Free Lady in Waiting: A Novel by Susan Meissner Page A

Mary?”
    Jane nodded and extended her arms, and Beatrice transferred the bundle to her. I saw in Jane’s arms a tiny human face surrounded by lace and white lawn—the babe’s sapphire eyes were open and alert. Her rosebud lips were bunched into a wee red bloom, and a sheen of golden silk crowned the babe’s head. Jane bent down and kissed the infant, whispering a greeting.
    “You can leave us,” Jane said to Beatrice, not looking up from the child’s cherubic face.
    “My lady?” Beatrice’s eyes were wide.
    “My parents are coming. I fear I shall be leaving here soon and I won’t see Mary again.” Jane raised her head, and I could that her eyes had turned glossy. “I would like to be alone with her.”
    Beatrice looked to me, her eyes questioning.
    “Lucy will stay with me and fetch you if I need assistance.” Jane’s attention turned again to the babe.
    Beatrice hesitated and then curtsied. “As you wish, my lady.”
    I felt Beatrice’s eyes on me as she left, but I did not look at her. When she was gone, Jane cooed to the child and laughed as the child cooed back. Jane walked over to the fireplace where a pleasant flame kept the vast room warm. I followed her.
    “Here. Take the child while I settle.” Jane handed me the babe and then knelt down on the thick carpet in front of the hearth, arranging her skirts around her. Then she reached for the child, and I handed the little Lady Mary to her.
    “Sit with me?” she said as she took the child.
    I knelt down across from Jane. “She is beautiful.” The child raised a tiny hand from within the folds of the lacy coverings and nearly waved at us.
    Jane nodded and smiled.
    I had not heard the marquess and marchioness were coming, so I chanced a question.
    “Did a message arrive today from your parents?” I asked.
    “Yes. They wrote that they are coming to fetch me home. They … they think my interests are better served at home now that the Queen is gone. They are not convinced the admiral’s plans to ensure a royal betrothal for me will proceed without … without the Queen’s influence.”
    She looked up at me, and I sensed she was inviting me to conversation, the kind of conversation two friends might have when they are our age and imagining what it might be like to be held and kissed and loved by a man. In that moment, I felt the distance between us begin to fade.
    “Would you be happy with a betrothal to His Majesty?” I whispered, a bit cowardly, I admit.
    But she visibly relaxed as soon as the words left my mouth, as though she’d been longing to talk openly about this for many days.
    “Ellen has told me if I am ever asked such a question, the answer is always yes.” Jane bent and kissed the child’s fist. “I am His Majesty’shumble servant, and I am ready to fulfill my duty to God, the King, and England.” She turned her head to look at me, welcoming me to question her.
    “Is that what Mrs. Ellen thinks?”
    Jane smiled. “Ellen does not want me to say anything that would anger my parents. This is the answer they would have me give. And Ellen counsels me to answer thus so that they will have no reason to be unhappy with me.”
    “I see.”
    “I enjoy the King’s company,” she went on. “He is … different than his father was. Quieter. Thoughtful. I imagine I could learn to be fond of him.”
    We were both quiet as we contemplated the notion that love between two of noble birth often follows long after the vows are spoken and the marriage consummated. Neither one of us voiced the obvious, that fondness might not bloom at all.
    Again, she leaned down and kissed the babe’s tiny fingers. “Are you betrothed?”
    I shook my head. “No, my lady.”
    “Is there someone you wish to be betrothed to?”
    Again, I shook my head. Marriage still seemed a long distance off for me, and that thought did not trouble me. There had been a young man in my village, during my growing-up years, who made my heart flutter whenever he was near.