Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (77 page)

“I am to take
your
place, sister dear. I will stay here and wait upon the princess of Cleves. Should I be grateful, do you suppose?”

“I have little to do with deciding who goes where,” Nan protested. A small, jeweled box went into the trunk next. Cat knew it contained lozenges flavored with licorice. She preferred cinnamon herself.

“The king asked for you, I warrant.”

“The king is entirely satisfied with his new wife.”

Cat snorted. “I wonder how long that will last.”

“Hush, Cat. It is treason to disparage Catherine Howard’s character now that she has married the king.”

Cat’s gaze sharpened. “What do you know?”

“Nothing. I thought you—” Nan smiled and shook her head. “Never mind. The important thing is that you are to be a maid of honor to a royal lady. And yes, you should be grateful. Anna of Cleves is a kind and decent woman who will treat you well. Help her with her English and she will be beholden to you.”

“But powerless to grant favors,” Cat pointed out. “You are the one who will be close to the king. Do you mean to use your influence to help Mother and our sisters?” That was why Cat was so upset. She had counted on being at court herself, with Lady Rutland, able to use what little favor she’d found with the earl and countess to advance her family’s cause.

“I will if I can, but you know how cautious one has to be with the king. I must choose my time with care.”

“They are prisoners, Nan. Locked up in Calais. They do not even have the comfort of each other’s company.”

“How do you know they are still separated? I have heard no details since shortly after their arrest.”

“Frances wrote to me,” Cat said. “She gave me the names of the citizens of Calais charged with keeping Mother and Philippa and Mary.”

“A pity Mary did not just elope with Gabriel,” Nan grumbled.
“Matters would have been no worse and at least one of us would have been happy.”

Nan continued packing but, to Cat’s surprise, there were tears in her eyes. Cat frowned. Nan had been in a strange frame of mind for weeks. Only three days earlier, she’d walked right past Cat in the garden without seeing her.

“Nan—”

“Oh, just leave me be! I will do what I can for Mother and our sisters. I will!”

One glance at the wild look in her sister’s eyes had Cat backing rapidly away from her. She’d seen that expression before—on their mother’s face. It would do no good to talk to her now, and tomorrow she would be gone. Dissatisfied, but with no idea what else she could do, Cat went away.

N
AN THREW HERSELF
into the pleasures of life at court. With each passing day, more time elapsed between thoughts of Ned or Jamie or her stepfather or her mother or her sisters. The long journeys between houses on the royal progress were difficult to endure, but even on the road there was constant chatter about clothes and other trivialities to distract her. Once the progress reached a destination, another round of entertainments began. When Nan filled every waking hour with frivolity, she could almost forget how much she’d lost.

The new queen’s household was very different from those of her predecessors. Unlike Jane, Catherine was not heavily pregnant or dying. Unlike Anna, she knew how to please her husband … and herself. The court had a frenzied quality, as if the new queen sought to live every moment to the fullest. As for the king, he was plainly smitten with his bride. He was at her side every moment he could manage, touching her upon the least provocation.

Face flushed, spirits artificially high, Nan spun round the dance floor with Sir Edmund Knyvett as her partner. He had been one of her admirers for a long time, but now, since he was one of the new queen’s
cousins, he was high in the king’s favor. What a great pity that he already had a wife!

Sir Edmund caught Nan by the waist and lifted her. He was an excellent dancer. They moved easily in the intricate pattern of steps. When they touched hands and walked together before moving apart again, they were able to exchange a few words.

“I vow, Mistress Bassett,” he declared, placing his hand over his heart, “you are the most beautiful woman at court.”

“Excepting only the queen,” she reminded him with a grin.

He had a wonderful laugh. In truth, he was a most appealing gentleman, dark haired and blue eyed. She guessed his age at thirty or so, but he regularly engaged in jousting and other sports and had a muscular build to show for it.

“Will you come and watch me shoot tomorrow?” he asked when the music ended.

“Gladly, Sir Edmund. I will even wager that you best all comers.”

