Chapter Twenty-Five

Arranged around the large hall, the guests whispered and murmured, gradually falling silent as the first notes of the music stole towards the young couple. Facing each other, Arthur and Lilyrose stepped into the dance.

Arthur’s leaf green tunic worn over dark green trousers harmonised with Lilyrose’s deep blue gown. Her waist-length hair cascaded down her back like a dark-gold waterfall, shimmering from side to side each time he turned her around. Neither said a word, but their smiles spoke of their enjoyment as they saw the dance through to the end.

The guests applauded. Turning to face them, first one way then the other, Arthur bowed as Lilyrose dropped a low curtsy. When the second dance began, other couples progressed onto the floor to join them.

“Begging your leave, Ronal.” Henry, inclining his head, was already stepping away. Alice had been bouncing lightly on her feet even before the music had started up again.

“Please.” He gestured, motioning for them to go.

When Edmund and his entourage had arrived six days ago, Arthur and Ronal had been delighted, and not too surprised, to learn that Henry was now openly courting Alice.

Ronal’s brows shot up at the sight of Edmund dancing with Eleanor; he had no idea a stocky man could move so gracefully. As his gaze moved around the hall, he slowly became aware of an increasing number of glances being directed at him. Moving carefully, hoping not to draw any more attention, he stepped to the side and back, where it was more shadowy.

He had hoped his choice of plain colours – dove-grey tunic and charcoal trousers – would camouflage him against the more colourfully clothed guests. Now, he stood against the wall, almost as if he was trying to blend with it.

Not one day went by that Ronal, despite his young age, did not give thanks for his good fortune. He knew it was only because he and Arthur were close that he was afforded the privileges he enjoyed. It was because of Arthur he had fine clothes to wear; it was because of Arthur, Edmund treated him so well, as if he were kin. It was because of Arthur his family had a better, more comfortable life; that his beloved sister, Emily, had enjoyed a wedding grander than anything their father would have been able to afford. And it was because of Arthur, Ronal could enjoy the company of people like Henry and Margaret, and Lilyrose.

Half-hidden in the shadows, he watched as Lilyrose danced with Arthur, his best friend, his brother in all but name. A smile tugged at his lips as she turned the wrong way, her attention clearly on her mother and Edmund. She almost collided with another before Arthur smilingly pulled her back to him.

Ronal’s smile faded as he remembered his recurring dream, the one with the baby. It had started again a few nights’ ago. When he’d first had the dream, it had left him with a feeling of contentment. Then the dream had changed to one where the baby constantly cried. He could hear it but was never able to find it. Now, each time he woke from the dream, he was left feeling like a scared child.

“Will you not ask me to dance?”

A soft voice interrupted his thoughts. Startled, he straightened and glanced at the young woman standing deep in the shadows, not needing to see her face to know who it was. “Lady Margaret–”

“I keep telling you, you may call me Margaret.”

Still facing the dancers so it wouldn’t be obvious he was talking to anyone, he said, “Lady Margaret, you know why I don’t ask you or any lady to dance.”

“You did last year.”

“That was because there were so few guests, and Lord Lionel was gracious enough to invite me to do so.”

The music stopped, and she remained silent, speaking only when the music started again. “I’m inviting you. Surely one dance will not matter.”

“My lady–”

“You’re as good as any man here. As good as Henry, as Arthur–”

“My lady, please. It’s not that I don’t wish to dance with you. Much as I enjoyed dancing with you last year, I cannot, not like this, so openly. You are a highborn lady and I’m a farrier’s son. I won’t shame Lord Edmund or offend Lord Lionel by pretending it isn’t so.”

A sharp intake of breath followed by a rustle of skirts then silence. Ronal glanced to the corner, but she was gone. A heavy sigh fell from him. He didn’t want to hurt her. He liked her, she was pleasant company, but he would not give her false hope. What was the point when nothing would come of it?

Keeping to the shadows, his quiet enjoyment of the evening having left with Margaret, he wondered if he should have stayed at home. Except he knew his parents would not have allowed it. To not go would have been an insult to their lord and master, and they respected and loved Edmund too much.

“Ronal, why are you standing so far back?”

He exclaimed softly, not having noticed Arthur’s approach.

Arthur beckoned him forward. “I’m not intending on dancing this dance, come and stand with me.”

Fixing a smile to his face, he moved to stand with Arthur.

The dance ended and the burly man who’d been dancing with Lilyrose escorted her back to Arthur. Ronal’s gaze was transfixed on the man’s bushy moustache, which seemed to be moving on its own.

