The Vagabond Duchess

He smiled, and butterflies swooped in Temperance’s stomach. His smile was quite different from his teasing grin. It revealed a kinder, quieter side of his personality and called forth a much more profound emotional response from her than his cocky grin.

‘How long have you been mistress here?’ he asked.

‘My father died nearly two years ago,’ she said.

‘A difficult time to take on such a responsibility.’

‘Yes.’ She pushed a strand of hair back from her face, her eyes unfocussed as she remembered that time.

‘Did you stay in London?’

‘During the plague?’ She glanced at him. ‘I had nowhere else to go. We all survived.’ She shuddered as she recalled some of the terrible things she’d seen. ‘But it does seem the worst is past now,’ she added optimistically. ‘And I pray it will not return.’

‘So do I,’ Jack said quietly.

‘Were you here then?’ She looked at him curiously.

He shook his head.

‘Venice?’ she asked, remembering his comment the previous night and wanting to lighten the mood. ‘Or some other exotic location?’

‘Last year I was very dull. I went to Bruges…Oxford…but mostly I stayed in Sussex.’

‘Oxford? The King and Court went to Oxford to escape the plague.’

‘So they did,’ Jack acknowledged with a half-smile.

‘Did you…? Have you ever played for the King?’ Temperance asked, and held her breath waiting for the answer. He would surely laugh at her for asking such a silly question. But he was such a fine musician she could easily imagine him entertaining kings and queens.

Jack grinned.

‘What does that smirk mean?’ she demanded.

‘The King has more appreciation for my sonnets than you do,’ he replied. ‘The witty ones at any rate. He particularly admired one I composed about a lady’s—’

‘Never mind,’ Temperance interrupted, sure it would be scandalous. ‘Have you really spoken to the King? Or are you just teasing me?’

Jack smiled his quiet smile. ‘I have spoken to the King,’ he said. ‘And played my lute for him. I’ve played for Louis too, though that was several years ago.’

‘Louis? The King of France?’ Temperance stared at him. ‘We’re at war with France.’

‘We weren’t when I attended the French Court,’ Jack replied. ‘But the war was a cursed inconvenience when I was making my way back from Venice this summer. I got stuck at Ostend, waiting for the packet boat to form part of a convoy. By the time I’d languished in an inn for several days I could hardly afford to pay my fare home.’

‘What did you do?’ Temperance was half-fascinated, half-horrified by his revelations. She couldn’t imagine anything more terrifying than being stranded so far from home.

‘Played my lute, of course.’ This time his grin was shot through with pure wickedness.

Temperance knew—she just knew—his next revelation would be outrageous, but she had to hear what he did next.

‘Did you convince the captain of the packet boat to exchange a sonnet for your passage?’ she asked.

‘No. It was the good housewives of Ostend who showed the greatest appreciation for my talents,’ he replied.

‘What?’ She looked at him warily. ‘They gave you money when you sang?’

‘Yes, they did,’ he recollected. ‘I was sitting on the beach and they came to watch and throw me coins. Then a couple of them invited me to go home with them—to sing for them privately. Because they so greatly admired my talents.’

‘You are a rogue and a scoundrel!’ Temperance wanted to cry.

‘Only if I accepted their invitations,’ he said.

‘I’m sure I don’t care to know how you paid your way home,’ she said coldly.

‘I was rescued by my cousin,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you sell me some of this blue cloth?’

‘Not for a sonnet. And after buying that ridiculous wig I doubt you’ve enough coins left.’ She crossed her arms and glared at him.

‘How much?’

When she grudgingly named a price he delved in his pocket and produced the necessary coins.

‘Cut me a length,’ he ordered.

‘Yes, sir.’ She mutinously complied.

He leant his hip against the edge of the board and watched her.

‘There I was, playing my lute to pay for my supper, wondering how I could afford the packet fare without sacrificing my virtue—’

‘Your virtue,’ Temperance exclaimed, then snapped her mouth shut.

‘Indeed. When who should I see approaching but my cousin. A splendid, prosperous fellow. It turned out he was waiting for the packet too. So I prevailed upon him to sponsor me.’

‘Really?’ Temperance didn’t even try to keep the scepticism out of her voice. ‘What a coincidence. What was your cousin doing in Ostend?’

‘He’d gone to visit another cousin of ours in Bruges. But she wasn’t there.’

‘She? You may cease with this nonsense.’ Temperance folded the broadcloth with quick, angry hands. ‘And pay for your purchase.’

‘I really do have several cousins.’ Jack’s eyes twinkled at her as he handed over the coins. ‘One of them was a guest at the English convent in Bruges for several years. It was her fault I went to Venice this summer. I went to Bruges in April to fetch her home and found she’d already left for Italy, so I had to follow her.’

Temperance held the folded cloth in front of her and looked at Jack. Was it possible he was telling her the truth? He’d already mentioned visiting Bruges, and he’d told her about his trip to Venice more than once.

‘Is your cousin a Catholic?’ she asked, noting his reference to the convent.

‘No. At least, she wasn’t when she first became a guest of the nuns. She may have become more sympathetic to their mode of worship over the past few years,’ Jack replied. ‘But I can assure you she doesn’t have horns and a tail.’ There was an unusually acerbic tone in his voice. ‘My other cousin, the one I travelled with to Dover, is a good Swedish Lutheran. No doubt far more acceptable to your English sensibilities.’

Temperance stared at him, trying to unravel everything he’d just said.