Prisoner of the Queen (Tales From the Tudor Court) (6 page)

The feast, dancing, and entertainm
ents went well into the evening—our hosts doing their utmost to showcase their wealth. Every courtier was present, and it had even been rumored that we newly married couples would be graced with the king’s presence. But, alas, he did not join us, only making Jane’s earlier comments on his health more apparent.

The noble guests
feasted upon fresh-baked bread with steam still rising from the crusty tops, and fresh butter, cheeses, grapes, apples, sweetmeats, almonds and even olives imported from Spain. My eyes grew wide at the roasted peacock adorning the trestle table, redressed with purple, blue and green plumes spread wide. My mouth watered at the platters of roasted capon, salmon with pomegranate seeds, cherry hearts, pickled carrots, peas cooked with milk and ginger, roasted pig stuffed with cheese and chestnuts, stewed beef cooked in wine, currants and onions.

With
the ceremony complete, I was ready to partake in all the glory that was an opulent wedding feast. I washed down the savory meal with one smooth and decadent goblet of free-flowing red wine after another—not used to such finery, given Mother preferred us to drink watered ale.

Suspended a
bove the trestle table to promote fertility hung wreaths of rosemary, lavender, marjoram and sage. The sweet scents comforted me, as did the tender looks from Mrs. Helen, who served me still. We had feasts on certain saint days at Bradgate, but never as regal as this. Here was my first taste of courtly life. My first taste of wealth and the royal blood that flowed in my veins. I found I rather enjoyed the opulence, but all the same, my mind was drawn back to the beggar woman who’d felt the need to rip fabric from my underskirts to feed herself.

“
Mrs. Helen?” I waved her over from where she loitered against the wall. I pursed my lips as I gazed about the room. So much fare was left over, and each person’s belly was swollen from gluttony. “Would you approach Cook about seeing that any foodstuffs left be given to the poor?”

Mrs. Helen
curtsied and then disappeared into the crowd, just as seed cakes, elderflower cake, apple-raisin pudding and preserves were placed on the tables. I pressed a hand to my full belly and groaned, my head swirling slightly. My gown had grown tight from filling myself with food and drink, and I would be sick if I ate another bite.

I turned to look at Henry,
grease dribbling down his fat chin. Disappointment burrowed within my soul. He was just as gangly and oafish as Jane had described. I quickly turned away, fearing my revulsion showed. Mrs. Helen soon returned and informed me the poor would indeed be fed on the food we did not consume, taking my mind from Henry.

As the dancing continued
, a singular young courtier, handsome in his mussed hair and confident gaze, approached the dais. He was several years older than me. I knew not who he was, but something about him arrested me. I watched his approach with a practiced bemused face.

When he finally reached us, he bent a leg and flourished a deep bow, showing off his musculature
—which next to my gangly husband was very impressive, and I suspected next to even a man of lithe figure would also be remarkable. My insides melted.

“Might I congratulate you on your nuptials, and to such a beautiful bride,” the young man said
to Henry, his gaze caressing my quickly heating face.

“Thank you, Lord Beauchamp,” Henry replied, looking slightly bored and irritated.

His demeanor at once had me bristling. Why should he act so? Perhaps it was his own inadequacies beside this young Lord Beauchamp that had him cantankerous.

“If it pleases, my lord, I would ask to dance with your
lady wife.”

Henry sat up straighter and glanced over at me. I affected the perfect bored face, hoping it would ease his insecurities—even though inside I leapt at the chance to finally dance
, and with so handsome a partner. I was gifted with a childish, satisfied smile from Henry.

“
Be my guest.” He swept his hand out in a gesture meant to say he did not truly care, while his beady eyes studied our every move.

I stood stoically and slowly descended the dais to place my hand on Lord Beauchamp
’s arm.

He leaned close to whisper,
“Thank you for agreeing to dance with me.”

“I did no such thing,” I said haughtily.

“Ah, but you did. You could have refused, feigning a megrim or stomach-ache, and yet you did not.” We reached the dancing group, and he spun me to face him. “You also, might I add, affected the most perfect visage of boredom. You must know your young husband well to realize that such reaction would please him and allow you to go with me.”

My lip curled at his words. “I merely play the game, my lord. I have been sitting for hours watching all celebrate, and I wished to dance before my limbs became permanently fastened to the chair.”

“A lady with an agenda. You will be formidable when you gr—” He cut himself short and looked away.

“When I what, my lord?”
My gaze boldly met his, daring him to finish his offensive remark on my age.

His eyes sparked with intensity.
“I merely meant to say, when you have had time to ripen with experience.”

“I am a woman married, am I not?”
Challenging this man was thrilling.

He clamped his lips closed and refused to answer.

“Tell me truly what you think, my lord.” My voice sounded breathy, even to me.

“If I were to tell you, it would only anger you.”

“’Twill not, I assure you. I have a strong constitution.”

“Well
, then, I think you a child-bride. All in attendance know that your marriage is in name only and that you will not be allowed to con—” Again, he stopped and had the temerity to bite his sensual lower lip.

“Go on,” I said with glee, liking how color flooded his face at the unmentionable topic we were discussing. I had not had this much fun in—well, I
did not know when.

“You will not be allowed to be wife in truth, my lady. So I merely meant to say from the beginning that when you are allowed to become a woman, with time, you will be a formidable opponent.”

