Betrayal in the Tudor Court by Darcey Bonnette Page A

who will respect and cherish me for what is inside, for what is eternal, not for the beauty that will pass.”
    “But Jesus … well, he is not exactly here, Mirabella,” Cecily dared observe. “He can never be to you what an earthly man can be.”
    Mirabella clenched the material of her gown in frustration. “Oh, earthly men—such worthy creatures! Haven’t you witnessed enough marital bliss for you to see what it’s really about? Look to my parents. Look at my mother, shutting herself away that she might drink herself to death. Look at my blustering fool of a father, eking out what little pleasure he can find in his cards and dice while losing his fortune.” She shook her head. “And there are others even worse off. I will not be in their numbers, made the wife of someone who will be ungrateful for the children I give him, someone who will use mistresses and whores while I keep his house. Look what joy marriage brought poor Queen Catherine of Aragon. Now she is banished and made Princess Dowager, pushed aside so King Henry can elevate a common whore.” Mirabella sighed and shook her head. “I will not be put last for anyone and you can bet with a man that is just what you will be. Maybe that is a life for some.” Mirabella shook her head emphatically. “But not for me.”
    “Of course not,” said Cecily. For the first time she began to understand Mirabella’s choice.
    “Of course you will never have to worry about any of that,” Mirabella said in gentler tones. “You’re marrying Brey.”
    Cecily smiled. “Yes … Brey.” She bowed her head, then. “It will have to be different with Brey now, won’t it?”
    Mirabella nodded gravely. “Yes, yes, it will.”
    Cecily suppressed a sob. She did not want it to be different.
    Brey did not understand Cecily’s withdrawal. She did not chase him in the woods any more. They did not tumble down hills or hide in haystacks and she always rode sidesaddle, never astride as she used to. And she sat so despicably straight! Mirabella must be behind all of this; Cecily has been spending an inordinate amount of time with her of late. And now she didn’t even sleep in the nursery any more! Nurse Matilda told him she was a lady now and ladies must keep their own chambers. What did she know? He had heard Cecily fart before—she was a champion, for love of God! Who could hear that and call her a lady?
    “I just don’t understand it, Father,” he told Father Alec when the two were riding alone one February day. Cecily was indoors doing some stupid thing that no doubt “ladies” occupied themselves with, so Brey took this opportunity to pour out his troubles to the caring tutor. “And it is not just that she won’t play most of our old games; she’s moody, too. She snaps at me and gets quite huffy like Mirabella. She never used to be like that!”
    Father Alec laughed. “Cecily is at a crossroads, Brey; you must be patient with her.” He turned toward Brey as they slowed their mounts. They were riding in the snow-covered fields today, which glistened against the noonday sun, bright and blinding. The air was crisp but pleasant enough to enjoy.
    “What kind of crossroads?” he persisted, annoyed. If he were at a similar sort of crossroads he’d be scolded no doubt.
    Father Alec shifted in the saddle a moment, then cleared his throat. He shifted again. “Well … er … I’m surprised your father hasn’t made you aware of this, Brey, but there comes a time in a girl’s life when—”
    “Oh, no!” Brey smacked his forehead with a chapped hand. “You don’t mean she’s—that she’s … oh, repulsive!”
    “So you have heard about it.” Father Alec chuckled. “If it is repulsive to you imagine how it must be for them.”
    “I don’t want to,” Brey said with a grimace. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. I suppose I could not really imagine something like that happening to Cecily.” He turned to Father Alec, his face perfectly straight.