Royal Inheritance by Kate Emerson Page A

learned to ignore both jabs and jibes because I enjoyed every moment of those visits. Your father had a great deal to do with my pleasure.” She smiled, remembering. “I fondly believed that my presence had gone unnoticed by members of the Chapel Royal, but that was not the case. I had simply been ignored, tolerated because I made no attempt to talk to any of them. After Jack was ordered to give me instruction in music, I was formally introduced and invited to listen to their rehearsals. After one such session, the gentleman choristers declared I should be their mascot. I suppose they thought of me the way I thought of Pocket. That is not such a flattering comparison, now that I look back on it, but at the time I was thrilled to be permitted to linger on the fringes while they made their glorious music.”
    “Did you see the king again?” Hester murmured in a sleepy voice.
    “Not for some time. My lessons began in December. In January, His Grace married Anne of Cleves and he was often . . . distracted. But learning from your father was a delight. He was endlessly patient with me, praising my musical ability while gently correcting and improving my efforts. After the first week, I grew easy in his presence, although an occasional blush did creep up on me when I least expected it.”
    A soft exhalation drew Audrey’s gaze to her daughter.
    There was no need to tell Hester any more of the story tonight. The little girl had fallen deeply asleep. Careful not to wake her, Audrey slid off the bed, stumbling a little as she landed on the rush-covered floor. The scent of strewing herbs wafted up to her, juniperand costmary, as she turned to draw the curtains closed against cold night drafts.
    She stood there a moment longer, gripping the heavy cloth, waiting for her head to stop spinning. She hated this lingering weakness. She was accustomed to good health and a hardy constitution.
    Tomorrow, there would be more questions. Audrey repressed a sigh. It was only natural for a child to want to know all about her parents.
    Steady again, she crept out of her daughter’s richly appointed bedchamber and into her own. The enormous bed yawned before her, far too big for one person, a potent reminder that Jack had not shared it with her for a long time.
    Did Hester need to know that, too? Audrey pondered the question as she used her toothpick and tooth cloth and combed out her hair. She preferred to tend to these chores herself and not have the bother of servants.
    The girl idolized her father and he was fond of her. Audrey thought she could reveal the rest of the story without tarnishing Jack’s image. She would do her best, she resolved, to let Hester keep her illusions.
    In the morning, after mother and daughter broke their fast, they went out into the garden. It had been planted to suit Audrey’s fancy. Each flower had been chosen not only for color and scent but also for the values it was said to represent. Honeysuckle grew near the door, a symbol of undying devotion. The blossoms were long gone but the fruit, which had the appearance of little bunches of grapes, was red and ripe.
    She’d sown gillyflowers to mark the start of the path—pink, crimson, and white and smelling like violets. They were said to represent faithful and undying love, especially when worn in a man’scap. “I must remember to plant more of these on St. Remy’s Day,” she murmured, speaking to herself as much as to Hester.
    “When is that?” her daughter asked. Since King Henry’s break with Rome, many of the old holy days had been forgotten.
    “The twenty-eighth day of this month. The gillyflower is a most useful plant. Many grow it as a potherb throughout the winter, using it to flavor wine, for the taste is much the same as that of cloves. You know already that cloves are imported and are too expensive for everyday use. Gillyflowers can also be used in after-dinner syrups, sweet tarts, and preserves.”
    Hester showed not the least interest in