him money and position. Also, I’d assure him I’d do everything in my power to make certain his secret stayed buried.
Nothing, however, prepared me for the stab of hurt at his words. Prickles of heat spread across my face, and my palms grew cold.
I should respond, to say that it did not matter, and ask him about these other gentlemen he had in mind. But I could not speak.
Colby turned back to me, a half-smile touching his mouth. “I wanted it to be so grand, Eloise. I planned to wait until Elizabeth gained her throne—she has promised me a position in her government as well as a baronetcy. I wished to offer you so much more than a hasty wedding to a nobody.”
My hurt evaporated into confusion. “Why?” I asked, my mouth stiff.
Colby’s smile remained in place. “Someday I will explain it to you, but the garden behind Hatfield is not the place.” He let out a breath. “Never mind. I will fix it, we will marry, and I will hand you heaven and earth later.”
