Chapter 278: His Majesty’s Favourite
Soon, Livia arrived at the great withdrawing chamber. The other women were already gathered. They sat in small clusters.
Livia stepped inside with her head high. The conversations faltered at once. Every face turned towards her. She knew what they saw. The king’s favourite. The Italian. The possible whore. Perhaps, if any of them were feeling generous, the possible fool. Livia crossed the room and chose a seat near the middle. She had no wish to look frightened.
The moment she sat, several of the women moved closer. Margery reached her first.
"What happened last night?" Margery whispered.
Another woman leaned in. "They said Lord Ashcroft was taken."
"Is any of it true?" Margery asked.
Before Livia could answer, the doors opened. The room rose as one.
Theodora entered.
Behind her came six gentlemen. Livia understood the choice at once. Theodora had been clever. She had not brought ancient widowers with trembling hands and foul breath. No, Her Grace had chosen men the ladies could not easily object to, at least not by appearance. They were young enough to seem tolerable, finely dressed. One had golden hair and a nice smile. Another had dark, thoughtful eyes.
They looked pleasant. The women curtsied. Livia lowered herself with the rest of them, her body steady only because pride had taken command of her knees. Theodora’s gaze moved over the room and paused on her.
Then Her Grace smiled.
"Ladies," she said, "His Majesty, in his wisdom, has determined that each of you should be settled honourably and without delay. England is generous to women who conduct themselves with modesty."
Livia nearly laughed. Theodora began the introductions one by one. Margery was presented first, with soft remarks about breeding, sweetness, and obedience. The dark-haired Eleanor was introduced as accomplished in music and household management. The others followed, each woman reduced to a neat arrangement of virtues suitable for male consumption.
Beauty, modesty, bloodline.
Theodora saved Livia for last. "And this," Her Grace said, turning with exquisite cruelty, "is Livia Valenti."
Every gentleman looked at her.
Theodora allowed the pause to stretch. "His Majesty’s favourite."
The words did all the work Theodora wished it to do. It marked Livia as desired, spoiled, elevated in a single breath. Curiosity warmed into speculation.
Livia kept her face calm. Theodora clapped her hands. Servants entered with tea and cakes. The trays were laid out.
Tea was poured. The gentlemen began speaking with Theodora, asking questions in low voices, making polite observations. The ladies, meanwhile, were distracted in spite of themselves. They glanced at the men, then away. They looked uncertain, tempted by fair faces yet trapped by the horror of being handed to strangers.
Livia watched. While the room’s attention shifted towards Theodora and the gentlemen, she lowered her hand into her lap. Her fingers found the ring. Her thumb pressed the hidden catch. The tiny compartment opened.
The liquid inside was nearly colourless. Tabitha had prepared it herself. She tipped the ring over her cup.
The liquid fell into the tea. No one noticed. Livia closed the ring and lifted the cup with both hands.
Her heart pounded. Her stomach turned. She took the first sip. Across the room, Theodora laughed softly. Livia watched her over the rim of the cup and thought of Bella’s blood on the road, Lionel in the cells.
She drank.
It was not long before the gentlemen finished their first deliberation with Theodora and turned their attention towards her.
The men seemed more intrigued. Being named the king’s favourite had done exactly what Theodora intended. It made her valuable in a way men found difficult to resist.
They wanted to know what Henry had seen. They wanted to possess what had pleased a king. Men, Livia thought, were such simple creatures.
Theodora watched from her place as the men regarded Livia, entirely unconcerned with the reason for their interest. She did not care whether Livia was taken out of lust. As long as a husband claimed her before Henry returned, Her Grace would consider the board cleared.
In the end, Theodora chose the man of highest rank. The rest of the men had to settle for the others.
There were too many ladies to go round.
Theodora waved them away. "Those not selected may return to their chambers. You shall be advised when further arrangements are made."
The selected women remained. The men, naturally, looked pleased.
"So, gentlemen," Theodora said, drawing the room’s attention back to herself, "the weddings will be arranged for this evening. I have already informed the Archbishop. All you need do is present yourselves at the chapel when summoned. The dowries shall be delivered once the marriages are completed."
The men bowed in acknowledgement. Livia’s fingers tightened around the edge of her chair. The poison moved slowly at first. Tabitha had promised that it would not strike like a blade.
Livia breathed in through her mouth. Her mouth tasted bitter. Her chest felt tight.
"I shall give you a moment to speak with your intended brides," Theodora continued. She moved to the far end of the chamber and took a seat, folding her hands in her lap. Of course, when Her Grace said she would give them a moment, she meant a moment within hearing distance.
Lord Pembroke approached Livia. He was perhaps thirty, well-made, dark-haired, and richly dressed. His doublet was embroidered in silver thread, his beard trimmed with care, and his hands soft enough to suggest that he had never lifted anything heavier than a goblet. He bowed.
"Miss Valenti."
Livia raised her eyes to him. She gave him a strained smile. "My lord."
"I must confess," he said, lowering his voice, "I had not expected such beauty."
Livia’s stomach clenched harder. "You are kind."
"No, merely honest." His gaze moved over her face, her throat, the silk of her gown. "I must say, you look ravishing."
Livia wanted to vomit, and not only because the poison had begun to turn inside her. Who told a woman he had just met that she looked ravishing.
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