Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (104 page)

I had brought gifts and greetings from Lady Lisle, including a fan made of black ostrich feathers set in gold for the senior Lady Cobham, as Lady Lisle had called her. I had never been able to think of her as my grandmother. She was much too young. But she was certainly family. She’d married my grandfather, one of her brothers had married my mother’s sister, and her mother had been married, as her second husband, to one of my father’s brothers.

There were less spectacular presents for Mother and my brothers and Kate, and then everyone had questions about life at court. It was late before Kate and I finally retired to the bedchamber we shared.

“Do you think Lady Lisle will have me in your place, Bess?” Kate
asked the moment the door closed behind us. “I am more than old enough to leave home.”

“Mother can ask her, but are you sure you want to join her household now? Not only is she away from court, but she is awaiting the birth of a baby.”

Kate made a face. She no more liked the idea of being trapped in a dark room than I did.

Together we flung open the window.

“If there are evil vapors in the night breezes,” I said, “I am prepared to ignore them.”

Kate laughed.

All the moonlight revealed were acres of parkland and a massive oak tree that grew close to the house. It had the greatest girth I’d ever seen. I’d been told it was more than a century old.

“Did anyone tell you about the wedding?” Kate asked as we rested our elbows on the casement and breathed deeply of the cool September air. “Mother is still reeling from the shock.”

“Lady Lisle told me Dorothy married Ned Brydges.”

“Not Dorothy’s wedding. Grandmother Jane’s.”

“Grandmother Jane’s what?”

“Grandmother Jane’s
wedding
. She married right after Dorothy did. She said she’d only been waiting until the last of her children was provided for to choose a husband for herself.”

“But she’s
old
!” Grandmother Jane had lived for more than six decades. I did not know anyone older than she was.

“That’s what makes her choice all the more astonishing. She picked Sir Urian Brereton. He’s a younger son with no particular fortune or prospects. And, Bess—he’s at least twenty years younger than she is!”

Shock kept me silent, but inside my head were thoughts I’d never had before, half-formed ideas about love and companionship and the many long years that stretched out before a couple after they married. “I think I envy Grandmother Jane,” I murmured.

“Because she
could
choose?”

I nodded.

“She has to pay a fine,” Kate said, “for marrying without the king’s permission. And her son is furious with her.”

“He’s probably envious, too. He had to wed where he was told to.”

Two days later, news arrived from Halden Hall that Lady Lisle had been delivered of her twelfth child, a girl she had named Temperance. Both mother and daughter were in excellent health.

The remainder of my week at Cobham Hall sped by, enlivened by games with my youngest brothers and visits from neighbors and friends. We all traveled back to Cowling Castle together but I spent only one night there before setting out for Eltham Palace and my new post as a maid of honor.

The queen welcomed me warmly, as did the young women with whom I would now be sharing the maid’s dormitory. I already knew them all, Alys Guildford and Nan Bassett better than the rest. It was Nan, the oldest of the group, who took me aside for a word of warning.

“You owe your appointment to the queen’s brother,” she said. “He heard of Dorothy Bray’s plans to marry and asked this boon of Her Grace before he left for France. But that does not mean you should follow Dorothy’s example and creep out of your bed at night to meet a lover.”

“I am not Dorothy, and I do not believe that Her Grace would honor me with this post if she believed I was.”

Nan fixed me with a steady stare. “Remember that your first loyalty is to Queen Kathryn. You took an oath to serve her faithfully and to abide by her wishes, whatever they might be.”

I frowned after her as she walked away. Had Nan been telling me that it was the queen’s wish that I discourage her brother’s interest? Or was that just a friendly bit of advice, given to any new-made maid of honor? I supposed it did not matter. After all, Will was still in France.

16

K
ing Henry returned from his French war in the first week in October to a grand and glorious reunion at one of his lesser houses, a place called Otford. Will was with him, but His Grace had left Lord Lisle and Harry behind in Boulogne, along with most of the army. They were to hold that captured city for England.

Davy Seymour also returned with the king. He brought with him a letter for me from Harry.

