Page 11 of This Heart of Mine (O’Malley Saga #4)

Robin Southwood was totally confused. Never in his life had he felt this way. His fête for the queen had been a tremendous success, and yet he felt despondent. When the last guest had left, he flung himself into a chair by the crackling fire.

Joining him there, Velvet and Alex were so full of high spirits themselves that at first they didn’t notice Robin’s depression.

“I’ve never been to such a gathering before,”

Alex said enthusiastically. “You’re a fine host, Rob!”

“God’s nightshirt, big brother, ’twas a great success. The house and gardens looked magnificent, and the food and entertainment will be talked about for weeks. Her Majesty said that she has not attended such a party since your father was alive! I am the most envied girl at court because you are my brother!”

“I met Sir Walter Ralegh tonight, Rob,”

Alex put in. “He’s planning a voyage to the New World, and he wanted to know if any of my ships might want to go along. Do you know what an opportunity it would be for us?”

“Scamp is quite envious of you, you know, Robin. I think he may try to steal away your chef the next time he himself entertains Her Majesty.”

Velvet giggled. “Oh, Robin, how can I thank you for letting me be your hostess and for these lovely pearls? You are just the best brother a girl ever had!”

Suddenly the Earl of Lynmouth sat bolt upright in his chair. “Who was she?”

he demanded. “Who was the incredibly beautiful creature you introduced me to tonight, Velvet?”

“What!”

Both Velvet and Alex were taken aback.

“That utterly exquisite blonde in the wonderful turquoise silk gown! Never have I seen such perfection! Who is she? You must know, Velvet, and I must know as well!”

For a moment, Velvet was totally baffled. There had been several beautiful blond women at the fête tonight. “Robin,”

she said slowly, “I am not sure who you mean. There were a number of blondes, and at least three of them were in blue.”

“Not blue, turquoise! You must know her! You said she was one of your best friends at court when you introduced her, but I could not linger and find out more because the queen’s barge was sighted then.”

“Angel! You mean Angel!”

“Angel? Is that her name? My God, how fitting!”

He sighed deeply.

Velvet resisted the overwhelming urge to burst into a fit of giggles, though the fact that Alex grinned conspiratorily at her over her brother’s head didn’t make it any easier. Swallowing, she said in a somewhat strained voice, “Her name is Angel Christman, Robin. She is a royal ward, and has been raised at court. Her parents are deceased.”

“I want to meet her,”

Robin said firmly.

“You did meet her,”

Velvet protested.

“I want to meet her properly, Velvet. I realize that you must return to court tomorrow, but the next time you come to Lynmouth House I want you to bring Mistress Angel Christman with you.”

Again Velvet fought back the urge to laugh. Robin was behaving so foolishly. Then, looking at him, she realized, somewhat startled, that her brother had fallen in love! Love at first sight was something that happened only in fairy tales, wasn’t it? Had Robin really fallen in love with Angel? What would Angel think of it when she told her? No, she couldn’t tell her! What if Angel didn’t really love Robin back and only accepted his suit because of his vast wealth? Mama had always said a woman should marry only for love. She would have to keep silent and wait and see if Angel responded to Robin’s suit.

Without warning, Velvet felt very tired, and she realized that it was almost dawn. She was due back at court that very evening, and if she did not get some rest, she was going to disgrace herself by falling asleep on her feet in the queen’s presence.

“Go to bed, Velvet,”

Robin said as if reading her thoughts. “I remember what it was like to be at court in the queen’s service.”

Velvet curtsyed to her brother and Alex, then moved slowly and sleepily from the library.

As the door closed behind her, Alex looked at his friend. “When will Velvet be coming back to Lynmouth House, Rob?”

“I’ll tell her tomorrow before she returns to her duties that she’s to treat my home as her own whenever she’s in London. Mother would want it that way, I know,”

Robin said.

“When do you think she’ll have another day free?”

