Through Each Tomorrow, page 11
The scent of her delicate perfume enveloped me, and all rational thought started to fade. I was surrounded by dozens of ladies at court and dozens more in Newport, but none had this effect on me, and it made no sense.
Evelyn was just another woman. Drew’s sister.
So why did she feel different?
When we returned to the group, the older women were watching us. Evelyn’s mother had a pleased smile on her face, but Helen’s look was calculated, unconvinced.
As Evelyn let go of my arm to find a spot to sit, a new thought occurred to me. She had never told me how she came to volunteer at the Newport Home for Friendless Children. Had she intentionally ignored my question, or had she thought she explained because she’d discovered the orphans’ plight in New York? Was that the only reason she volunteered there? Or did it have something to do with Baby Laura?
It didn’t really matter. In a couple of months, I would leave Newport, and I would never see Evelyn again.
The sooner Mrs. Astor invited Mrs. Whitney to her ball and Evelyn’s father returned from Europe, the sooner I could escape this charade.
9
CECILY
JULY 6, 1563
WINDSOR CASTLE
I paced inside the Privy Chamber as several of the queen’s ladies sat quietly, whispering their worries over needlework. It had been twenty-four hours since the queen had been brought to her bedchamber from the tennis court, and none of us, except Kat, had seen her. Not even Lady Catherine Knollys had been allowed to visit the queen.
The door to the bedchamber opened, and I stopped pacing to look inside. The queen’s bed was positioned against the far wall, and the drapery was pulled over her small windows, enshrining the room in darkness. It had been raining all day, making it drearier still.
Kat stepped out quietly with the chamber pot and then closed the door behind her.
“Is there any improvement?” I asked.
“She is resting quietly for now,” Kat said as she repositioned the cloth over the chamber pot.
I had not been in the Privy Chamber all morning, knowing that there was little I could do to help the queen when none of us were allowed inside her bedchamber. Instead, I had spent the first part of the morning with Aveline, working on the masque she planned to give for the queen, and the second in the tower with my paints. I needed to focus on something other than the queen or Andrew or the impending arrival of Lord Wolverton.
But nothing helped. I was anxious and restless, and my paintings had suffered.
“Is Doctor Bromley with her now?” I asked.
“No. Lady Agatha has taken a turn for the worse, and the queen requested that he see to her.”
Lady Agatha Throckmorton was an elderly noblewoman who had served the queen faithfully for years. She had been kind to me when I first came to court, and it broke my heart that she wasn’t doing well.
Kat called one of the younger maids over and asked her to dispose of the chamber pot and then returned to the bedchamber.
I felt torn. I wanted to make progress with the queen on behalf of Aveline, but there was no telling when, or if, I would get the chance. I also wanted to go to Lady Agatha and show my support to her and her loved ones.
And I wanted to see Andrew again.
Without giving it much thought, I left the Privy Chamber, walked through the Presence Room, and then into the Queen’s Ballroom. My dress felt especially cumbersome and heavy today, and my French hood was too tight. I longed for the cooler, lighter clothing I wore in 1913.
As my feet took me to the east wing, I continued to debate myself. Going to Lady Agatha wasn’t wise or sensible, especially because she wasn’t the only reason I was going.
The corridors were quiet as I walked the length of the east wing to Lady Agatha’s apartment. Everyone was worried about the queen, and most courtiers had stayed in their rooms, praying, speculating, and planning should the worst happen. I’d been told Lady Katherine Grey was ensconced in her rooms in the castle with Charles and other Protestant privy councilors, discussing the possibilities of her becoming the next queen. I couldn’t imagine what she was thinking, knowing her older sister, Lady Jane Grey, had been beheaded when she tried to take the throne after Edward VI had died. Lady Jane had been declared queen for nine days before Mary deposed her and later had her executed.
I shivered just thinking about it. Did Lady Katherine even want to be queen? Would she have a choice? And what if Mary, Queen of Scots, decided to make war against Lady Katherine to claim the title for herself? Charles would be in the middle of the battle.
At each window, I had a view of the dismal weather. Low, gray clouds hung above the castle, weeping onto the land. Did the weather know something we did not?
Two young servants stood outside Lady Agatha’s chamber as I approached, whispering and giggling like schoolgirls. I heard one say Andrew’s name. When they saw me, they quickly curtsied and then walked away from the door.
Doctor Bromley had quickly become a favorite not only of the queen, but also of all the fair maidens of Windsor Castle.
Was he as popular in Newport?
Jealousy wrapped its ugly grip around my heart as I contemplated such a thing for the first time. I’d never wondered if Andrew had a sweetheart in 1883 until now. Was his family arranging a marriage? Was he engaged? Surely Charles would have told me.
Then again, Charles had always kept his other path private. I knew very little about his life there. He was a farmer in Virginia, and he had an older sister named Ada. His father had died in the American Civil War when he was six, and his mother had remained unmarried. That was almost all I knew.
Were Charles and Andrew friends in 1883?
Not for the first time, I wished Charles confided in me more. He was so busy with the council, and both his work for the queen and his other life were things he didn’t share with me. It made me feel like I was one more responsibility he was forced to shoulder.
