Anyone looking into the chamber might think her a lady being attended as her noble blood deserved, but in truth she was no better than any whore walking the dockside out of desperation, to earn enough coin to avoid seeing her children suffer. Just because she had finer clothing and a warm fire at hand did not change how she earned those comforts. The world seemed to hold little good for women. The most blessed gift she had ever received took every bit of her strength to protect.
Her son Brandon.
Justina allowed his face to surface from her memory while the maids continued to dress her. One of them picked up the pair of boy’s britches she had used to escape from Baron Ryppon. The maid looked shocked, but Justina offered her no explanation for the male garments. For certain it was considered wrong for a female to wear such things as britches; the Church preached that it was unnatural for any woman to dress contrary to her gender. Only a woman possessed by the devil would do so. Those who liked to hunt witches often used the charge of wearing britches to help condemn their unfortunate prisoners.
Justina didn’t plan to say even one prayer of repentance for the wearing of those boy’s clothes. No one thought about stopping a young boy on the road. Every villager she had passed had taken little notice of her. They had assumed she was carrying a message and never thought she might be a woman who had bound her breasts to keep them from betraying her. She had even been tossed bread and cheese because the mare she rode was fine, and the woman who offered her the meal hoped that Justina would tell her master of the kindness. Perhaps send her a silver coin or two if she passed that way again.
Guilt did prick her for taking the food, but she had needed the strength to make it to Whitehall. She had to return and protect her son. What did it matter if she hated what she had become, so long as her child remained in the country, far removed from the depravity of court. Her own father was dead and that left her at the mercy of the guardian her husband’s will named. The Viscount Biddeford was a relation of her husband and the man embodied the ideal of a noble family. He made sure that not one bit of silver went unaccounted for and that every person under his power did their share to advance his name and fortune.
He didn’t care what method was needed, either. Justina refused to allow tears to gather in her eyes. Tears were a sign of weakness, and she wasn’t the first woman who had been used to charm information out of a man by acting as his lover. As far as the viscount was concerned, her chastity had served its purpose when she wed a titled man, and whom she slept with now that she was widowed was something for him to direct. It shouldn’t bother her, after all, she had never chosen her own lover, never laid down with a man she felt something more than even mild lust for. It shouldn’t matter and yet, she discovered herself dwelling on it now. The viscount was correct about one thing; her time away from court had affected her. She wouldn’t have thought that distance might cleanse her, scraping away the deceit and sin that felt as though it clung to her skin, but it had, because now she would have sworn that she could smell the stench of those around her who had blackened souls.
She turned and looked into an expensive and rare mirror. It was by far one of the finest things in the room, its surface showing her reflection with the help of the candlelight.
She was a beauty. As long as she could recall, she had been told that her complexion was flawless, creamy and smooth with lips that remained the color of spring berries without paint. Her nose was small and well shaped and her cheekbones high and slanted. She had a head of golden hair with a hint of red. Her father had delighted in her fair looks, clothing her in costly silk to show off her beauty. But he hadn’t done it to celebrate her good fortune in being blessed with comely features; no, her sire had dangled her like a rare treat in front of men with bluer blood than his. Marriage offers had begun appearing on her father’s desk by the time she was ten and before she saw her sixteenth natal day she was a wife. A coveted bride that her husband, the Baron Wincott, had delighted in parading through the court like a mare won from the auction block. He had lorded her possession over his friends, outlining every detail of their coupling without any concern for her tender modesty. Five of his fellow lords had been invited to the consummation of their union and the tears falling down her cheeks had not stopped her husband from stripping her bare in front of their lustful gazes. It had not been the only night her husband had allowed others to watch him using her. The baron was sick and depraved, and her married life had been one torrid night after the next, the only reprieve coming when she swelled with child and her husband sent her to the country because he found her round belly ugly.
No, she had no time for tears, or weakness, or admiring of her fair features. Her beauty was a curse and one that had brought her much suffering. Her life would have been far kinder if she were plain, for that would have seen her father wedding her to some quiet gentleman of modest means.
The maids brought her fine leather shoes that had been specially made for her feet. They had heels on them for dancing, and one maid fetched a silk ribbon with pearls dangling from the ends to tie each shoe with. Next came a farthingale. The slip was set with steel hoops that would hold out the skirts of her gown and keep the dress in its cone shape. A pair of stays was laced over her chest to raise and support her breasts. The maids lifted a heavy dress up and over her head. Justina raised her arms and the garment fell down in a flutter of brocade and velvet. The viscount made sure she was provided with the most recent fashions, and the gown was no exception. Set with a square neckline edged with costly velvet, the gown was constructed of brocade in hues of blue and silver to set off her blond hair. The neckline exposed the creamy swells of her breasts when the bodice was laced into position.
“A partlet, I believe.”
One of the maids looked up and nibbled on her lip. “His lordship did not instruct us to dress you in a partlet, my lady.”
The servant looked at the amount of flesh the gown exposed but still remained obedient to her employer’s instructions. Justina was well accustomed to such but she had also learned long ago, when she had wiped her child-bride’s tears from her cheeks and refused to crumple at the feet of the men who felt they owned her, to be clever. She had discovered how to outthink the men around her because that was the only way that she, as a woman, might prevail.
“Yes, and you also heard the viscount tell me to attend the Princess Mary. Her highness is known for her modesty and does not tolerate ladies who do not recall that facet of her disposition. Without a partlet, I doubt I will attend her very long.”
The servant’s eyes widened with understanding. “Oh yes, you are very astute, my lady. The viscount will be pleased.”
Pleased ... yes, that was what Justina needed. For the man to be satisfied with her. A ripple of something that felt very much like resentment went through her. The emotion surprised her because she had banished such feelings long ago. If she had not, she would have gone insane.
The Church would tell her that she deserved what Biddeford gave her for being so relieved when her husband died. She had been relieved and overjoyed and a hundred other emotions that had nothing to do with grief. But such elation had been short lived. The viscount had sent for her, and the moment she appeared at court, the man had begun directing her to use her cursed beauty to snare the secrets that he desired.
The maid returned with a simple over-partlet that was little more than a yoke, sewn at the shoulders with a collar. It fit perfectly on top of the dress and tied beneath her arms. The maid used pearl-topped pins to secure it at the center front of the neckline. Constructed of silk, the fabric covered her breasts up to her collarbones, leaving only a slim inch of skin on display where the two fronts met. It was set with a collar that had lace edging and more pearls.
“That should meet with her highness’s approval.” The maid had spoken before she thought, and ducked her chin when she realized that she had indeed uttered her thoughts without being asked for her opinion. She hurried to finish dressing her and Justina remained silent.
They