Of One Heart

chapter 28





April 19-20, 1533



The new day dawned so replete with buttery sunshine that Micheline was able to laugh with Mary about the noise she had heard during the night. Now she ascribed the entire incident to an understandable case of nerves.

After a refreshing scented bath, she dressed in a favorite gown of yellow silk that flattered her spicy-bright hair and iris-blue eyes. Mary was just brushing out her curls when a knock sounded at the door.

The maid opened it to admit Lord Sandhurst, who further enhanced the cheerful atmosphere. Looking rakishly handsome in the morning light, he was carrying a large orange and a bouquet of daffodils and bluebells.

"Good morrow, ladies! Have you ever beheld a finer day?" White teeth flashed against his tanned face as he presented Micheline with her gifts. When his hands were free, he cupped her face and kissed her warmly. "One thing's certain. No man has ever beheld a more beautiful woman."

"You're biased, my lord."

"But truthful. Honesty is but one of my sterling qualities."

Micheline was radiant with love as she gazed up into his warm brown eyes. " 'Twould seem you lack only modesty," she teased.

Sandhurst gave a mock serious sigh. "In my case, it's difficult to be honest and modest at the same time."

She laughed as he bent to brand her throat with his mouth. "What accounts for this lighthearted mood?"

"Haven't you heard? I'm in love!" Stepping back, he reclaimed the orange and began to peel it, smiling at Micheline as she buried her nose in the blooms.

"I've already heard that rumor, my lord."

"Have you? Well, let me try another. Have you also heard that I'm to be married... tomorrow?"

She nearly dropped the flowers. "What? Do you jest? How can such a thing be possible?"

He took the daffodils and bluebells from her and stuck them into a nearby pitcher of water, then laughingly put a segment of orange into her mouth.

"It's possible because I made it so, fondling," Sandhurst explained blithely.

Because her mouth was full, she couldn't speak, and then he was kissing her, sharing the juicy orange. A wave of passion broke over Micheline's body as his strong hands slid around her hips and drew her hard against him. There were moments, like this one, when the combination of emotional and physical sensation seemed almost impossibly explosive. She half expected her heart to simply burst one day.

"God's death," Andrew muttered harshly while kissing her ear with burning lips, "even one more day seems an eternity. I don't know if I can survive until tomorrow."

"You must!" she warned shakily. Her skin was so sensitive that each brush of his mouth touched off lightning currents of arousal. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow!" She repeated the word in wonder, caressing the hair that curled behind his ears.

"It may as well be next year for all the good it does me now!" The ache in his loins had begun to annoy him.

"Andrew, what shall I wear?! Will I be reduced to borrowing Patience's wedding gown after all?"

He drew back and stared at her with raised brows. "Now we're getting serious, I see!" Suddenly remembering Mary, he looked over a shoulder to discover her pressed against the far wall, staring at them. "Mary, you're blushing! Compose yourself and show your mistress what she will wear for her wedding."

The girl bobbed her head nervously in response, then darted out of the room. Sandhurst, meanwhile, released Micheline and perched on the edge of the bed. In the interest of his health, it seemed wise to avoid prolonged contact between his hips and Micheline's.

"Eat your orange, sweetheart," he advised. "You need to keep up your strength for the marriage bed."

She offered him a segment of fruit and watched as he ate it, the picture of nonchalance in his fitted burgundy velvet doublet, breeches, and boots of black leather. Longing to sit beside him and suck the juice from his tanned fingers, Micheline tried to content herself instead with the orange.

"You're wearing boots," she remarked. "Have you been out riding already?"

"I had a few calls to pay," Sandhurst nodded, "most notably to our parish priest. He'll be here tomorrow, which was naturally my only real concern. I also stopped at Greenwood, the Culpeppers' home, to alert Jeremy and his family, and I'll ride farther afield this afternoon."

"What does your father have to say about all this?"