“We’ll have to join the court, my friend, if you’re going to woo my sister and if I’m going to pay my addresses to Mistress Christman. Maids of Honor take their pleasure when and where they can, for the queen is an exacting mistress. I well remember my own days as her page.”

“God in His heaven, I nae thought to find myself at Elizabeth Tudor’s court. I’m no courtier, Robin.”

Alex shook his head.

“As long as you’re honest with the queen and Velvet grows fond of you, Alex, you’ve no need to play the royal game. I could not help but notice tonight that several of the ladies were most taken with you.”

Alex chuckled softly. “I must say I’ve nae had such imaginative offers since our days in Paris, Robin. With such a virtuous queen, I am surprised she tolerates such licentiousness around her.”

“She tolerates it as long as it is not out in the open. Let a liaison become a scandal and there is hell to pay, you may be sure.”

The Scotsman nodded, then said, “Well, I’m off to my bed, too.”

He stood, stretching his long frame.

“You should have pleasant dreams,”

Robin teased, “or were you unsuccessful this evening with my sister?”

Alex grinned back. “A gentleman, even a wild and rude Scot such as myself, never kisses and tells, Robin.”

Before Lord Southwood could pursue it further, Lord Gordon was quickly gone.

Robin smiled after him, thinking that there had been a day when Alex Gordon had most certainly kissed and told. His smile broadened into a grin as he remembered those long-gone times they’d spent in Paris, the whores they shared, and the lies they told each other about their prowess. He chuckled, then grew somber. Those were the days before his marriage to Alison de Grenville.

Alison. Foolish, foolish Alison. He had never loved her, but he had been very fond of her. He had never been in love at all until tonight when he had seen the exquisite Mistress Angel Christman. He had spoken but few words to the girl. He hadn’t even danced with her, yet he knew, or rather his heart knew, that she was the woman for him. He had sworn to himself that he would never marry again, but this was an entirely different matter altogether.

His mother had once tried to explain love, true love, to him. She had even asked him if he wanted to call off the betrothal that she had made with the de Grenvilles when he was a little boy. He hadn’t allowed her to do so, for he knew he had to marry someone and Alison was pleasant enough. He had known her all his life. “But you don’t love her!”

his mother had fussed at him, and he’d smiled with the superiority of youth. His mother had spent her whole life in love, it seemed, and although she claimed to have found great happiness with the last of his stepfathers, Adam de Marisco, she had suffered greatly for her love. Robin had often questioned if love was worth all the pain, and had decided early it was not. He had wanted an orderly life.

Mistress Angel Christman, he suspected, was going to change all that. He had never meant to return to court, preferring a quiet life on his Devon estate with his children. His marriage to Alison had brought about his gradual withdrawal from the queen’s circle, and her death had been the best excuse of all to stay away. Now he found himself being drawn back by a pair of meltingly gorgeous blue eyes, a head of blond ringlets, and a smile that touched his heart so strongly he almost wept remembering it. His duty as the queen’s host had prevented him from pursuing Mistress Christman this evening, but he was going back to court to do so. His first move, however, would be to inquire about her background from Lord Hundston, who would know all.

The queen’s chancellor was very surprised the morning after the Earl of Lynmouth’s fête to receive a message from that gentleman regarding the background of one Mistress Angel Christman, a royal ward. England was facing the most serious threat of invasion since the Normans. Everything Elizabeth Tudor stood for, everything England stood for, was in mortal danger, and Lord Southwood wanted to learn about a chit of a girl. These hedonistic courtiers, thought Hundston, and then he remembered who the request came from and reassessed the situation. Robert Southwood was a serious young man who had been deeply and genuinely grieved by his wife’s death. That there was a royal ward with some quality to attract this nobleman was in itself interesting.

