A Dangerous Inheritance (33 page)

“Forgive me if I have said too much,” I say, feeling as if I have overstepped all kinds of bounds. “It’s just that we share a sad history, and you understand how I feel, and have been so kind to listen.”

“And will be kinder still, if I am let,” Ned murmurs, his beautiful
eyes holding mine. He stoops, plucks a marigold, and presents it to me with a courtly bow. His gaze becomes more intent.

“You are so very beautiful,” he breathes. “You looked to me like a heavenly vision coming toward me along the yew walk that day. They told me you had grown into a charming young lady, and they did not lie. But you are so much more than that, my dear Katherine—if I may …”

My heart has begun to beat very fast. I want him—not in the desperate and naïve way I wanted Harry, but as an older and wiser young woman who knows that this man is the one. And so it seems the most natural thing in the world to go into his arms in the healing peace of his magical garden.

It seems that our idyll will last forever. My sweet Ned cannot do enough for me. Safe and happy at last in this beautiful place, and far from the court with its tainted air, I find that I can love again. In Ned’s arms, I am healed.

Thrown together by circumstance, we snatch every opportunity to enjoy our freedom. With Jane often in tow, we spend long hours riding around the estate and the deer park where once King Harry hunted buck and hare with Anne Boleyn. We wander laughing through the orchard and along the hedgerows, filling our baskets with ripe fruit or cramming it in our mouths, giggling as the juice runs down our chins. We visit the aviary and try to teach the birds to talk. We throw stones in the moat, seeing who can make the biggest splash. We are young and silly, yet it matters not. The only people we have to please are ourselves.

We might be running wild, Ned and I, but we are well behaved, tempted though we might be to be otherwise. We frolic shrieking in
our
garden, as it has become, or in the long grass, Ned tickling me and I fighting him off, yet we cannot ignore the needs of our bodies, and tickling often turns to cuddling and kissing. Such sweet caresses we share as we lie together under God’s great blue Heaven! Whenever we are alone, which we contrive often, we slowly savor the delights of fingertips on skin, tongue on tongue, cheek on cheek, and Ned’s urgent hands wandering adventurously over my bodice and skirts. As we
cling to each other, I can feel his hardness against me, even through the stiff material of his codpiece and my petticoats. Yet that is as far as it goes. Always one or both of us will pull back; for it seems that our spacious days at Hanworth must go on forever, and that we have all the leisure in the world to enjoy each other.

There are, of course, other reasons for our caution. I am reluctant to abuse the hospitality and kindness of Ned’s mother, knowing it would reflect badly on her, my good guardian, if I was discovered to have fallen from virtue under her roof. And Ned respects me too much to tumble me like a lewd dairymaid, even though he is mad for me.

Jane encourages us. I have seen her watching me approvingly as I frolic with her brother. And one day, as we are out walking, and he is striding ahead with his bow, she sidles up to me and whispers, “Ned has asked me to break with you the subject of marriage.”

I stare at her. It would suit her ambition—and that of her mother—to have him marry one who is close in blood to the throne, for the Seymours have had a taste of royalty and are hungry for more. And yet I cannot suspect her of mere calculation, for her warmth toward me is unquestionably genuine, as is her love for her brother. Were he to wed one in whom ambition and affection were combined, she—who lives through him, forbidden her own marriage—would be the happiest lady alive. Apart from me, that is!

“Well,” I say, “I would he would break it himself.”

“I
told
him that it was not the office of a sister to play Cupid!” She giggles. “But you would not be averse?”

“I will think on it,” I say, and race ahead to catch up with Ned.

There comes a day of glorious weather when Jane is picking blackberries some way off, and Ned and I are sitting at the edge of the lake, with our dogs lazing beside us. I marvel once again how far I am removed from the sad girl I was four years ago. That girl was miserable and defeated, thinking there was nothing left for her in life. But not now. Oh, not now! This girl is in love.

My bare feet are splashing in the water, my skirts pulled up over my knees, exposing my sun-browned legs. Ned has his fishing rod, but has not caught anything yet.

“Katherine,” he says, “I must return to court soon.”

I am shocked. This idyll cannot be allowed to end, nor the world to intrude upon it. “For long?” I ask plaintively.