"Why do you ask such questions when you know you won't like the answer?" He sighed when she merely lifted her brows at him in imitation of his own favorite wordless response. "You can probably guess what the duke said. My father is an incurable curmudgeon, and since it's impossible to please him, I stopped trying years ago." His expression softened as he watched Micheline bite into the last piece of orange, her lips and fingers wet with juice. "Now, of course, I have your interests to consider, and they far outweigh any opinions Father might have."

"Well, you certainly know him better than I. All we can do, I suppose, is hope that one day he'll thaw. Does the duke like babies?"

Sandhurst shrugged. "I do seem to recall seeing him smile on occasion when Cicely was tiny, but he was different then. My mother wouldn't have tolerated this unstinting irascibility."

"Did he love your mother?"

"I suppose he did. She was one person he never found fault with; that much is certain. He thought Mother was the epitome of womanhood."

Micheline went to sit beside him on the bed. "Well, then, perhaps there's hope for him. We'll just have to be patient."'

"Patient?" He lifted her slim, orange-scented hand and kissed each finger. "If you don't mind, I'll leave that to you."

"Have you given any more thought to Cicely?"

"Now I know why you crept over here next to me! It's a plot to weaken my defenses!" Still, he was smiling, exploring her fingers and palm with his mouth as if this were the most intimate part of Micheline's body. "Frankly I thought you would change your mind about Cicely, but if you're determined that she live with us, I'll agree to a compromise."

His lips were scorching the tender inside of her wrist and her heart was pounding. "Why do I feel naked even though I am fully clothed?" she moaned half-heartedly. "Must I wear gloves as well?"

Ignoring her, Sandhurst went on. "I want a few weeks alone with you at Sandhurst Manor, but Cicely may join us in London in time for Anne Boleyn's coronation the end of May. She can return to Gloucestershire with us in June—on a trial basis. As long as she behaves and the two of you get along, she can stay, but I won't have her making life miserable for you in your own home. Your happiness is of greatest importance, fondling."

Finished with that serious speech, Andrew returned to her hand, kissing it once more as he raised his eyes to meet her own. Micheline sighed, thinking that his compelling gaze had the power in itself to arouse her.

From the doorway Mary cleared her throat loudly.

"I have the gown, my lord!" Her arms were laden with masses of ivory satin.

"Thank you, Mary." Sandhurst went to relieve her of her burden, returning to spread the gown out over the dark green counterpane.

Micheline came to stand beside him. She stared, speechless, for a long minute while he watched her, waiting for her reaction.

"I realize it's not the current fashion," he said, beginning to worry that she didn't like it, "but I thought—"

"Oh, Andrew!" she breathed. "It's perfectly lovely! This is the kind of gown I used to dream of as a child!"

It was true. The gown was of an older style that Micheline adored. Fashioned of rich ivory satin, it had a very low round neckline edged with delicate embroidered flowers of gold and rose. A collar of lacy golden net, called a neck whisk, stood up in back. The sleeves were puffed down to the elbows, then tight-fitting at the forearm, and a trail of embroidered flowers and tiny green leaves meandered down their length. The gown had a narrow, pointed waistline over a skirt that was pleated at first before belling out and ending in a long train. Unlike the fashion of the day, this skirt was closed in front; no underskirt would be displayed.

Micheline leaned forward reverently to touch the dainty rose and gold flowers that outlined the gown's pointed waist, then brushed her fingers over the romantic neck whisk. "It's absolutely exquisite."

"You wouldn't prefer a gown covered with jewels?"

"Oh, no!" She looked up in alarm and found him smiling at her. "I love these little flowers. I love everything about this gown! Where did you find it?"

"It was my mother's. I think Father may have forgotten it exists, but I never did. One day, when I was a child, I was helping Mother look for something in a storage room in the keep. She opened a chest and took this out to show me, almost as if she'd forgotten where it was stored herself. She told me that the rose-colored flowers were supposed to be bird's-eye primroses, which only grow in Yorkshire meadows, and the golden ones represented buttercups, for those were her favorites. Then Mother stood up and held the gown against herself... I can still see her in my mind's eye. Odd, isn't it, that you should say you always dreamed of a gown like this, because for years I assumed that this must be what all brides wore."

Tears pricked her eyes. " 'Twould seem we've been of one mind all our lives."

