subject of Arundel’s own rejected suit and turning his attention to the equally annoyed Edward Stanley. “You’ve been sighing with regret ever since Philip of Spain wedded his French princess and fell off the end of the queen’s list of possibles.”
“We’ve had him already,” snapped Smith. “When he was married to Queen Mary. Most people didn’t want him back.”
“The realm could have gained greatly from friendship with Spain,” said Derby.
“There I agreed,” said Arundel. “It might well have been better to have him back as our queen’s husband than arriving as an invader to take England by force, which is what many people fear.”
“Oh, he won’t do that,” said Dudley easily, and to my surprise, caught my eye. “He can’t afford to mount an invasion. He’s up to his Hispanic beard in debt. Ask Mistress Blanchard there. She knows.”
To my embarrassment, they all stared at me and began pushing their horses closer to Speedwell. Arundel’s guest said in astonishment, “I don’t understand.”
“This is a friend of mine, Matthew de la Roche,” said Arundel. “Matthew, this is Mistress Ursula Blanchard, who has recently joined the court. Her husband died last winter.”
“They were in Antwerp at the time, with Sir Thomas Gresham,” said Dudley. “Her husband was well placed and I have sometimes heard Mistress Blanchard speak of Antwerp myself. You always preserve admirable discretion,” he added, addressing me directly, “but there is no need for that in present company. Council members and their advisers can be trusted. Why not speak for yourself?”
Coming from Dudley, it amounted to an order. “Gerald—my husband—did work for Gresham,” I agreed. “And yes, he did mention to me that King Philip was known to be in debt.” Gerald, in fact, had been the one who discovered the details. “King Philip of Spain has been borrowing heavily from the Brussels bankers,” I said. “It is true that he isn’t at present in any position to mount an invasion.”
“Ah. Sir Thomas Gresham. A famous name, these days. That explains it,” said de la Roche. “Gerald Blanchard?” He smiled at me. “A French surname and an Irish Christian name. Unusual.”
“My husband’s mother came from Ireland. I believe she named him,” I said. “The name Blanchard comes from his grandfather. He was French by birth. He married the daughter and heiress of the house and lived there with her.”
“And you, Mistress Blanchard? Are you all English, or do you have varied origins, as your husband did?”
“I’m entirely English—my maiden name was Faldene. Your own name sounds French, too.” He also had a trace of accent, I thought.
“My father was French,” he said, “but my mother was English. I’m also a cousin, in a remote way, to FitzAlan here. But from what part of England do you come?”
“Sussex,” I said.
“Ah. I thought I knew the name Faldene although I haven’t met the family. I have settled in Sussex myself. I have been most of my life in France, but when my father died last year, my mother grew homesick for England, and I came over with her to buy a property here. Sadly, she too died not long ago. But I shall make the best of the place we bought—although it needs much setting in order. It has kept me so busy that I have had no time for social contacts.”
His voice, accent and all, was pleasant. He was not a conventionally handsome man, not with that long chin and those wide, bony shoulders, but there was an attractive quality of vigour about him, and I liked his eyes. They were dark and diamond shaped, set under dramatic black eyebrows, and they had in them a glimmer of amusement. His way of studying the person to whom he was talking, as though truly anxious to know what they were thinking and how they felt, reminded me of Gerald.
I bit my lip. Something rustled in the undergrowth, and Speedwell once more snorted and pranced. I quietened her. Around us, the tension
“We’ve had him already,” snapped Smith. “When he was married to Queen Mary. Most people didn’t want him back.”
“The realm could have gained greatly from friendship with Spain,” said Derby.
“There I agreed,” said Arundel. “It might well have been better to have him back as our queen’s husband than arriving as an invader to take England by force, which is what many people fear.”
“Oh, he won’t do that,” said Dudley easily, and to my surprise, caught my eye. “He can’t afford to mount an invasion. He’s up to his Hispanic beard in debt. Ask Mistress Blanchard there. She knows.”
To my embarrassment, they all stared at me and began pushing their horses closer to Speedwell. Arundel’s guest said in astonishment, “I don’t understand.”
“This is a friend of mine, Matthew de la Roche,” said Arundel. “Matthew, this is Mistress Ursula Blanchard, who has recently joined the court. Her husband died last winter.”
“They were in Antwerp at the time, with Sir Thomas Gresham,” said Dudley. “Her husband was well placed and I have sometimes heard Mistress Blanchard speak of Antwerp myself. You always preserve admirable discretion,” he added, addressing me directly, “but there is no need for that in present company. Council members and their advisers can be trusted. Why not speak for yourself?”
Coming from Dudley, it amounted to an order. “Gerald—my husband—did work for Gresham,” I agreed. “And yes, he did mention to me that King Philip was known to be in debt.” Gerald, in fact, had been the one who discovered the details. “King Philip of Spain has been borrowing heavily from the Brussels bankers,” I said. “It is true that he isn’t at present in any position to mount an invasion.”
“Ah. Sir Thomas Gresham. A famous name, these days. That explains it,” said de la Roche. “Gerald Blanchard?” He smiled at me. “A French surname and an Irish Christian name. Unusual.”
“My husband’s mother came from Ireland. I believe she named him,” I said. “The name Blanchard comes from his grandfather. He was French by birth. He married the daughter and heiress of the house and lived there with her.”
“And you, Mistress Blanchard? Are you all English, or do you have varied origins, as your husband did?”
“I’m entirely English—my maiden name was Faldene. Your own name sounds French, too.” He also had a trace of accent, I thought.
“My father was French,” he said, “but my mother was English. I’m also a cousin, in a remote way, to FitzAlan here. But from what part of England do you come?”
“Sussex,” I said.
“Ah. I thought I knew the name Faldene although I haven’t met the family. I have settled in Sussex myself. I have been most of my life in France, but when my father died last year, my mother grew homesick for England, and I came over with her to buy a property here. Sadly, she too died not long ago. But I shall make the best of the place we bought—although it needs much setting in order. It has kept me so busy that I have had no time for social contacts.”
His voice, accent and all, was pleasant. He was not a conventionally handsome man, not with that long chin and those wide, bony shoulders, but there was an attractive quality of vigour about him, and I liked his eyes. They were dark and diamond shaped, set under dramatic black eyebrows, and they had in them a glimmer of amusement. His way of studying the person to whom he was talking, as though truly anxious to know what they were thinking and how they felt, reminded me of Gerald.
I bit my lip. Something rustled in the undergrowth, and Speedwell once more snorted and pranced. I quietened her. Around us, the tension
Similar Books