“His handwriting is as poor as mine is,” I observed.

Alys sat beside me on a window seat in the queen’s privy chamber. “What does he say?”

“That he was knighted by the king just before His Grace left for home.”

“That must have pleased his father.”

“It pleased Harry, as well.” I could tell by the bold pen strokes he’d used when writing the news.

“Was he wounded?” Belatedly, Alys looked concerned. “Knighthoods are often a reward for bravery in battle.”

I hurriedly skimmed the next lines then breathed a sigh of relief. “He says he came through the campaign without a scratch.”

“What else?”

I read on, summarizing as I went until I came to the last sentence. Then my breathing hitched and for a moment I lost the ability to speak. I must have had an addlepated look on my face because Alys seized me by the shoulders and gave me a hard shake.

“Bess! What is it?” I held out the letter, my hand atremble. Alys snatched it away from me and read the rest for herself. When she glanced up from the page, a wide grin split her face. “He says his father has agreed to a match between you and that he hopes the betrothal can be arranged as soon as he gets back to England. This is wonderful, Bess. He wants to marry you.”

“Wonderful,” I echoed.

Why, then, did I suddenly feel trapped?

I did not speak of my impending betrothal to anyone else during the next two weeks. The celebrations surrounding the king’s return continued, as did the royal progress. The court traveled to Leeds Castle, then back to Otford, and finally set off in the direction of London. Will Parr was not with us. He’d gone to visit his estates in Essex and Surrey.

He was still absent when I received a second letter sent from Boulogne. This one came from Lord Lisle. I broke the seal with mild trepidation, assuming that he had met with my father to discuss the terms of my marriage to his son.

The first words made my heart stutter. As I read on, my limbs grew cold. The letter dropped from nerveless fingers and fluttered to the floor. I was not to marry Harry Dudley, after all. No one would ever marry Harry because Harry was dead.

Dazed, grief-stricken, I was scarcely aware of it when Alys plucked the letter from the rushes and read the terrible news for herself. “After King Henry left France,” she relayed to Mary Woodhull in a choked whisper, “there was sickness among the troops. Camp fever. It was so widespread
that even those in the command tents were infected. Harry—” She broke off, unable to say the words aloud.

“Harry died of it.” I grabbed the letter back and tore it into tiny bits and threw them into the fire.

Tears streamed down my face. “It would have been a good match,” I sobbed. “We were well suited.” And there had been no impediment to our marriage.

None but death.

17

I
do not remember much about the next few weeks. I performed my duties by rote, an insincere smile pasted on my face. I had to force myself to eat. It seemed unbelievable to me that someone as full of life as Harry Dudley should be so suddenly and finally gone. When Lady Lisle returned to court, we wept together for what we’d both lost.

Soon after that, the queen went on progress again, this time into Buckinghamshire and Bedfordshire. This time the king did not accompany her, nor did her brother. The days passed with great sameness until, on the return journey, Her Grace decided to stop at Ashridge to visit the king’s younger daughter.

I had seen Princess Elizabeth from a distance when I first joined the court as the queen’s maid of honor, but I had never spoken to the fragile-looking, red-haired, eleven-year-old. As soon as the king returned from France, she’d been sent back to her own household. In Nan Bassett’s opinion, that was because His Grace was uncomfortable in her presence. She had her mother’s eyes.

I was seated by a window, staring out at the bleak November
landscape, when I heard the rustle of satin behind me and smelled marjoram, the light fragrance the princess always wore. I rose, bade her good morrow, and dropped into a curtsy.

Her Grace peered into my face, her large black eyes unblinking. “Why are you so sad?” she asked.

Disconcerted by that stare and disarmed by her directness, I blurted out an honest answer. “I lost someone I loved.”

The princess nodded, her expression solemn. “It is best not to love anyone,” she said. “The people you love
always
leave you.”

She had reason to believe that. Her mother, Anne Boleyn, had been beheaded when Elizabeth was only three and she had since lost two stepmothers and who knew how many devoted servants to the whims of her father the king.

