Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (107 page)

I trailed my fingers up the front of Will’s doublet. “Would you not prefer to spend tonight with me?”

The answering heat in his gaze made my knees weak, but his words denied me. “The duke has the excuse of illness. I am not sick.”

I moved closer, slid my arms around him, nestled against him. “What good has waiting done us?” I rubbed myself against him.

“God’s Blood, Bess! You would drive a saint into sin!”

“The duke’s ill health will distract attention away from us.”

“This is not wise, Bess. Not prudent.”

“Prudence be damned!” But I released him. If lust would not convince him, then logic must. “You have always insisted that there is no real impediment to our marriage. Was that a lie?”

“How can you think such a thing?”

“Then if we were to exchange vows in private, we would be as truly
wed as if we had a priest in attendance. It would not be a sin to lie together.”

My bold proposal left him speechless, but his eyes gleamed.

“We will enter into a clandestine marriage.” My body hummed with desire. I wanted nothing more than to consummate our love. We had waited months. Years. I was nineteen, far older than my mother had been when she wed. It was time to take this step. A clandestine marriage might not be sanctioned by the church, but it was irrevocable.

“Woking is close enough to Guildford that I can ride there on the morrow to attend the council meeting,” Will said. “I will tell His Grace that I have matters to attend to concerning the manor.”

An hour later, the king rode away without Will, but we still had the rest of the day and the evening to endure. We passed the time playing primero in the queen’s presence chamber. Will lost £5. Had the queen not been distracted by her concern for the ailing duke, she might have been made suspicious by that.

The long hours of waiting were agonizing, but at last Alys fell soundly asleep. I crept out of the bed we shared. Wearing a night gown to cover my nakedness, I left the tent that served as the maidens’ chamber. Will was waiting for me. Since Guildford belonged to him, he had a room inside the house and knew the best way to spirit me there without anyone being the wiser.

Lit by candles, the bedchamber smelled of roses. He’d ordered masses of them cut and brought inside. Taking my hand, he led me to the foot of the bed, an enormous carved and gilded object hung with crimson brocade.

“Are you certain, Bess?”

I nodded. “What must we say?”

“We commit ourselves each to the other by words of consent uttered
per verba de presenti.
” He held my gaze as he made his vows. “I, William Parr, Lord Parr of Kendal and Earl of Essex, do take thee, Elizabeth Brooke, to be my wedded wife. Now you.”

“I, Elizabeth Brooke, do take thee, William Parr, to be my wedded
husband.” The smile I gave him was tremulous. My heart was full to bursting. I felt light-headed, too, but my thoughts had not yet scattered. “Do we need a witness?”

“The words are enough. We are married.”

At last,
I thought as he kissed me deeply. Then I did not think at all for a very long time.

Will had the patience to be gentle with me my first time, and the experience to give me so much pleasure that I barely felt it when he took my maidenhead.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered afterward. He took my hand and placed it over his heart. “I am yours, Bess. Forever. No one will ever force us to part.”

“And I am yours, Will. Forever.” Tears of happiness filled my eyes as I embraced him. I kissed his chin, his cheek, even his eyelids, and all the while my fingers explored, learning the hard planes and solid muscles of his body.

Fearless in the arms of the man I loved, I gave myself to him again and again through that blissful night. After the last time, toward dawn, we lay together still joined. He was, I thought, the other half of myself. My smile stretched so wide that my cheeks hurt. I ducked my head, nuzzled the underside of his chin, and began to inscribe tiny letters on his bare chest.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a sleepy, contented voice.

“Writing my initials. You belong to me now.”

When he laughed, I felt it across every inch of my body, inside and out.

22

I
was back in the maidens’ tent before any of the others were stirring. Although Will left early for Woking, I was up and dressed to watch him ride away. I sent a wife’s prayer after him for his safety and success.

If the king seemed to be in a mellow mood, Will would confess what we had done right after the council meeting and ask His Grace’s blessing on our marriage. There was risk involved. There was always risk. But I had convinced myself that, at worst, Will would be made to pay a fine for marrying without the king’s permission. No matter what happened, I no longer feared I would be forced to marry someone else. It was too late for that.