And so, in the morning, on a bright, early September day, Nan made her way to the archery range where gentlemen of the court practiced with the longbow. The butts, tall mounds surmounted by a target, were set up at one end of the field while the shooters ranged themselves at the other. Nan recognized all of the competitors, gentlemen of the court and knights like Sir Edmund himself.

She settled herself on a little knoll, seated on the blanket Constance had carried there for her, and prepared to be entertained. Constance sat at the very edge of the blanket, tailor fashion, her needlework in her lap. Several gentlewomen and ladies also came to watch the contest, but none of them joined Nan. She did not expect them to. So long as Lord Lisle remained in the Tower, the taint of treason also clung to her. She tried not to think about that.

The air was so balmy, the match so uneventful, that Nan was soon struggling to stay awake. She rearranged the pillows Constance had insisted on bringing to support her back and let her eyes drift closed.

Men’s voices near at hand brought Nan out of a doze. She peered
through her lowered lids and saw two of the king’s yeomen of the guard walking by. Her eyes popped open when she heard what they were saying.

Sir William Kingston dead? A giddy sense of relief swept over her, quickly followed by a wave of guilt. She had not wished Sir William harm, but so long as he had been constable of the Tower, there had been a chance that her involvement in Ned Corbett’s escape would come to light.

Her feeling of euphoria lasted through the end of the competition. Sir Edmund, having triumphed over the competition, was in high good humor when he joined her on her blanket.

“I trust you won a goodly sum with your wager, Nan. I vow I have never shot so well as I did knowing you were watching.”

“Only a modest sum.” She did not have much money with which to gamble.

“We both deserve a treat.”

She tilted her head inquiringly, having no notion what he had in mind.

Sir Edmund took her hand in his. “Lie with me, my sweet. Be my love. I have desired you ever since I first saw you.”

Nan blinked at him in confusion. “But … but you already have a wife!”

“I do not have a mistress.” He leaned in, intending to kiss her.

Nan flung herself backward across the blanket, nearly bowling Constance over in her haste.

Sir Edmund rocked back on his heels, a broad grin on his handsome face. “Nan, Nan, I mean you no disrespect, but it is not as if you have any hope of an honorable marriage.”

Scrambling to her feet, she glared at him. “I have every right to expect precisely that!”

He had the nerve to laugh. “Who is it you think will wed you? You are a traitor’s daughter!”

“Stepdaughter! And Lord Lisle is no traitor.”

“I was speaking of
Lady
Lisle.”

“My mother did nothing wrong.”

“Then why is she still confined in Calais?” With a sound of disgust, Sir Edmund levered himself off the blanket and stalked off.

As Nan watched him go, her hands began to tremble. The brutal truth was that he was right. She had no hope now of catching a wealthy and noble husband. Not even a mere gentleman, let alone a knight or a nobleman, would wish to be burdened with a wife whose mother and stepfather were in disgrace. She had little chance of making any marriage at all until the king pardoned Lord and Lady Lisle.

Soon, she decided. Soon she would force herself to speak to the king. But not yet. She could not compete with Catherine Howard and did not want to incur the new queen’s jealousy. She would have to wait until the king was less besotted with his bride, more amenable to a request from someone else.

Nan gestured for Constance to gather up the blanket and pillows and began the long walk past the courtiers who had witnessed her exchange with Sir Edmund. Head high, she ignored the whispers of speculation. She was still a maid of honor to the queen, still at court. She was young and pretty and she had her whole life ahead of her. Her situation would improve. It had to.

W
ITH THE KING
and queen so often in each other’s company, the members of their households were encouraged to mingle. At Ampthill, in Bedfordshire, where they were to spend a fortnight on progress, from mid- to late September, their numbers were swelled by members of the local gentry.

Nan was watching several grooms of the king’s privy chamber play at Hazard when one of them, Tom Culpepper, suddenly slanted his sparkling green eyes her way. “Have you noticed that you have an admirer?” he asked.

“Do I?” She thought at first that he was referring to himself. Culpepper was as much a nobody as Nan was, but he was pleasant company and
with his fair hair and those beautiful eyes he was also one of the most attractive young men at court. King Henry was especially fond of him, but that was because Tom had a gentle touch when it came to dressing the ulcer on the king’s leg.

