The Spymaster's Daughter Read Online Free Page A

her father would learn of it, and tears would prove to him that she was an empty-headed maid, unfit for work designed for men.
    Her aunt entered but said nothing, busying herself picking up books and straightening them on the writing table with a disapproving smack of her lips.
    Frances closed her eyes until the door opened and Jennet said softly, “Your lord husband is here, my lady.”
    Frances heard her leave.
    Philip approached, removing his doublet as he came to her bed, the doublet that held a letter from Penelope Rich. She heard the vellum crinkle as he laid the garment down. He had not thought to remove the missive.
    He knelt upon her soft down mattress. “Here, my dear, drink this,” he said. “My physician says it is a tonic known to ensure a babe if drunk on the day of a new moon.”
    His voice was soft but insistent.
    Frances half sat up in bed and downed the bitter brew, still warm from the mixing. She made a face.
    Philip looked sympathetic. “Forgive me, wife; I should have added some carvings from the sugar loaf.”
    She wanted to tell him that it was not the bitter physic that near sickened her; it was the lost chance in her lifetime to adore and be adored. She had wanted desperately to love Philip, had expected that emotion to o’erwhelm her. Now she felt nothing but the duty a wife owed to a husband. She would now never know love. Her chance was gone, and it saddened her more than she could have expected.
    Yet men were able to go from wife to other women. Philip could come to her bed and then hie to Lady Rich, ever hoping to gain her love by sheer, dogged devotion.
    â€œAre your nether parts warming?” he asked, looking down on her with a hopeful expression that made her feel like one of his brood mares.
    â€œYes, husband,” she lied, crossing her fingers for a third time in one day.
    He unlaced his codpiece and lifted her dress, quickly dispensing with endearments. His ready manhood had little to do with his heart. He would do his duty, plant his seed, and be gone.
    Frances knew her wifely task. She moved and groaned to speed him, trying to give every appearance of wifely pleasure, which was his due, which was the due of any soldier going to war for queen and country.
Oh, Philip, you are so blind. Don’t you know that there is so much more you could have of me? So much more…
    He would not take the most she could give, but from his Stella he would take less and be grateful. She was the woman he longed to gaze upon ere he sailed for Holland…
the heav’n of Stella’s face.
    He pushed and pushed until he emptied his seed into her, then fell to one side, panting until gradually quieting. “Wife, I did mean to tell you privily that I was leaving for Holland, but I waited long, not wanting to concern you overmuch…. You are too young to understand.”
    Frances said none of the many things she could have said, only what she must. “Of course, Philip. You are ever careful to hide any hurt coming my way.”
    She felt his head turn to her, but she did not satisfy the puzzlement that must be on his face. “I hope I gave you pleasure, husband,” she said, dutifully enough to please even Jennet.
    â€œOf course, Frances. You need not ask. If you will only surrender these wild thoughts of yours and leave off plaguing your father about becoming”—he groaned, unable to say the word
intelligencer
—“you will please me greatly.”
    â€œAs you wish.”
    â€œGood,” he said, sounding satisfied with his powers of persuasion.
    She watched him relace his codpiece and, with a bow to her, take up his doublet, Stella’s letter crinkling in it like musket fire aimed at her heart. “I must oversee the rest of my packing. We willsay good-bye in the morn.” He left, shutting her chamber door behind him.
    Frances, her heart aching anew with the question of what could have been, felt aflame with