From the moment I step into the hustle of the courtyard, I realize I have been thrown into the madness which is the English court. The court is a mass of silk dresses, courtiers, servants—all of whom with names with unusual pronunciations.
The few introductions of the English men and women leave my tongue feeling thick in my mouth and my memory overflowing with similar pallid faces and already fading titles. It seems exhausting, but I know there are many, many, more courtiers for me to meet.
Whitehall stands as a stone maze. The mass of corridors and walls interlink into a pattern I have not quite worked out yet. Joan navigates them easily, though, having been here before. So I follow her without much thought.
We stop several times on our walk along the narrow passageways as Joan greets acquaintances. She has not been present at court for some time, but those who greet her do so politely, with nothing amiss—acting as if she has always been present among them.
We finally turn into a chamber that is not overrun by people. The sudden quietness makes me aware that we are now somewhere private. We walk in the communal room, where I admire an expansive table and a large looming fireplace.
"We will be sharing a room together, you and I." She opens a side door as she speaks.
I try to hide my thoughts from her and smile in masked excitement. I do not expect to be sharing a room with her. It is strange that she should be sharing with me, when her husband Lord Howard has vast rooms in this palace. She should be sharing his bed, not mine.
Joan looks across at me automatically and reads my thoughts. "When he told me his decision, I had to agree. His mind was made up not to have me. I will not force the issue as it will only anger him," she hisses in frustration. "He places me in different rooms from him. He lets everyone know that I, his wife, do not share his bed."
She moves across the room, taking my hand in hers, and looks around. She makes sure we are alone before releasing her anger. "These courtiers are gossiping fishwives, Kat. They have nothing better to do with their day and my husband has just handed them a juicy fish tale. They will be talking about this for weeks." She throws herself back onto the bed.
"I do not understand. His request does seem legitimate, is it not?" I already know the answer, but I ask only to soften the blow.
She cackles into the nearest pillow. "He has his own selection of rooms, he is the Kingsman. He could have placed you opposite our bedchamber and you would have enjoyed a room to yourself. Instead, he has placed us away, in one of his furthest rooms, while he takes up residence with his mistress."
I do not know how to respond to my sister's cackling. I am concerned for her; these stone walls echo too loudly, which can only bring prying ears clear information. "Is it not too obvious. Will he not be frowned upon for taking a mistress to his room, so openly, while his wife is here at the court?"
A pillow flies across the room, hitting me squarely in the face. I yelp in surprise. "Joan! What was that for? I am only trying to offer support."
"Your support is currently not helping. Adultery in a man does not need to be hidden, it is accepted here, even if it is done publicly. It is not fair. If I or any married woman did the same, we would not be so respected, but shunned." She speaks slowly, as if speaking to an uneducated child.
I sigh and move towards the bed. "I do not understand their ways. What of Philip? He is most liked, you say. Can he find no way to help bring your husband to you?" I speak softly.
"Philip is too busy whoring himself to these women. He would never speak against one who cheats on his wife, for as soon as he is married, he will do the same thing," she quips.
My sister's prediction feels right. Our brother will not take kindly to having one woman for his bed. He will be an adulterer like his brother-in-law and will become more respected by his English companions for it.
"Perhaps, you are thinking all wrong. Men are simple creatures, are they not? Can you not make him jealous?" I ask.
Joan wipes away a stray tear and looks up at me with interest. "You are not as naive as I first expected, sister. I can make him jealous without stepping too far," she says gleefully.
I smile towards her gleaming face. "We could become the most desirable sisters at court! You could make your husband green with envy and I shall try for the King. No man will ever overlook us," I say dreamily.
She smiles at my words of hope. We both know it will be a hard task to accomplish. Her husband will not take kindly to a wife wanton in behavior, but we are allowed our little hopes and dreams, as long as we do not take them too far.
"We could always find his mistress and make her look ugly," I propose.
"What do you mean, make her ugly?" Joan asks.
I look at her with a glint in my eye. "You know what I mean." I whisper as quietly as I
can manage. "Do not tell me you have not thought about it."
She seems to consider the thought, but then she raises her brow. She looks at me with
thought. "Do not be silly. Those superstitious tales our mother told us . . . none of them are true." I look at Joan. "Now who is playing the fool? You know as well as I do that we could
make such a thing happen. Perhaps we could give her itchy warts or a mark across her skin?" "Kat . . . These folk tales are far too dangerous a thing to try to attempt. At any rate, it will do us no good. We do not even know how to do it and the results would be fruitless," she
whispers.
I smile mischievously. "I have done it before, sister."
"Made a lady ugly? Who and when?" Joan seems appalled.
"No. Not ugly but . . ." I choose my words carefully. "I made something move from one
place to another!" I say excitedly.
"Enough of this, Kat. There is a reason we do not speak of such tales inside and you
know it. Leave this talk to the gossips and out of court. We will do this the old fashioned way."