Alice shifted in her seat and sent a confidence-inspiring smile in my direction. She often nurtured me when my own mother slipped under the horizon and was unable to attend to the questions and concerns of young womanhood. Alice had mended my broken wings as best she could after Will’s announcement that he would be a priest, reassuring me that she hadn’t married for affection, either, but had grown to love Master Rogers well.

Amenable Alice. Always compliant, making the best of things, peaceful and settled. I could see why my father found me a grave disappointment.

“I do remember Sir William,” I said. “Well.”

“He’s got quite a talent for languages,” John continued, sensing nothing amiss, I was sure, as men often do not. “And for debate. I’m not sure with whom he’s been sparring at rhetoric all of these years because it certainly wasn’t his brother Walter.” He turned to his mother. “I’d like to have Ogilvy to Blickenham sometime. You’ll not mind?”

“Of course he’s welcome,” Alice murmured. I made my way through the soup course as, thankfully, the conversation turned to other matters, and then excused myself from the meal as soon as decently possible.

I wasn’t in my room for long before there was a short knock on the door. “Come in,” I called out, expecting it to be my servant, Edithe. Instead it was my sister. She had a letter in her hand and she came and sat next to me on the bed.

“It’s from Father, as you know,” she began. “He’d like for you to pack your things and return to Allington. He’ll send a cart for you the day after tomorrow.”

I abruptly stood up. “What? Why? I’ve only just arrived.”

She reached up and folded my hand into her own. “It seems he’s found a potential husband for you and they’re coming to visit.”

I arrived home two days hence to find my father in high spirits and my mother aright on her own two feet, which was rare. I knew she meant to wring every last bit of vitality out of her bones to ensure that this meeting went well for my sake and for Father’s.

“Don’t overextend yourself, Lady Wyatt,” my father said, gesturing roughly for a manservant to bring a cushioned chair to the portico so my mother could sit in the sun whilst we waited for our guests to arrive. The manservant hefted a chair and my father had it arranged in the best possible spot before easing my mother into it. I had never seen my father be gentle with anyone or anything other than my mother and his horses. Alice never spoke of her mother; she’d died when Alice was young and Alice had been married off at fifteen—as soon as my own mother arrived at Allington. But I’d overheard the kitchen servants speak of my father’s first wife and he had treated her as rudely as he’d treated me, so I suspected that when he’d given her his hand in marriage it had been often and with blunt force.

Not so with my mother. If I’d been in the frame of mind to thank God for small favors this was one I could have thanked Him for. But I didn’t.

Within the hour we could see a traveling cloud of dust in the distance, winding up the village lane, past the priory, on the way to Allington Castle. The ground shuddered slightly with the force of the oncoming horses. As I stood, I smoothed my hair and my dress, which earned me a rare nod of approval from Father. Thomas was at court and Edmund upstairs with the tutors, so we three navigated our way down to the great hall in which we would shortly greet our guests.

They arrived preceded by a small clutch of attendants, across the brackish moat, and when the carriage door was opened, two men alighted. One was my father’s old friend Lord Blackston, with whom he had fought Richard the Third many years back. The second was his nephew and, as Blackston had no children of his own, the baron’s heir.

My father and Lord Blackston clapped one another on the back and chortled loudly about the gambling my father had arranged for that evening’s entertainment after dinner, though the baron warned my father about cheating him—again. My father, notoriously tight with his money but honest, ignored him. I saw the flash in his eye.

“Lady Wyatt. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” The baron extended his hand toward my mother’s, taking her hand in his and kissing it softly.

My mother lowered her eyes demurely as she withdrew her hand. “Thank you, My Lord. As always, it’s a pleasure to have you as our guest. It’s been too many years.”

He grinned. As he did I could see that whilst he may have won his fortune at the Battle of Bosworth it was clear that he’d forfeited some teeth in exchange.

“And this jewel was naught but a girl at that time.”

I curtseyed politely and heard the man to his side clear his throat.

Lord Blackston turned and urged forward the second man. “My nephew, Simon.” Simon was a good Norman name. Norman blood. Titled. Moneyed. I held out my hand and cast my gaze downward, as gently bred girls are well taught to do.