Feeling smug, I turned to find Nan Bassett right behind me. “You are a fool, Bess Brooke.”

“I have no notion what you mean.” But my palms began to sweat and I could not meet her eyes.

“I mean that I was awake when you returned this morning. Did you lie with him, Bess? Have you so far lost your senses as to risk getting with child by a man who already has a wife?”

“You are mistaken. I went out to visit the privy, nothing more.”

Nan sent me a pitying look. “If you are set upon this course, at least learn how to lie convincingly.”

Certain I would have no need to deny Will, I walked away from Nan without saying more. We would be together soon, wed in the eyes of man and God. For we
were
married. We’d exchanged vows and I’d given myself to my husband, body and mind and soul. The pleasure he had given me in return had convinced me that we were destined to be together. Just the memory of our joining made me warm all over.

I did not permit myself to consider the possibility that the king would refuse Will’s request. To show favor to Will would please the queen. And Will had been most faithful in his service ever since his return from the Scottish border. He deserved a reward.

To pass the time, I sewed, played my lute, and watched the queen’s tumbler perform. From time to time I heard hushed whispers and saw concerned looks. Since they were not directed at me, I paid them scant attention until, at just after four of the clock on that Saturday afternoon, the queen herself came to tell us that the ailing Duke of Suffolk had died.

Will returned to Guildford Castle a few hours later, bringing His Grace’s condolences to the duchess and the duke’s daughter, Frances Grey. Then he retired to his bedchamber, where I waited.

“You should not be here, Bess,” Will said in a weary voice. He poured himself a cup of Malmsey and sank into the chair drawn up to the fire.

“Where else should your wife be, Will?” I took the cup away from him, placing it on a nearby table, and plunked myself down in his lap.

For a moment, I thought he would push me away, but he only sighed and laid his head upon my bosom. I stroked his hair, hoping to soothe him, but I was far from calm myself.

“What happened at Woking?” I asked when he did not volunteer any information. “Did you speak to the king?”

I felt him tense and knew before he spoke that he had not. “There was no opening before the council meeting, and after . . . the Privy Council was still in session when the news arrived.” Will lifted his head to run
shaky fingers over his short-cropped hair. “I have never seen the king so grief stricken. Suffolk was his oldest friend. His Grace took his death hard, and it was as if a dam opened. Of a sudden, every other loss in this evil year flooded over him. Even as he praised the duke’s life, he remembered there was famine in the land, and sickness, too. He spoke of the
Mary Rose
and the sailors who went down with her. The king was there in Portsmouth that day, you know, watching from the ramparts of South-sea Castle when that great ship heeled over and abruptly sank. Hundreds of men drowned and there was nothing anyone could do to save them.”

“I am sorry for it, but—”

“Did you know the
Mary Rose
was named after the king’s sister, the one who was married to the Duke of Suffolk?”

I did not care. I wanted to wail—to howl—in frustration. We had been so close.

Will ran one hand up my arm to pull me into a kiss. I resisted. As much as I wanted to lie in his arms, in his bed, some vestige of common sense remained to me. “I will not have people think I am merely your mistress.”

“You are my
wife,
Bess. Never doubt that. It is only that we must bide our time. Just now the king would not react well to being told we’ve already wed. When Suffolk married His Grace’s sister, even he fell into disfavor for not waiting for permission.”

“But he was forgiven.”

“In time. And after payment of an enormous fine.”

I knew the story, but it was ancient history, so long ago that Suffolk’s daughter, Frances, had three little girls of her own—Jane, Catherine, and Mary Grey. I extricated myself from Will’s arms and stood. “I must go now.”

“I love you, Bess.” His misery tore at my heart, but it made no difference. I could not stay. The temptation was too great.

He caught my hand before I could escape and slipped a ring on my finger. “You are my wife now, Bess. There is no going back.”

The ring was in gimmal, one part set with a ruby and the other with a
diamond. I did not have to take it off to know that the words “Let no man put asunder those whom God has joined together” would be inscribed beneath the bezel.

