A Love Most Dangerous (24 page)

The courtiers were stunned, But then, after what
seemed an age, Thomas Cromwell rose and started to applaud. Everyone else
followed immediately, fearing for their necks and their fortune.

I glanced at the King. He had the most smug look upon
his face.

'You are not my Queen, Alice Petherton,' he said. 'But
I am right fond of you.'

He nodded in the direction of Thomas Seymour who
seemed to crouch into himself in a mixture of snarl and terror. 'And I have
that craven fool to thank for helping me realise it.'

'I thank you, Your Grace,' I whispered, for my throat
was dry and constricted.

He chuckled. 'No more skulking down corridors for you
any longer, Alice. Now the whole world knows I have a favourite.'

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

The Favourite

1st April 1538

'Now the whole world knows that I have a favourite.'
The King's words echoed in my mind throughout the rest of the evening. I danced
with the King a number of times and watched the jugglers and listened to the
singers. But my mind was in a whirl.

The King had publicly danced with me, taken me by the
hand and led me to the Queen's Throne. I was his favourite and now the whole of
the court knew it.

He was right when he said that there was to be no more
skulking down corridors for me. He led me by the hand from the Great Hall and
we ascended the staircase to his private chambers together.

I could feel a thousand eyes boring into my back. Few
of them, I knew, would be wishing me well.

The King was boisterous as a pup when we got into his
bed.

'That showed that scoundrel, Thomas Seymour,' he
cried. 'The effrontery of the man. Dancing with you without a by-your-leave.'

He leaned closer to me, a sudden suspicion flashing in
his eyes.

'Do you know Thomas Seymour, Alice? Have you met him before?'

My heart missed a beat. It were best I told the truth
I realised and, indeed, I had nothing to hide concerning the man. I told the
King all my dealings with him.

He grew angry as he listened and then laughed and
clicked his fingers.

'So he lusts after you, Alice, just as I thought when
I saw him dance with you. Well, I put him in his place tonight. And that's just
the start of it.'

I slid over his body and began to kiss him. He was
aroused in a moment and we performed the act with much noise and gusto. As soon
as we had finished, the King gave a huge grin.

'That showed Thomas Seymour,' he murmured and promptly
fell asleep.

I climbed off the King and lay back in the bed. The
candle by the bed-side flamed strongly, casting deep shadows across the room.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm my racing
heart. This was not what I expected, I thought. This is not what I wanted. I
found my hand pressed tight against my lips, like a little girl who realised
she had done something her daddy would find disappointing.

No, this was not what I wanted.

I stared at the glow the candle cast upon the ceiling.
It pulsed as if it were a living thing, breathing and sighing, strong one
moment, weakening the next. I stared into the shadows beyond the glimmering
light.

What did I want? What had led me to this dangerous
adventure?

I knew what I did not want.

I did not want a life of service to others who I knew
to be my inferiors in gifts and spirit. I did not want to be a woman who danced
attendance upon a countess, a duchess or a queen.

I did not want a life of penury with the only hope of
escape a reluctant marriage to some vain and well-pursed man who would love me
for a twelve-month and then lord it over me as though I were a possession or a
beast while he seduced the latest pretty girl to catch his eye.

Nor did I wish to live alone for the rest of my days
until I became a dry and withered old woman, musing on the years of missed
opportunity and counting down the days left to me until an end unnoticed and
unmarked.

So what did I want?

The King snuffled in his sleep and then began to
snore.

I certainly do not want to be this man's wife, do not
want to be Queen of England. I felt my throat constrict and a sour taste sprang
into my mouth. Henry had wed three women already and already all three were
dead, one giving birth to his child, one in despair at how cruelly he had
treated her, and one at his express command.

A draught caught the candle and it guttered for a
moment. I shivered slightly, thinking how apt this was. To be a queen was to be
forever like a candle, burning steadfastly to illuminate the King; until he
chanced upon a brighter flame.

I was happy to be King Henry's favourite, right
enough. I had been struck by the notion six months ago now, had dreamed of it,
contemplated it, planned and schemed for it. It had been the only thing to keep
me safe from that villain, Richard Rich.

But I always imagined that I would be the King's
close-kept secret, like Bessie Blount before she had given birth to their son.
I wanted our relationship to continue as it had started, with private meetings,
the occasional meal and secret bed-times.

I did not, I thought, wish to be the King's favourite,
announced to all the court, whispered about behind my back. This was far too
perilous a state. Favourites rapidly became the targets of the ambitious. Some
men would rush to fawn over me. Others might rush with greater speed to make
sure I was dispensed with.

And being the King's favourite would prove such
wearisome work. As it was I felt I was constantly walking upon a tight-rope. I
had no wish to do so in front of the whole court.

I sighed and turned to look at the King. He lived in
the public eye and never seemed the slightest bit concerned by it. But, I
realised, with a growing unease, it was not a life I could willingly embrace.

I turned over and snuffed out the candle. But it's a
life I might have to accept, I thought. Now the die is cast there can be no
going back. I had strayed too close to the furnace. Now I must keep the flames
growing bright and strong. But I must make sure that I am not consumed by them.

The next morning I awoke to find the King staring down
at me.

I reached up to touch his cheek but he leaned back as
if to avoid my touch.

My heart began to hammer.

'Does something trouble you, Your Grace?' I asked.

