Satan's Mark

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He nodded. ‘Who are you writing to, Mother?’

‘A friend—no one you care for.’

‘A lover, I imagine.’ He smiled as she did not deny it, then wandered away to stare out at the gardens, which stretched down towards the riverbank. The river itself was hidden from his view by shrubs and trees, but he could picture it in his mind. Somewhere out there, Annelise was strolling with his friends. He was amused despite himself, despite the mood that had come upon him of late. She had them both eating out of her hands as though they were puppies at her beck and call. They were both devoted to her, ready to do her bidding at the flicker of an eyelid. She had won them both completely within the space of a few days. ‘Have you never loved anyone, Mother?’ he asked without turning round.

‘I have loved you, Justin.’ He made no reply, but she saw by the way he held himself that he did not quite believe her. ‘I might have come to love your father. I was fifteen when they married me to him. He took me for the dowry I brought him. He had his mistresses even then. I was the brood mare he needed to give himself an heir, no more. Once you were born he hardly bothered with me. Do you wonder that I found pleasure elsewhere?’

The quill snapped between Justin’s fingers. He would not look at her as he said, ‘Excuse me, Mother. I believe I see Mistress Woodward returning. I shall go to meet her.’

‘Justin…’

He did not look round as she called his name. Lady Emily sighed. As a boy, Justin had adored her. He had been such a loving, loveable child—until one summer’s afternoon, when he had discovered her in the garden wrapped in her lover’s arms. He had turned against her from that moment, becoming prone to moods and sudden fits of temper and causing her so much trouble that she had given in to his father’s demands that he should be sent away to the house of a relative, where he would complete his education.

She would never forget the look he had given her as he was taken away, a look that had spoken of betrayal and a broken heart. She had not seen him again until he had returned to join his father and fight for King Charles I—and by then he had been so changed she had not known him. The moods had gone, but there was a carelessness about him that disturbed her. He seemed to care for no one and nothing, though his manners were those of the perfect courtier—always gallant, always laughing and ready to rise to a challenge, as though his life meant nothing to him.

She often wondered what might have happened if she had kept him with her…but of course that had not been possible.