He gathered Micheline near and kissed her shining hair. "Well said, my love."

"I'm so pleased that you remembered this gown and I'll be honored to wear it, but are you certain the duke won't mind?"

"Stop fretting about Father. I'll be surprised if he even recognizes it. It's not as if you look at all like my mother, so I doubt he'll think he's seen a ghost. At any rate, I know that it would please her above all things."

"It will feel a little as if she's with us after all."

"Well, now that that's settled, there's a great deal more to be done today, and I'd better be off."

"I'll go with you to the courtyard. I think I may walk on the hills for a while."

Arm in arm they emerged into the corridor. She glanced toward the solar and caught her breath at the sight of a tall slim woman with coppery hair.

It can't be! she thought wildly.

Slowly the woman turned, and Micheline found herself staring into the icy green eyes of Lady Iris Dangerfield.

* * *

Feeling Micheline stiffen, Sandhurst looked down, then followed her stricken gaze to the solar.

"Iris! What are you doing here?"

"Shame on you, Andrew." She pouted. "Is that any way to welcome one of your oldest and dearest friends?"

Since everyone in the room was watching them, he had no choice but to force a smile and guide Micheline forward to greet Iris Dangerfield.

"My apologies, madame." He sketched a bow, then lifted her hand to brush cool lips across it. "I was merely surprised to see you."

Another voice spoke from the settle near the window. "We weren't following you, Sandhurst." Timothy Dangerfield walked over to stand beside his wife. Very tall and thin, with dark hair and pale skin, he had a pointed nose and chin. "A party of us traveled up from London at the king's behest, arriving last night after you had retired."

"So I heard," Sandhurst replied. "I had to leave this morning before any of you had risen, so I wasn't aware that you were among the party. Your journey was pleasant?"

Dangerfield shrugged. "Overlong. We were all quite fatigued. Everyone's been looking for you. The others finally went off to wander around the castle. Doubtless you'll be pleased to learn that His Majesty and the Marquess of Pembroke will also arrive later today."

"Micheline and I are pleased to have all our friends here for this joyous occasion." His keen eyes met those of the younger man, remembering that Dangerfield had known of his wife's infidelity. There was only one possible reason for him to wish to attend this wedding, and that was to punish Iris and drive home the point that Lord Sandhurst was no longer available. "I'm sure that my father is especially pleased that King Henry and London nobility will be represented at the wedding after all."

After introducing Micheline to Dangerfield, Sandhurst drew on soft doeskin gloves. "I trust you both will understand if we leave your entertainment to the other members of my family. It's a busy time for us."

"Never fear!" Rupert piped up eagerly, rushing over to gain his half brother's attention. "Patience and I have a game of chance planned for the afternoon. I'm going to teach our guests to play passe-dix and lansquenet! Of course, it won't be as amusing as those card tricks you do, but I'll try to be a proper substitute."

Micheline wrinkled her nose slightly at Rupert's horrendous pronunciation of the French game, while Sandhurst glanced at him in mild surprise.

"Where did you learn passe-dix and lansquenet?"

"Oh, a Frenchman taught me one night in a tavern in London." Rupert turned excitedly to the Dangerfields, gesturing with both spindly arms. "You can teach these games to the royal court when you go back! They'll make you terribly popular, I'll wager!"

"We'll leave you to it, then," Andrew said dryly as he wondered how much resemblance Rupert's interpretation of the games would bear to the authentic versions.

As they left the solar, Micheline could feel Iris's eyes burning the place where Sandhurst's hand rode at the small of her back. She couldn't help thinking about the noise she'd heard during the night, now that she knew Iris had been in the castle, but told herself that it was silly to imagine anything so farfetched. At any rate, Timothy Dangerfield was here to keep an eye on his wife, and Micheline herself was too happy to waste time brooding about Iris's ill feelings.

When they emerged into the sunlight, Micheline looked up at Sandhurst's thoughtful countenance. "Why didn't you tell me about these important visitors?"

He laughed and wrapped an arm around her. "Truth to tell, I forgot! Your nearness, and the prospect of our wedding, drove all else from my mind."