Tom jerked his head to the left, indicating a young man who stood in front of a tapestry. The fellow was staring at them with an intensity that surprised Nan. No—he was staring at her.

She could not see his face clearly at this distance, but he was tall and broad shouldered, with well-formed legs. She did admire an attractive physique. His clothes seemed very plain for court dress, but by his bearing he was a gentleman. She could not help but be flattered that he seemed to be fascinated by her. But she also found his intense interest a trifle disconcerting.

“Who is he?” she asked.

Tom did not answer. It was his turn to throw the two ivory dice. He kept throwing until he got a “main,” any number between five and nine. In this case, it was a six. On the next roll of the dice, he’d need either a six or an eleven—a “nick”—to win. If he threw a two, a three, or a twelve, it would be the next player’s turn.

Tom muttered darkly as a four came up, a “mark,” as any number but two, three, six, eleven, or twelve was called. This obliged him to throw again until he rolled either another mark, for the win, or another main, which would now mean he’d lost. Nan waited impatiently, hoping for the main, and hid a smile when he rolled a six. With ill grace, Tom passed the dice to the player on his left.

“Who is he?” Nan repeated, gesturing toward the young man.

“Wat.”

“I said who—”

“Not what, Wat. That’s Wat Hungerford.” Tom grinned at the play on words.

“Oh.” She remembered him then. In the many months since she’d last seen him, he had gone from boy to man, at least in size. Although he could be no older than sixteen, he stood a head taller than anyone
around him. Because he was so pleasing to the eye, Nan stole another glance at him as the game of Hazard continued. He was still watching her. For the first time since she’d sent Ned Corbett away, Nan felt the telltale flutter in her belly that signaled true physical attraction. The sensation had been notably absent during her flirtation with Sir Edmund Knyvett.

Nan went back to watching the game, but she was aware of the young man’s gaze upon her. A few minutes later, she felt a touch at her elbow. Wat Hungerford stood beside her.

“A word with you, Mistress Bassett?” His voice was deep, making it difficult to remember that he was still a boy.

“We might walk awhile. It is very warm in here. I would not mind a breath of air.”

The gardens at Ampthill featured low brick walls along the alley paths, secluded arbors, and turf-covered benches, as well as fragrant flowers. When they were well away from anyone who might overhear, Wat turned Nan to face him and, in almost defiant tones, blurted out the reason he’d been watching her: “I have admired you for many years, Mistress Bassett. You are the most beautiful of all the maids of honor.”

Nan hid her astonishment. “
Many
years?”

“I attended Prince Edward’s christening. Even then, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.”

Nan paused by a rosebush and bent to smell the flower. She loved roses, finding their scent both sweet and calming.

She was flattered by the young man’s interest, but she knew better than to encourage him. Were he still Lord Hungerford’s heir, it might have been possible to discount his youth, but he was the son of an attainted nobleman, stripped of lands and title and then executed. He had likely come to court to beg the king to restore some of the Hungerford inheritance. She doubted he’d have any success. His Grace disliked letting go of anything once it became his. And that meant, Nan knew, that she could not allow herself to consider Wat Hungerford as
a potential suitor any more than she could have accepted Ned Corbett as a husband.

When she glanced up from the roses, their eyes met. “I would ask for your hand if I could. It should not matter that I am a few years younger than you are.”

Nan did not doubt his sincerity, but what he wanted was impossible. She chose her words carefully, unwilling to hurt his feelings more than she had to. She was careful not to touch him. She told herself that he really was very sweet, in an adoring-puppy sort of way, and that it was only because he smelled most enticingly of mint that she felt the tug of physical attraction.

“Neither your desires nor mine count for anything, not when you are not old enough to wed without permission.” Upon his father’s execution, he’d have become a ward of the Crown. Either the king, or some person who had purchased Wat’s wardship, had the responsibility for arranging his marriage. Until he was of full age, at twenty-one, he could not make that decision for himself.