Lord Hundston looked into the matter and was disappointed by what he found. Mistress Angel Christman, age seventeen, had been a royal ward since the age of five. She was the granddaughter of two minor barons from the northwest counties and the child of a younger son and daughter. She had been left in the queen’s charge by her father, who had murdered her mother after finding the lady in another gentleman’s bed. The girl had no fortune, no influential relations to aid her, and therefore no prospects. One thing Lord Hundston did learn was that Mistress Christman was radiantly beautiful, which might possibly stand her in good stead if she were clever as well. So far she had not given evidence of such quality, and there was absolutely no gossip connecting her with any gentleman. Her closest two friends seemed to be Bess Throckmorton and Velvet de Marisco.

“Of course!”

Hundston spoke aloud to himself. That had to be the connection. Mistress Christman was involved with Mistress de Marisco, who was a younger sister to the Earl of Lynmouth. With her parents away, the earl was looking after his sister’s interests, and rightly so. He but sought to know about her favorite companions. Bess Throckmorton was a known quantity coming as she did from a highly placed family, even if she herself was poor; but Mistress Christman, an unimportant royal ward from an undistinguished family, was, of course, unknown to Robert Southwood. Lord Hundston dictated a message to his secretary presenting the girl’s background and informing the Earl of Lynmouth that, according to the information available to him, Mistress Christman was a proper friend for his sister. Then he turned to the far more serious matters of state.

The night before warning beacons had sprung up on every hill in Devon and Cornwall. This was the signal that the great Armada of Spain had been sighted off the Lizard at dawn, and it was now close to Plymouth. The signal fires had spread the word from Devon to Dorset to Wiltshire to Surrey to London. The news had been kept from the queen on Lord Burghley’s orders, however, until after the Earl of Lynmouth’s fête.

The queen had had a very traumatic year and needed this small bit of pleasure, William Cecil had decided. He had been with her since the very beginning, and he knew her better than anyone. The next few weeks would tell the fate of the Tudor dynasty, and the queen would need to be strong.

Once the fête was over, however, he had told her, and the news had spread like wildfire throughout the court. The gentleman courtiers had not even bothered to sleep. They had returned to Greenwich only long enough to change from their silks and velvets into more practical clothing. Then they were off for the coast. Charles Howard, the lord admiral, was already in Plymouth, and had been for some time. So were Sir Francis Drake, John Hawkins, and Martin Frobisher, the other great admirals of the fleet.

There had been several earlier sightings of the Spanish. In late June a Cornish bark bound for the French coast had spotted nine large ships with great, blood-red crusaders’ crosses on their sails cruising the seas between the Scillies and Ushant. Another coastal trader out of a Devon port was startled to come upon a small fleet of fifteen ships. Chased, he had come ashore in Cornwall and ridden hell-bent for Plymouth with his story.

Francis Drake had, of course, realized what these sightings meant. The previous year he had surprised the Spanish at Coru?a, and burned their fleet, thus postponing King Philip’s attack on England. Now the Armada was rebuilt, refitted, and revictualed. Drake convinced the lord admiral to seize the initiative, sail south, and strike at the Spanish again before they could reach England. Within a day’s sail of Coru?a, however, the wind veered about and blew strongly from the south. The English had set sail short of victuals, and now, even shorter of rations, there was nothing for them to do but turn about and sail home. There was always the distinct possibility that the Spanish would take advantage of the south wind and reach England before they did. Such a thing was too awful even to contemplate.

The day that the English fleet had returned to Plymouth, the Spanish had set sail from Coru?a and, with a southerly wind behind them cruised northwestward across a sunshine-filled Bay of Biscay, not usually noted for its pleasant weather. The skies then turned dark for several days, slowing the Spanish down before it had become fair once again. The great Armada continued ever northward toward England. Then on Saturday, July 20, 1588, Lord Burghley had word that the Spanish had at last arrived.

England had responded in an overwhelming fashion to the queen’s earlier request for aid. The city of London had asked how many men and ships they were expected to supply, and were told five thousand men and fifteen ships. Two days later London’s aldermen produced ten thousand men and thirty ships for Her Majesty’s service.

England’s Roman Catholic Cardinal Allen sent an “Admonition to the Nobility and People of England .”

