‘Whither so fast?’ a deep, husky voice asked. Deborah caught the faint accent, which she realized must come from his having spent much of his life in France. ‘Why are you in such a hurry, mistress? You were like to knock me down in your haste.’
That was most unlikely! Deborah stared up into the wicked dark eyes of the Marquis de Vere and drew in her breath sharply. Close to, he was even larger than he had seemed from a distance. A powerful man with broad shoulders and strong thighs, his nearness was intimidating. His court dress was fashioned of black velvet slashed through with dusky gold braid, his doublet heavily sewn with jet bugles.
Unusually in these times he wore no beard, though a slight shadow could be discerned on his chin as if it were some hours since he had shaved. His hair was dark brown and waved thickly back from his brow, and he wore only a small ruff about his neck. Even in court clothes, which taken to excess could appear ridiculous on some, this man had the look of an adventurer.
‘It was you who impeded my progress, sir,’ Deborah replied, her head high, two spots of colour in her cheeks. ‘I pray you, allow me to pass. I wish to speak with my cousin.’
‘Ah, yes, the pretty Mistress Palmer,’ Nicholas Trevern, Marquis de Vere, murmured throatily. ‘A bold wench that one, and no better than she ought to be, I’ll vow.’
‘How dare you impugn the honour of my family?’ Deborah’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘If I were a man I would demand satisfaction, sir!’
‘I could afford you a deeper satisfaction as a wench, Mistress Stirling.’
The expression in his eyes coupled with the mockery in his voice shocked her. She knew that men were freer in their speech in town than she was accustomed to hearing in her father’s house, where she was always accorded the deepest respect, but this was outrageous. How dare he make such a ribald suggestion to her!
‘You are unwise to insult me, sir. My father has powerful friends.’
‘Indeed?’ Laughter danced in Nicholas’s eyes. ‘Would you have me hanged drawn and quartered for daring to tease you, mistress?’
‘I have no wish to listen to your teasing, sir.’
‘Have you not? Your cousin seemed amused.’
‘My cousin is young and perhaps something foolish.’
‘Of your own age, methinks?’ He made her an elegant leg. ‘Forgive me, mistress. I bow to your superior wisdom.’
‘You are pleased to mock me, sir.’
It was all Deborah could do not to stamp her foot. Oh, if she were but the son her father had hoped for and never had! She would teach this devil a lesson he would not soon forget.
‘One must mock at life,’ Nicholas went on before she could make up her mind how to deliver her set-down. ‘Too oft life plays its cruel jests on both the godly and ungodly alike. ’Tis as well to laugh in the face of fate as lie down beneath it. Yet I meant not to offend you, mistress. Go on your way in peace.’
He stood aside. Deborah swept past, the wide skirts of her sumptuous gown swaying with indignation. It was as well for her peace of mind that she did not turn her head to look back, for the sheer delight and mischief in Nicholas’s eyes would have added to her sense of frustration. How many times had she longed to be free of all the restrictions placed on a woman? How often she had wished herself a man, and never more so than now. Oh, that dreadful man should suffer if she but had a sword to run him through!
Deborah was no stranger to swordplay, or to a man’s costume. Her father had indulged her in whims others might find strange. He had been amused to see her strut and playact in her role as a youth, and had delighted in her skill with the rapier.
‘I vow I could wish for no finer son,’ he had told her once when they had practised the art of fencing together and he found himself disarmed. ‘But this must be our secret, Deborah, for the old tabbies would speak you ill if it were known you had behaved so immodestly.’
‘I care naught for the spite of tabbies,’ Deborah had replied confidently. ‘But as you ask it, Father, I shall be discreet. What we enjoy in private shall remain so.’
‘You are always my good daughter,’ her father had teased, a smile curving his mouth. ‘I must be on my guard for ’tis certain you will want something—a new gown, perhaps?’
‘How should I want a new gown when I already have so many?’ Deborah asked, then a little smile flickered in her green eyes—eyes that had caused many a young village lad to dream of her in vain. ‘But there is one thing you might do for me—if you wish?’
‘Of course, daughter. What is it now? Would you have me give more of my gold to master parson—or open my kitchens to every beggar in the whole of Northumbria?’
‘It is just Mistress Donovan. She is a widow now, Father, with three small children. All I ask is that she may remain in her cottage until she can find a man to take her husband’s place.’
‘Of course, child. She is a comely good woman. I dare say a man can be found to wed her before I am entirely ruined by lack of rent or labour.’
‘Oh, Father!’
Deborah had laughed at his gentle mockery of her good works. Yet she was not moved to laughter by the wicked teasing of the Marquis de Vere, though in her heart she could not find him guilty of malice. When he smiled he did not look so very harsh, but there was mettle in him. She thought that he might make a fearsome enemy, and a little chill ran down her spine. For a moment it was as if a dark cloud had passed over her and she was afraid of something, but of what she could not be sure. It was just a sense that her life of sweet content was about to change forever.
She shook her head as if to clear it of such thoughts. Sarah had turned her way and she lifted her hand to beckon her to her side.
‘It is time we were leaving,’ she said as her cousin came up to her. ‘I have had enough of the Court for one day.’
‘Oh, must we go?’ Sarah dimpled as a young man smiled at her from across the crowded gallery. ‘I have found our visit vastly amusing, have you not, cousin?’
‘It is interesting to see so many gathered here in the hope of a smile or some notice from His Majesty,’ Deborah replied. ‘Though his appearance was so brief that most must have been disappointed.’
‘Oh, the King…’ Sarah pulled a laughing face. She was well aware that she had aroused the interest of more than one gentleman that day. ‘It is not His Majesty’s attentions that I care for, cousin.’
Deborah noticed the young man who was staring so hard in their direction and smiled inwardly as she saw the flush in Sarah’s cheeks.
‘Come, Sarah,’ she urged. ‘Master Henderson will find his way to our lodgings if he wishes to further his acquaintance with our family.’ So saying, she took her cousin’s arm and began firmly to steer her towards Sir Edward, who was now waiting for them.
The bold-eyed marquis seemed to have disappeared and Deborah was relieved that there would be no more encounters with such a wicked rogue. She wondered that he even dared to appear at Court, for if there were any justice His Majesty would surely hang the fellow.
‘What would ye have of me now, rogue?’ James I of England and VI of Scotland eyed the younger man with amusement. Disfigured by childhood weaknesses and birth defects, he liked to see charming, handsome faces about him and his partiality led to many complaints about his favourites.
‘Why, nothing, sir,’ replied Nicholas. The son of an English gentlewoman and a French nobleman, only a genuine liking for this man some called fool kept him at court. He had estates in France that needed his attention, but James had asked for him and he had come in answer to the summons. ‘I believe you had some need of me?’
‘Mayhap.’