Page 1 of Her Noble Groom

Chapter one

Thomasse twirled before the looking glass, the dark green velvet skirt of her gown swirling about her ankles.

Embroidered silver leaves adorned the trumpet sleeves and hem, and the matching silver girdle accentuated her tiny waist. Tonight, she would step into her mother’s role as the manor’s hostess, hoping to catch the eye of a certain gentleman, and prove herself a desirable match.

“Sir Arthur cannot fail to notice me tonight.”

The maidservant furrowed her brow as she adjusted the folds of the skirt. “Not so long ago, it was Robert. And Harold before him. There have been so many, I have lost count.”

Thomasse tossed her head. “I was a young girl then. Now, I am of marrying age and must be more discerning in my choice of beaus.”

“Turning sixteen does not, by some miracle, endow a maiden with great wisdom,” the maidservant replied. “Pray, what makes Sir Arthur worthy of your regard?”

“Agnes!” Thomasse gasped. “Surely, you jest.” She raised a finger. “First, he is handsome.” She raised another finger. “Second, he owns a large estate in Berkshire.” She raised a third finger. “And he is highly favored by the king. What more could a maiden desire?”

Agnes struggled to her feet. “All those can be lost in the twinkling of an eye. But a man who listens, who is gentle and kind—he is the one worth cleaving to.”

Pushing her feet into a pair of brocade slippers, Thomasse laughed. “Sounds horribly dull!”

Agnes flinched ever so slightly, and Thomasse regretted her thoughtless words, but only for a fleeting moment before her mind returned to the festivities already underway below. With Lent beginning on the morrow, this would be the last party for some time.

Agnes limped to the dressing table and fetched the bottle of jasmine oil. Thomasse dabbed a bit on her wrists and behind her ears, then drew a long, blonde curl over her shoulder. Perfection!

“My late husband—”

“Another time, Agnes. My guests await.”

Thomasse glided out the door and into the passageway overlooking the great hall below. Torches flickered, their flames casting shadows that danced across the ceiling, giving the room an air of enchantment, the perfect setting to spark romance.

The sweet strains of a lute mingled with the steady buzz of conversation and the crackle of the fire on the hearth. White-clothed tables lined the walls, leaving the center open for the night’s amusements.

She leaned against the rail and surveyed the room. The ladies’ colorful gowns were a blessed relief from the gray of winter. A burst of laughter caught her attention. A group of gentlemen, including Arthur, was congregated in the middle of the room, deep in conversation.

Warmth suffused her body as she observed her beloved.

Arthur’s murrey tunic complemented the dark auburn of his hair, while the pale-colored hose revealed the length and strength of his legs.

The tilt of his chin and the confidence of his stance were alluring.

How would he respond if she eased in beside him and slipped her hand into his?

She willed him to look her direction, but his gaze drifted toward the stairs where her friends Lady Eleanor and Lady Maud waited.

Eleanor dipped her golden head, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

Thomasse placed a hand on her stomach, trying to quell the sudden queasiness that arose.

Surely Arthur had not been seeking out Eleanor.

Her smile had been politeness, nothing more.

Thomasse hastened the length of the passage and descended the stairs, smiling brightly. But Arthur had already reverted his attention to his friends. Her smile faded and her spirit flagged, but only for a moment. The night was young. There would be ample opportunity to weave her charms .

She lifted her chin, shoving aside her doubts, and joined her friends. Together, they evoked the beauty of a summer garden—Eleanor, a vision in rose-colored silk, Maud in bright yellow, and she in green.

Thomasse addressed Eleanor. “I hope your journey here was without incident.”

“Other than the rain, there is little to report,” Eleanor replied, although the brightness of her eyes and the flush of her cheeks hinted at something more than just exposure to the elements, and Thomasse resolved to discover Eleanor’s secret before the evening was through.

Eleanor touched Thomasse’s sleeve, outlining the leaves with her fingertip. “Your gown is magnificent.”

“Do you think it will be sufficient to catch Sir Arthur’s eye?” Thomasse whispered in Eleanor’s ear.

Eleanor’s gaze shifted to Arthur. “I dare not say lest I give you false hope and you blame me.” She shivered. “I am still quite chilled from the ride.”

“Let us move nearer the hearth,” Maud said, grasping Eleanor’s and Thomasse’s hands, leading the way.

As they wove through the crowd of guests, Thomasse caught snippets of conversations—“rumblings in the north,” “Edward of York,” and “Warwick.” When they neared the group of young men, their conversation ceased.

