ROMANTIC VENTURE

CHAPTER TWO

Though baths were not a normal part of Elizabethan life, Edyth insisted upon them for Maurette, as she had for Maurette's mother, Lady Elaine. Edyth's French ancestry set her rather wickedly apart from the staid old English traditions. And though in every way a proper Elizabethan woman, Edyth made no secret of the fact that she enjoyed this refinement in her status.

So it was that Maurette now found herself lolling in a warm bath as Edyth bustled about the chamber preparing Maurette's attire for the evening's ball. In all too short a time, Edyth stood over her charge and bade her rise from the consoling depths of the water. Maurette closed her eyes in weary dismissal of the woman's admonition that her bath was ended.

"Please allow me this respite," Maurette said tiredly.

Already this night she had caused more than her share of calamity. In all good conscience, Maurette could not blame her mother's concern over her behavior. However, Maurette absolved herself in the knowledge that these incidents, such as the ones tonight, never happened by design but always by caprice of fate. Maurette was not by nature given to contrivance, wanting nothing more than to lead a quiet life, to be free to chart her own course. She wished to ride out and hunt in the fields of her Father's country estate at Islington, to read and reread the poems of Master Marlowe and, at the moment, to simply stay in her warm bath a while longer.

One lavender eye opened and targeted the too efficient Edyth.

"First the French give us baths," Maurette complained, "and then they take them away." She rose reluctantly from the tub and allowed the older woman to towel her dry with, Maurette felt, the overabundance of energy that had always characterized her tiring woman. Tiring woman, Maurette huffed inwardly, the woman never tired.

Edyth held out the younger woman's stiff corset. "You will step in,,' she said patiently.

"I should rather be clothed in breeches, dear Edyth, than in that metal wolf trap."

Edyth regarded her with a cocked eyebrow. "And I might as well be stable-boy to that rascal Dudley; than tiring woman to a coltish girl."

Maurette smiled at Edyth's sarcasm. The woman had been with the family for decades. She was now in her sixties and more tart-tongued than ever. Maurette's grandmother, Lady Violet, was the only member of the family with whom Edyth would converse on a personal level. "Your grandmama is the only person I have ever met," Edyth often remarked, "who knows how to treat the servants."

Indeed the elderly but still beautiful countess did have a way with servants and gentry alike. She had survived her titled and rich privateer husband, Lord Audley, and was now situated comfortably with her daughter and much respected son-in-law. To the amazement and amusement of all who knew her, she traveled in royal and decidedly non-royal circles with equal ease. On any given day, Lady Violet was as likely to be found in the kitchens or the root cellars of Harper House, entertaining the servants with bawdy sea stories as she was to be found sipping wine with the gentry in the great hall. All were in awe of her venerable and, it was whispered, intimate friendship with the queen. Though the countess herself rarely spoke of it, the invitations she received to Elizabeth's various residences throughout the year gave evidence of that relationship. It was rumored that Lady Violet had advised Her Royal Highness on more than one occasion, not only on personal matters but also on affairs of state. For all of that Lady Violet remained a humble woman. She was much loved for that virtue as well as for the mutinous little sparkle that often appeared in her lively eyes.

"I fear the instincts of rebellion run in my veins," Maurette sighed with good-natured forbearance as Edyth prodded and poked her into her corset. "I received a great deal of trouble for those instincts this night," she added as she sat down, stiff-backed, before her mirror.

"'Tis, in truth, the talk of the house," said Edyth pursing her lips. She began the arduous task of dressing Maurette's golden and defiant curls.

"Shall I receive a dressing down from you, dear Edyth?" asked Maurette eyeing her tiring woman's reflection in the glass.

Edyth chuckled low in her throat. "You'll get no remonstrance from me, little lady. I am tickled by insurrection, especially where it concerns that biddy, Lady Elspeth. As to the other"-here Edyth shrugged a plump shoulder-"your grandmama and I know about men and their ways. We have spent many hours discussing both the merits and the wickedness of men." She wound a curl tightly and stabbed at it with a pin as though emphasizing her point.

Maurette laughed and gazed back at her own reflection. She could not help but note her resemblance to her grandmother. Her eyes were large like Lady Violet's and slanted piquantly at the corners. But where Lady Violet's eyes had the sapphire sparkle of a sun-silvered ocean, Maurette's were a warm opaline lavender. She brushed her fingertips over the gentle roundness of her cheekbones and along her jaw to the delicately cleft chin, which, like her grandmother's, had been thrust out in defiance on more than one occasion. Though the countess had, in recent times, begun showing signs of her sixty-odd years, her skin retained the porcelain translucency that had made her a legendary beauty and that Maurette had inherited.

