Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (92 page)

—Karen Harper, author of
The Queen’s Governess

“Rich and lushly detailed, teeming with passion and intrigue, this is a novel in which you can happily immerse yourself in another time and place.”

—Romantic Times

Gallery Books

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2010 by Kathy Lynn Emerson

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Gallery Books Subsidiary Rights Department,

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First Gallery Books trade paperback edition December 2010

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Emerson, Kate

Secrets of the Tudor court. By royal decree / Kate Emerson.—1st Gallery Books

trade pbk ed.

p. cm.

1. Northampton, Elizabeth Parr, Marchioness of, 1526–1565—Fiction. 2. Northampton, William Parr, Marquis of, 1513–1571—Fiction. 3. Ladies-in-waiting—Great Britain—Fiction. 4. Great Britain—Court and courtiers—Fiction. 5. Henry VIII, King of England, 1491–1547—Fiction. 6. Great Britain—History—Henry VIII, 1509–1547—Fiction. I. Title. II. Title: By royal decree. PS3555.M414S427 2010

813'.54—dc22 2010019895

ISBN 978-1-4391-7781-5

ISBN 978-1-4391-7783-9 (ebook)

To Elaine Emerson Smith

FAMILY CONNECTIONS OF ELIZABETH BROOKE

DESCENDANTS OF HENRY VII

1

O
n the twenty-ninth day of January in 1542, twenty-six eligible young women sat at table in Whitehall Palace with King Henry. An additional thirty-five occupied a second table close by. We were arranged by precedence, with the highest-born maidens closest to the king. As the daughter of a baron, I was assigned a seat at the first table, but there were others of nobler birth between me and His Grace.

From that little distance, King Henry the Eighth of England was a glorious sight. At first I could scarcely take my eyes off him. He glittered in the candlelight. Not only did he wear a great many jewels on his person, everything from a diamond cross to a great emerald with a pearl pendant, but the cloth itself was embroidered with gold thread.

I pinched myself to make certain I was not dreaming. Everything at court seemed to sparkle, from the rich tapestries to the painted ceilings to the glass in the windows. I had arrived from Kent the previous day and was still in awe of my surroundings. I had lived in comfort for all of my fifteen and a half years, but this opulent level of luxury stunned me.

Wondrous dishes appeared before me, one after another. When I tasted the next offering, I closed my eyes in delight. The sweet taste of sugar, combined with ginger and the tart flavor of an unknown fruit, exploded on my tongue. I sighed with pleasure and took another spoonful of this marvelous concoction.

“Have you tried the syllabub?” I asked the woman seated beside me. “It is most delicious.”

She did not appear to have eaten anything. Although she’d taken a piece of bread and a bit of meat from the platters the king’s gentlemen had brought around, she’d done no more than toy with the food. At my urging, she spooned a small portion of the syllabub into her mouth.

“Indeed,” she said. “Most delicious.” But instead of eating more, she fixed her bright, dark blue eyes on me, examining me so intently that I began to feel uncomfortable under her steady stare.

I reminded myself that I looked my best. My copper-colored gown was richly embroidered. My pale yellow hair had been washed only that morning. Barely two inches of it showed at the front of my new French hood, but it was a very pretty color and it would have reached nearly to my waist if it had not been caught up in a net at the back.

“Mistress Brooke?” my neighbor asked. “Lord Cobham’s daughter?”

I gave her my most brilliant smile. “Yes, I am Bess Brooke.”

Thawing in the face of my friendliness, she introduced herself as Nan Bassett. She was only a few years older than I was. The tiny bit of hair that showed at the front of her headdress was light brown and she had the pink-and-white complexion I’d heard was favored at court. I had such a complexion myself, and eyes of the same color, too, although mine were a less intense shade of blue.

We chatted amiably for the rest of the meal. I learned that she had been a maid of honor to each of King Henry’s last three wives. She’d been with Queen Jane Seymour when Queen Jane gave birth to the king’s heir, Prince Edward, who was now five years old. She’d been with Queen Anna of Cleves, until the king annulled that marriage in order to wed another of Queen Anna’s maids of honor, Catherine Howard. And
she had served Queen Catherine Howard, too, until Catherine betrayed her husband with another man and was arrested for treason.

Queen no more, Catherine Howard was locked in the Tower of London awaiting execution. The king needed a new bride to replace her. If the rumors I’d heard were true, that was why there were no gentlemen among our fellow guests. His Grace had gathered together prospective wives from among the nobility and gentry of England.

I had been summoned to court by royal decree. My parents had accompanied me to Whitehall Palace and impressed upon me that this was a great opportunity. They did not expect the king to choose me, but whatever lady did become the next queen would need maids of honor and waiting gentlewomen.

Conversation stopped when King Henry stood. Everyone else rose from their seats as well and remained on their feet while His Grace moved slowly from guest to guest, using a sturdy wooden staff to steady his steps. As he made his ponderous way down the length of the table, shuffling along through the rushes that covered the tiled floor, I saw to my dismay that, beneath the glitter, he was not just a large man. He was fat. He wore a corset in a futile attempt to contain his enormous bulk. I could hear it creak with every step he took.

The king spoke to each woman at table. When he spent a little longer with one particular pretty, dark-haired girl, a buzz of speculation stirred the air. Whispers and covert nudges and winks followed in the king’s wake. As His Grace approached, I grew more and more anxious, although I was not sure why. By the time he stopped in front of Mistress Bassett, I was vibrating with tension.