She felt drenched in bliss, but a shadow lingered. When he led his horse out of the stable into the sun-splashed courtyard and asked if she might prefer to accompany him on his errands, Micheline was tempted.

"I suppose you think I'm quaking with fear because your Iris Dangerfield is in the castle!"

He smiled fondly at the sight of her delicately clefted chin raised in mock challenge.

"She's not my Iris Dangerfield!" he rejoined in protest.

"Well, she used to be." Micheline pretended to pout. "And she'd still like to be."

Sandhurst left his horse and went forward to slide both hands around her slender waist, drawing her firmly against his hard body. "She never was my Iris Dangerfield," he corrected in a low, arousingvoice. "I was only passing time, waiting to find you." His mouth grazed hers. "My closest friend." Another tantalizing kiss. "My love... and, on the morrow, my wife." When her lips parted helplessly under his, he allowed their tongues to touch for an instant. Then Andrew's hand came up to frame her lovely face, his fingers laced through glossy hair as he stared down at her.

"My Micheline."

* * *

No sooner had Andrew ridden off than Micheline encountered the rest of the party from London as they entered the courtyard after inspecting the keep. Among them were the Dukes of Suffolk and Norfolk, Thomas Wyatt, and Robert Cheseman, the king's falconer. Richly garbed ladies of the court accompanied them, and Micheline went forward to offer greetings

Though she continued to feel that these members of the English nobility were inspecting and even looking down on her, it mattered little. The memory of Andrew's voice and touch lingered, infusing her with a dreamy glow.

The others went inside after hearing that French games were the order of the afternoon, but she decided impetuously to remain outdoors and ride over the Yorkshire hillsides. A groom provided a sweet-tempered mare who cantered past limestone walls, fat sheep, black-stockinged lambs, and groves of trees where tiny long-tailed tits sang ze-ze as they searched for insects.

At length Micheline dismounted, deciding to pick a bouquet of exquisite bird's-eye primroses and tender buttercups to make a wedding garland for her hair. However, it was impossible to resist the other spring flowers that abounded on the hillsides. Soon her arms were filled with bright scented blooms: globeflowers, dainty yellow cowslips, wild pansies, daisies, and pale pink lady smocks. In shaded hedges she discovered a profusion of violets and the star of Bethlehem, which had opened its white petals amid fern and ivy.

The afternoon was waning when Micheline remounted the patient mare and started back toward the castle. Suddenly it occurred to her that the king and Anne Boleyn might be arriving shortly, and she ought to be present to greet them. Urging the mare into a reluctant gallop, Micheline tipped her head back, enjoying the sensation of the cool air, scented sweetly with vernal grass, against her face. Pipits, wheatears, and twites chirped and hopped along the winding limestone walls.

Her feeling of contentment was such that she barely noticed the odd flash of light from the trees on a hill above, but the mare was not so preoccupied. It caught the horse by surprise, blinding her so that she reared back abruptly, sending the unsuspecting Micheline flying into the air. A lesser horsewoman would have been gravely injured, or even killed, but she instinctively curled up and relaxed all at once before striking the ground. When she sat up and tested her bones, she saw that she'd come inches from hitting one of the stone walls. Her heart began to pound as she considered the flash of light. What else could have caused it except a mirror?

For a long moment she closed her eyes against the terror that washed over her, then made up her mind to put it aside. It seemed that whoever it was that wanted to harm her hadn't the courage to approach her directly, and it was still possible that all that had happened so far at Aylesbury Castle was not a direct threat but merely the product of her imagination. In any case, Micheline resolved that nothing and no one would interfere with her happiness on the eve of her wedding.

Still trembling, she regathered her scattered bouquet, then went over to the mare, stroking her neck and whispering words of reassurance to herself as much as to the horse. Eventually, when both of them were calm, they rode slowly back to Aylesbury Castle and crossed the two drawbridges that led to the inner courtyard. She'd been hoping that Andrew might return before she had to go back inside, but now she told herself that everyone would still be engaged in game-playing and would pay no attention to her if she slipped into her chambers. With Rupert as the instructor, the games seemed likely to go on until supper.

