Lady of the Roses by Sandra Worth Read Free Book Online Page A

and my reception here at court matched my experience at the priory. I sighed softly. It’ll probably take far longer to find a friend here, if indeed a friend can ever be found in such a place .
    But the Fates proved kind. Though on my left I was seated next to an old man who put his hand to his ear and grunted, “Hah—what’s that?” each time I spoke to him, until I abandoned all effort at conversation, to my delight I found myself with pleasant company on the right. She was a young woman, clearly gentle-born, and still unmarried at twenty-five. She chattered amiably, telling me about herself and asking questions of me in a refreshing manner devoid of artifice. Her name was Ursula Malory, and she had red hair. Like Alice, I thought. Blue-eyed and of middling height, with a bright smile and nicely drawn features, she would have been considered fair but for her freckles and a crossed look to her eyes.
    “You are slender as a cypress tree, m’lady, yet you’re not gaunt. On the contrary, you’re well covered—well covered indeed!” Ursula Malory grinned, throwing a glance at my bosom while I blushed and tried to pull up my bodice. “’Tis all in the way God makes us, I suppose, though I wish He had seen fit to move things around on me—to give me more on top, you know, less in the girth, so I wouldn’t resemble an old hen.”
    I was about to protest, but she stopped me with a wave of the hand. “Tish-tish, all’s well. When I was younger, I did on occasion cut back my portions, but my body didn’t wish to shrink. So I decided to accept my shape and enjoy my food! Like you, my lady—” With that, she scooped up a handful of spitted boar and cabbage in a slice of bread, dipped the mixture as I had done in the small wooden bowl of sweet sauce we shared, and munched happily, matching me bite for bite, for I had always enjoyed good appetite, except at Tattershall Castle.
    I banished the memory and focused on Ursula Malory. Plump and merry, she had an endearing quality that brought to mind not a hen, as she thought, but a colorful bird with fluffed-up feathers. I liked her more with every word. I gave her a wide smile, charmed by her warmth and by a disposition bright as her hair. She told me that her father, Sir Thomas Malory, had fought against Joan of Arc during the wars in France and had been a member of parliament in the early fifties.
    “My father was also a member of parliament. He, too, fought in France at the same time,” I offered, between sips of leek soup. “I wonder if they knew each other.”
    “Surely they did. We must ask them the next time we see them.”
    “My father is dead,” I said softly. “’Tis a year now.”
    Ursula rested her hand on mine. “I’m sorry.” After a brief silence, she spoke again. “Why are you at court, my lady?”
    I felt the change of subject was a deliberate effort to get my mind off my sadness. Gratitude flooded me as I struggled to recover my composure. “I’m a ward of the queen’s. I’ve been brought here from the nunnery to find a husband. What about you, Ursula?”
    “A ward of the queen?” she exclaimed. “Ta-dee-da! Then I must mind my manners.”
    I laughed.
    “I’m here to find a position,” she replied. “Though my father is a knight, he has no means. I have no dower for marriage, and I need to maintain my keep.”
    Barely able to contain my excitement, I said, “Then you need look no further, Ursula! I am seeking a gentlewoman companion.”
    Her face lit up. “But nothing can be this easy…except maybe in my father’s tales.”
    “Fortune has indeed smiled on us this night,” I replied, marveling. A varlet cleared away our dishes and another brought a dessert of cinnamon apple pudding with almonds and raisins. It was so good, I requested a second helping. “So your father is a wordsmith? What does he write about?”
    “Mostly love and knightly feats of arms over damsels who look like you,” she said.
    I was too startled by this