She was fourteen, maybe a little younger, with huge gray eyes.
Thank you, Kirsten.”Īs Lissy finished tying her hair back, Kirsten pulled the gown off the hanger. She forced herself to turn away, thinking again of the feast. Mary stared at her reflection in the mirror, watching her eyes swell. Francis had told her not to worry, that it would all be all right, but how was she supposed to believe that now? If she couldn’t bear him a child-an heir-and Lola could… what did that mean for her? For their marriage? Every month she’d waited, hoping, praying to get pregnant. His son… Mary had somehow already assumed it would be a boy. What would it mean when Lola had their child? Who would the child be when he returned to court? Another Bash, casting about the palace, while everyone gossiped about the king and his mistress, the king and his bastard son? Now he was out there… and even if he did manage to get to Lola, even if they were both alive, there would be complications with that too. She’d pleaded with him not to go to Lola, no matter how much she hated thinking of her friend alone, in childbirth, in pain, amid the horrors of the plague. Did he believe he was being brave? What was he trying to prove as he mounted his horse, as he ignored his wife’s wishes? She’d begged him. He could contract the plague and die alone, in some hovel, and she would never know. How awful it felt knowing Francis was somewhere beyond the palace gates.
It was advice Catherine once gave her, and the words were in her head now, whether she liked it or not. “Even if the feast is in memory of the king… It’s just that with the plague, and everything else that’s going on…” “I’m not one to say, my queen,” Kirsten replied. She wouldn’t look Mary in the eye as she smoothed the rouge on her cheeks or pinned the curls at the nape of her neck. Lissy had kept her gaze down the entire time she laced up Mary’s corset. “It feels wrong, doesn’t it? Having a feast tonight?” Even from within the stone walls of the palace, she could just make out the sound of people crying out beyond the gates. As she worked, her fingers threading the strands, Mary had to blink back tears. Her other maid, Lissy, brushed Mary’s dark brown hair away from her face, pulling the front piece into a side braid. Mary stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror. One was red satin with rabbit fur around the collar. I’ve laid out your dresses, my queen.” Kirsten, the youngest of Mary’s maids, gestured to the two gowns hanging by the window. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at Thank you for your support of the author’s rights. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property.
0 kommentar(er)