I knocked on Lady Agatha’s door, and it was opened by Henrietta, her great-granddaughter.
“How does Lady Agatha fare?” I asked as I stepped into her outer chamber.
“She will not be with us much longer, I fear,” Hen said. “The doctor is with her now.”
“I’m sorry.” There were several family members and close friends in the outer chamber. Some were weeping, and others were sitting quietly in prayer.
“Lady Agatha enjoys visitors.” Hen motioned to the door. “You may step in, if you’d like.”
Smiling, I went to the door, which I opened slowly.
Lady Agatha’s bed was on the far wall, and Andrew was sitting on the side, holding the elderly lady’s hand—or perhaps he was taking her pulse. His back was toward me, and he didn’t seem to know I had entered. Two of Lady Agatha’s daughters were in the room, standing together on the other side of the bed. One of them glanced at me when I opened the door and motioned for me to come forward.
I stepped into the room a little farther but paused, not wanting to interrupt Andrew if he was examining the elderly woman.
As I watched, Andrew gently put his hand on Lady Agatha’s forehead to brush aside a lock of her silver hair. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was shallow, but she looked serene.
“Go in peace, Lady Agatha,” Andrew said just above a whisper as he put his hand on her shoulder. “God is waiting for you, His good and faithful servant.”
Lady Agatha took a final, shuddering breath, and then she was gone.
Her daughters began to weep as Andrew folded her hands over her chest.
Tears filled my eyes as I watched the scene. I’d never witnessed someone die. And even though Lady Agatha was old and she had lived a long, happy life, it was still heart-wrenching.
Had my parents watched me die in 1913? I’d only ever thought about my pain and what I had lost—but how had they survived my death?
The weight of their sorrow suddenly took hold of me, and I struggled to catch a breath.
Unable to stay in a room with death so close, I fumbled for the door latch as Andrew turned from the bed. Our gazes met a moment before I fled the bedchamber. It had been a mistake to come. The shadow of death still had a grip on my heart.
I attempted a poor excuse for my behavior as I passed Hen on the way out of Agatha’s outer chamber.
The corridor was empty as I walked back toward the state apartments in the north wing, trying to catch my breath.
“Cecily.” Andrew’s voice drifted toward me.
I paused, my heart pounding.
It was the second time he’d come after me in two days. I wanted to believe it meant something, but I knew better. I had been a fool to come, and he was a fool to chase me.
Slowly, I turned and found him striding toward me, his face serious.
“I shouldn’t have come,” I said, voicing the truth that he already knew.
Andrew didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate, didn’t speak, but drew me into his arms.
My mouth parted in surprise, and then my heart broke into a hundred little pieces as he enfolded me in his strong embrace.
“I’m sorry, Cecily.” He spoke quietly near my ear. “I’m sorry you lost so much. And I’m sorry you had to witness death again today.”
Tears fell down my cheeks as I realized he knew exactly what I was feeling. Somehow, he’d understood why the moment in Lady Agatha’s bedchamber had affected me so deeply.
“How did you know?” I whispered.
“It was written all over your face. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you to mourn without being able to share your grief with anyone. To tell them why your heart is so heavy. Charles would shoulder it with you if he didn’t have the weight of the realm on his mind.”
I could feel Andrew’s heart beating under my ear as the heat of his arms warmed me. I recalled his tenderness with Lady Agatha as she passed from life unto death and how blessed she was to have Andrew’s compassionate hands there to soothe her brow. He was a healer and was starting to heal my heart, whether he realized it or not.
“I have something for you,” he said as he pulled back. “Lady Agatha’s family needs time to mourn in peace, and I will not be missed. Will you come with me?”
I nodded, wiping the tears off my cheeks.
I would go anywhere with him.
Andrew led me away from Lady Agatha’s chambers and back toward the state apartments. The corridors were still quiet as we walked side by side. My hand brushed his, and he glanced at me, his thoughts hard to read.
Neither of us spoke as we passed from one hall into another.
We walked up two sets of spiraling stairwells and then down another long corridor.
“Where are we going?” I asked, though it didn’t matter to me.
“My apartment.”
Heat filled my cheeks at his simple answer. Though Andrew was honorable and trustworthy, I had never been in a man’s apartment except Charles’s.
We finally stopped at a door, and he studied me for a moment. “Mayhap you should wait out here, in case someone should come by and see you enter my rooms.”
“I care not what they think,” I said, feeling a little reckless. I wanted privacy with Andrew to talk about what had happened in the garden. There was nothing I could do about my feelings for him, but I yearned to know if he returned them. It would be little comfort, but comfort nonetheless.
A gentle smile lifted his lips, and then he opened his door and allowed me to enter ahead of him.
His outer chamber was much like all the others, with a couch and other chairs to recline upon. There was a table strewn with books and papers, and tapestries hung on the stone walls.
As he closed the door, I noticed a framed painting perched on a table near the couch, with a stack of books holding it upright.
It was the Painted Lady caterpillar.
Andrew stood for a moment, leaning against the door as I studied the painting.
