Arthur and Catherine were sent for after being taken to Wiltshire, and Alice made sure to wear something as bright as the rubies cast on the Dowager Queen’s fingers for such an occasion. At last, it seemed, that the court was to reconvene at Hampton, leaving Alice to no longer be in fear of her safety but enveloped by the comfort of James Cecil instead. As she twisted her own jewels around her fingers, she could not help but give in to the ways of anxiety that swallowed her stomach whole, her blood then trembling against her wrists in constant pulsation that left Alice almost dizzy with ache. Rushed to the courtyard where the procession of their lost King had only just taken place, the Viscountess waited — following the Lord Privy Seal’s image as the crowd dispersed into smaller groups, Alice mirrored the actions of the many before then coming to his side with haste, her skirts against his legs, her face suddenly flushed with something unsaid, her countenance visibly changed from the norm.
As the world continued to move around them in waves of small talk, joyous whispers and loud exclamations, Alice sought only James, her eyes searching for his in some manner to coax his silent thoughts from him, to try and understand what had happened during their voyage across the wine-dark sea. Carefully, she shifted closer, her hand finding his between lappings of velvet, twisting her fingers against his own as the court began its slow return into murmur, Alice pressed just close enough to whisper beneath the hard shell of his ear, her index finger crooked around his in some lurid hope to tie herself to him before all of those people. “Dare I confess my ache?” Her voice all but a whisper, before she loosened herself from him, falling into a step just inches ahead of his person, her stature as if she were but a young girl, akin to when they had first met. @jamescecils