Free The King's Damsel by Kate Emerson

hear the native accents of the counties they come from, you would find them most strange to the ear.”
    “Thee’ll kill I wi’ laughing.” Edyth sniffed. “If I’d a-known, I ’ooden never a-went wi’ thee.”
    “Do you want to leave?” I asked. “I can send you back to Hartlake Manor, though that would never be my choice.”
    Edyth did not answer me.
    I sighed. “I do beg your pardon, Edyth, for making mock of the way you speak, but we live at the princess’s court now. Even the Welsh here try to talk like the London gentry.” I smiled at her, hoping to encourage a similar expression in return. “You could learn to speak that way, too, if you did but try.”
    She remained silent, but I could tell by the tilt of her head that she was listening.
    I might have said more, had my fellow maids of honor not returned to our lodgings just then. I did not want to embarrass Edyth further. When she slipped out of the room a few minutes later, she was still sulking, but I could not help but notice that, afterward, whenever she was with me, she paid close attention to the way the maids of honor spoke to one another.
    For my part, I no longer used dialect to elicit laughter at my tales. I realized that I had no need to do so. If the story was engrossing enough, it did not require embellishment.

10
    I n a rare departure from the austerity of the princess’s household, we were allowed to celebrate Valentine’s Day. It had nothing to do with that date, the fourteenth of February, marking the beginning of my fourteenth year. No one at Battenhall Manor was aware of that fact and they would not have cared if they had been. Except for the king, hardly anyone celebrated their birthday. I had no cause to rejoice in any case. It was a bittersweet accomplishment to have attained, too late, the age that would have kept me out of wardship after my father and brother died.
    Copying the manner Valentine’s Day was observed at King Henry’s court, gentlemen’s names were written on slips of paper and placed in a gilded bowl. Then each of the ladies and gentlewomen in attendance on Mary Tudor took a turn to pull one out. Princess Mary, who would enter her tenth year in a few more days, was the first to take her turn. She drew the name of Sir Ralph Egerton, her treasurer of the household.
    Anne Rede and I exchanged an amused look and Anne had toturn away to hide her laughter. Sir Ralph was very likely the oldest man in the princess’s retinue. His short hair was grizzled, his face was deeply lined, and his shoulders were stooped. I could not think of anyone more unsuited to be Her Grace’s partner for the day.
    At least Sir Ralph’s clothing was grand enough for his role. He had a love of rich fabrics and bright colors. He most often wore a gown and jacket of tawny velvet, pearled with gold and lined with black satin, but he also had a very fine jacket made of cloth of silver and blue and russet velvet. In honor of Valentine’s Day, he wore a green velvet gown lined with green sarcenet and guarded with cloth of gold.
    Princess Mary gave every evidence of being delighted with the luck of the draw. “Sir Ralph, for today you are my husband adoptif and I am your pretend wife.” She cried as she sank into a deep court curtsey.
    He bowed in response, but his eyes widened at her declaration.
    The drawing continued. Anne picked Thomas Pereston, the princess’s apothecary. She read out his name and when he came to stand at her side, she was polite to him, but the moment he looked away, her face crinkled up in distaste. Master Pereston carried the stink of his medicines with him. It permeated his clothing. Even his hands reeked, in spite of frequent washings.
    When it was my turn, I found myself unaccountably nervous. I was not accustomed to spending much time with gentlemen, even though there were always several of them present in the princess’s chambers. I’d never had to make conversation with one of them.
    The name I drew was that