Queenbreaker: Perseverance (The Queenbreaker Trilogy Book 1) (23 page)

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

June
1533

I
opened my Book of Prayer and caught the note before it fell into my lap. I
pretended to turn a page and opened the note just wide enough to read the
contents.

Love
is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs
;

Being
purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes
;

I
tucked the note in my sleeve before Joan could read it.

Lord John de Vere is brilliant.

He
must have bribed Janet well to commit this minor sacrilege. I looked up from
the Psalm Doctor Skip was enjoining us to follow, and met John’s eyes. His
smile provoked one of my own.

Madge
pinched my hip. “Stop staring.”

“I’m
not staring at him, he’s staring at me.”

Madge
sighed. “You’re going to botch it.”

“I
am not,” I bristled. “Besides, it’s just a game of
Pass-the-Time
.”

Madge
shook her head. “It was a fortnight ago. Now, it’s so much more.”

“How
do you mean more? We’ve done nothing but talk.”

Madge
glared at me out the corner of her eye. “And it’s been noticed how much you
talk heads together in the Queen’s chamber, at the tennis courts, in the
gardens.”

It
was too true. For the past week I had barely summoned the strength for
circumspection, to resist his
company
as I ought. He
was disinclined to do likewise. He meant to wait me out like a hound on a fox
den. And unlike my moment with Weston, I meant to make him wait. Waiting made
for wanting, as Anne had shown.

“Who
has noticed?”

“Who
has not?” Madge frowned. “The Duke of Suffolk rebuked him just yesterday for
staring at you during Mass. He told him to keep his eyes on God and off of your
duckeys.”

I
froze. Such looks skirted the edge of proper Pass-the-Time, but I could not
pretend to be displeased. If John stared at me, he had no space to stare at
others.

“Lord
John has been a complete gentleman.”

Madge
snorted. “Would you tell me if he had not?”

Not likely.

“Why
does it concern you?” I asked.

“It
concerns the family. Lord Wiltshire asked me to speak with you.”

I
felt myself sliding as my safe little world tilted sideways.

“I
was wondering why you decided to sit beside me.”

Madge
grimaced. “Lord Wiltshire wanted this communicated as soon as possible.”

“What?”

“That
the family has its eye on you.”

A
sharp itching struck the center of my palms.

First Cromwell, now the family.
Well, it seemed that Cromwell had
forgotten me or watched me so lightly I could not feel it. How heavy then could
the family’s eye be? I rubbed my hands against my knees.

“Is
that all?” I asked.

“No.
Just one more thing.” Madge leaned close. “You have competition.”

_______________

Joan
climbed over me for the third time and slid back beneath the dark blue
counterpane stitched with the Percy coat of arms.

“I
should not drink Welsh ale before bed,” she murmured for apology.

Bess,
hair plaited and coiled atop her head, blew a disgusted sigh. “Get up again and
you’ll make your bed in the pisspot.”

Joan
wriggled away from Bess into me. I elbowed her away.

“Go
on Mary, finish it,” Bess said.

“Love is a smoke raised with the fume of
sighs;

Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers'
eyes
;

Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving
tears.

What is it else?
A
madness
most discreet,

A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.”

Joan’s
soft, cloying sigh thrilled me—she being so
like
Emma, I could imagine the same, envious sound coming from my little sister.

“He’s
improved,” said Bess. “France has polished him. You are a fortunate girl.”

“What
did you write him back?” Joan asked.

I
re-folded the note, tucked it under my pillow for the night. I would hide it
with the rest after Joan and Bess had left for Mass in the morning.

“Naught
yet.” I paused, feeling my pleasure dripping away. “Madge says I have
competition.”

Bess
snorted. “She means Dorothy Neville. She is nothing,” she said. “She is ten
years old and not at court.”

“But
they are betrothed,” Joan said then cringed as she felt me stiffen.

Bess
swatted the counterpane over Joan’s knee. “It is de futuro—for the
future—and will come to naught as most do. Your real trouble will come
from the earl.” Bess yawned. “He will not be agreeable to your match.”

Joan
sighed and raised my own counter to the earl’s scruples. “But Mary’s the
queen’s own cousin. Why should he object?”

“It
is not so much a question of rank, as a question of money. Mary has no dowry to
speak of. Do you?”

I
winced. No one had ever put it so baldly to my face before. I had nothing an
earl would value. My dower chest was full of my needlework and the three pieces
of pewter work got from my Shelton grandmother’s own dower. That was all. My
eldest sister Anne had got the lion’s share when she married five years ago, so
that we three remaining must do with much less. Gabrielle would receive more
than I, I more than Emma. God chose our order of birth and I was only grateful
not to be the very last.

“How
large a dowry will you bring if you marry?” I sniped.

Bess
closed her eyes. “Don’t be pert, lambkin. I am friend Bess remember? Honest
words I promised you, so here they are. The Earls of Oxford are not so rich as
they once were. The previous earl was a notorious spendthrift. Only the Duke of
Norfolk’s intervention saved the earldom from complete ruin before that wastrel
died. Lord John’s father did not expect to inherit, so had not married well
enough when he came to the title to restore Oxford’s fortunes. His heir must do
better.”

“Lord
Oxford is one of the King’s favorites,” I said. “Lord John looks to make
himself the same. He could receive many great offices from the King.”

Bess
yawned again. “That is true. But you are not one of Anne’s favorites.”

“Not
yet,” I said, grounding my teeth. “But if I married Oxford’s heir would she not
approve of me then?”

Bess
lowered herself back to her pillow. “You have to catch him first, mistress. And
keep him.”

“How
is that done?” Joan asked.

