Free Royal Mistress by Anne Easter Smith Page A

neckline of her bodice, the graceful wave of her hand as she saluted the riders. Even the slight frown and downturn of her full mouth did not detract from Will’s coup de foudre. Without even speaking to the lady, he was smitten. Who was she, and how had he missed her in all his and Edward’s forays into London looking for pleasure? As he eased his lean frame around in the saddle so he could observe the vision, the tunic under his cloak was visible with its black bull’s head crest embroidered upon it.
    Swinging just below her window was the guild sign of theMaiden’s Head. Ah, he thought, certes, ’tis the Mercery. The lady must be a mercer’s wife or daughter. He slowed his horse so he could read the name inscribed above the door. JOHN LAMBERT AND SON . He made a note and rode on.

    J ane’s heart had leaped with surprise at the sight of Tom Grey directly behind King Edward. But then she was puzzled. Why was he among those who rode so close to the king? She barely noticed Edward but her hand continued to wave at him from force of habit while her eyes took in the rich caparison of her love’s courser, the ermine-trimmed cloak with jeweled, gold clasp draped over the horse’s back, and ostrich feathers fluttering from a gray velvet bonnet. This was no ordinary gentleman nor a possible minor nobleman, her experience told her. Nay, this was almost certainly a royal personage, but how? Who? And suddenly her hand flew to her mouth as she grasped the truth. “Not mere Tom Grey, but Sir Thomas Grey, marquess of Dorset, the queen’s son,” she announced to the dust-laden air. “Sweet Jesu, but he is a dissembler. He fooled us all. ’Tis no wonder he turned me aside. Being married was only half his tale.”
    “Did you say something, Lillibet?” Bella said, making Jane jump. She had forgotten for a moment that her sister was in the room with her. She shook her head and left her seat for the younger woman, who leaned out of the casement, waving eagerly.
    But for Jane, all the excitement of watching the procession vanished along with Tom Grey’s receding figure. She forgot she was supposed to display William’s wares to potential customers, and instead she removed the hennin to better negotiate the narrow staircase down to her father’s empty shop. John was among the guild members gathered on the steps of St. Paul’s to greet the returning king, and although it would have been impolitic for the guilds to ignore their sovereign, they hoped to make a point by assembling only a few members of each of the twelve major companies, the mercers being the highest ranking.
    Jane nodded to Matthew and slipped out of the back door through the garden and made her way carefully to Sophie’s house. She was grateful it had not rained for days, and hooking the train of her gown over her arm and clutching her headdress with the other, she picked her way through the detritus in the streets and alleys until she arrived in St. Sithe’s Lane, unheeding of the stares her rich attire was attracting. Jehan was at his work in Cripplegate, where most of the Flemish weavers were employed, and Sophie was quietly spinning when Jane knocked.
    Sophie’s warm, brown eyes welcomed her friend, and shooing a dog from the room, she pulled up Jehan’s chair for Jane. “Sit, sit, lieveling. It has been so long since I saw you. Ja, have no vorry, the children are sleeping and ve are alone.” She cocked her head as Jane remained silent, choosing not to ask why Jane had turned up more richly dressed than ever. “Is everything vell with you?” she asked cheerily, although she knew from Jane’s expression that everything was not well. “Is is the”—she crooked her little finger—“the problem the same? With Villiam, I mean.”
    Jane nodded. “Aye, Sophie, still the same. And he refuses to talk about it. But that is not why I have come.” She arranged the many folds of silk around her on the hardened dirt floor, wishing as usual that she could