Lady in Waiting

‘Mistress Moor?’ Nick’s look of surprise was echoed by his tone. ‘Forgive me. I believe we were tardy in coming to your aid and you have suffered some harm.’

‘You came in time for me, sir,’ she said as he helped her to rise. ‘But my father…’

‘I am well, Catherine.’ Sir William came to them, rubbing at his arm where he had been struck a heavy blow. ‘It is mightily sore but not broken, I thank God. We were fortunate that this gentleman brought his fellows to our aid.’

‘They are my mother’s servants,’ Sir Nicholas said. ‘She never travels abroad in the evening with less than three footmen, even though I was her escort on this occasion. I think it wise in these dangerous times to employ a stout arm to aid you, sir.’

‘As my sister warned me,’ Sir William frowned as he saw Lady Stamford’s man Thomas standing close by his sister’s chair as if to protect it, and realised she must have given orders for the fellow to follow them. ‘I thought myself sufficient but now I see the folly of my ways.’

Catherine had become aware that debris was clinging to the skirt of her gown and glanced down at herself in dismay. Her rescuer was elegantly dressed in black slashed with silver on the court breeches, a ruff of silver lace about his throat, and a black cloak slung across one shoulder. A diamond pin nestled in the folds of his lace, and he wore sapphire and ruby rings on his left hand, though she saw that his sword hand was unadorned, as if ready for action.

‘I fear your gown is ruined, Mistress Catherine,’ Sir Nicholas said as she brushed ineffectively at the skirt. ‘It is stained where you were knocked to the ground and the mark will not brush off, I fear.’

‘You were foolish to get out of the chair, but very brave.’ Catherine’s father looked at her in concern. ‘Will you not introduce me to this gentleman, daughter, since you appear to know him?’

‘This is Sir Nicholas Grantly, of whom my aunt has told you,’ Catherine said, with a little blush at being reminded of her manners. ‘And this is the second time he has come to our rescue, for he came to our aid when my aunt’s carriage suffered an accident on the road.’

‘Ah yes, my sister has spoken warmly of you,’ Sir William said and offered his hand at once. ‘I thank you for your good offices, Sir Nicholas—not just for what you did this evening but your earlier kindness to my sister and daughter.’

‘It was my pleasure on both occasions…’ Nick was interrupted by the arrival of Lady Stamford’s servant, who coughed and looked awkwardly at the ground. ‘Yes—you wish to speak to us?’

‘My mistress asks if Sir William and Mistress Catherine intend to continue to court?’

‘It is not possible this evening. I feel too shaken and Catherine’s gown is ruined,’ Sir William replied. ‘I will have a word with your aunt, Cat. We must not rob her of this evening’s pleasure. I shall take you home and she may continue on her way and make our apologies to the Queen.’

‘If I may offer Lady Stamford the safety of joining our party this man may see you safely home, Sir William. I would escort you both myself, but my mother has need of me this evening.’

‘You are kind to offer your protection to my sister, sir. I am sure she will accept. And since our chairmen have decided to return now that the danger is over, there is nothing to delay her once I have advised her of our plans.’

Catherine glanced shyly at Sir Nicholas as her father walked off and they were left alone together for a moment. ‘I must thank you for what you have done this night,’ she said. ‘Had you not come when you did, sir, I fear my father might have been murdered.’

Nick looked at her but said nothing. Her father’s murder might not have been the least of it if he had not come this way, and he blessed his mother for her habit of never going about the city without sufficient escort.

‘It is fortunate that we were here,’ he said at last. ‘I am sorry that your evening has been so rudely spoiled, Mistress Catherine. And it is a shame that beautiful gown has been ruined by your fall. It is most becoming for a lady of your rare colouring; the court will be the poorer for your absence this evening.’

‘A gown is neither here nor there, sir,’ Catherine replied with a toss of her head, her cheeks warmed by his compliment as her heart beat faster. She breathed deeply, her breasts rising as she fought her agitation, aware that his eyes moved over her and rested for a moment on the creamy mounds partially exposed by the dipping neckline of her gown. ‘It may clean and if it does not I shall not repine—for my father’s safety is of far more consequence.’

‘Indeed.’ He smiled over her flash of spirit. ‘But ’tis always a shame to despoil beauty. Forgive me, I believe my mother summons me to her. I must leave you and tell her of our altered plans…’

‘Yes, of course. I thank you again for your kindness.’

Catherine watched as he walked away, feeling the disappointment sweep over her. Had her gown not been ruined they might have spent some time together at the masque that evening. It was an opportunity lost and she did not know when the chance might come again.

She had climbed into her chair once more by the time her father returned to her. ‘Your aunt is most annoyed with me, Catherine,’ he told her. ‘And indeed she is right. Had we been better protected I think this incident would not have happened. I apologise to you for the loss of your enjoyment this evening, daughter.’

‘Oh, Father,’ Catherine said gently. ‘Please do not blame yourself for what happened. Had I not been so impulsive my gown would not have been spoiled.’

‘And perhaps your friend might have been too late to help me. Your brave effort undoubtedly caused those villains pause, Catherine. I dare say your aunt will scold you for it on the morrow, but I can only thank you for what you tried to do.’

