At the King's Pleasure (Secrets of the Tudor Court) by Kate Emerson Page A

of the duchess’s ladies when Madge arrived to take up her duties in the ducalnursery. Bess’s father, Sir William Knyvett, was the duke’s chamberlain, although he was wealthy in his own right. Her brother, Charles, was also part of Buckingham’s household. Bess herself always had fine clothing and money to gamble with.
    Madge continued to watch the duke. To her eyes, he lacked nothing. Not only was he noble and wealthy, but he was an attractive man. Barely past his thirtieth year, he was in excellent physical condition, able to compete in the lists with much younger men. Madge had seen him practicing once and had been mightily impressed.
    Her heart beat a little faster as he stalked toward the small circle of women who sat sewing by the windows of his newly erected gallery. He had embarked upon an extensive building campaign at Bletchingly since the new king’s coronation, for the manor lay within easy traveling distance of court. Nowadays, they were more apt to stay here than at Thornbury Castle in distant Gloucestershire.
    Madge quickly turned her attention to the sampler that young Lady Mary was stitching. The youngest of the three girls, she was a child of six and making her first efforts to create a guide to the stitches and patterns she’d use for the rest of her life. She’d laboriously made rows of the most common stitches—tent stitch, cross stitch, back stitch, stem stitch, split stitch, and chain stitch. Now she was attempting to copy her favorite patterns and motifs in green and black silk.
    “What will you do for the border?” Madge asked her when she’d admired the little girl’s work.
    “A running scroll,” Lady Mary replied at once.
    “You should decorate it with columbines,” said her sister, Lady Catherine, who was four years Lady Mary’s senior.
    “A lozenge design of lined hexagons is prettier,” Lady Elizabeth chimed in, using the know-it-all voice that so aggravated her younger siblings. She was fast approaching womanhood and lorded it over the other two that, as the eldest, she’d have her pick of husbands from among the nobility of England. She’d been unable to hide her chagrin when her little sister pointed out to her that, since their father was England’s only duke, they would perforce have to settle for a nobleman of lesser rank.
    Into this homey little scene stepped the duke himself. He took a moment to bend down and examine the work of all three girls, and bestowed upon them a few curt words of praise, but it was clear his mind was elsewhere. He turned next to his wife.
    “Madam, a word?”
    She sent a quelling look his way. “Have you forgotten the date, my lord? Yesterday was Ash Wednesday.”
    A chilling quiet descended on the chamber. The duchess was not excessively religious. She had no desire to declare herself a vowess devoted to chastity and prayer for the rest of her life. But she did believe that a devout woman should give up something of value during Lent. She chose, year after year, to forgo the pleasures of the marriage bed.
    “The date?” he echoed. “It is the fourteenth day of February. St. Valentine’s Day. At court they celebrate with the giving and receiving of gifts.”
    “I am certain that her most gracious majesty the queen will maintain a sense of decorum,” the duchess said.
    “Unlikely,” her husband replied. “Not with all the young wildheads that surround the king.”
    “How do they celebrate, Father?” Lady Catherine piped up.
    For a moment, Madge thought he might ignore her question, but then he relented. “They choose their valentines by lot,” he explained. “Then each man has to give a gift to the lady who selected him.”
    “Even if she is not his wife,” the duchess said with a disdainful sniff. She stood and began to gather up her sewing, a signal for all her ladies to do likewise.
    “Especially if she is not his wife,” Buckingham shot back.
    Head down, Madge scurried after the others, nearly running over Lady Mary