“I must take my rightful place there,” he replies, not looking at me. “This summer has been the best of my life, but I cannot remain here in idleness when there are honors to be won.”

“I would you did not have to go,” I whisper.

“I must make my way in the world, Katherine,” he tells me. “And maybe I have more need now to store up treasure for the future.” He looks at me meaningfully, and I realize what he means. “When I go to court, sweetheart, I want to take with me your promise that you will become my wife.”

I can see the longing burning in his eyes. How could I ever resist him? He is my Adonis, and so fine and comely in every way. To be his wife will be a foretaste of Paradise; indeed, who would need Paradise, having the love of such a one on Earth?

I cannot speak. Ned takes my hand and raises it to his lips. “Say you will, Katherine!” he urges.

All other considerations fly away on the summer breeze: the Queen’s wishes, my mother’s, my royal status, the succession …

“How could I not?” I whisper, and then I am in his arms, lying on my back on the lush grass, his mouth devouring mine with kisses. He is perfection, I think, melting with happiness, as I clasp him ever tighter and surrender to the pleasure of being close to him. And there the duchess finds us, as she strides across the park with her dogs.

She does not berate us, or beat us with her cane, as I fear for a moment she will, as we scramble to our feet and stand there flushed, aware of our disheveled state. Instead she bids us put on our shoes and follow her back to the house immediately, then goes striding ahead.

“Fear not, sweetheart,” Ned says. “We have done no wrong. We will be married, I swear it. My mother will agree, I have no doubt, and when I get to court, I will obtain the Queen’s permission. Be strong! All will be well, you’ll see.”

——

We stand before the duchess in the great hall. She sits regal in her high-backed chair, like a queen sitting in judgment, with a keen-eyed Jane standing behind her—and she comes to the point straightaway.

“Tell me, Ned, what are your intentions toward Katherine?”

“I love her, my lady,” he tells her, taking my hand, and I thrill to hear the pride in his voice. “We have reached an understanding. We wish to marry, when it shall please you and the Queen.”

“So, my son would have another Grey bride. It might please me, but it may not please Her Majesty,” the duchess says. “You might be wise to forget all about it.” I tremble at that, yet I sense she would be delighted if this marriage came to pass.

“You know that you risk angering the Queen by this entanglement? And that she might be angry that it has gone so far without her sanction? She has no child of her body to succeed her, and many look to Katherine as her heir. But Katherine is a Catholic, and Mary is unlikely to countenance her marrying a Protestant, for a wife must be subject to her husband, and the Queen’s chief concern is to preserve the Catholic faith in England. So it is not a good time to be thinking of marriage. The answer would be no, however kindly Her Majesty might look on both of you.”

“I will wait for as long as I must to make Katherine my wife,” Ned vows, and turns to me. “It will be worth it, my lady, will it not?”

“I would wait forever for you, my lord,” I declare.

Soon, it seems that we might indeed wait forever. Ned goes off to court, leaving me to mope at Hanworth without him, driving poor Jane crazy with my need to speak ceaselessly of my beloved—although mostly she encourages it. The days turn into weeks, and still I languish bereft, surviving from letter to letter. I have those letters under my pillow; they are creased from constant reading and the kisses I cover them with. Ned writes so lovingly, so ardently; I can hear his voice murmuring the tender words.

There is no point in remaining in the country anymore. I cannot bear being at Hanworth without Ned. Jane is better, and we have prolonged our excuses for too long. And so we return to court. Here, Ned
and I see each other only infrequently, for neither of us wants to be thought in any way disloyal to Queen Mary. We have to be content with furtive embraces snatched in secluded corners. And, more often than not, someone is coming.

November 1483; Middleham Castle, Yorkshire

It was a hard winter, and the wind whistled around Middleham like a vengeful boggart, but that was the least of their troubles. Daily, the Queen and Kate looked for news from the South. It was frustrating, and frightening, being immured here in Yorkshire, not knowing what was happening.

There had been messengers, riding lathered and weary up to the castle from time to time. They brought news that Henry Tudor’s fleet had sailed but was driven back toward Brittany by a great storm. On that day, Kate had gone to the chapel with Queen Anne and her brothers, and they all thanked God on their knees for His mercy and grace.

