None of the things she knew how to do did her any good, just as her mother had always predicted. If only she had listened, her parents would not have fought over her behavior and then her mother would be alive. The familiar sting of tears tickled her nose, but as the queen and the other ladies-in-waiting came into sight, Madelaine sniffed back the tears. She’d sooner be stuck with a hot poker than cry in front of any of them.
“How nice of you to join us, Lady Madelaine,” the queen said.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I had to change out of my riding habit.”
“As did everyone else who was here when I said to be.”
Madelaine gritted her teeth on her response while sitting and carefully situating her skirts over her ankles. Small blades of brittle grass pricked her skin through her stockings. She ignored the desire to lean down and rub her ankles—a lady did not rub her ankle in public no matter what. Even if her ankle was twisted. One public smack of her hands by the queen had ingrained that particular lesson into Madelaine’s mind for good. The queen didn’t hit near as hard as Madelaine’s mother used to, but then again her mother had not had an audience to force her temper under control.
Inhaling a breath of the mildly cool air, the familiar calm she always got when she was outside descended on her. The emerging wintery beauty of Windsor Great Park pushed away the weariness Grace had caused. Madelaine pulled out her supplies and picked up her easel. At least if she had to be humiliated it would be under a tree that still somehow stood lushly green amongst the other trees whose leaves had already begun to turn to a dull brown.
Madelaine chanced a look at Lady Elizabeth, who had not spoken to her once in the last seven days but had offered the occasional friendly smile when Grace had not been present. It would be lovely to have one lady to count as a friend but that was probably too much to hope for. As Madelaine finished situating herself, the queen let out an irritated sigh.
“I’ve forgotten my favorite sketching instrument.”
“I’ll get it, Your Majesty.” Grace jumped up and pushed back her chair.
Queen Charlotte bestowed a doting smile on Grace that made Madelaine want to roll her eyes. Instead, she kept her gaze trained on the paper before her and imagined Grace falling, face first, straight into the mud. How Madelaine would love to sketch that. The minute Grace disappeared from view, Lady Elizabeth leaned toward Madelaine. “I’m so sorry,” she said under her breath.
“Don’t be,” Madelaine whispered back.
Lady Elizabeth gazed around them, but the queen was sitting with her eyes closed and her face raised slightly to the sun. The other ladies-in-waiting were all busily sketching. “I cannot be thrown from Court,” Lady Elizabeth said.
“Please, don’t worry about me.” Madelaine understood Lady Elizabeth’s concern, but all the same, it made her sad the woman wouldn’t chance being her friend.
“I’ve someone I want you to meet,” Lady Elizabeth said out of the side of her mouth. “Meet me in the chapel before dinner.”
The invitation was an unexpected and pleasant surprise. Rather than risk any more whispering, Madelaine nodded. Perhaps she and Lady Elizabeth would be friends after all, even if only secretly. Relaxing, she studied the landscape while trying to decide what would be the easiest thing to try to sketch. In the distance, two riders appeared out of the woods, black capes billowing behind them starkly contrasted by the bright blue sky. By the way the horses raced hell-bent toward them they had to be two men riding the beasts. No woman would dare to ride with such speed unless perhaps fleeing for her life.
As the horses drew nearer, the ground vibrated from the pounding hooves into the soles of Madelaine’s delicately slippered feet. The bevy of whispers that erupted as all the women forgot their sketching to gaze curiously at the approaching riders made Madelaine want to laugh. Not one of these ladies would dare defy the queen’s order in normal circumstances, but put two men in their paths and the queen’s command to draw was promptly abandoned. And the queen did not seem to mind one bit, if her smile was any indication. Madelaine quirked her mouth. She didn’t need a friend in one of the ladies-in-waiting to help her soften the queen, she needed a man. Two men from the queen’s guard materialized from the stone wall they had been lounging against to stand just behind the queen on either side of her.
Madelaine shielded her eyes from the glaring sun, but she could not get a good view of the approaching riders.
“Now who could this be?” The queen’s bejeweled, wrinkled hand hovered just above her eyes.
As the riders came closer, a golden lion became visible on one of their capes. Lady Elizabeth gasped, jerked up from her seat and then dipped into a deep curtsey toward the queen. “Beg pardon, Your Majesty. I believe that’s my youngest brother, Lord Grey.”
“Splendid,” the queen said with such a genuine smile Madelaine had to cough to cover her snort. Of course the queen’s good grace would extend to a man. And then remembrance flooded through Madelaine. Was this Lord Grey—the unsuspecting brother who had been called here to be delivered as a sacrifice to Grace in return for the woman’s silence?
Poor man. She prayed he was a strong sort and would resist the temptation of Grace’s outer beauty long enough to learn her insides were ugly. The chance was bleak though if Lord Grey was like all other men. Still, one could hope.
From the corner of her eye, Grace’s yellow hair caught Madelaine’s attention as the woman fairly skipped toward them. She arrived at the circle at the same moment the horses drew to a stop. No doubt she had planned her appearance once she had seen the men approaching. The men descended and led their horses toward the women.
“Lady Elizabeth, your brother has the looks of a knight of old,” the queen said.
Madelaine gaped at the queen. Had she delivered a breathless compliment? It couldn’t be possible. Yet, her Majesty’s eyes shined as she stared at the approaching men. Rosy color stained her normally pale complexion, and her posture was just a bit straighter, wasn’t it? Yes. Yes, it was! The queen was smitten with one of the men and based on earlier comments, it had to be Lord Grey. You could have knocked Madelaine over with her sketching utensil.
Under lowered lashes Madelaine studied the men. The one on the right had hair the color of wheat and a face that could have been described as a work of art with his high cheekbones, full lips, and golden shadow of stubble. Thick, light eyebrows framed his green, friendly eyes. He stopped in front of the queen, bowed and spoke in a rich voice. “Your Majesty, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“And you as well, Lord Gravenhurst.” Queen Charlotte smiled up at him before waving a hand in dismissal.
As Lord Gravenhurst stepped aside, Madelaine leaned forward in her chair eager to get a good look at the man that Grace wanted and the queen became human over. In her haste to see him, she knocked her easel with her knee. What an oaf she was! She reached for the easel, but missed, and the dratted thing slid off its perch to land in the grass. Maybe no one had noticed? Snickers rose around her, and her heart fell. Now, not only was she odd, she was a klutz. Surely things couldn’t get worse.
“Really, Lady Madelaine, do try to have a modicum of decorum,” the queen said. Heat enveloped Madelaine’s face. It had to be impossible to be more embarrassed than she was at this moment. Keeping her gaze downward, she bent to retrieve the easel. Blast! It was out of her reach. Maybe if she shifted her weight. Her chair creaked as she did so. She held her breath and reached. Almost there. If she could just reach a little bit further. There! Her fingertips brushed the easel, and she stretched a bit more to grasp the thing. Underneath her, the ground shifted. Or was that her chair? Egads, she was falling. She tried to throw her weight backward, but the weight of the heavy hoops the queen insisted they wear pulled her forward.
Strong hands with a gentle touch pushed her back into her seat. When she glanced up, her gaze locked with wintery blue eyes and a wave of shock sent a shiver through her body. Dear God. Lord Grey was her Lord Drivel. How many times had she dreamed of him and wondered if he’d gone the next day to Golden Square to meet her?
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at the icy beauty of the aware gaze holding hers. He recognized her too! And if she had any doubt his thick black eyebrows arching questioningly then coming down into a furrow over narrowing eyes, quashed her uncertainty. Leave it to her to break into an anxious sweat on a cool day.