Beyond their remarkable physical beauty, the two women shared an extraordinary strength of will and a passionate need for self-respect that was rare for women of the sixteenth century Also, Maurette, like her grandmother, felt the desire to occasionally shock the natural order just enough to make it give itself a much-needed reappraisal, whereas Elaine Harper embraced the musty traditions to which the English gentry was expected to adhere. Nature had doubled back in the case of her daughter, for Maurette, like her grandmother, was possessed of a predilection to amend those traditions when the need arose.

Poor Imogene, thought Maurette. As the younger daughter, she faced a confusing labyrinth of models. She undoubtedly wanted to please their mother and did so to an extent that Maurette deemed noble. But Imogene shared with Maurette the influence of the dauntless Lady Violet. Though Imogene occasionally reproved a tired dogma and openly admired her older sister's boldness, she was too much her mother's daughter to give herself completely to that kind of rebellion. Imogene would think of Maurette always as the expert climber of yew trees when at their father's estate up at Islington but would, herself, worry endlessly over torn slippers and grass-stained gowns.

At that moment, the object of Maurette's musings burst into the room. In a froth of sparkling blue brocade, the blond and bouncy Imogene bubbled through the chamber door.

"Oh, Maurette!" she cried. "0h, Mama is piqued. Can you not hurry?" Imogene spoke in gasps as she rustled from one end of the room to the other. "Please, darling Edyth," she pleaded, "make your usual wonderful work of Maurette's hair, but please, please make it apace. Our mother fumes and keeps watching the staircase."

Imogene's forehead wrinkled in perplexity when she realized that her sense of urgency had encouraged the other two women not at all. Edyth calmly continued pulling Maurette's wild curls into place; Maurette sat very still and silent, and, unbelievably, she wore a small smile upon her lips.

"You shall not smile long, dear sister," said Imogene balefully. "Everyone awaits. 'Tis most indelicate of you to be late for your own ball."

"Thank you for your concern," said Maurette with maddening calm. "I shall heed your admonishment. I shall hurry, shan't we, Edyth?"

Imogene eyed them both with rueful petulance. "You have no intention of hurrying-either of you. And you must, you know," she added excitedly. "He awaits."

Maurette arched a brow at her sister. "Who awaits?"

"Why-him, of course," said Imogene with genuine incredulity. "Darling Maurette, can you so easily forget the masterful gentleman who aided you so gallantly?"

"He helped me as any gentleman would help a lady in similar circumstances," stated Maurette archly.

"Not many ladies come into such circumstances," said Imogene with ingenuous candidness. "And for all of that, he watches for your entrance even as he speaks ever so seriously with our father." Imogene hugged herself. "Such a handsome gentleman, that dark stranger. And," she added shyly "a match for my bold sister, methinks." Then in an abrupt change of attitude, she ran to Maurette's side and impetuously hugged her. "You will hurry?" she asked. "Just perhaps we have found at last a worthy suitor for you, and I cannot wait to See what happens." Imogene pulled herself away from her sister and danced, giggling infectiously, round the room. Maurette and Edyth could not help passing a smile between them. "'Tis so romantic," Imogene rhapsodized. Giving Maurette one last quick embrace, she bustled smiling from the chamber.

At her sister's exit, Maurette sighed. The child wore patience to the bone. Of course the stranger was not waiting for Maurette. For all his attentions, he had seemed arrogant and certainly ignorant of whatever charms Imogene imagined her older sister possessed. And even if he did, in truth, await her, Maurette was not so sure that she was even vaguely interested in that circumstance.

He was, as Imogene had pointed out, handsome-in a rough sort of way, but his features were far too outrageous to turn a lady's head. He had a hawklike nose, Maurette remembered, staring into the mirror at her own small tilted one. His lips were firm as if carved in bronze. He probably never smiled, thought Maurette, pushing the picture of his ready smile from her memory. His raven hair was almost silver in the rooms light, and the rough cut was far too short to be fashionable. The man was obviously not a gentleman for all his fine garments. His eyes, for one thing, were far too searching and brazen for a man of breeding. The way he had held her in his silver gaze made her blush even now. 'Twas almost as if he had disrobed her, she thought hotly.

She could not shrug off that penetrating state with which he had so coarsely done away with her most practiced defenses. The young men of her acquaintance, all their drunken brashness, had never shown her that kind of discourtesy. The man who had supposedly aided her, Maurette decided, was quite simply one of those vulgar savages who had made their money and fame by pure villainy. Alex Harper, owner of one of England's most powerful merchant fleets, had provided his daughter with glimpses of such men throughout her life. They were pirates and scoundrels and soldiers of fortune who wormed their way into the good graces of the gentry solely on the basis of ambition and a certain unholy charm.

Maurette was not about to be taken in by that charm, she decided scornfully. Such a man might beguile the likes of little Imogene, but not of herself.