“It will not be long,” Will whispered. “I swear it. Soon we will be able to tell the world that we are wed.”

“And until then we must pretend nothing has changed.” My voice sounded as hollow as I felt.

Will loved me. I did believe that. But not as much as I loved him. Not enough to go straightaway to the king and announce that we were married. I removed the ring from my finger and tucked it into my bodice, close to my heart.

23

I
n November, Jane Lisle gave birth to another daughter. The child was baptized in London with the widowed Duchess of Suffolk and the Princess Mary as her godmothers. I attended the ceremony and came away from it longing for a child of my own, Will’s child.

I had not conceived as a result of our one night together and I was glad of it, but I despaired of ever being able to claim my husband, let alone bear his child. Since the duke’s death, His Grace’s health had gone into a decline. His good days were few and far between.

In the new year, the king’s physical ailments became even more debilitating. He was fifty-four years old, but looked a decade older. He could only climb stairs with the help of a winching device and he was obliged to use what he called his “tram,” a chair fitted with wheels, to get about on level ground. That he had to suffer such indignities made King Henry even more short tempered, irritable, and intolerant.

On a cold day in mid-February, Mary Woodhull, Alys Guildford, and I huddled on low stools pulled close to a brazier in the middle of the
maids’ dormitory, trying to keep warm while we hemmed shirts for the poor.

“Queen Kathryn has ordered more secure coffers and boxes with new locks and they are to be kept in Her Grace’s garderobe.” Mary spoke in a voice so low that I had to strain to hear her. The only other person in the chamber was one of the tiring maids. She was some distance away, returning laundered shifts to one of the wardrobe trunks, but it was obvious that Mary did not want her to overhear.

“Why?” I asked in an equally soft voice.

“To keep her personal papers and letters safe from prying eyes.”

“Who would dare spy on the queen?” Alys asked.

“Any number of people,” Mary said, “including her husband.”

“Queen Kathryn has enemies,” I said, “Bishop Gardiner chief among them.”

“Her Grace has sent some of her more controversial books away to her uncle in Northamptonshire, for safekeeping,” Mary confided. The queen’s uncle, Lord Parr of Horton, was Mary’s grandfather.

I wished I could ask Will what he thought of his sister’s actions, but he was away from court. By the time he returned and we could steal an hour together, his kisses drove every other thought out of my mind.

We did not couple for fear of creating a child, but Will knew other ways to pleasure me. The first time, I thought he meant only to indulge in a few kisses and touches, but his caresses soon became more intimate and before I knew what was happening, he had driven me to the same height of ecstasy I had experienced in his bed. He held me close as I shuddered and wept in the aftermath of those powerful sensations. Then he showed me how to satisfy him.

In May, with alarming suddenness, the matter of the queen’s books took on new importance. The Privy Council summoned Edward Warner, a minor member of Queen Kathryn’s household, to answer a charge of “disputing indiscreetly of Scripture.” Master Warner knew all too well what reading matter had, until recently, been available in the queen’s
privy chamber. Several more volumes abruptly vanished into the locked caskets in the garderobe.

Throughout June there was an increase in the number of quiet, intense conversations between members of the queen’s inner circle. This elite group was comprised of ladies who shared the queen’s evangelical views—Anne Herbert, the queen’s sister; Jane Lisle; Anne Hertford; Catherine, Duchess of Suffolk; Elizabeth Tyrwhitt; and Joan Denny. None of the maids of honor was included. We formed an attractive backdrop for the queen, but she did not confide in us. Mary Woodhull, however, served the bedchamber. Little escaped her notice.

“There is trouble over Mistress Anne Askew,” Mary reported. “She is a gentlewoman from the north who has been arraigned for heresy. She has been questioned about her ties to the queen’s household. Some of the queen’s ladies sent her aid, as they are wont to do for many unfortunate prisoners. Because of that, they fear they will be questioned, too. And because they are close to Her Grace, the queen may also be in danger.”

“Of accusations of
heresy
?” I whispered, horrified. “But she is the
queen
.”