They must support the invasion, he counseled, the purpose of which was to restore the Holy Mother Church and to rid them of that monster of impiety and unchastity, Elizabeth Tudor. This incredible plea was sent from the cardinal’s lodgings at the Palace of St. Peter in Rome.

The English Catholics were not interested. They were content, and had become prosperous under Harry Tudor’s brat. They were English to the soles of their feet, and they had no intention of replacing an honest-born English queen with a Spanish infanta, for Philip of Spain had said he would give England to one of his daughters. All England rallied to the cause. The dispatches came fast and furious from the coast to Lord Burghley and the queen.

While Robin’s fête was in full swing, the English navy had worked furiously to warp their ships out to sea again. Caught on a lee shore with the enemy at their gates, they strove through the night to tow their ships to safety.

On the morning of July 20, the wind against them, the English worked their way laboriously out of Plymouth Sound into the open sea. By noon, fifty-four vessels, in an incredible feat of pure skill and superb discipline, were close to the Eddy-stone Rocks. The Spanish, twenty miles to windward, were unaware that the English fleet lay smack in their path.

The Spanish had been given a plan of action by their king, and come what may they would adhere to it. Was not God on their side? The English, however, had been given an order by their queen. Win. How they fought their battle was up to the admirals. Elizabeth Tudor was only interested in the successful results of their naval decisions. She knew that God helped those who helped themselves. As she had said so many times, “There is but one lord, Jesus Christ. The rest is all trifles.”

By evening, a hazy moon scampered devilishly amid high, fair-weather clouds. The Armada was anchored in the close battle formation that it was to maintain until it reached its rendezvous with the Duke of Parma off Calais. During the night, the watches on the many decks of the Spanish fleet occasionally noticed shadowy forms passing in the mist before them and moving westward toward the Cornish coast. At dawn, the surprised Spanish discovered that they had been outflanked, and their outnumbered enemies were sailing a mile or so to windward. The English now had the battle advantage.

The great Spanish Armada—its huge ships top-heavy with turrets; some of them weighing more than a thousand tons with towering masts and superstructures; their sails bright with paintings of saints and martyrs; their great hulls painted a forbidding black; packed with soldiers and great grappling irons hanging from their yardarms—bore down on England’s defenders. The English ships, by contrast, were trim and far smaller. Their pure white sails bore a simple design: St. George’s Cross. Their hulls were painted in the queen’s colors, green and white, in a geometrical pattern. They lay low in the water, their ports bristling with guns.

The battle was fierce and hotly contested, but by one in the afternoon when the action was concluded, neither side could claim a victory. The Spanish had come prepared for a close-in fight. Their new fifty-pound iron round shot was capable of destroying the rigging on an opponent. The English, however, had greater mobility with their sleeker vessels, and their expertly handled English culverins were far superior at long range. They whisked in and out of the Armada, attacking like small dogs nipping at the heels of fat sheep. After several hours of battle, and finding themselves unable to gain the advantage, both sides wisely retired. The English, however, had not lost one ship.

The Armada continued on its ponderous way, moving majestically in the summer sunshine across Lyme Bay. Upon the coastal hills spectators peered anxiously through the haze for a glimpse of Spain’s mighty fleet. Meanwhile, a host of small ships poured out from the little seaside towns of Dorset, bringing the English fleet supplies of fresh food and ammunition as fast as the authorities could requisition them.

By Saturday, July 27, the Armada had anchored off the French port of Calais. Here the Spanish admiral, the Duke of Medina-Sidona, could communicate with the Duke of Parma, the Spanish general who was to command the landing forces. The Armada’s shadow, the English navy, was now joined by the remainder of the fleet commanded by Lord Seymour and Sir William Winter, a seasoned veteran.

In London, they waited. The rumors were wild and many. Drake had been captured, went one. Another tale was that there had been a great battle off Newcastle and the English flagship had been sunk. In the face of these rumors the English people had only one thought: the coming battle. Wednesday, August 7, was the date of the highest floodtide at Dunkirk, and it was expected that Parma’s troops would embark across the channel that day and swarm onto English soil, probably in Essex.

