Ambition's Queen: A Novel of Tudor England Read Online Free

They exchanged a private look, which Lord Rochford was the first to break. A few others in the room snickered, and Lady Rochford pursed her lips in disgust. Bridget too felt her face start to warm as she realised the implications of the silly laughter and Rochford’s shamefacedness. She directed her eyes resolutely at the floor.

    The queen let the laughter die down, then sensibly changed the subject. “See how pretty they are, George!” she said. “They will make a fine addition to our court. Heaven knows I need some young people about me. I find the air in here has grown stale and old of late.” Both Lady Rochford and Jane Seymour bristled a bit at the queen’s statement and shared a brief glance between them.

    “They are certainly pretty, Majesty,” Lord Rochford concurred, his dark gaze roving openly over their trim figures. “The blonde one has your eyes, Anne. Do you not agree, gentlemen?” Sir Henry Norris merely nodded and smiled a neutral smile. He was a pleasant-looking man, blond with summery blue eyes and a trustworthy face. Bridget had noticed that the entire time he had been there, his attention had barely wavered from the queen, whilst Madge Shelton had tried to catch his eye on a number of instances. She had yet to succeed.

    “Lord Rochford, I think you do these ladies a disservice,” Sir Francis Weston said, his laughing voice filling the chamber, “for surely their beauty deserves a more fitting description than merely ‘pretty’? Why, I am pretty, you are pretty, the musician Smeaton is very pretty.” At this, he raised an eyebrow, and Rochford looked slightly embarrassed. “But we are as nothing compared to these young maidens. They excel us as the day excels the night. Why this one,” he said, moving towards Bridget and taking her hand, “this one is a lovely English rose. She is all lush innocence with perhaps just a few drops of morning dew sitting delicately upon her untouched petals.” Bridget blushed violently. She had seldom been this close to a man before, let alone one as attractive as Sir Francis Weston. His hand felt like warm velvet wrapped around hers. A little shiver swept through her body. Aware of her response, Sir Francis gave her hand a final squeeze and then moved on to Joanna.

    “And this young lady,” he continued, gently cupping Joanna’s cheek. “This maid looks like a glorious sunset, the kind that paints the whole sky with fire and flame.” Bridget thought that Joanna might faint with pleasure at this compliment. Instead, she giggled and almost jumped up and down with excitement. “Come, my Lady of the Sunset, dance with me,” Sir Francis cried, and without further ado, he put his arm around Joanna’s waist and began to dance her about the room.

    The queen clapped her hands and looked on with amusement. Bridget tried to smile but could not do so because of her growing unease. She had become aware that Anne was the only person in the chamber who viewed the spectacle before them with pleasure. Lord Rochford had lost all interest in it; Sir Henry Norris had eyes only for the queen, and the other ladies had tactfully averted their gazes from the scene except for one. Lady Rochford watched as if nailed to the spot. Her face was a blank canvas, but her pale eyes surveyed the dancers with keen interest and calculation. They did not miss a step.

    Chapter Two

    “Have you seen Mistress Seymour, Catherine?” the queen asked briskly a few days later. Anne and her ladies were in her private apartments at Greenwich, where the unseasonably warm sunlight was streaming in the windows and casting slanted shadows across the floor.

    Catherine Carey looked up with surprise and quickly glanced about the room. “No, Your Majesty.” she replied. “I have not seen Mistress Seymour today.”

    The queen’s lips thinned and Bridget saw her throat work, as if something was stuck there. Her face settled into lines of anger. “How about the rest of you? Hmm? Nothing to