questions. I wish to find out about this country and its customs.”
“Ay!” Bernardina flung up her hands. “You should not be talking with servants, English servants, no less! I said to your mother that we should have a Spanish household.”
“There was no room on the ships for them,” Luisa pointed out. “And if English servants are good enough for the English then why should they not be good enough for us?”
Lionel stroked his chin in thought. To permit such freedom would be against the wishes of Luisa's mother, he knew well. But Dona Maria, grief-stricken at the death of her husband and overwhelmed by her daughter's refusal to marry her elderly suitor, had jumped at his charitable offer to take Luisa to England with him. She would not question his authority to make what decisions he chose about the girl's welfare.
And what harm could there be in a little of the freedom extended to an English girl of Luisa's background? On their return to Spain the girl would marry some Spanish grandee and settle into the conventional life of an aristocratic lady, dutifully presenting her husband with a child at regular intervals. But there was no reason why a little unusual license should damage her reputation, no reason indeed that it should ever be known in her homeland. Besides, he found he approved of her interest in the country in which she found herself. It showed a lively mind.
“I will make the necessary arrangements,” he said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must change my dress for I must return to Whitehall.” He bowed to the duenna, lightly chucked Luisa's chin, and left them, his mind already turning to the evening ahead, domestic concerns forgotten before he had set foot on the stair.
Luisa resumed her seat, and with an air of satisfaction picked up her embroidery again and set a stitch. It wasn't the court, but it was something. With a horse and a boat she would be free to explore. The boatman and the groom could be managed. She had never had the least difficulty persuading servants to keep her counsel and do her bidding.
And maybe, she thought, just maybe, if she took a boat up the river to Whitehall, or rode along the lanes and through the parks around the palace she might run into Robin of Beaucaire again.
A little smile curved her mouth as she leaned sideways to move the lamp closer to her work.
“You think Stuart has a mistress?” Robin demanded, shaking his head at the thought. “You must be mistaken, Pippa. It would be known. I would have heard a whisper, no one can keep these matters secret.”
“I can think of no other explanation,” Pippa said, glancing around to make sure they were not overheard. The long gallery where they walked was empty of courtiers, however. A herald in the Duke of Norfolk's livery carrying a message from his master hastened past on his way to the water steps. He didn't give them a second glance.
She leaned against one of the tall pillars, her fingers restlessly plaiting the ribbons of her sleeves. “Perhaps it is not a woman of the court. Perhaps 'tis someone he met somewhere else, someone he keeps separate in some love nest.”
“Pippa, you have no evidence for such a suspicion,” Robin pointed out.
“I told you, he wants nothing to do with me,” Pippa said in a fierce undertone. “I tried to kiss him and he drew back. He has no interest in our bed . . . or at least . . .” She stopped, finding that while she could talk of most things with her stepbrother, revealing the humiliation of Stuart's preferred sexual congress was too intimate.
Robin shuffled his feet awkwardly. He coughed behind his hand and if he could have done so he would have brought this uncomfortable discussion to a swift conclusion. But Pippa was so clearly distressed,
angry
and distressed, he amended, and had no one else to turn to with Pen away. She needed him to act her confidant and offer what support and help he could.
“Did you see much of him while I was in
“Ay!” Bernardina flung up her hands. “You should not be talking with servants, English servants, no less! I said to your mother that we should have a Spanish household.”
“There was no room on the ships for them,” Luisa pointed out. “And if English servants are good enough for the English then why should they not be good enough for us?”
Lionel stroked his chin in thought. To permit such freedom would be against the wishes of Luisa's mother, he knew well. But Dona Maria, grief-stricken at the death of her husband and overwhelmed by her daughter's refusal to marry her elderly suitor, had jumped at his charitable offer to take Luisa to England with him. She would not question his authority to make what decisions he chose about the girl's welfare.
And what harm could there be in a little of the freedom extended to an English girl of Luisa's background? On their return to Spain the girl would marry some Spanish grandee and settle into the conventional life of an aristocratic lady, dutifully presenting her husband with a child at regular intervals. But there was no reason why a little unusual license should damage her reputation, no reason indeed that it should ever be known in her homeland. Besides, he found he approved of her interest in the country in which she found herself. It showed a lively mind.
“I will make the necessary arrangements,” he said. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must change my dress for I must return to Whitehall.” He bowed to the duenna, lightly chucked Luisa's chin, and left them, his mind already turning to the evening ahead, domestic concerns forgotten before he had set foot on the stair.
Luisa resumed her seat, and with an air of satisfaction picked up her embroidery again and set a stitch. It wasn't the court, but it was something. With a horse and a boat she would be free to explore. The boatman and the groom could be managed. She had never had the least difficulty persuading servants to keep her counsel and do her bidding.
And maybe, she thought, just maybe, if she took a boat up the river to Whitehall, or rode along the lanes and through the parks around the palace she might run into Robin of Beaucaire again.
A little smile curved her mouth as she leaned sideways to move the lamp closer to her work.
“You think Stuart has a mistress?” Robin demanded, shaking his head at the thought. “You must be mistaken, Pippa. It would be known. I would have heard a whisper, no one can keep these matters secret.”
“I can think of no other explanation,” Pippa said, glancing around to make sure they were not overheard. The long gallery where they walked was empty of courtiers, however. A herald in the Duke of Norfolk's livery carrying a message from his master hastened past on his way to the water steps. He didn't give them a second glance.
She leaned against one of the tall pillars, her fingers restlessly plaiting the ribbons of her sleeves. “Perhaps it is not a woman of the court. Perhaps 'tis someone he met somewhere else, someone he keeps separate in some love nest.”
“Pippa, you have no evidence for such a suspicion,” Robin pointed out.
“I told you, he wants nothing to do with me,” Pippa said in a fierce undertone. “I tried to kiss him and he drew back. He has no interest in our bed . . . or at least . . .” She stopped, finding that while she could talk of most things with her stepbrother, revealing the humiliation of Stuart's preferred sexual congress was too intimate.
Robin shuffled his feet awkwardly. He coughed behind his hand and if he could have done so he would have brought this uncomfortable discussion to a swift conclusion. But Pippa was so clearly distressed,
angry
and distressed, he amended, and had no one else to turn to with Pen away. She needed him to act her confidant and offer what support and help he could.
“Did you see much of him while I was in
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