Darcey Bonnette - The King’s Mistress

“I know I wouldn’t have wanted Princess Catherine’s jewels if I were her,” Madge goes on. “I’d want my own. Really, Mary, it’d be like wanting the wedding ring of your husband’s dead wife. It’s sort of … well, rather like a circling vulture, don’t you think?”

I can’t help but nod at that.

As she helps ease my sleeve off she brushes against the shoulder my father had squeezed with such enthusiasm some time ago. I try to stifle a groan, but it has escaped and Madge grabs my arm, examining the bruise that has faded from onyx black to a deep purple.

“God’s blood, Mary, who did this to you?” she asks, raising concerned blue eyes to me.

I withdraw my arm, smiling. “It was so silly,” I tell her. “I ran into a doorway. I’m so clumsy sometimes.”

Her lips twist. “Did the doorway resemble a man’s hand?”

I cover my shoulder with my sleeve. I have no words. I want to defend myself, to contradict her implications, but cannot. I bow my head, blinking back tears.

“It’s him, isn’t it? The duke?” she wants to know. Her voice is gentle but bears an edge, the same edge Anne adopts when angry. When I say nothing she continues. “Everyone knows about him, Mary. How he treats your mother. Tales have circulated …”

“It isn’t true,” I say, knowing I must stop her. “Whatever you’ve heard, put it out of your head. Please, if you have any love for me, stop this and do not take part in spreading any false rumors about my honored father.”

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