Next they heard, the King had proclaimed Buckingham a traitor and a rebel, but that had not deterred the treacherous duke from raising his standard and marching south toward the River Severn, clearly aiming to meet up with other traitors in the West and South. But the King had put a price of a thousand pounds on his head now, and advanced from Leicester at the head of a great army.

Kate was desperate to know what was happening, but Anne had withdrawn into herself. The cold weather, the constant damp, and the drafts had made her cough worse, and she looked pale and weary. She was at her happiest when helping Edward with his lessons or telling him stories by the fire. Then she became much more animated. But at other times, she would not discuss the present situation. True daughter of the Kingmaker that she was, she said she would face with courage whatever came. But her anxiety was graven in new lines on her pale face for all to see.

——

For ten days, gales swept vengefully over the troubled kingdom, then the weather settled and a wintry sun came out, bringing in its wake another messenger sporting the white boar badge. There had been no battle, he said; there was no need for one. The gales had done the King’s work for him. Buckingham’s men had deserted, and the duke had sought refuge in the Forest of Dean, where one of his tenants betrayed him. After that his rebellion collapsed.

“He was taken to the King at Salisbury, madam,” the messenger told the Queen. “Henry Tudor had again attempted a landing at Plymouth, but once he heard of Buckingham’s capture he fled back to Brittany as fast as he could.”

“And Buckingham?” Anne asked.

“The King came to Salisbury with his army, and the duke was tried and sentenced to death. He begged an audience with King Richard, but it was denied him, for there were fears that he might try to assassinate His Grace. Then the duke suffered execution in the marketplace.”

Anne and Kate crossed themselves.

“God be praised that the King my lord is safe,” Anne said. “Are any other traitors to be put to death?”

“Six, I believe, madam,” the messenger answered. “But the word is that many will be attainted when Parliament meets after Christmas. Madam, the King requests that you now repair to London with the Lord John and the Lady Katherine.”

Anne was quiet on the journey south; once more she had torn herself away from Prince Edward, who was to remain in the North as his father’s nominal representative. Yet as they passed through the towns and villages of Yorkshire, the Queen put on a brave smile, and nodded and waved graciously to the people who flocked to see her, cheering heartily. But when the little procession moved farther south and approached London, the people came more often to stare sullenly, or to call out against King Richard and ask what had become of the sons of King Edward.

November 1558–January 1559; Sheen Priory, Westminster
,
and Whitehall Palace

The Queen, overburdened by her tragedies, is in a decline, God save her, and has little need of my services now, wanting to be tended only by her oldest and most faithful servants. She has given Mary and me leave, with her blessing, to visit our mother, which is why we are now at Sheen, lodging with my lady and our stepfather, Mr. Stokes.

My mother has always been an indomitable woman, but her health is not good these days, and I grieve to see her strong constitution failing. It is hard to see mortality encroach on one’s parent, and to find that the roles are reversing, with her now leaning on me, instead of the other way around. It is against Nature, this tragic reversal, yet I am glad to be a strong arm and support for my lady, for she has softened in these last years—and her life has not been easy.

My lady often likes to reminisce. It is one of the few pleasures left to her, and I indulge her by listening. She invariably harks back to the days of her youth and my grandmother, King Harry’s sister. “They called her a paradise, and she was. You have seen her portraits, so you’ll know what I mean. You have her sweet nature as well as her pretty face, and I daresay you will break a few hearts in your time.”

I have sat here for so long and I can be silent no longer: I have to break it to my lady about Ned and me. Arch-intriguer and ambitious as she has been, her teeth are now drawn, and this time, I know, caution will be her watchword.

“Ho-ho, my girl, what is this?” she cries with her old asperity. “Looking to wed, are ye? You have been previous!” But I can tell she is delighted all the same, for she does not reprove me further for proceeding so far without her sanction. Nor did I fear she would, for she was once content enough to have Ned betrothed to Jane, and she has long been fond of him. Her father was his godfather; and even after
Jane was wed to Guilford, my lady continued to call Ned “son” whenever they met.