“A medieval woman was the chattel of her husband,” their guide said, “to be used as her husband saw fit. Women had no power.”
Nicholas snorted loudly. “My father told my mother she was his property—once.”
“Sssh,” Dougless hissed, not wanting to be embarrassed by him.
They moved to a small, oak-paneled room where the darkness was oppressive. “Candles were very expensive,” the guide was saying, “so medieval man lived his life in gloom.”
Nicholas again started to speak, but Dougless frowned at him to be quiet. “Stop complaining, and, by the way, where’s your treasure?” she asked.
“I cannot seek treasure now. I must hear how your world thinks of mine,” he said. “Pray tell me why your people think we had no mirth?”
“With all the plague and big pox and small, plus trips to the barber to have your teeth torn out, we think you didn’t have time for fun.”
“We made use of the time we had,” he said as the group moved into another room. As soon as they entered, Nicholas opened a door concealed in the paneling, and as soon as he did, a loud buzzer went off. Dougless slammed the door shut, then gave a weak smile of apology to the tour guide, whose quelling look made her feel like a child caught with her hand in a cookie jar.
“Behave!” Dougless hissed at him. “If you want to leave, I’m ready.” His actions were embarrassing, and she feared that he just might start telling the guide that he had built this house, and he had lived here.
But Nicholas didn’t want to leave. He followed the guide through room after room, snorting now and then in derision, but saying nothing.
“We now come to our most popular room,” the guide said, and by the little smile she gave, her audience knew something amusing was coming up.
Nicholas, being taller, saw into the room before Dougless did. “We will leave now,” he said stiffly, but he said it in a way that made Dougless very much want to see what was in the room.
The guide began to speak. “This was Lord Nicholas Stafford’s private chamber, and, to put it politely, Lord Nicholas was what is known as a rake. As you can see, he was a very handsome man.”
When she heard that, Dougless pushed her way through the group to the front. There, hanging over the mantel, was a portrait of Lord Nicholas Stafford—her Nicholas. He was dressed just as she’d first seen him, wearing the beard and mustache she’d first seen, and he was just as handsome then as he was now.
Of course he wasn’t the same man, Dougless told herself, but she was willing to admit that the man she knew had to be a descendant.
The guide, smiling at what she felt was an amusing story, began to tell of Lord Nicholas’s exploits with various ladies. “It was said that no woman could withstand his charm once he set his mind to have her, so his enemies were concerned that if he went to court, he might seduce the young and beautiful Queen Elizabeth.”
Dougless felt Nicholas’s fingers biting into her shoulder. “I will take you to the t
reasure now,” he whispered into her ear.
She put her fingers to her lips for him to be quiet.
“In 1560,” the guide said, “there was a great scandal concerning Lady Arabella Sydney.” The guide paused.
“I wish to go now,” Nicholas said emphatically into her ear.
Dougless waved him away.
The guide continued. “It was said at the time that Lady Sydney’s fourth child was fathered by Lord Nicholas, who was some years younger than she. It was also said”—the guide’s voice lowered conspiratorily—“that the child was fathered on that table.”
There was a combined intake of breath as everyone looked at an oak trestle table standing against the wall.
“Furthermore,” the guide said, “Lord Nicholas—”
From the back of the room came a very loud buzzer. It went on then off, on then off, making it impossible for the guide to continue speaking.
“Would you mind!” the guide said, but the buzzer kept going on and off.
Dougless didn’t have to look to see who was opening and closing the alarmed door—or why he was doing it. Quickly, she began to make her way to the back of the group.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the guide said sternly, looking over the heads of the tourists to the back of the group. “You may go out the way you came.”
Grabbing Nicholas’s arm, Dougless pulled him away from the buzzing door and back through two rooms.