The Earl of Leicester, Robert Dudley, had been put in charge of the army and named lieutenant general. The queen had wished to go down to the coast to see the battle, but Leicester would not permit it. He wrote to her saying:

Now for your person, being the most dainty and sacred thing we have in the world to care for.… A man must tremble when he thinks of it, specially finding your Majesty to have that princely courage to transport yourself to your utmost confines of your realm to meet your enemies, and to defend your subjects. I cannot, most dear Queen, consent to that, for upon your well-doing consists all and some for your whole kingdom, and therefore, preserve that above all!

The queen chafed, fussing at her ladies, irritable and moody by turns. She hated being cooped up in London. It was the gentle Bess Throckmorton who finally suggested to her, “Perhaps Your Majesty might go as far as Tilbury and review your troops. Just the sight of you would hearten them greatly.”

“God’s nightshirt, Bess! You are absolutely right! We shall go to Tilbury, for surely Leicester, old woman that he has become, will not object to that.”

Leicester gave in gracefully, for he understood her concern better than most. He wrote: Good sweet Queen—alter not your purpose if God give you good health!

The queen came down the river Thames to Tilbury on August 6. Her great barge with its green and white banners was filled to overflowing with her ladies, certain chosen courtiers, and minstrels who sang and played gaily as they wanted to take their mistress’s mind from the business at hand if only for a short while. Behind the royal vessel floated several others, carrying servants, the royal coach, and the horses.

Though Ralegh had now joined the fleet, Essex was with the queen. She would not suffer to have him gone from her, much to his embarrassment and anguish, for Robert Devereux was no coward. Velvet, being the least of the queen’s ladies, had offered to ride in her brother’s barge so that there would be more room in Elizabeth Tudor’s vessel. She had invited Bess and Angel to ride along with her. Bess was gowned in rose pink, but she had been pale and wan of late, and now Velvet was even more convinced that her friend was in love with Walter Ralegh who was in danger. Velvet would not dare to suggest such a thing out loud, however, for if the older Bess wished to confide in her she would do so. To pry would be unforgiveable, especially since Bess’s friendship had smoothed Velvet’s way at court.

The cruise down to Tilbury had an almost holidaylike atmosphere to it despite the seriousness of the situation. Everyone was wearing their best clothes, and the barges’ storage areas contained vast picnic hampers filled with cold chickens, rabbit pasties, freshly baked breads, cheeses, peaches, cherries, and fruit tarts. Behind the Southwood barge bobbed an openwork wicker basket. Through its slits could be seen several stoneware bottles of wine cooling in the river.

“Do you really think the Spanish will invade us tomorrow, my lord?”

the beauteous Angel asked Robin. She was wearing a gown of sky blue silk that was somewhat faded and perhaps a bit tight across her bosom, for royal wards, especially poor ones, were not often given new gowns. The besotted Earl of Lynmouth did not notice. All he knew was that she was the sweetest girl he had ever met.

“God forbid it,”

he answered, “but you need have no fear, Mistress Christman. I will protect you.”

Angel blushed rosily, and Velvet was amazed to find her usually quick-tongued friend so maidenly and at a loss for words. What on earth was the matter with her? Velvet’s eyes met Bess’s, and Bess smiled, understanding her thoughts.

“Are you afraid, Velvet?”

Alex asked her.

“Nay!”

came her quick reply. “I’ll take a sword in my own hand to defend England before I’d let the damned Spanish have it!”

“Bravo, petite soeur!”

approved Robin. “You’re as loyal an Englishwoman as any. Your father would be proud of you.”

Just after noon, the royal barge arrived at Tilbury, approaching the dock near Block House where Leicester and his officers were on hand to greet the queen. As Elizabeth set her elegantly shod foot onto land, cannons were discharged and a fife and drum corps began to play. Awaiting her was Sir Roger Williams with two thousand mounted knights. A thousand of these were sent ahead to Ardern Hall , the home of Master Rich where Elizabeth would be staying. The other thousand horsemen escorted the queen’s carriage. The queen was in high spirits, here among the people she loved. Though she feared an invasion, she truly believed that the spirit and courage of her people would prevail over the dark might of Spain’s vastly superior forces. Never at any time would she even consider failure, though no word had yet come from the fleet.

