Resigned, Jennet dressed my hair. I put on my red velvet gown cut low at the neck and the sleeves wide and flowing almost to the hem. Not the height of fashion true, but indeed becoming, and with the comb in my hair I looked regal. I should need all the dignity I could muster to ward off the attentions of my intended bridegroom, I thought grimly.

Jennet stared at me wide-eyed.

“Why, Mistress, you look beautiful … too beautiful to be real.”

“I’m real enough, Jennet,” I said with a laugh.

She lowered her eyes and giggled. I spoke sharply to her. She knew that I was still resentful of the fact that she had sided with Jake Pennlyon against me. There was something knowing about her look. I wondered afterward whether Jennet, born to give pleasure to men, understood something of the nature of my feelings for this one, for try as I might to feign indifference, I was excited by him, albeit in hatred.

Honey came in and I immediately felt insignificant. But then everyone must before Honey’s brilliance. She was dressed in blue—deep violet blue, the color of her eyes, which accentuated their brilliance. Since she had become pregnant her beauty had changed a little and lost nothing for it.

She wore her hair about her shoulders and there was a circle of pearls about it.

She pressed my hand and looked at me anxiously.

“I’m all right, Honey,” I said.

“You look quite magnificent.”

I glanced at myself in the burnished mirror. “Like one of the Valkyries going into battle?”

“Yes,” she said, “a little like that.”

We were to ride to Lyon Court in the carriage. Edward’s carriage was a source of wonder to everyone, for few people possessed such a vehicle. Most must rely on horses or their own feet. It was uncomfortable riding in the carriage, which was drawn by two horses. People in Devon had never seen carriages before, but in view of the fact that we were dressed for the ball the carriage was very convenient. Otherwise, we should have had to take one of the mules to carry our gowns and ridden over and changed there.

I whispered to Honey as we jolted along over the rough roads: “Watch over me tonight.”

“We will,” replied Honey fervently. “Edward and I.”

“I shall be in his house. That will give him an advantage and he’ll take it, you can be sure.”

“You’ll outwit him.”

“Indeed I shall and then, Honey, I think perhaps I shall have to go home.”

“Edward and I have been talking about it. We think it is best for you. John Gregory will be leaving us and we shall be safe. He can prove nothing. Edward has influence. We shall be all right. You cannot marry to save us.”

“Tonight though I shall play this game of pretense. He will think that he has won the battle. I will let him believe that, so that he may have the greater shock when he faces defeat.”

“You enjoy this, Catharine. What has come over you? You were once so different.”

“It is this man. He arouses such feeling in me that I hardly know myself.”

“Take care, Catharine.”

“I shall take the utmost care to prove to him how much I despise him and that he shall never govern me.”

The carriage trundled along. Edward drove the horses and Honey and I sat behind him. Soon we were in the drive which led to Lyon Court. Under the elms we went and there was the house, lanterns on the porch lighting up the lions—gray stone and impregnable-looking in the moonlight.

Servants hurried out. There were grooms to take our horses and marvel at the carriage.

We were taken into the hall where the Pennlyons—father and son—were waiting to greet us.

The hall, lit by a hundred or so candles flickering in their sconces, looked very fine. At one end a great log fire burned although we were in September and it was not chilly. The long table was laid for the banquet and so was the smaller one on a dais at one end of the hall. In the minstrels’ gallery fiddlers were playing.

I was taken in Sir Penn’s arms and held firmly against his great body; he kissed me loudly and laughed over my head in Jake’s direction as though he were teasing him. Jake then took me from him. I drew myself away, but it was useless. I was firmly held, pressed tightly against him and his lips on mine.

Sir Penn was laughing. “Come, Jake,” he said. “You’ll have time for that later.” He nudged Edward in the side and Edward smiled faintly. The manners of these two must have been extremely distasteful to him.

Jake put his arm about me and swung me around. “You’ll stand with me to greet the guests.”

People arrived from neighboring houses. They congratulated us. It was embarrassing in the extreme and I was glad when we sat at table, which was weighed down with the great pies and joints of meat. There was venison, wild fowl, tarts, marchpane fancies, sugar bread, gingerbread and every kind of food that one could think of.

Jake Pennlyon was watching me, hoping, I knew, that I should be impressed by the quantities of food with which the table was laden. It was as though he were tempting me. See how we live! Look at our fine house! You will have a part in this. You will be mistress of it—but you will always remember who is the master.

I looked beyond the table, for I would not let him know that I was impressed. His hand was on my thigh, burning, probing fingers. I lifted his hand and put it from me, but he then gripped mine and held it against him.

“Your grip is too rough,” I said. “I do not wish to be covered in bruises.”

“Did I not tell you that I would set my mark upon you?”

“You may have said so, but I should not wish it.”

“And I must grant your wishes, I suppose.”

“It is customary during wooing.”

“But we have passed the wooing stage. You are won.”

“Indeed I am not.”

“Why, my Cat, this is our wedding feast.”

“My mother calls me Cat and she alone. I would not wish anyone else to use that name for me.”

“I shall call you what I like and you are to me a cat. You scratch, but you will be ere long purring in my arms.”

“I would not count on that if I were you.”

“But you are not me. You are your maddening self.”

“I am glad I exasperate you, for that is just the effect you have on me.”

“It is a fillip to our passion.”

“I feel no passion.”

“You delude yourself. Come try this malmsey wine. It will put you in a mellow mood and see we have Venetian glasses. We can be as fine as our neighbors.”

“Gracious living cannot be found in a glass. It is good manners that count.”

“And you find me lacking in them?”

“Deplorably so.”

“I promise you shall find me lacking in naught else.”

There had been food and to spare in the Abbey, but it had never been served in this way. To these people food was to be reverenced. The usher who brought in the boar’s head was preceded by one who kissed the table before laying it down and the usher, then having set the dish on the table, bowed low before it. One scullion was cuffed about the ears for standing with his back toward it. And when the sucking pig was brought in the minstrels in the gallery played and one of the servants walked solemnly before it singing of its virtues.

We had started to eat at six and at nine of the clock we were still at table. A great deal of wine and ale had been drunk. Jake and his father had set an example to their guests and I had never seen so much food consumed.

I was amused and elated to see that the wine was having its effect on them and I guessed that they would be easier to handle in such condition than they would be completely sober.

The minstrels played most of the time and there was one with a pleasant voice who came down from the gallery and sang a love song standing before the table and addressing his words to me and to Jake Pennlyon.

While the guests were eating confections of sugared spices and marchpane Jake ordered that a dance should be played, and taking me by the hand, he led me into the center of the hall.