Page 105 of False Mistress
His golden eyes glazed over, his mouth close by hers again. “Perhaps you just need to relax, get used to the idea.”
Thomasin pushed him away more firmly. “No, it is not that. I wish to wait.”
He sat back, frowning. “But all this … I thought…”
“I am sorry if I have misled you, but I want to do things correctly. I want to wait.”
The disappointment on his face was painful to see. He struggled to conceal it, but she could see the lines of his mouth and how his brows pinched above his nose. But she knew she was right. She had come close to this with Rafe and had learned her lesson. Now she had greater self-control, and when she did yield, it would be on her terms; it would not be sprung upon her like this.
“You can respect that, surely?”
“Of course.” Nico leaned back and looked away. “You are a lady. I was carried away by your beauty. My hot Venetian blood, I suppose.”
Thomasin stood up. An awkwardness hung between them that she did not wish to prolong. “I hope to see you soon, Nico.”
“You are leaving?” His tone was sulky.
“I had better go and put the queen’s things in order for her return.”
It was a fabricated excuse and he knew it. She felt his eyes upon her back as she hurried out of the garden.
As Thomasin knew, Queen Catherine was not in her chambers; she was out riding in the orchards with her husband. The laundress had gone, and the place smelled heavily of lavender and beeswax. Dust motes swirled in the air.
Thomasin walked to the window and sat looking down at the outer courtyard. It was good to be back. Nico’s suggestion had thrown her slightly, but on the whole, she felt composed, certain of herself. This was where she was meant to be: at the heart of things, attending the queen, watching the world unfold. There was no other place she would rather be than this.
Below, a figure in a grey dress was crossing the court path. The woman’s head was bent as she read intently from a paper, a letter unfolded in her hands. Although she wore a headdress and coif, her long brown hair tumbled out of the back, and Thomasin recognised Ellen at once. Surely, her cousin was heading this way, coming towards the staircase that would lead her up to these very chambers. If Thomasin waited here, only a few minutes would elapse and they would be reunited. Perhaps they might ignore the topic of marriage, and speak instead of court matters. Yes, she would ask Ellen to fill her in on the details about the king and queen — that would distract them.
Thomasin turned to face the doorway. Sure enough, footsteps approached along the corridor, the guards threw open the door and Ellen entered. At once, Thomasin got to her feet. There was something in her cousin’s face — shock, or incredulity. She held the discarded letter in her hand, as if it was an autumn leaf. Something had changed.
“Ellen? What is it?”
The letter fluttered beside Ellen’s skirts.
“This. I can’t believe it.”
“What? What has happened?”
Her cousin stared into her face. “Thomasin, I am free.”
“Free? How?”
The image flashed up in her mind of Cecilia walking at Hugh Truegood’s side out of the church.
“This letter came. My husband, Barnaby. In Derbyshire.”
“Yes, what? What happened?”
“It was a sudden fever. Just three days, according to his housekeeper.”
Realisation dawned for Thomasin. “Barnaby is dead?”
Ellen nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “And I am free. Free. Thomasin, can you believe it? Free to marry whomever I choose. And as his wife still, I inherit everything. All the estates, Monk’s Place, the money from the Aston case, it is all mine.”
“Ellen, my goodness!”
Ellen gave a wry smile. “But it is too late, Thomasin, a week too late.”
Thomasin folded her cousin into her arms. Ellen’s head drooped against her shoulder like a flower as she dropped the letter and shed her tears. The future lay before them, a bittersweet mix of hope and fear, a new path of opportunity which they must walk with care. And Thomasin could not help but wonder about the nature of fate, with its cruel twists and unexpected blessings. Would either of them find happiness? It seemed so fragile, like a summer rose that turns brown and withers. But surely there was true love out there, waiting for them both?
She kissed the top of Ellen’s head.
“Some day soon, you will find love. I truly believe it.”
