Madrilene's Granddaughter. Laura Cassidy

know,” Bess repeated. She looked about her garden unseeing, then said, “I think I would prefer to gather the flowers alone. Pray return to the house.” That time! she was thinking, that dreadful time! When an unscrupulous girl almost wrecked my good marriage. Now her granddaughter stands on my land as bold as brass and says, Yes…I know! Ever since Rachel Monterey had entered the hall of Maiden Court, Bess had been constantly reminded of someone else. Reminded! Why, she must have been blind. Rachel could be Madrilene’s reincarnation. And she had felt pity for the girl. Pity, bah! Any female with Madrilene de Santos’s blood did not need that gentle mercy—her pathetic ways were just a pose as her grandmother had assumed so many. Oh, it was an old, old story, but as fresh to Bess as if it were yesterday.

      While Bess had been confined producing her twin son and daughter, Harry Latimar had remained with the royal court when Madrilene de Santos, spoiled and wealthy Spanish ward of King Henry Tudor, had arrived to take her place as one of Catherine Howard’s waiting ladies. Immediately her lustrous dark eyes had alighted on Harry and she had waged a deliberate campaign to snatch him for herself. Bess, and Harry, too, had eventually foiled her in this, but—standing now in the tranquillity of her gardens—Bess could still remember the pain of that whole year of her life. And the anger. Gentle and peaceable Bess had always been, but not meek, and to be confronted nearly four decades later with such an unwelcome ghost roused fire in her breast. With a face of stone she made a sweeping gesture. “Go back into the house, I say!” As Rachel stumbled away, she thought again, I must have been blind. Why, it could be she, my old enemy: all that shining black hair, that walk—as if she carried a crown on her elegant head. She stared after the retreating figure with hatred in her heart.