‘No, I do not. Neither here nor anywhere else.’
Smiling, he let her go, retaining one of her hands in his. ‘Good. Now walk with me up the path and show me the rest of the gardens, if you please.’
Like her royal half-sister, Etta had a pragmatic streak strong enough to influence those decisions and emotions that might have looked to the uninitiated like the perversity of an indulged and beautiful woman. Being aware of this, her step-parents intended to overrule their wayward daughter in the matter of marriage to Lord Somerville, once the peacock feather had signalled her interest. But for Etta, even through the humiliation of defeat, the bitter pill was made easier to swallow by knowing that this handsome creature was not to be compared to other young noblemen she had met, neither in manner, ability, intelligence or success in business. Nor would he easily be deterred from having his way, once he had decided on it. And in this particular, Etta was determined to test him to the limit, for he had deceived her, whatever excuse he gave, and he would not be allowed to forget. As for making love in the future, she was angry enough to hold out against him for as long as she could, for they had spoken neither of affection nor love and, as far as she was concerned, he had forfeited any right to expect it.
Her body, however, told her a different story, now she had tasted his kiss and felt the hard power of his arms. The man was despicable, unprincipled and arrogant, yet her conscience told her that, as his wife, she would have to call on all her reserves of will-power not to let him dent her armour. Or was it already too late for that?
* * *
With her parents and Aphra, Baron Somerville was totally at ease, showing no signs of the opposition that would have daunted men of lesser confidence. But as she sat in dignified silence, Etta was able to discover, through their interest in him, how much of the world he had seen. As a man of Flemish origin, a ship-owning merchant, he had travelled far and wide, even up to the ice-cold northern lands where waterfalls fell from the sky, animals swam beneath the sea, where lights danced in the night and jets of hot water spurted from the ground. In any other circumstances, she would have asked questions and shown an interest in the man she was to marry, but pride forbade this now and her eyes found other answers in their surreptitious examination of his thick, silky hair, his eloquent hands and the zest for life that shone from his eyes. As she watched, it became clear why he had packed so much into his thirty years, why he had won the admiration of his guild and why his business ventures had flourished on the back of his ambition. It came as no surprise to her to learn that an aimless life at court was to him a waste of time unless he could contact those men he needed. Perhaps, she thought, he saw her as a useful acquisition with her resemblance to the Queen, a way to attract attention to himself and to make contacts that might otherwise have taken longer. Everything about him added to her impression of drive and capability, even the way he had conducted this speedy claim to her hand, efficient even by her father’s standards. Asking herself if she might have preferred a longer, slower wooing, she had to concede that her interest in him had been immediate, but that she had made some serious errors by her pique and overreactions. What this predicted for the next phase in their relationship Etta hardly dared to think, in the light of his considerable energies.
* * *
Nicolaus was not a man to be easily daunted by opposition, however, though opposition from a woman was something unfamiliar to him. But then, he had known that this one was different—as a successful merchant, he had taught himself to look out for rarities and Mistress Henrietta Raemon was about as rare as one could get, with her looks and breeding.
The breeding, of course, was something of which she was intensely aware and proud, and which, he thought, must be why she wished to make contact with her half-sister Elizabeth. Presumably, then, she had set her heart on acquiring a courtier husband, and although not exactly disappointed by this stance, Nicolaus believed it was unrealistic and rather naïve of her to set such an unnecessary target, especially when her father had alerted him at the beginning to his daughter’s dream of finding a potential for love in her future husband. Taking this hope seriously, Nicolaus had suggested a way of finding out what was more important to her, girlish romance or a courtier husband. For him to conceal his new title and any mention of his wealth and status from her at a trial meeting had been his suggestion, meant to discover any sign of attraction upon which they could base a relationship that would suit them both. Had he not been reasonably sure of the success of this plan, he would not have suggested it.
His friendship with Lady Raemon’s brother-in-law, Sir George Betterton at the Royal Wardrobe, had been the link by which he could make himself known to her without any of the resistance her parents had warned him about. She was, they said, fascinated by fabrics and fashion, as most women with her connections were. What better, then, than an innocent invitation from Sir George to see the Queen’s coronation robes? From the first meeting, his experience with women had assured him of her interest, not only in the materials of his trade but in himself, as a man. Suspecting that she would return for a second look, he had arranged with Sir George for a little privacy and, because he was trusted, his precious moments with her had proved to him that she found him attractive. Her refusal to allow a kiss was no great matter and her aversion to a mercer as a suitable husband had not deterred him either, thinking that her attitude would surely be softened when she learned what else he had to commend him. Perhaps he had underestimated what a complicated character she was. Perhaps his little deceit had been a step too far? Or was it not only that she was a complicated lady, but also an insecure one, too?
Her stepfather had made him aware of Henrietta’s parentage, which would account for her resemblance to the new Queen, but since neither of her parents had been known to Nicolaus, this information had not concerned him. It was only when he had met Lady Raemon at a later date, when she had mentioned Etta’s wish to attend court, that he had been made aware of their concerns, wanting only to protect her from what they saw as the inevitable malicious gossip of those who had known that particular mistress of the late king. Having been exposed to such wounding jealousies themselves, they knew what could happen to Henrietta if she was ever, as a young and innocent woman, brought into contact with court life. The fact that he, Nicolaus, had assured them of his lack of interest in this direction had been an added bonus to his suitability as a husband, though with Henrietta, it had been exactly the opposite. He was not only a mercer, of all things, with a home above a shop, but a most unlikely source of access to the Queen’s presence, too.
Etta had not had the chance to explain to him exactly what lay behind this urge to make contact with her half-sister, but her reason of a mere relationship did not seem to him to justify a rejection of everything else he had to offer. If that was not a sign of insecurity, then he did not know what was. What did she want, apart from to see her sibling? What had that outburst been all about? More to do with a thwarting of her hopes, he thought, than with being the wife of a mercer.
Settling down into the warm feather bed that night, Nicolaus wondered if her lovely cousin Aphra would be of any help to him in explaining the deeper reasons for her unexpectedly violent aversion. He had felt Etta’s body soften under his kiss, the way it had in his dreams. He had desired her from his first glance and knew he would have to make her his wife. Now, he saw that he would have to tame her to come to his hand, for she was of a wilder and more passionate breed than any he’d had dealings with so far. So much for her royal parentage. His last disjointed thoughts were of the peacock feathers. Such a boyish thing to do. No wonder she had not thought it funny.
* * *
The gardens at Tyburn House were not only extensive but also beautifully designed and kept in pristine condition throughout all the seasons. Few of Lord and Lady Raemon’s guests were allowed to leave without first taking a look at the knot gardens and borders, the fountains, water courses, and Lady Raemon’s delight, the large topiary hedges cut into