“I am pleased you could join us this evening.” Although Thomasse addressed the group, her gaze lingered on Arthur. “I hope the party meets with your approval.”

“Indeed,” Arthur replied, bestowing Thomasse with a heart-stopping smile, but his gaze quickly strayed. “Lady Eleanor, ’tis a pleasure to see you again.”

Eleanor flushed. This was the second time within minutes that Arthur’s and Eleanor’s gaze had met, hinting at a familiarity that had not previously existed.

It puzzled Thomasse. She and Arthur had been friends from their youth, yet his behavior suggested they were mere acquaintances.

Did he not recall those summer days when they played together by the creek, catching frogs and skipping stones?

Or the time he gallantly rescued her from the tree when the hem of her skirt caught on a branch?

Maud tugged their hands, and they moved closer to the hearth .

Eleanor stretched her hands to the warmth. “Lady Maud, have you any fresh gossip?”

Maud fidgeted with the rosary hanging from her brown leather girdle. “Maybe it is too soon to reveal—”

“Then you must tell,” Eleanor said, “for we are your dearest friends.”

Maud gestured for them to lean in close. “I have been chosen as one of Queen Margaret’s ladies-in-waiting.”

Eleanor clapped her hands. “Such marvelous news. No one deserves it more than you. Oh, the stories you shall tell!”

Thomasse clasped Maud’s hand. “I hope this does not affect you joining us on our trip to the Continent.”

“I cannot say,” Maud replied. “I hope the queen can spare me.”

Distracted by Arthur’s nearness, Thomasse cast furtive glances his way, hoping to catch his eye. A lull in Maud and Eleanor’s chatter drew her attention back just as a manservant approached.

He bowed. “Mistress Thomasse, Master Nicholas requests your presence in the study.”

Thomasse pressed her lips together. “Can it not wait?”

“He commanded me summon you forthwith,” he replied, then retreated into the crowd.

Thomasse made a slight curtsey to her friends. “Excuse me. I shall return shortly.”

She wended her way across the great hall, stopping often to greet guests. Reaching the other side, she turned into the short passage which led to the study. Her father was bent over his desk writing, a single beeswax candle lit the parchment, leaving most of the room in shadow.

“Father,” she said, hesitantly. “You asked for me?”

He set the quill aside and pushed his graying shoulder-length hair behind his ear. “Yes, Mistress Thomasse. I want you to meet Lord John Courtenay.”

A tall man emerged from the shadows. The candle’s light reflected in the round ruby pinned to his roll-brimmed hat.

A gloved hand rested on the pommel of his jeweled sword, and the fine cut of his red and yellow bi-colored tunic bespoke his loyalty to King Henry and the House of Lancaster.

She judged him to be in his mid-twenties .

“Lord Jack is Lady Eleanor’s brother.”

Thomasse curtsied. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. How odd Lady Eleanor has never spoken of you.”

“She has seen little of me,” Jack replied. “I entered the service of the Percy household when Lady Eleanor was still young. I have only recently returned to Devon.”

“Lord Jack is involved in the tin mining trade,” her father said.

Jack cocked his head. “The disadvantage of being the second son of an earl—I inherited neither estate nor title. Still, I have made the most of my misfortune. My endeavors earn me a good income and the means to purchase a large property with a comfortable home.”

“Your father would be proud.” Thomasse looked from one to the other, unsure how their conversation involved her.

Her father rose and came to stand beside her. “My daughter has been taught to read and write. She also speaks fluent French and sings like a nightingale.”

“Impressive.” Jack studied her, pondering each detail. “She is as handsome as you promised. I consider myself most fortunate.”

“Excellent,” her father replied, shaking Jack’s hand. “My solicitor will draw up the terms. We can finalize the details after Easter.”

Thomasse’s eyes widened. “You cannot mean—”

Her father’s eyes gleamed. “Yes, you are to be wed. Once the contract is signed, it will seal your espousal to Lord Jack, a union which will bring great advantage to both our families.”

Her voice trembled as she spoke. “Should I not have been consulted?”

Jack’s body stiffened, and his hand gripped his sword.

Her father glared his disapproval. “Please excuse my daughter’s outburst. Give us a moment.”

Jack bowed and strode from the room; the door clicked shut behind him.

Her father scowled. “Such insolent behavior is unpardonable. Lord Jack is an honorable man and soon to be your husband.”

“If you had told me about this afore—”

“My apologies. I thought I had. ”

“Well, you did not.” She pointed at the door. “How can you expect me to marry someone I have just met?”