Beside her in the coach sat the Earl of Leicester. Like Elizabeth herself, he had not been well this last year, but he had mustered what strength he had to command the army for her. Time had mellowed Robert Dudley somewhat, and his genuine affection for Elizabeth could not be doubted. It was as strong as his ambition. He had waited many years after his first wife’s death for the queen to marry him, but when it became apparent that she had no intention of doing so, he had, in a fit of pique, married her cousin, the widowed Lettice Knollys. It had been a secret marriage, for neither the bride nor the groom wished to destroy their positions at court. The queen, however, found them out and was furious. The earl and his countess were banned from court for a period of time, but Elizabeth missed Dudley and he was soon recalled. Lettice was not so fortunate and was forced to cool her heels for several years.

At first the marriage had been successful, but then, like so many hasty marriages, it began to fall apart. Dudley truly loved the queen inasmuch as he was ever capable of loving anyone. Then, too, he loved the power and the favors that only she could bestow. In that attitude, Lettice was her husband’s equal, but Elizabeth could not forgive her cousin for marrying the man that she herself loved above all others, even if she would not marry him. Neither of the Dudleys were the most admirable of characters, but both were unquestioningly loyal.

Bess had gone with the queen to Ardern Hall , but the queen, ever indulgent of her godchild, had told Velvet that she would not need her that night. Velvet and Angel were to stay with the Earl of Lynmouth and Lord Gordon at one of Tilbury’s better inns, the Mermaid. Robin had been wise enough to send one of his men ahead several days prior to their departure from London to request the two best bedrooms and a private parlor for dining.

The Mermaid was located amid a green lawn on the banks of the river. A whitewashed building set with dark timbers, it had lovely diamond-paned windows and red and white roses by every door. To one side of the main building was a stable, to the other a lovely garden, its flower beds filled with spicy marigolds and gillyflowers, fragrant blue lavender and sweet rosemary. Symmetrically set within the small garden were little green shrubs, trimmed into fancy shapes like urns and birds. Nearer the back door of the inn was a small kitchen garden growing beans, carrots, peas, parsnips, leeks, and salad greens. There were also several fruit trees—apple, plum and pear—as well as currant and gooseberry bushes. It was nothing at all like the beautiful gardens at Queen’s Malvern with its two mazes, hundreds of rosebushes, and rare lilies brought back from the Americas. Nonetheless, it was a pleasant place to walk after a fine meal.

It was twilight, and the busy river was at last calm, a faintly discernible haze hovering above it, the momentarily calm waters reflecting the mauve sky above. Swallows swooped over the surface in the pinkish light. Despite her privileged place on her brother’s barge, it had not been possible to bring many changes of clothing. Velvet was still wearing the apple green silk gown she had put on that morning, but though he knew she was annoyed at being unable to change her gown, Alex thought she looked fetching.

Velvet was surprised to find herself alone with the handsome Scot. Her brother, it seemed, had managed to move to another part of the inn garden with Angel. Determined not to show her nervousness, she turned to Lord Gordon, saying, “You have told me nothing of yourself, my lord. Speak to me of your home.”

“I thought we had agreed that you would call me Alex,”

he said in his deep, warm voice.

She blushed and silently fussed at herself for doing so. “Tell me of Scotland, Alex. Until I joined the court I never lived anywhere but at my homes in England and France. Tell me of your land. My betrothed husband is a Scot, and if I do wed with him, I shall be living there.”

“My family has a small castle in the Highlands to the north and west of Aberdeen. They also have a town house in Aberdeen.”

“Do you not have a house in Edinburgh? Surely you follow the court?”