He did not answer but turned to look out of the
window.

'Have I done anything to upset Your Majesty?'

He half turned to look at me and then returned his
gaze to the window once more.

'It was Sir Thomas Seymour's fault,' he said. 'Not
yours.'

A silence filled the room, a silence as palpable as a
corpse which we both had seen but neither wished to acknowledge.

I plucked up my courage and said in a little voice,
'Fault, Your Majesty?'

'Yes. If he had not been dancing with you in so
lustful and smug a manner I would not have been snared into dancing with you.'

He turned to look at me and his face was set and hard.
'And I certainly would not have been traduced into setting you upon my widow's
throne.'

I swallowed, for a lump as hard as stone had filled my
throat. It appeared that my life as favourite was going to be short-lived in
the extreme.

I sat up in bed, hunching my knees. My mind was in a
whirl, desperate to think what to say. How on earth could I retrieve this
situation? It seemed clear to me that Thomas Seymour was not the only one the
King blamed for his actions. He was not capable of blaming himself, of course.
So that left only one other person.

I managed to swallow at last. And as I did so the
tears began to form in my eyes and trickled out like melting snowdrops upon my
cheeks. I wept silently, hardly even aware that I was doing so.

And that was when the King turned to say still more.

I never found out what he intended to say. I felt him
start in surprise. I heard a gasp and then a sigh. I felt his hot hand touch me
on the chin, turning my face to stare into his own.

'You're crying, Alice Petherton,' he said.

I nodded, unable to say more, and sniffed.

The King's face softened and then his own eyes grew
moist. He moved closer towards me and reached for my hand.

'I would not have you weep, dear Alice. You bear no blame for what happened. The fault lies entirely with Sir Thomas Seymour.'

'You're sure?' I said. 'You don't blame me, don't
think I was a bad girl for dancing with him. You don't blame me for making you
dance with me and...'

I could not finish for the King placed his fingers on
my lips.

'Hush, hush, my dear,' he said. 'I would not have you
upset yourself.'

He leaned back, hands upon my shoulders, and looked at
me as a physician might examine a sickly child.

He sighed. 'I wish I had not sat you in the throne,'
he said. 'It was not a sensitive thing to do. But I do not regret dancing with
you. And I most certainly do not regret that people saw me taking pleasure at
doing so.'

I managed a little smile and his face brightened still
further.

'There,' he said, 'that's better. That's more like the
Alice I know.'

I laughed a little and wiped my nose with my fingers.

The King reached out for his own handkerchief and held
it to my nose, dabbing it gently.

'I think we should take some pleasure today,' he
announced. 'I feel like hunting. Do you hunt, Alice? I know you ride like the
wind.'

'I have hunted, Your Majesty, though I am not skilled
at it.'

'Your Grace, Alice. You call me Your Grace.'

'Your Grace,' I mumbled. 'I hunted once and fell off
my horse. I was not scared though.'

'I'm sure you were not,' he said.

He sprang out of bed and clanged on the bell to summon
Nicholas Frost.

'Go and bathe Alice,' he said, 'and make ready for
breakfast and then the hunt.'

I slipped out of bed and made my way naked to the
King's bath-room. I smiled as I passed him for I could see that my appearance
had inflamed him again.

'Before you bathe,' he said, reaching out for my hand
and leading me back to bed. I slid my body over his, as warm and gentle as
spilt milk.

The door opened and Nicholas Frost appeared. I stopped
my sliding.

The King looked up. 'Prepare our breakfast,' he said.
'Then get my hunting clothes.'

Frost nodded and made to shut the door.

'And send for the seamstress,' the King said. 'Have
her bring hunting clothes for Alice.'

'Very good, Your Majesty.' Frost bowed and then
regarded me before giving me the most fleeting of smiles and closing the door
behind him.

'Who started the applause last night?' the King asked
me.

'Sir Thomas Cromwell, Your Grace.'

'Ah, quite so.' He nodded his head several times,
thoughtfully. 'Quite so.'

I slid his member into me and gasped softly. A
satisfied and hungry grin came to his face.

'Today is going to be a good day, my darling,' he
said.

I closed my eyes. Not in ecstasy. In relief.

If you think that to be proclaimed favourite of the
King is appealing then think again. I was reminded of the King's lions. People
were fascinated by them, they feared their power, yet most secretly wished them
dead. So it was with the King's favourite.

The moment the King escorted me to Jane Seymour's
throne my life changed for ever. No one actually bowed to me, that would be an
act unseemly and courageous and the courtiers must wait for instruction in such
a public show. No they did not actually bow. Instead they worried how to
respond.

The King seemed oblivious of any such niceties or
questions of etiquette. He had chosen me as his favourite and the rest of the
world would have to accept this.

We had an enjoyable hunt with only a couple of
gentlemen and servants attending. The King got a mixed bag: a roe deer, a stag,
a brace of rabbits and a new-born lamb which seemed to have died of fright when
it saw us charging down upon it in pursuit of a fox. The fox got away.

We returned to the palace tired but in good spirits.

A message was waiting for the King. The French
ambassador was waiting in the Presence Chamber. He grumbled a little at the
news and kept the man waiting for half an hour longer while he threw some food
inside him. Then he kissed me and said he would see me later that evening.

The moment he left Nicholas Frost entered the room. He
gave a little cough and smiled.