The Crown by Nancy Bilyeau Read Free Book Online Page A

at court; one of my older uncles was imprisoned along with Buckingham but later released. My parents were never charged with any crime, but they were banished. My mother was forced into the country, away from the queen, who meant everything to her. The size of the staff at Stafford Castle was severely reduced, and so she took me in hand herself. My faraway, glamorous mother was now close at hand, unhappy—and paying close attention to me.
    Elizabeth wrinkled her nose at her plate. “This venison is fine enough, but aren’t we to have a fish course?” she complained.
    We who lived in Stafford Castle winced. My father had spent two days hunting from dawn to dusk to ensure fresh game for our company. He was not as unhappy as my mother with a life in the country; he took a vigorous interest in managing the properties and farms and animals. The more time he was out of doors, the less he saw of my mother, who found endless fault with him. Her litany of complaints filled both my father and me with misery.
    “This isn’t Arundel Castle, Sister,” Cousin Henry said morosely.
    Elizabeth sighed and turned back to my mother: “I hope you’ve instructed Joanna well. The court is more permissive than when you were there. Not the household of the queen herself, she is a saint, but—”
    My father, sitting next to me, threw his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Joanna is the best girl in the whole world,” he said firmly. “No one need ever fear for her virtue.”
    My cheeks reddened. This was the most embarrassing dinner conversation imaginable. Across the table, Margaret smiled with sympathy.
    Charles Howard snickered. “It’s not the ladies of easy virtue the queen needs to fear, we know that.”
    Elizabeth shot him a lookof warning, and her brother-in-law shut up. His words made absolutely no sense to me.
    I couldn’t wait to commiserate later with Margaret, in my room, and to ask her questions about her fiancé. Once we were alone, I asked her if it was true she barely knew the man she was meant to marry.
    “I’ve only spoken to him once,” she said. “But he looks at me all the time. It makes me feel strange.” A faint line creased between her eyes. “Tell me about entering service for the queen,” she said, anxious to change the topic.
    “That’s all my mother’s talked about for years. Training me, drilling me. Embroidery, dancing, music, wardrobe, deportment, four languages. I have to be absolutely perfect—everything depends on it.” My stomach churned.
    Margaret threw back the blanket.
    “I don’t care about the rules, I’m lighting a fire,” she announced. “And then we’ll brush each other’s hair.”
    She used a candle to light the old kindling in the fireplace, and ten minutes later, Margaret was sitting in front of it, as I ran a brush through the thick reddish-gold hair that hung to her waist. I knew it was a treat for her to be waited on, since day and night it was her task to wait on Elizabeth.
    “Your father is so very kind to you,” she said softly.
    “Yes,” I agreed.
    “I miss mine very much,” said Margaret.
    I thought frantically of something that would give her comfort, but nothing came to me. Margaret’s mother, a servant at another of the duke’s castles, had died long ago.
    She said quietly: “If my father were here, I think I would be allowed to take vows.”
    “Is that what you want?” I’d never thought of taking vows. Margaret and I were both pious; it was one of the things that separated us from the other cousins. Still, to me, nuns were mysterious, sad creatures, tinged with scandal. Years ago, one of our aunts had been dragged to a nunnery by her husband—with the Duke of Buckingham’s approval—because she had behaved scandalously at court. There were even rumors she’d dallied with the king. She’dreturned to her husband after a short time.
    Margaret took my hands in hers, excited. “Last spring, I traveled to Durham with my sister, to make a