Mary Willoughby

England, Summer 1560

Mary slipped in the back door breathing hard. Having lost track of time playing, she had had to run home. She stood in the doorway, vainly shaking her skirts to rid them of dust.

"Psst!"

She jerked, certain she had been found out. She looked around for a pair of accusing eyes, but instead found those of her brother, Francis. Tiny for his age because of a long sickness when he was four, at the best of times he looked simply young. At other times, like now with the sun setting behind the trees, wreathing him in shadows, he looked a step away from death. He beckoned her closer.

"Mother has been wondering where you were. She wants to present you to our aunt."

Mary's eyes widened, a frisson of excitement running through her.

"Our aunt? She's here?"

Francis nodded, already climbing the steps to the second floor. "I told her you were getting ready," he whispered over his shoulder.

A hot fist of anticipation gathered in the centre of her chest. She clamped her lips tightly to keep the scream of delight firmly inside.

Francis, sweet little brother that he was, had pulled out the clothes she would need. He stood watch by the door while she quickly changed, hiding her dust-covered dress under some linens. Later she would sneak it into the pile of clothes for the laundress, her mother never the wiser.

Finally presentable, Mary dashed downstairs as quietly as she could and stood hovering outside the door to the receiving room trying to calm her breathing, waiting for her mother to see her, to properly introduce her to their guest.

Mary clasped her fingers together tightly, willing her heart to slow down. Little sparks of energy ran up and down her body. She wanted to leap around the room, whirling and twirling.

This was the day.

She would see her aunt for the first time in years. Her aunt would love her and offer to house Mary to give her the best chance at an advantageous marriage. She would be presented at court and she would finally see the new queen. Queen Elizabeth. She would change the future of her family's fortunes. Mary let out a breath in a giddy rush, bouncing on her toes.

After an interminable wait, her mother signaled for Mary to enter.

Taking a quick breath, Mary stepped into the room, drinking in the sight of her aunt. Even in the fading light, the woman glowed. Mary didn't think even the queen herself could look so beautifully dressed as Lady Catherine was in silks and jewels. Their front room, the finest in the house, looked dull and drab, faded and threadbare by comparison. Mary's mother sat to the left of Lady Catherine, stiff as a poker, her navy blue gown, her best, blending in with the shadows.

"Lady Catherine, this is my eldest, Mary. You may remember her from our visit several years ago."

"It's lovely to see you again, my dear," Lady Catherine said as she raised a square of lace, dabbing her mouth.

Mary curtsied as deeply and gracefully as she had been taught, eyes drinking in every detail of her distinguished aunt, the Duchess of Suffolk. The pearls in her hair. The gold embroidery on her sleeves. Her dainty pointed shoes. Mary felt a flicker of envy. She would love to have shoes just like them.

Lady Catherine stood and walked slowly around Mary. Mary stood quietly, quelling the urge to fidget. She heard her mother speaking, telling Lady Catherine about Mary's lessons and her accomplishments. But Mary paid no attention. She tracked her aunt's progress by the rustle of her gown. She could feel her aunt's eyes scrutinizing every detail of her appearance from the errant wisp of hair that would never stay under the coif on her head, to the one spot of frayed lace on her underskirt, to the nails on her fingers. As Lady Catherine came around again, Mary caught a whiff of something spectacular. Her aunt smelled like a garden. Lady Catherine dabbed her mouth with her lace cloth. Up close, Mary could see it was exquisitely made, delicate and pure white. She peered closely at Mary's face.