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“This I like,” Bardulf said. “I could use one like this in my study.”

“You don’t have a study,” Oswald pointed out mildly.

Bardulf smiled. “My office is the salons and ballrooms of the rich and mighty. That is why I am always so well informed.” He pointed a long elegant finger toward him. “You should take a leaf out of my book. Then you would not need all your spies hiding around corners and sifting through people’s letters.” His lip curled at the idea of such bad manners.

Oswald smiled at this. “People do not tend to discuss treasonous plots at balls.”

“Of course they do, my dear Vawdrey!” Bardulf contradicted him roundly. “But I can see you are laughing at me. Your spies are at the parties also, are they not, my friend?” He gave a sly smile.

Oswald waited patiently. He was sure more would be forthcoming, if he bided his time.

“Which reminds me, were you at the King’s winter ball on Thursday week? I forget if I saw you there…” he held up a white hand. “No, I remember. You had to send your apologies. Again, as you were so hard at work on the King’s foreign policy.”

Oswald nearly rolled his eyes. Bardulf was aware as anyone that he very rarely attended such events. Still, he put a thoughtful look on his face and steepled his hands. “Last Thursday, you say? I do not think I was able to tear myself away…”

“Such a shame,” tutted Bardulf, settling back into his seat. “For you quite missed the dazzling court debut of the Cecil sisters.” Bardulf inspected his immaculate nails and Oswald’s eyebrows snapped together.

“Sir Philip Cecil’s daughters?” he hazarded.

“Nieces,” Bardulf corrected him swiftly.

“And they were universally admired?” asked Oswald politely.

“The elder sister was held up as a paragon of virtue and accomplishment.”

“And the younger?” asked Oswald.

Bardulf smiled. “Her virtue was not so immediately apparent,” he admitted. “But the attention she garnered, came from rather more exalted corners.”

Oswald shut his eyes briefly and then reopened them.

“Quite so,” said Bardulf gently. “She simply entranced the King with her twinkling laugh and fulsome…hair.”

Oswald winced. “The Cecil family would never allow one of their number to become one of the King’s mistresses,” he said, suddenly tired of all the subterfuge.

Bardulf gave him a direct look. “Therein lies the problem, my friend.”

Oswald guessed the Queen had sent Bardulf to him in a fit of pique at this latest bauble to catch the King’s roving eye. “I don’t see-”

“Do not mistake me, my friend,” said Bardulf guessing his line of thought. “The Queen did not send me.”

Oswald sat up straighter in his chair. In his experience it was very rare that Bardulf ever came flat out with anything. “Then…?”

“Word has it the little innocent is not so naïve after all. She is pleading her reputation and demanding some recompense from the King if she is to deliver her prized virtue up to him.”

“Such as?”

“A high-ranking marriage,” said Bardulf gravely.

Oswald sat very still.

“In short, my dear Vawdrey, you will need to step very carefully or you will find yourself ensnared in the parson’s trap and shackled to the King’s latest paramour.”

Oswald leant forward in his chair.

“But perhaps you would not mind so very much,” said Bardulf airily. “After all, everywhere I go, everyone whispers at your monk-like existence. Your devotion to the King’s cause.”

Oswald realized he was drumming his fingers against the desk top and snatched back his hand.