Maurette looked up abruptly to find Edyth regarding her determined reflection. Maurette smiled weakly to hide her passion. "My thoughts are unguarded, dear Edyth," she said sheepishly.

"Men," spat Edyth and continued her efforts with Maurette's thick tresses. "They always leave us with our guard down, child."

Maurette hastened to change the subject. Looking at the miracle Edyth had worked on her unruly mass of flaxen curls, she said happily, "You have exceeded yourself, Edyth." Her hair was waved up and away from her face in a heart-shaped coif atop her head. Gentle curls framed her face and neck. "Can we not darken my eyelids?" Maurette added hopefully.

Edyth rolled her dark eyes. "No kohl," she said slipping Maurette's petticoats over the girl's head with care. "No Spanish paper and no ruff," she added emphatically. "Nothing must overshadow the beauty of this." Edyth turned away from the mirror, and when she faced it again, she was holding the most exquisite gown that Maurette had ever seen.

She gazed in wonder at the cloud of white Chantilly lace that had been cherished and lovingly stored for many years by Lady Violet. Into its pristine folds had been sewn eighteen perfect amethysts, also a gift from the dowager countess. The underskirting was of the palest ivory silk.

"Your grandmama has seen to it," said Edyth pridefully, "That you will be the most beautiful lady at your birthday ball."

"She would be in any event," a dear, gentle voice said from behind Maurette.

"Oh, Grandmama," Maurette cried and rushed to put her arms round the older woman. "'Tis breathtaking. Thank you."

"You will wear it well, my darling," said Lady Violet and embraced her granddaughter warmly. "I think 'twill impress a certain tall courtier," she added merrily.

"Courtier?" Maurette repeated dumbly. She allowed Edyth to slip the enchanting gown over her head as she spoke. "Did you call him 'courtier'?"

"I did, child," said the countess, lowering herself into a chair by the fire.

"Are you speaking of the stranger who . .. aided me earlier?"

"None other."

"Who is he, Grandmama?" Maurette asked excitedly.

"He is Lord Dominic Warbrooke, Duke of Ravenshead." Lady Violet eyed her granddaughter as one who has just dropped a heavy object purposely in a roomful of praying Puritans. She waited for and received the appropriate measure of astonishment before she continued. "He is, perforce, better known as the Silver Raven."

Maurette gasped audibly "The Silver Raven," she breathed. Lady Violet nodded. Maurette lowered herself to her knees before her grandmother. To Lady Violet's delight, the girl's voice and manner were chilled with awe. "I always believed the Silver Raven was an imaginary character, much in the manner of Robin Hood or some such legendary figure."

Lady Violet laughed. "Oh, he is legendary-at the least as legendary as the young Robin - but he is hardly imaginary. His presence in your father's house is proof against that."

"I have heard wondrous and terrible tales about him, but I thought them figments of someone's imagination."

"The tales are most likely true, my darling," said Lady Violet. "He was with Drake in '79 when that great man sailed round the world. Then Lord Warbrooke's own ship, the Raven, was sent with the queen's sanction to sail the Spanish Main in search of gold and silver. His adventures there earned him the title the Silver Raven." Lady Violet leaned down toward her granddaughter. Her voice became confidential. "Lord Warbrooke's influence with Her Majesty is said to rival even Robin Dudley's."

Maurette's eyes widened. She stood slowly and turned back to the mirror where Edyth was waiting to finish her work. "He is not then a ruffian," the girl said reflectively as she sat down.

"Ah, no, dearest," said Lady Violet laughing placidly. "He is very far from that."

She stood and moved to where Maurette was sitting and allowing Edyth's final ministrations with an uncharacteristic lack of interference. When one particularly errant tress defied Edyth's careful attention to Maurette's hair, Lady Violet stopped the tiring woman's hand when she would have tamed it, and the curl fell sweetly over Maurette's white shoulder.

"Nothing must be too perfect, my friend," Lady Violet said contentedly. Edyth nodded, and both women stepped back.

They watched Maurette rise and set her shoulders regally. A slow unguarded smile crossed her lips as she turned to them. "When a ravening beast is finally bearded, I am told, he can be among the most devoted of companions." She gave an impish wink and then floated from the room, gliding easily on a cloud of lace and ivory silk.

"In any event," sighed Lady Violet, "She has the armaments with which to tame that lusty bird of prey." The countess smiled. She and Edyth stood shoulder to shoulder in the bittersweet realization that their little Maurette had left the protection of their counsel forever. "'Tis well, don't you think, to enjoy the pleasures of youth vicariously?"

Edyth regarded her titled friend and, remembering her own youth and a certain big handsome Scotsman who had both pained and pleasured her, nodded. "'Tis so much easier this way."