Climbing the spiral staircase to the family apartments, Micheline felt her fears dissolving. Perhaps it had all been a simple accident. Certainly it was better to believe that than to allow herself to be terrorized on the eve of her wedding!

She expected to find the living quarters of the castle filled with activity, and wondered at the absolute silence in the corridor. A need for distraction mixed with curiosity, and Micheline tiptoed down to peek around the corner of the solar.

"Hmmph!" grunted the Duke of Aylesbury. "What are you doing lurking about? Thinking to spy on someone?"

Micheline started at the sight of him, all alone in the sun-washed chamber. The old man sat in his favorite chair, wearing a nightgown faced with rabbit and overlaid with a worn gray silk coverlet.

She stepped into the open. "Of course not, Your Grace! I only wondered if the others weren't still enjoying their games. I confess that I tried to remain undetected because I feared they would ask me to join them, and I didn't want to appear rude by refusing."

His eyes twinkled almost imperceptibly in reaction to her frankness. It was difficult to resist this fresh young beauty, with her spicy windblown curls, sun-pinkened cheeks, and arms filled with a haphazard assortment of wild flowers.

"In that case, I don't blame you for hiding, but it's safe. They've all gone to their rooms to prepare for the king's arrival," he replied gruffly. "That's quite a bouquet you've amassed. I hope you left a few on the hillsides."

"Oh, yes, of course, Your Grace! One would never know I'd picked these, there are so many more. Aren't they lovely? You have many sorts of flowers here in England that I don't recall seeing in France." Her eyes were vividly blue as she selected some of the loveliest and crossed the solar to hold them out to him. "Won't you take these for your chambers? They smell wonderful! You know, I set out to pick just a few, to make a garland to wear for the wedding, but I confess I was carried away."

The duke clasped the flowers in his bony hand, feeling foolish, yet unable to resist the girl's enchantment. "So, madame, I suppose you consider yourself worthy to become Marchioness of Sandhurst, and one day Duchess of Aylesbury."

Conscious of his scrutiny, Micheline replied carefully, "To be perfectly honest,Your Grace, I haven't given much thought to my title. All I know is that I love your son better than my own life, and I shall do everything in my power to make our marriage happy and prosperous. I certainly will be proud to be Lady Sandhurst." She took a breath and impulsively reached out to touch the old man's arm. "Your wise son has helped me learn to feel and live in the present, yet I can assure you that if and when he inherits your title, I shall try to live up to the example your wife set as Duchess of Aylesbury."

For a moment the duke's throat closed up. He blinked, then looked away from Micheline. "Well, good," he muttered, coughing. "Go on, then, child. I want to rest."

She walked away, but glanced back once before turning down the corridor. Andrew's father sat hunched over, staring at the wild flowers clutched in his gnarled hand.

* * *

Micheline's conversation with the Duke of Aylesbury drove all the dark thoughts from her mind. Perhaps there could be peace between Andrew and his father after all! Walking to and fro in her chamber, which was now crowded with vases of fragrant blooms, she waited impatiently for Sandhurst to return.

A soft, lavender-rose veil of twilight covered the sky when Micheline heard the sound of hoofbeats on the cobbled courtyard. Looking out her deeply recessed window, she saw grooms wearing the king's livery.

Without a second thought Micheline went to greet King Henry and his entourage. The castle was no longer quiet. The sound of voices and footsteps followed her as she closed her paneled door and set off for the circular newel staircase. Her only wish was that Andrew might be by her side.

She was used to spiral stairways after a lifetime in France, but this one was especially precipitous and Micheline had learned to take care with her footing on the treacherously narrow wedge-shaped steps. Today, however, her thoughts were elsewhere—on the arrival of the royal party and her impending wedding.

She'd descended just a few steps when she vaguely noticed a shadow spill down from behind her. A moment later, Micheline felt an abrupt pressure against her back and was unable to keep her foothold. She raked her nails wildly over the smooth stone walls, searching in vain for something to save her as she pitched forward, screaming, down the steep staircase.