Open Road Media Romance

“I would have you, Isolde, despite the name FitzHugh that you bear. I would have you to wife.”

He dominated her, but she tamed him

Al‍­though Charles had suc‍­ceeded in con‍­vin‍­cing Elspeth to join the fam‍­ily at the table, his an‍­nounce‍­ment of their forth‍­com‍­ing nup‍­tials to Cous‍­in Hat‍­tie and Aunt Eu‍­genia did not cause an out‍­pour‍­ing of good will.

It was a still and lovely summer afternoon when the train of riders, headed by the King, turned into Hever Castle. He rode a head taller than the others and, after setting a gruelling pace from London, he was still fresh. At thirty-four Henry VIII was in his physical prime. He was tall and massively built; he still wrestled and maintained his reputation as the most formidable sportsman in the country.

He had called his gentlemen and ridden out of Greenwich Palace on an impulse to visit his new comptroller, see the Kentish countryside, and rest for a few hours at Hever before returning to London. The King had made the Lord of Hever a peer when he gave him the post of comptroller a short time before, and Sir Thomas Boleyn, grandson of a London merchant, had become Viscount Rochford. As the cavalcade trotted

he still wrestled and maintained his reputation as the most formidable sportsman in the country.

assured her placidly. “Please don’t trouble

JUDAS!”

Lily whipped her hand away from the red-hot handle of the roasting spit and flapped her fingers in the smoky air. “Ow, ow, ow,” she yelped—softly, so her guests couldn’t hear. Gripping her wrist, she squeezed her watering eyes shut as a blade of intense irritation sliced through her, so sharp it almost eclipsed the pain. It was at times like this when she wished she knew more swear words.

The roast pork was black, ruined; even the grease in the pan was only a dried-up charcoal glaze. Fanny, of course, was nowhere in sight; her twelve-year-old maid-of-all-work must have gone home as soon as she’d put the meat on the spit, no doubt expecting it to turn itself. Maid-of-no-work was a likelier title, fumed Lily. But what in God’s name was she going to feed them now?

One
“JUDAS!”

Lily whipped her hand away from the red-hot handle of the roasting spit and flapped her fingers in the smoky air. “Ow, ow, ow,” she yelped—softly, so her guests couldn’t hear. Gripping her wrist, she squeezed her watering eyes shut as a blade of intense irritation sliced through her, so sharp it almost eclipsed the pain. It was at times like this when she wished she knew more swear words.

The roast pork was black, ruined; even the grease in the pan was only a dried-up charcoal glaze. Fanny, of course, was nowhere in sight; her twelve-year-old maid-of-all-work must have gone home as soon as she’d put the meat on the spit, no doubt expecting it to turn itself. Maid-of-no-work was a likelier title, fumed Lily. But what in God’s name was she going to feed them now?

JUDAS!”

Lily whipped her hand away from the red-hot handle of the roasting spit and flapped her fingers in the smoky air. “Ow, ow, ow,” she yelped—softly, so her guests couldn’t hear. Gripping her wrist, she squeezed her watering eyes shut as a blade of intense irritation sliced through her, so sharp it almost eclipsed the pain. It was at times like this when she wished she knew more swear words.

The roast pork was black, ruined; even the grease in the pan was only a dried-up charcoal glaze. Fanny, of course, was nowhere in sight; her twelve-year-old maid-of-all-work must have gone home as soon as she’d put the meat on the spit, no doubt expecting it to turn itself. Maid-of-no-work was a likelier title, fumed Lily. But what in God’s name was she going to feed them now

Blue 1, Blue 2, Red 3 (erythrosine), Green 3, Yellow 5 (tartrazine) and Yellow 6.