“I wasn’t sure if it would be rolled up in a corner of your room, forgotten,” I said as I turned to him.
“I would never do such a thing to one of my prized possessions.”
My painting was one of his prized possessions?
The room was intimate, and we were completely alone. I wanted to return to his arms, but his embrace had not been romantic. It had been comforting and nothing more.
“What did you want to give me?” I asked, realizing I sounded breathless.
He moved away from the door and went to the table, where he picked up a book. When he returned, he held it out for me to take.
“It’s Aristotle’s Historia Animalium,” he said. “He wrote it in the fourth century BC, and it is both an exploration of the animal world and the philosophy behind their existence. It’s translated from Greek.”
I looked from the book to Andrew, at a loss for words.
“Have you heard of his work?” he asked.
“Yes,” I finally said, able to nod.
“Have you read it?”
“No.”
He smiled, gently probing. “Do you want to read it?”
“Yes.” I began to laugh. “Where did you find it?”
“In the castle library.” He motioned to the table. “There are dozens of books that I thought you might enjoy reading. The knowledge they contain is limited, but they are still groundbreaking studies of the natural world and are foundational books for the works of scientists who will come after them. Scientists like you.”
“I am not a scientist.”
“You have a scientific mind, Cecily, and a desire to learn about the world around you. You are a scientist, an artist, a historian—whatever you wish to be.”
I wanted to believe him, but I also knew that there were limitations placed on my life by the queen, by society—even by Charles. And, if my stepbrother succeeded, there would be limitations set by my husband.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t learn and read and explore. Or paint pictures for my book.
I hugged Historia Animalium to my chest. “Thank you, Andrew. You’ve offered me another priceless gift.”
He smiled. “Will I get another painting for my efforts?”
I grinned. “Do you want another painting?”
His face grew serious. “I would take every painting you created, if I could. But what would be left for your book?”
Without thought, I approached Andrew, and this time, I embraced him.
He hesitated and then put his arms around me and held me close.
It was dangerous to be in his arms, to allow my heart to fall in love with him again, but I couldn’t help myself. Andrew was not only handsome and strong, he was also good and kind and intelligent. He was everything I had ever wanted in a man, and I was certain no one would ever compare to him.
I slowly looked up, craving more.
His gaze slipped to my lips and sent a river of desire flowing through my limbs. My breathing became shallow as time stood still.
His chest rose and fell on deep breaths, and he slowly lowered his head—but at the last second, he paused. Uncertainty returned to his eyes, and this time he didn’t look directly at me as he pulled away. “I’m sorry.”
Swift disappointment coursed through me, and embarrassment warmed my cheeks.
He took a step back and ran his hand through his hair. “I made a promise to Charles.”
The book was heavy in my hands as I brought it back to my chest, not wanting to face the reality of what he was going to say.
“I will not stand in the way of his plans for you.”
I swallowed and nodded. “Of course you won’t.”
“I—I care for you, perhaps more than I should, but you deserve better than me.”
“Andrew, there is no one better than you.”
“Please do not say such things.” He put his hand on the back of his neck and walked away from me. “I have nothing to offer you.”
I hugged the book close, knowing that he had offered me more than anyone else.
“I have no title or property, and I have an obligation to stay in 1883. If God had intended for us—” He paused and took a deep breath. “But He did not ordain such a thing, and it would be best if I kept my distance from you.”
Tears burned the backs of my eyes as I nodded, though I did not agree with what he was proposing. It would be too hard to know he was so close yet out of my reach. It had taken me years to forget my feelings for him. How long would it take this time? Especially if he was nearby.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he finally looked at me, anguish in his eyes.
I swallowed the emotions clogging my throat and nodded again, wanting him to know that I was not angry, and I did not blame him for his decision.
“Thank you.” I walked to the door, clutching my book. “And I’m sorry, too.”
With that, I slipped out of his room and leaned against the closed door for a moment before walking away from Andrew’s apartment.
My heart cried out in anger and confusion as I lifted my face to the ceiling. “Why?” I whispered to God. “Why do you continue to take everything away from me? Where is the joy and peace and love that you promised?”
God was silent as my heart broke yet again.
10
CHARLES
JULY 6, 1883
NEWPORT, RHODE ISLAND
I stood in the foyer at Midcliff, torn between my worries about Queen Elizabeth and my unreasonable nerves about spending the afternoon with Evelyn. I’d spent the day before in 1563, counseling Lady Katherine Grey and making plans for her accession should the queen not live. There were a few others on the privy council who believed Mary, Queen of Scots, was the rightful heir, and they were secretly meeting. If the Protestant advisors could get enough support for Lady Katherine, we would move in that direction. But if the Catholic advisors could convince the council that Mary should be the next Queen of England, we would be forced to put her on the throne instead.
It was a grim task, but without knowing what ailed the queen, we were forced to discuss the unthinkable. Lord Robert did not believe either side should be discussing the issue, and he threatened to tell the queen we were planning to overthrow her. Thankfully Lord Burghley, the Lord High Treasurer, had convinced him otherwise. For now.