“Nay, lass, I’ve not the time or the inclination to involve myself in the Stewart court. Stewart monarchs invariably borrow money from their nobility, never pay it back, and are incredibly ungrateful. The king, however, is a cousin. We share the same grandfather, James V.”

Her green eyes widened, impressed by this revelation. “Your grandsire was the king of Scotland?”

“Aye. My grandmother, Alexandra, was the heiress to”—He hesitated an instant, realizing that he had almost said BrocCairn, then, recovering, he continued—“our family’s estates. She claimed a handfast marriage with the king, but as she died birthing my father, Angus, nothing was made of it. The king recognized his paternity, but my father bore the Gordon name. It was said that my grandmother loved her Jamie Stewart very much.”

Velvet sighed dramatically. “How wonderfully romantic! If only I could fall in love!”

It was pure madness that led him to say it, but Alex could not contain himself. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Velvet,”

he said quietly.

She stopped in midstep and turned to look up at him. “You must not, Alex,”

she said with utmost seriousness. “I am betrothed, and you know it.”

“Yet you tell me you fled this betrothed, that you will not have him.”

“I have not said I would not have him. I simply will not wed him until I know him, and until my mother and father return home from India. I would not, however, compromise my family’s good name, Alex. Surely you don’t think that I would?”

“Nay, lass, I do realize your honor would not allow you to shame your family, but, Velvet, would you break my heart? The heart that I would so willingly put into your gentle keeping?”

She looked so confused, and his heart rejoiced. Then she said with total candor, “I have never been courted by a man before. Are you courting me, Alex?”

“Would you welcome such a suit, Velvet?”

Her beautiful young face was grave, and for a long moment she considered. Finally she spoke. “I have said that I would marry only for love, yet how can I know what love is if I accept my parents’ decision blindly? The one freedom they have always given me has been the freedom of choice, and though they be far from me now, I know that they would allow me that same freedom in this case. Yes, Alex, I will welcome your suit provided that you understand that it may lead to nothing more than a simple flirtation. I cannot mislead you. My family’s honor binds me legally to this unknown earl though my heart might be drawn elsewhere.”

Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her roughly, leaving her blushing and breathless. She slid her arms about his neck, and his big hand tangled in her auburn hair, holding her face up while he covered it with kisses. “Ah, lass,”

he murmured thickly, “you make me a very happy man!”

Velvet, suddenly filled with an unexplained joy, laughed up at him, her eyes shining brightly as she said, “You make me happy also, dear friend!”

While they continued on down the riverbank, a far more intense scene was being enacted in a secluded part of the inn garden. Robert Southwood had waited from the instant he had laid eyes upon Angel Christman to be alone with her like this. His gentle manner was deceptive, for like his father before him, he took what he wanted. Without any preamble, he declared himself. “I love you,”

he said in an intense voice. “I have loved you from the first moment I saw you!”

Angel stopped, shocked by his words. She had not believed that Velvet’s brother was the kind of gentleman who would make mockery of a poor girl. She was confused and, for a minute, unsure of what to say to him. Then realizing that to play the simpleton would only encourage his cruelty, she said briskly, “You make fun of me, my lord, and that is unkind of you. Your sister loves you dearly, and she is the best friend I have ever had. Would you endanger the one thing I prize most, Velvet’s friendship? For shame, my lord earl!”

“But I do not mock you!”

he cried. “ I love you, Angel!”

“Then you are a fool, my lord, for you do not even know me!”

she snapped, her patience gone. I may be poor and unimportant, she thought to herself, but how dare he tease me in this fashion!

“Your father was Witt Christman, the son of Sir Randor,”

said Robin. “Your mother, whom you favor strongly, was Joanne Wallis. Your family seat is near Longridge in Lancaster. Your parents died when you were five, and although your paternal grandparents would have taken you in, your father left your wardship to the crown. You will be eighteen on your next birthday, which is December fifth.”

“How do you know all this?”

Angel demanded, furious at having her privacy invaded. “I asked Lord Hundston,”

came his honest reply.