A VERY TUDOR CHRISTMAS Read Online Free

what Meg wanted for sweet Beatrice. Happiness.
    “Just be sure you choose a good man, Bea,” she admonished. “A
kind one who will know what a great treasure he has in you.”
    “We must find such a man for you first, Meg,” Bea answered.
“You are surely not too old to marry.”
    Meg laughed. “It’s true I have no need of a walking stick just
yet. But I have met no man at court whose company I could bear for more than an
hour altogether.”
    Bea’s eyes widened. “Is it because of Master Ambrose? It was so
sad...”
    Meg shook her head. When, more than a year ago, her parents
proposed a match between Meg and the son of the Ambrose family, she had
tentatively agreed. Why not? Her dreams of grand romance were gone, and Master
Ambrose seemed nice enough. When their barely month-old betrothal was ended by
his sudden passing from a fever, she had felt only sadness for his poor
family.
    And realization that she probably was not meant to be
married.
    “I have recovered from all that,” Meg assured her cousin. “I am
entirely attentive to finding a good match for you.”
    Before Bea could answer, Mildred Cecil, Lady Burghley, wife of
the chief secretary, appeared at the top of the stairs. All conversation and
laughter immediately quieted, for the tall, long-nosed, stern-eyed Lady Burghley
was formidable indeed. She gathered the fur edges of her black velvet robe
closer around her as she studied the courtiers gathered in her hall.
    Her daughter Anne hovered behind her, a small, pale-faced girl
whose light brown hair and tawny silk gown blended her into the paneled
walls.
    “Thank you all for coming here today,” Lady Burghley said. “The
wedding is only days away and there is much work to be done. If you will follow
me...”
    Lady Burghley swept down the stairs, Anne hurrying behind her,
as servants in the green-and-gold Cecil livery leaped to open the doors to the
great hall. Meg and Beatrice were swept along by the crowd into the cavernous
space.
    There was scarcely time to take in the painted beams of the
ceiling high overhead, the glowing tapestries of red, blue and green, or the
glittering plate piled on the tiered and carved buffets pushed back against the
walls. They were hurried to the far end of the long room to where a stage had
been built for the wedding masques.
    Servants were still putting the finishing touches on the
painted scenery, and seamstresses were huddled over yards of carnation silk and
gold satin for the costumes.
    “This is the Grove of Diana,” Lady Burghley said with an
impatient wave at the still-unfinished painted trees. “Over there shall be the
Bower of Flora, and there the House of Night. We shall need nine Knights of
Apollo, nine Hours of Night, nine...”
    Suddenly the doors to the hall opened again, and Lady Burghley
frowned at the group who dared to arrive late. Everyone else craned their necks
and went up on tiptoe to try and see. The ladies broke into giggles, hastily
muffled.
    Bea was no different. “Look, Meg!” she whispered excitedly.
“’Tis Peter Ellingham.”
    Meg bit back a smile. Peter, Lord Ellingham, was a very
handsome young man, as golden as Bea and as eager about life. He had been paying
much attention to Bea of late, asking her to dance with him at banquets, playing
lute duets with her and games of primero, all under Meg’s careful watch. They
laughed and gamboled together like pretty puppies.
    Bea pretended not to take him seriously, but Meg wondered.
Perhaps Bea, like Anne Cecil, would be a young bride, but only if Lord Ellingham
proved himself worthy.
    Meg turned to study the newcomers. Lord Ellingham was indeed
there, clad in peacock blue and green, grinning at Bea. With him were his usual
friends, young men as good-natured and lighthearted as himself, likely to make
fine Knights of Apollo.
    Meg suddenly glimpsed a darker movement at the edge of the
crowd, and she turned to study it closer.
    Suddenly the crowded, stuffy room turned freezing cold and