Buried Roses

VI

My audience with Uncle Richard didn't occur until early June. One month in sanctuary already felt like an eternity and part of me was desperate to get out. I needed to see something that wasn't the same narrow walls of our rooms or the rapidly dwindling piles of Queen Elizabeth's treasure. Confined to three rooms, I was starting to feel like a prisoner. Every inch of me craved room to breathe. The brief moments outside in the courtyard were never enough. Accustomed to following my father's royal household on progress through the realm, I wasn't used to the stillness of our new existence.

Although I wasn't well pleased to travel through the City in the heat, especially in such a fine gown. Lined with marten fur, the deep maroon swishing skirts made me feel like a princess. It was also hot as the Devil's arse.

A crass thought, but Papa used to say such things. I resisted the urge to scratch at the dress and roll up the sleeves. The early days of June offered little warmth, but the rich dress brought hellish heat.

It didn't help that I wasn't in the best of moods as I neared Crosby Place. I didn't find it fitting to dress in such riches or shed my mourning. But Queen Elizabeth insisted I do justice to York. The gown had been Cecily's. She had reluctantly surrendered it for the cause. It brought unwanted attention as people gawked at me like I was a princess. My cheeks burned. I wasn't meant to sparkle in the sun.

My knees buckled a bit as I reached Uncle Richard's London residence. Crosby Place was one of the tallest, grandest homes in the City. And though I resided in palaces as long as I could remember, it seemed altogether too grand after a month in sanctuary.

I wasn't foolish enough to disregard our sanctuary was luxurious compared to most of the citizens of London and that Queen Elizabeth filled it with more riches than Rome. But the walls smothered as days bled into each other. We could still venture outside, but there was always the pressing knowledge that we were trapped. Traveling through the City, the very space of everything overwhelmed me. People went about their business, shouting out casual greetings and just living.

I hesitantly followed a footman into Crosby Place. People milled about the spacious great hall, smiles on their faces instead of sorrow and suspicion. Light danced into the hall from the beautiful oriel window. Used to the shadows of sanctuary, I fought the urge to rub my eyes and hide from eyes and brightness.

The simple elegance of Crosby Place was a shock after living in cramped quarters with Queen Elizabeth's riches. Oaken furniture with subtle carvings and tapestries of religious scenes. My heart wrenched at the comfort. This place defined home, more than any place I had dwelled.

I braced myself for meeting Uncle Richard as Elizabeth's words of warning whirled through my mind.

"Gloucester is a hard, ruthless man with no mercy. Show him no clear challenge for he fears strong women. That is the only explanation for his spite toward me."

I swallowed. Never bold, I now feared inadvertently provoking the man. My gaze ran over the gentlemen, trying to discern which one was my heartless uncle.

"Grace?"

I jolted. Instead of facing my fearsome uncle, the attendant had led me up to a woman who could rival Queen Elizabeth for beauty. A kind smile graced her delicate face. Wisps of golden hair escaped her butterfly hennin. Rich blue skirts only emphasized her summer sky eyes.

If Queen Elizabeth was a goddess of the pagan days, this was a faerie. An ethereal figure, too good for this sinful earth.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. I tensed, unprepared for the affectionate greeting. I gave the occasional hug to Katherine and Bridget, but couldn't remember anyone hugging me since taking sanctuary.