Bess
stretched her arms toward the ceiling then let them fall atop her belly. “The
old fashioned way. A witnessed betrothal and a ripe belly to make it stick.”

Joan
shrank. “That is dishonorable.”

“Penury
is dishonorable,” Bess muttered, rolled over. “Now go to sleep, lambkin. Mary
won’t win him tonight.”

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

June
1533

I
sat on my usual stool in the sewing circle, pretending to stitch my third shirt
for the poor instead of watching for Lord John’s arrival. I barely attended the
gossip Seymour traded with Joan Dyngley when the Queen’s Privy Chamber door
snapped open. Lady Mary Howard stumbled out pursued by a pregnant Fury.

Anne’s
chief ladies—Rochford, Lee, and Worcester hurried after her, pleading
softly, gently with her to sit. Anne, black hair loose and billowing behind her
like a storm cloud, ignored them.

“Margot
has not died for pity’s sake!” Anne roared. “Though if I had to share a roof
with the King’s bastard I should pray to.”

Mariah’s
knees wilted. She fell to the floor, head raised so that we saw her tears.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she murmured.

Anne’s
lip curled. “Go shed your tears in the garden or your chamber—I do not
want them here.”

Mariah
grabbed her skirts in both hands and backed away almost crawling out of Anne’s
sight.

“Weeping
like her lover’s gone to war.” Anne shook her head. “She should be married and
crying for her husband. I will speak to the King.”

Anne’s
rush overturned the dovecote. Those ladies knowing they would be missed if the
Queen’s eye should seek them, bolted from stools and floor pillows after her.
The Countess tripped over Joan Dyngley’s skirt.

“Cow,”
she flung at Dyngley then ran out after the Queen.

Madge,
lips plumped with amusement, sidled over and sat beside me.

“What
has happened?” I asked, dumbfounded by the scene.

Madge
rolled her eyes. “Mary Howard asked to be released from the Summer Progress to
join Margot at Beaulieu.”

My
needle missed its target and plunged into my fingertip. “Jesu!” I hissed then
sucked at my injury. “What was she thinking?”

Madge
snatched the shirt out of my hands, muttering. “Before you stain another one.”

“Why
would she think Anne would grant her permission? Why would she want to spend
all summer cooped up at Beaulieu away from Court?”

Madge
balled up my shirt and threw it back on the pile in the center of the now empty
sewing circle. “Why would she want to spend the summer with Mary Tudor is the
better question.”

I
sucked my now throbbing finger, baffled.

“If
the Queen did let her go it would benefit you though.”

My
eyebrows bumped heads. “Me?”

Madge
adjusted her hood. “The Queen intends to take only six Maidens on Summer
Progress and your name was not mentioned.”

My
stomach bounced. I tasted the pork I’d had for breakfast again.

Mother
expected me to go on the Summer Progress. It was arranged for mid-July, a short
journey up the Thames to visit loyal subjects, hunt, and for Anne to rest at
Windsor til the end of August. Those chosen to attend the King and Queen, as
they showed themselves to the people, were unquestionably in favor, and when
the
geist
, the official list of the
Progress, was published, everyone in England would know it.

“She’s
not taking Seymour?”

Madge’s
eyes went round as two sovereigns. “Don’t be a ninny. My sister Jane would
never let that happen. Anne’s indifferent to the creature, but our Jane knows
she’s sly.” Madge’s head shook off its irritation. “No. Anne means to take Mary
Howard, Bess, Mary Wyatt, Anne Savile, and little Joan Percy.”

Joan!
She’s Henry Percy’s niece is her only recommendation. I’m her blood kin. She
can’t leave me behind. My parents will send me to Norfolk.

I
could hear my sisters’ mockery at how far I’d gone only to be castoff like last
year’s fashion.

And
what if Lord John was chosen to attend the King? Would he choose another girl
with whom to play Pass-the Time? What if he chose Mary Wyatt?

I
hid my terror by making a casual study of my wound. “Well, if my name was not
bruited then why should Mary Howard’s place fall to me?”

Madge
had moved on to adjusting her folded sleeves. She had the sharp, precise
movements of a cat forever grooming itself.

“You
are kin. Anne wants loyal folk around her always, but she’s Queen now—she
can’t deny places to her enemies except during Summer Progress.” Madge picked a
piece of invisible lint from a fold. “You are the likely choice. But it would
help your cause if you had someone to speak for you inside the Privy Chamber.”

My
mouth fell open and a meek, mousy voice I did not recognize came out. “I
thought you spoke for me.”

Surprise
lifted her brow. “I have, sister. But my influence with Anne runs through
sister Jane.”

Sister
Jane. I remembered cousin George helping me out of the Queen’s barge at Tower
Wharf.

“Whatever
did you do to sour sweet sister Jane?” Madge’s bright voice told me she knew
exactly the moment I’d lost the chance for Lady Rochford’s favor.

But it wasn’t my fault!

Cousin
George had undercut my advancement in Anne’s chamber just to twit his wife.

Warmth
quickened in my belly. How could I fix this?

Madge
offered no help. She continued her sprucing, that tiny smile plumping her thin
lips again. Even if she would, she was no match for her sister. I needed an
ally Lady Rochford could not out of hand overrule.

The
Queen was the obvious solution, but after my tardiness at the joust Anne had
not singled me out.

That was not my fault either!

Anne’s
women whether from pure spite or not were destroying my career at court. And
I’d done nothing to deserve it. They were worse than Gabrielle and Emma.

I
gave my finger a quick suck and winced. “I think I need a poultice.”

Madge
paused in retying the scarlet ribbon around her waist. “Really? It went that
deep? You are a danger to yourself.”

The
brittle smile I’d learned from Madge moved my face. “But not so much as some, I
am learning.”