‘My concern is only for you, Father. I fear you must be in pain. Let us go home so that I may bathe your arm and rub a healing unguent into it or you will not be able to use it by the morning.’

‘Yes, child. We shall go home, for I must confess that I feel sore and shaken by what has happened.’

Catherine was glad of her aunt’s servant walking beside them on the way home. He was a large, burly man and she knew that her father was not feeling well, though he had not said it in as many words. For him to admit that he was shaken was enough to tell her that he was not his usual self, and she was not surprised when he went straight to his bedchamber.

‘Do not trouble yourself, Catherine,’ he said when she asked if he would let her tend his arm. ‘My man will do whatever is necessary. Forgive me for deserting you. I promise that you shall have a treat another day to make up for your disappointment this evening.’

She shook her head at him, kissing his cheek and assuring him that it was nothing to her, but later, when she was alone in her own bedchamber, she could not help but regret the loss of what might have proved an entertaining evening.

Sitting in the little window embrasure, looking down at the street below, Catherine heard the watch calling the hour.

Why could she not put Sir Nicholas from her thoughts? Catherine wondered. It was not just that he was an attractive man, but there was something about him that touched a chord within her.

She shook her head, mocking herself for allowing her thoughts to become so foolish. Her first sighting of Sir Nicholas had convinced her that he was a rogue and she would do better not to forget it.

In the morning Sir William sent word that he had decided to spend the day in his chamber, resting. When Catherine hurried to his side, he smiled at her and repeated that she was not to worry, giving her his hand as she sat on the edge of his bed and looked at him anxiously.

‘I am not a young man, Catherine,’ Sir William said. ‘My foolish pride made me think I could protect my family without help, but I shall know better in future. However, this incident has made me aware of my vulnerability. I am well enough for the moment but there cannot be so many years left to me, dearest child, and your aunt is right concerning your marriage—as she is about so many things. If I were to die and leave you unprotected…’

‘No, Father!’ Catherine’s voice held a tremor as she interrupted him. ‘I pray you will not talk so. You feel a little unwell this morning but you are still young and I would not have you speak of dying. I pray that we shall have many long and happy years together.’

‘No, Catherine,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘We must face the truth, daughter. I am not yet failing but my health is not what it once was. We must hope that a suitable marriage presents itself. I shall not force you to a match you cannot like, my word is given on that—but I shall pray most earnestly that a man you could be happy with is moved to offer for you.’

‘Let us not quarrel over it, Father,’ she said. ‘I shall marry if I meet a man I can love as I love you.’

‘You may meet someone you could love far more,’ her father said and smiled gently. ‘When he comes along, Cat, you will know it. Believe me, you will know—and you will glory in his love, for you are very like your dear mother and she was a woman made for love.’

‘You loved her very much, Father.’

‘So much that no other could ever take her place when I lost her.’ There was sadness in his face as she carried his hand to her cheek and she felt the sting of tears. Elizabeth Moor was much missed by them both. ‘Go to your aunt now, my dear, and see what plans she has for you today.’

Catherine was thoughtful as she went in search of Lady Stamford. She had never considered marriage until her aunt had insisted that it was her duty to marry, and that had made her rebel against the idea, but her father’s words had softened her heart. Perhaps she might want to marry one day if she found a man she could like well enough. After all, her parents had been truly happy, why should she not be as fortunate?

If there was another reason for the softening of Catherine’s heart, she was not yet prepared to admit it, but her memory of a man’s smile might just have something to do with it.

‘Ah, there you are,’ Lady Stamford said as she went into the back parlour and found her aunt labouring over her accounts. ‘I trust William is being sensible and keeping to his bed this morning?’

‘Yes, Aunt. My father feels a little shaken after what happened.’

‘The foolish man…’ Lady Stamford began, but subsided as she saw Catherine’s look. ‘Well, well, I shall not scold. We were fortunate that Sir Nicholas happened along. I do hope you thanked him properly for his kindness, Catherine?’

‘Yes, of course, Aunt. I could not but be grateful for what he did last evening. Without his timely arrival my father might have been fatally hurt.’

‘Yes, indeed. We must thank God for it,’ Lady Stamford said. ‘Now I must apologise to you, my dear. I had thought your father would take you out today and have made prior arrangements to meet a friend—a very old and wearisome friend whom you would find quite tiring. It was not my intention to ask you to accompany me, though you may if you wish?’

‘I think I would rather stay here, Aunt—if you will forgive me? You have been good to take me everywhere these past two weeks and a day spent quietly at home will not hurt me. Besides, I would rather be here if my father should need me. He says he is feeling better, but I am still a little concerned.’

‘You are a good girl,’ Lady Stamford said. ‘It was a shame that your gown was ruined last evening. I have sent it to my seamstress and asked her to take out the panel that was spoiled and replace it if she can so you may yet be able to wear it again. However, your other gowns will be ready soon and Her Majesty understands why you were unable to attend. She commended your courage and said that if she has as brave men about her she can count herself fortunate.’