and I prepared for our almanack this year foretold its arrival, and it has come. Master Lilly, too, agreed with us. Perhaps there are things which we may not know…’
‘You dispute as well as any scholar,’ remarked Kit, fascinated by her, admiring first her full face turned towards him and then her profile, pure against the dark of the house.
‘So I have been taught,’ she answered. She had never spoken so long with any man other than her father and had not thought to spend an afternoon discoursing with one from Charles’s court. Nor had she thought that he would speak to her so gravely. Buckingham had always teased her, tried to make her talk nonsense, and had talked nonsense to her. She had no answer to that, so rarely answered him.
This man, now, was different. She stole a glance at Kit and admired his powerful face, his haughty pride, barely held in check. She knew he was proud because he bore the marks of it as the old text she had recently read had told her: ‘head high, eyes steady, mouth firm—he looks to the distant, not the near—carriage erect, voice sure’. To win his respect would be a fine thing, and already he spoke to her not as a woman to be lightly handled and then thrown away but as a fellow soul to dispute with, as he would have disputed with her father.
‘You do not believe in astrology, then, sir?’ she asked him as she would not have done had he merely played the light game of love with her.
‘I do not believe in anything that I cannot see, touch, or experiment with. I am with Prince Rupert in that,’ was his reply. ‘But, mistress, we must to the house again. The Duke and your father will wonder what has kept us and will not like to believe us if we say that we were having a most scholarly discourse. Such is not the usual converse of man and maid left alone together!’
Celia did not blush, or raise a hand to flap at him, but nodded her head in agreement. ‘I had forgot how long we had been alone,’ she said, ‘in the pleasure of our discourse. You are perhaps a member of the King’s great society which seeks to discover the secrets of the world in which we live.’
‘Most surely,’ agreed Kit, leading her back to the house. He was a little surprised that she knew of the Royal Society, but then if her father spoke freely to her of his work, and she had read widely, as it was plain that she had, then she was like to know of it.
‘Oh, I wish,’ said Celia wistfully, looking up at him so that Kit felt that he was about to drown in the grey waters of her eyes—and what a splendid death that would be—‘I wish that I were a man that I might be present and listen to the sages and the learned men speak. Sometimes when Father hath company I am allowed to be present, but I am not allowed to speak. I may merely listen.’
‘And what a waste—’ Kit was suddenly a gallant, a true member of the King’s dissolute court ‘—that would be. That you were a man, I mean, mistress. You are too fair to be a man.’
‘And that,’ she said gently, as they reached the door to the house where they could hear Adam and the Duke speaking together, both having drunk too well, and their voices rising and falling almost as though they were singing, ‘is what I most complain of. That it is my looks which men think of and never of me—the Celia who has thoughts and dreams that a man might have, but may rarely express them.’
She had thought him different but she had been wrong. He was a man and a courtier and he might dally for a moment with her and speak as he might have done to one of his fellows, but that was no matter, she was, forever and ever, merely a woman, and that she must endure.
Kit knew that he had sounded a false note, and that with it he had lost all that he had gained with her. But no matter. He could not believe that she was so different from all the other women he had known. Her wooing and winning would take longer, and would follow a different path, but the end would be the same—if only he guarded his tongue and showed to her that face of him which she would most like to see.
Buckingham lifted his glass mockingly to them as they entered the room. ‘Hast been a devil of a long time admiring the flowers, Kit, my boy. Or is that all you admired? Nay, do not answer me; I would not have the fair Celia put out of countenance. That would never do, my sweeting, would it?’ And he rose and bowed to her.
Kit felt a flash of anger at such boorishness. He saw that Adam had drunk too well to mind the Duke’s grossness, but he need not have feared for the lady at his side.
Celia curtsied and put out a hand to the dish on the table to take a sweetmeat from it, refusing the wine which the Duke’s servant offered her. ‘Why, Your Grace,’ she murmured, before she bit into the sweetmeat, ‘we did but speak of the plague and specifics against it. Sir Christopher was of a mind that an herb might be found, and so we spoke on. And of the King’s society, too. The flowers were not outfaced, I think. Was not that so, Sir Christopher?’
Kit made her a great leg, in respect for her wit, and the Duke gave a great shout.
‘Oh, the astrologer’s daughter is a pearl of great price!’ He turned to Adam, who was beaming at the compliment. ‘Why, man, when you bring my election to Court when thou hast finished it, bring thy daughter, too. Pearls are to be admired by all, not only by such lucky dogs as Kit and myself.’ And he threw back his head and laughed, the drink strong in him.
‘If you so command,’ replied Adam, too dazzled by such condescension to think of the dangers to his daughter of being seen by the denizens of Whitehall’s labyrinthine corridors.
Kit Carlyon’s reaction to the Duke’s carelessness was extraordinary. For a moment he felt a cold rage on the girl’s behalf, that she should be exposed as prey to those who might feed on her. After that came the thought, like cold water thrown over him, and what are thy intentions, Kit, friend of this whoremaster? What of the bet? What makes that of you?
He looked at her, smiling a small smile, a goblet in her hand from which she was drinking lemonade. He repressed his feelings. She’s but a woman after all, no better nor no worse than the rest, and he said again what he had said to himself on the day of his bet—she must take her chance, as we all must. If she be chaste, why, she’s in no danger, for I’ll never force her. I’ve never forced a woman yet.
Now why did Sir Christopher Carlyon walk through her head? He had nothing to do with her—she must forget him, which was difficult. He was with her when she rose the morning following the Duke’s visit and he walked with her on her chores about the house. He was a haughty ghost who bent his head and spoke kindly to her as few men had ever done.
Adam had a bad head, rose late and broke his fast lightly—food nauseated him, he said. He decided to work after noon, when his head might have cleared. He had had second thoughts about the Duke’s visit and, sober now, regretted that he had promised to take Celia to Whitehall. So far she had kept herself clear from that world, and he regretted even more that he had not persuaded her to marry and forget that she was the astrologer’s daughter.
‘You will receive Master Renwick when he comes, will you not, daughter?’ he asked her as she prepared to go shopping. ‘And you will be a good daughter, I know, and give him the answer he—and I—wish to hear.’
What could she say to that? He had been a kind father and she did not want to distress him but, talking to Kit Carlyon, brief though their speech had been, had made her even less inclined towards a marriage with Master Renwick. He was not an unkind man, she knew that without needing an astrological chart to tell her so, but he was not the man for her. Perhaps there was no man for her and, if so, then Amen to that. Except that her father did not want to hear that particular Amen!
‘I like Master Renwick as a friend,’ she said gently, her head