“I am not certain it is possible to stop love,” I said.

Princess Elizabeth considered this, all the while continuing her intense scrutiny. “I love my governess,” she said after a few moments of thought. “Who are you?”

“My name is Elizabeth Brooke. I am Lord Cobham’s daughter and a maid of honor to Queen Kathryn.”

There was something about Her Grace, even as young as she was, that compelled me to answer the questions that followed. By the time she left me at the end of a quarter of an hour, she knew a good deal about me, even that I’d been planning to marry Harry Dudley.

Alone again, I pondered the princess’s philosophy. Was it better not to love anyone for fear of losing them? No doubt it was, but love was not something anyone could control. I loved my parents and siblings. I’d loved Harry, after a fashion. And, God help me, I loved Will Parr.

Months of separation punctuated by fleeting contact had only made the attraction stronger. What I felt for Will defied common sense, but it was very real. As I stared blindly out at the grounds of Ashridge, I accepted a very great truth—I could no longer imagine living the rest of my life without Will in it.

18

B
y the time the progress was over, it was almost Yuletide. We were to spend Christmas at the king’s favorite palace, Greenwich, and celebrate with masques and other pageantry. Then we would move to Hampton Court for the Twelfth Night festivities.

Will arrived at Greenwich a few days after I did. The moment I caught sight of him, I felt the powerful pull of attraction. I stared at him until he glanced my way and met my eyes. It did not take him long after that to find an opportunity to speak privately with me in a secluded corner of the queen’s presence chamber.

He kissed me first, a searing bonding of lips that left me breathless.

“I have missed you, Bess,” he murmured.

“And I, you. More than you can know.”

He kissed me again and ran the tips of his fingers over my cheek. I shivered with pleasure.

“I . . . I love you, Will,” I whispered.

“And I, you, from the first moment I saw you.”

I frowned, remembering that occasion all too well. “You were kissing Dorothy the first time we met.”

He chuckled. “Jealous, my sweet? There is no one else for me. Not anymore. I cleave only to you.”

But when he reached for me again, I put both hands on his chest to keep him at a distance. “Does your wife still live?”

“Sadly, yes. But that does not matter. I am free of her, free to wed again. We need only obtain the king’s permission.”

“And my father’s,” I reminded him, scarcely daring to hope it would be that simple.

“George will not go against the king’s wishes.”

“His Grace’s consent is all we need? Truly?”

“It is a trifle more complicated than that,” Will admitted. “I must convince King Henry to grant a royal decree that will allow me to remarry. But I am high in His Grace’s favor and my sister will support our cause.”

He’d said that before. “The king is nothing if not unpredictable,” I reminded him. “Especially if his leg pains him.”

“If I approach him at the right moment, catch him in an expansive mood . . . you will see, Bess. His Grace will favor my suit.”

I smiled up at him, struck by an idea. “What if I help you persuade the king?”

He winced. “It might be best if you keep your distance. He might find you too tasty a morsel to resist.” To prevent any argument, he caught me to him and found my lips. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him back, reveling in the passion I’d unleashed until the sound of approaching footsteps forced us apart again.

“We must be circumspect,” I said in a breathless whisper. “No hint of scandal must touch us. We cannot expect the queen to help us if she thinks I am just another Dorothy Bray.”

Reluctantly, Will released me, but he made no promises.

We spent a great deal of time together after that, for the most part in the queen’s apartments. I resisted the temptation to visit him in his lodgings. In other circumstances conceiving a child would have led to the
marriage we both desired, but so long as Will was not completely free, that was no solution for us. If the king did not sanction our union, I’d be banished from court and might never see Will again. Far better to bide our time and wait for an opportunity to broach the subject of a royal decree with the king. It had to be the perfect moment, else His Grace might forbid us to wed at all. He might even take it into his head to find a more “suitable” husband for me.

My closest friends, Alys Guildford and Mary Woodhull, knew how I felt about Will. They knew, too, that I heartily wished his faithless wife would die. But no one else was aware of our commitment to each other. Or so I thought.