I laughed aloud at his discomfort, which drew several gazes our way.

“You will have your disgruntled husband rushing forth to break us apart if you laugh so charmingly again
,” he remarked.

“You think my laugh charming?”
I batted my lashes, wine making me bold.

Lord Beauchamp grew serious as he studied me.
“I think you most stunning, my lady.”

Now it was my turn for color to fill my cheeks. I had never been flirted with so outrageously before. Was this how it was at court? I
feared I would indeed be a bad wife if such were the case.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I should not be so bold with you on your wedding day.” He glanced away, looking agitated.

“But, my lord, you said yourself,
’tis not truly my wedding day.”

The intensity of his gaze when it turned on me had my toes curling in my slippers and my heart pounding in my ears.

“’Tis exactly the reason why I should not be so bold. For it only leaves hope for a poor sop like myself.”

“Hope?”

He leaned in and whispered, “Hope for a chance at your hand when your time does come.”

With that
, he gave me one final twirl and delivered me, speechless and knees weak, back to the dais and a glowering Henry, where I was rooted the rest of the evening, and not so much by a demand but by my own wobbling legs. I drained more wine in an attempt to still my beating heart. But I feared that, instead of quelling my curiosity over my dance and the conversation held there, I merely got myself quite sloshed.

When the night finally concluded—o
r at least when my new guardian deemed it appropriate—I was taken to the barge, along with my groom, to be ushered to Baynard’s Castle. I hugged my sister Mary tight and Jane less so, as she would not allow it. I curtsied to my mother and father, who did not appear to need a touch from me. I had to blink rapidly to keep the tears from spilling over. I was not ready to leave, and yet I did not want to stay here. Rather, I wanted to return to Bradgate and a simpler time.

When we reached Baynard
’s, I was too weary to take in my surroundings and instead allowed myself to be led up to my new chambers without so much as a chaste kiss goodnight to my husband.

My stomach lurched and my head spun from too much wine.
I vowed never to indulge myself thusly again. I laid my head upon the downy pillow. Images of Lord Beauchamp dancing in my wine-dazed mind. Words my mother had uttered to me a time or two before churned in my mind.
Control, Kat. A woman must always maintain some level of control. Do not allow yourself to be carried away by flights of fancy and pretty words. Your mind is your own and the only place in which you alone are master.

But I fell asleep with his image behind my eyes despite myself.

Chapter Three

With whom he joined, a hazard great,

his l
iking led him so:

That ne
ither fear of frowning Gods,

nor dre
ad of earthly woe.

Could mak
e him slay his plighted troth,

such constant m
ind he bear.

~Thomas Churchyard

Elizabethan
soldier and poet

Tower of London

Monday,
July 10, 1553

Jane was proclaimed queen today!

She was p
araded down the River Thames from Westminster Abbey, a stop along the way for lunch at Durham House with Northumberland and the Privy Council, before embarking again on her royal barge to the Tower of London. Dressed in glorious green velvet royal robes, she held her head high. For as much as she lamented being given the crown, Jane was acting the royal queen—and one pleased to be so.

She reminded me much of
the queens of old. In her regal bearing, I glimpsed a touch of my great-uncle, Henry VIII. She appeared relaxed and comfortable in her new state. After all, she had been born and bred as a royal princess, and I do believe my father had had this plan in mind from the moment the midwife had slapped her newborn bottom.

Now
I was the sister of the queen.
Oh, please, Lord, let this turn out well for all of us.
I knew Princesses Mary and Elizabeth were not happy… Even now, rumors abounded of plots to aid the deposed royal children. Even though our mother, the illustrious Duchess of Suffolk, daughter of the late King Henry VIII’s sister Mary, had instilled in my sisters’ and my own head since birth that our right to the throne was greater than that of Princess Mary and Princess Elizabeth, I knew it could not be true, for they were the daughters of the king, and we only his grand-nieces. No matter how the two past kings tried to repave the line—the fact remained that the princesses had a more direct route than we.

I
didn’t want to be against Princess Mary and Princess Elizabeth, for I’d no qualm with either, and I was content always to be in the shadow of the queen for myself, but I prayed that in some way Jane’s crowning would be good for my family. That we’d not been set on a dangerous path.

I
’d heard the fears from Mother’s own mouth. Had not Father already played his part in court treachery when he aligned himself to Lord Sudeley?

The egotistical
Lord Sudeley plotted to have Jane marry young King Edward, and for himself to be married to Princess Elizabeth. Sudeley lost his head for that lunatic scheme four years ago. My father was lucky to have not been executed on that day, and Jane as well, even though she’d been about my age at the time. I shuddered to recall that man and his devious plans beneath his chivalrous appearance.

I
recalled with bitter remembrance how Jane had changed since she was put into Sudeley’s care, and our first harsh encounter with Elizabeth. Always intelligent and sharp of wit, Jane had become cynical and standoffish, no longer the sweet older sister I’d once confided in and played with. She was now a vision of Princess Elizabeth and Princess Mary, her eyes always darting around as if she suspected she’d be attacked or slandered. She was not happy. Her lips rarely turned up to smile. When I’d stared into her eyes, so cold and distant, I’d felt as though I’d seen a bleak future.