Simon took my hand in his. My first instinct, which I checked, was to withdraw it immediately. His fingers were long and cool, like recently snuffed tapers. He brought my hand to his parched lips and kissed the back of it. He then let go. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mistress Wyatt. I’ve heard so much about you. But I find that what I’ve heard seems to be untrue.” I looked up at that. Exactly what had he heard about me and from whom?

“You’re far lovelier than I’d been expecting.” With that, he bowed courteously and my mother led the way into Allington.

That evening all the servants were in their best liveries. My father had ordered an entire ox roasted—roasted meat being a sign of wealth—as it showed that we Wyatts had enough money to pay one or two men to do nothing but turn a burdened spit over a hellish inferno all day. There was stuffed swan and pale ale brought from Bruges. And of course, jellied eels. I tried hard not to compare Simon’s fingers to the jellied eels but I found myself unable to enjoy them for the first time ever. Afterward there was music, though no dancing, as dinner was a smallish affair. My mother withdrew and my father and Baron Blackston retreated to a far corner of the great hall where tables had been set up. Several gentlemen from the neighboring properties had arrived to play cards and dice. I wasn’t sure if I was gratified or disappointed when Simon politely declined to join them and instead asked me if I’d ask the musicians to continue to play whilst he and I sat by the fire and kept company.

What could I do? “I’d be pleased to,” I answered, remembering my father’s warning to be kind and submissive to the next man he brought to my side. Scraping hardened horse dung with my bare nails from between the cobbled stones on the path to a Scottish abbey didn’t appeal to me. So Simon and I kept company.

“I’ve heard that your father has seen fit to educate you,” Simon began. I dared to look up at his face. The fire had brought some color to it, which made him more pleasant to look at than he had been in the cool stone dining hall. His smile was not warm, but it was not cruel, either. I was glad of the fact that it would be impolite to look into his eyes for too long. The irises were blue but the whites around them slightly rheumy, perhaps a bit like eggs which had not been cooked quite long enough. They stared at me, however, intently. I became aware that he was expecting an answer.

Would he find my education to his liking? “Yes, my father found my mother’s education pleasing to him and had me educated along with my brothers.” I answered as safely as I knew how.

“What have you studied?” He folded his long fingers over his knee and used the movement as an excuse to move slightly closer to me on the covered bench. I held myself steady so as not to flinch. I looked into his eyes as I spoke, hoping that he wouldn’t misread my desire to gauge his response as a desire for intimacy.

“I studied mathematics and rhetoric, Latin and letters,” I began. His eyes held mine and betrayed no emotion but I thought I saw a slight downward dip in the corner of his mouth.

“And dancing, of course, and needlework. I can play the lute. And my mother has schooled me on household management.” At that he smiled.

“Yes, yes, of course she would have. I am sure you play a fine lute. I’d like to hear it.” He looked as though he were about to signal a musician. I quickly held up my hand.

“Perhaps tomorrow?” My voice was soft as carded wool. “I feel a bit tired now, the excitement of the day….”

“Of course,” he said. He spoke at length about their property up north, which I knew to be extensive, their many castles and land-holdings. Lord Blackton’s sister had been his mother, and when she had died shortly after his father at the Bosworth Field the baron had taken him in and raised him. In spite of having married several times, the baron had sired no child of his own.

“I think you might like the north, mistress,” he said after I’d admitted I’ve never been north of London. “It’s very family-oriented for the lady of the manor. There are serfs and peasants to attend to and alms to give. Servants to attend to, birthings and the like, and quite a bit of needlework, of course.”

“Sounds…. bucolic.” I reached past the first three or four words that presented themselves to me to snatch one that might sound faintly praiseworthy.

He nodded. I wasn’t entirely certain he knew what “bucolic” meant.

“If you’ll excuse me, I must ensure that my mother is well settled for the evening, and then perhaps it is time to retire myself.” I kept my voice soothing and pleasant. I hardly recognized myself. I sounded like Alice. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation, but then again it reminded me of the times when I, as a girl, had slipped into her adult gowns. Mayhap it was time I grew into them. I smiled at him warmly because he truly had been a gentleman in every way. He was very…. proper.