Lilyrose curtsied and thanked the man. She waited until he’d moved away before she turned to face Arthur and Ronal, eyes wide. “I thought I’d burst with the effort not to stare at his moustache.”

His smile widening, Arthur quickly looked down.

“It seemed to move on its own,” said Ronal.

“It didn’t simply move, my dear Ronal, it danced.”

As laughter bubbled up inside him, he raised his hand to hide his mouth.

After a while another younger man approached and engaged Arthur in conversation.

“Ronal.”

He turned to Lilyrose, brows raised. “Yes, my lady?”

“Is anything amiss?”

Her question was soft enough that he had to strain to hear her over the music and the rise and fall of people’s voices.

“Why do you ask, my lady?”

“I saw Margaret.”

Jerking his head back slightly, he tried to dismiss it then sighed, averting his gaze.

“Did she say something she shouldn’t have?”

Frowning, he slowly straightened. “How?”

All she did was smile.

He wondered if reading minds was a trait all women possessed. “I upset her.”

Lilyrose shook her head. “Because you wouldn’t dance with her.”

Ronal realised she hadn’t formed it as a question but a statement. “It wasn’t my intention–”

“Of course not. Don’t worry. I’ll speak with her,” she said, her smile widening.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Her hand on the door handle, Lilyrose paused. She hadn’t seen Margaret for the rest of the evening. After the celebration, Sarah had apologised for her daughter’s absence, saying she seemed to have caught a chill and had taken herself to bed. But Lilyrose knew the real reason.

Slipping into Margaret’s room, for they no longer shared, she stole to the bed, her free hand cupping the flame of the candle she carried. “Margaret?”

The lump under the sheets stirred.

“Margaret, it’s Lilyrose. Aunt Sarah said you’re feeling unwell.”

Margaret’s head peeked from under the sheets as Lilyrose placed the candle holder on the low table by the wall. “What’s wrong?” She knelt on the floor, her elbows on the bed.

Head on her pillow, Margaret mumbled something inaudible, rubbing the sheet against her eyes.

Lilyrose decided to take the direct approach. “Did something happen with Ronal? I saw the both of you talking.”

Margaret squeezed her eyes shut. “I just wanted, to dance.” Sniffing, she pushed the sheets down and slowly hauled herself up. “I wanted him to, dance with me. That’s all. He wouldn’t.” Her voice, thick from crying, kept catching. “He said-he said he enjoyed dancing; with me last year. But he-he wouldn’t.” She dissolved into fresh tears.

“Oh, Margaret.” Lilyrose sat on the bed and put her arm around her cousin.

“He kept saying he’s only a farrier’s son, but I don’t care.” Clutching at the sheets, she twisted them around her fingers. “Surely no one cares.”

“Obviously, we don’t. But other people care. It wouldn’t be seemly for, commoners to mix in so familiar a manner with nobility. Much as I don’t agree, Ronal is right, he must remember his place. The reason the guests don’t mind his presence at the celebration is because he’s Lord Edmund’s squire.”

Margaret sat quietly, pleating and folding the sheets. “Talk to him. If you ask him, I’m sure he’ll agree. He wouldn’t want to upset you.”

Leaning back slightly, a line deepening between her brows, Lilyrose said, “Ask him what?”

She turned fever-bright eyes to Lilyrose. “To spend time with me.”

Lilyrose fidgeted. “I don’t–”

“Please; for me, please.” She grabbed Lilyrose’s hands, trapping them in hers. “The guests will start leaving tomorrow, it’ll only be us. Please.”

The longer Lilyrose stayed silent, the more uncomfortable she became. Slowly extricating her hands, she stared at them on her lap. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be fair on Ronal, to make him do something he’s not comfortable doing.”

“You’re more concerned about him?”

Lilyrose met her hard gaze. “No. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Then ask him.”

“What for? Nothing will come of it.”

“You don’t know that.”

Wishing she hadn’t come, Lilyrose could only say, “I’m sorry.” The silence made her shiver, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at Margaret.

“Go.”

“Margaret–”

“Go.” She raised her voice, her face crumpling. “I don’t want you here.”

Flinching, her belly tightening, Lilyrose picked up the candle. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again and walked to the door. Margaret’s cold voice stopped her.

“It’s so easy for you. You have Arthur, you know who you’re going to marry. You don’t know what it’s like to have this uncertainty. I want. I just wanted…” Falling onto her pillow, her muffled sobs followed Lilyrose out of the room.

She shut the door behind her, her breath escaping noisily through clenched teeth. Lilyrose had bit back her retort, that Margaret’s uncertainty was nothing like hers. “I don’t even know if I’ll be alive to marry Arthur,” she whispered to the darkened corridor.