Page 11 of The Favourite

“Very well, I shall try. She’s very … punctilious,” he started slowly. “She believes in all the virtues and attempts to demonstrate them daily. She gives alms to the poor, attends chapel, and her manners are impeccable. She never has so much as a hair out of place. She is assiduous in her duties, would never permit herself to show up late to supper, to turn her back on her host, or neglect any of the social niceties. She is highly discreet, and I doubt so much as a morsel of gossip has ever passed her lips. As a consequence, she has no particular friends, for no one likes a paragon.”

Alisander refilled his cup as Robert’s eyes grew rounder. “Her manner of dress is conservative, with no particular flair for individuality. She dances passably well while possessing no great talent. She is pretty in a pale, insipid sort of way. Her mouth is too small, but very neat. Her figure is good, but nothing special. Her carriage and deportment are pleasing, without possessing any true distinction.

“Her waist is trim, her bosom nothing to boast of, her skin, a little on the washed-out side. The habitual expression upon her face is meek and downcast like that of a virtuous statue. She is entirely colorless, except for when she grows annoyed, and then, though she tries to hide it, a most unbecoming rash will spread across her neck and décolletage, betraying her, and her eyes flash like twin topazes in the perfect oval of her face.”

Robert picked up his cup and took a swig. “So, she has eyes like jewels and you’re in love with her,” he said contentedly. “That’s good.” Alisander gave a crack of laughter. Well, if that was what Robert took away from his list of attributes, so be it. “She sounds like a good girl,” Robert continued, nodding his gray head. “And has the makings of a good wife to ye, milord.”

“Well, now I have your approval, my good Robert, I shall proceed apace,” he assured his servant. “Let us drink to success in my wooing.” He lifted his own cup aloft and Robert joined him in the toast.

It was not until two days later that Alisander received sudden word that Jane had left the Dowager Viscountess Morpington’s abode and was on her way to the Queen’s chambers. He did not precisely hurry his way there—hurrying was something Alisander seldom did, if possible, and never in public. Still, he was forced to slip through the neglected inner maze of the castle without so much as donning a concealing cloak along the way.

He made a startled maid squeak on emerging into a servants’ staircase. Her attack of nerves was mercifully allayed when he swiftly produced a coin to quell her exclamations. He reached the Queen’s rooms without further event and swiftly passed through her Presence Chamber and into the Privy Chamber, unchallenged by the ushers who stood guarding the doorway. Disappointingly, the room was empty. Armenal must have Jane closeted in her bedchamber, he realized with a twist of his lips.

He only stood hesitating a moment before moving to the window seat. He tossed a cushion into one corner and then stretched out, letting the curtain down to conceal him. Then he waited, his eyes closed, for the drama to unfold. He did not have to wait long.

4

Jane had approached the Queen’s chambers in a positive quake of nerves. No sooner had she arrived back in her rooms at the palace, tired and disillusioned, than a royal summons had been delivered. It was decidedly formal in tone and nothing like the usual relaxed communication she enjoyed with the Queen.

If she had not just suffered through a frankly nightmarish, two-day visit with the Dowager Viscountess Morpington, then she was sure she would feel even more anxious. As it was, she scarcely felt like things could get much worse. It was consequently with a strangely fatalistic mindset that Jane bent her steps now towards the Queen’s private apartments.

She could not marry Rodrey, she knew that much. Even thinking now of his bloodshot eyes and bilious countenance made her give an involuntary shudder. His conversation, or wanton lack of it, his shifty eye, and general twitchiness, all of it combined to convey the worst possible impression of his potential as a husband. She did not even want to contemplate what kind of father he would make.

And that had been before he had tried to corner her in his mother’s sitting room. Jane had not hesitated to drive her elbow as hard as she could into his soft stomach. Mercifully, his mother, on re-entering the room, attributed the overturned table and the fact her son was doubled over and retching in the corner, to the after-effects of an evening’s overindulgence, and scolded him roundly, ushering Jane from the room.

Jane had heard, of course, vague rumors that Rodrey was sadly intemperate these days, but she had been unaware of the extent of his excesses. Even her short visit was sufficient to see why the dowager was so anxious to marry him off. She remembered the quiet, rather nervous boy he had been and felt more bewildered than bereft at how he had turned out. There could be no solution there to her problems.

No, there was nothing for it now, but to throw herself on the Queen’s mercy and hope for the best. In happier times, Queen Armenal had alluded to a respectable match which could eventually be made for a favorite lady-in-waiting. Jane had always passionately denied any interest in a husband. Instead, she had assured the Queen of her devoted service to the end of her days.

How bitterly did Jane now regret her vehemence on that score! If only she had been more moderate in her plans for the future, she would not appear so ridiculous now, turning around and begging the Queen to find her a husband!

Then too, could she even rely on the Queen’s goodwill, with a child in tow, whose mere existence was an insult to her? Jane’s heart quailed. She was not looking forward to this interview. The Queen was not in her Presence Chamber, and the attendants waved her through to the Privy Chamber, which again, was empty.

Hoping her inner turmoil was not too evident, Jane approached the double doors to the Queen’s bedchamber. She had paused a moment to compose herself before giving a discreet knock upon the door. A page opened it, but instead of stepping back to make way, he uttered her name over his shoulder and seemingly received a reply that she was to be kept waiting.

With a stony face, the young lad closed the door in her face and Jane felt herself flush at the slight. Glancing around, she saw the ushers from the previous doors observing her reception with interest. Jane stiffened her spine and pressed her lips together. How many courtiers had she refused admittance to in the past? She had done so without compunction, trusting they deserved such treatment, everyone.

Well, maybe they had, and maybe she did now. Armenal had every reason to be angry, Jane reminded herself. She vowed to withstand the Queen’s subsequent displeasure with grace. This vow was put under immediate strain when Mistress Bartree finally opened the door and looked Jane over with haughty disdain. “Her Majesty will see you now,” she intoned, making it clear she thought Jane undeserving of the honor.

Despite her intention to bear herself contritely, Jane found herself giving a barely-there curtsey, and instead of bowing her head and following humbly in her wake, she aimed her look of smoldering resentment between Mistress Bartree’s shoulder blades. Well, the Queen had not waited long before finding a new favorite, it seemed.

Was this how Eden Montmayne had felt when returning to court after her unsanctioned marriage? She had found herself supplanted, and Jane the new favorite. The thought made her uneasy. For the first time, it occurred to her to wonder: who had come before Eden? Was Jane simply the latest in a long line of usurped favorites?

The Queen was sat upon a low couch with an arm extended regarding a bracelet of delicate filigree about her wrist. She did not turn her head at their approach, but instead stood up and moved to survey herself in a long looking glass. “The emeralds, I think, Magnatrude,” she uttered, ignoring Jane’s deep curtsey.

Magnetrude Bartree hastened to the open jewelry box and extracted a necklet of surpassing beauty which she approached the Queen with reverently. “You may place it about my throat,” Queen Armenal said graciously, in the manner of one bestowing a great favor. Jane felt a pang. That used to be her, performing such duties.

The Queen took her time, surveying the results, before she turned to Jane. “Well, Jane,” she said coolly. “You are returned to us, I see.”

“I am, Your Majesty.”

“Your outside business presumably concluded; I trust you can now devote yourself to your duties here at court.”

Jane hesitated. “Unfortunately, not, Your Majesty.”

“No?” The Queen raised an eyebrow and glanced toward Magnatrude Bartree. “How extraordinary.”

Jane’s cheeks burned. She took a deep breath. This was going to be harder than she had envisaged.