Free The Queen's Dwarf A Novel by Ella March Chase Page A

peered up at the trio around me—king and queen and duke. Where my breastplate had been so hot, I was suddenly chilled.

 
    F OUR
    “Four in the morning…” I heard the king say. But even after the dancing stopped, rainbow doublets and gowned figures whirled before my eyes, chasing one another in my memory. From my seat upon the arm of the queen’s chair, I watched as the duke and his duchess bade farewell to the king and queen.
    I raised my gaze heavenward in thanks. My buttocks hurt, as if the griffin carved into the wood was gnawing its way to my bone. The breastplate had come askew, digging under my arm. I wondered how I would reach the buckles and leather strips that fastened it. Would I have to sleep in the thing? I remembered the king’s suggestion for my bed and wondered if the armor would fit inside a giant’s shoe.
    “The lateness of the hour is testament to your skills as a host, Buckingham. It is time Her Majesty and I depart.” The king stifled a yawn behind his delicate hand. I sensed he was a man not accustomed to reveling until dawn.
    I watched as the duchess of Buckingham approached the queen, certain she did not please Henrietta Maria yet not certain why. “It is a long journey to reach your own beds, Your Majesties. Would you do us the honor of spending the night here?”
    “No, we must not.”
    The duchess went still, and I saw the queen realize that her hasty refusal edged toward rudeness. Henrietta Maria glanced at the king.
    Buckingham’s smile did not reach his eyes. “Would our accommodations not be to your liking, Your Majesty? We have done all in our power to please you.”
    “You have pleased me too greatly, Your Grace.” The queen attempted to salve the insult without surrendering her pride. “I cannot wait to fit Jeffrey alongside the rest of my menagerie, and speak to Master Jones about using Jeffrey in my new masque.”
    “That is an event all of court will look forward to,” Buckingham said. “Perhaps Master Jones could find a role for my wife.”
    “I admire Your Majesty,” the duchess said. “There is much you might teach me.”
    “The masque is cast already with my own ladies.”
    “ French ladies,” Buckingham said.
    As if summoned, one of the French women swept up to the queen and curtsyed. “Your Majesty, you are looking pale. Are you getting one of your headaches?”
    “I am, Mamie. You take such good care of me.” The queen signaled for Sir Tobie to translate, then turned to me. “Jeffrey, Madame Saint-Georges is the daughter of Madame Montglat, my childhood governess. We were raised together as little girls at the Palace of Saint-Germain-en-Lae.”
    “I understand there were many children there.” Buckingham switched effortlessly into French. “Some whose birth might be frowned on by the Church.”
    The queen’s chin rose. “My father adored his children,” she said. “We were lucky to be together— all of my brothers and sisters.” The queen addressed her husband. “Your Majesty, I beg your leave to retire to Denmark House.”
    I could see the king hesitate, looking first at Buckingham, then the queen. But it was the duchess who smoothed the waters.
    “Majesty, women are not like men, who are happiest galloping off to explore new places. We crave our own nests.”
    The king’s expression changed to gratitude, her intervention sparing him from having to choose between Buckingham’s will and the queen’s. “You are a pearl without price, my lady. You must join the queen’s household and give her the benefit of your wifely wisdom.”
    The French ladies’ scowls turned thunderous, the queen appearing a heartbeat away from stamping her royal foot. The duchess pretended not to notice. “I would be honored to serve the queen when the time is amenable for us both.”
    Buckingham glared, but she continued. “I must remain in my own nest at present, and tend my children. Moll has her father’s charm, and I fear her nurse allows her more freedom