The Boleyn Deceit (12 page)

Robert lingered around the park, guessing that Rochford would want to speak to him as well and reluctant to be sent for like a servant. Sure enough, when Rochford and John came out of doors, Rochford said, “I will take a turn in the park with your brother, Warwick. He will see me on my way.”

John shot one troubled look at Robert—as though he could see the tangled nature of the ties between him and Rochford—but naturally he acquiesced. “Of course, Your Grace.”

As he and Rochford strolled amongst the neatly divided flower
beds, Robert said, “I didn’t think you were allowed to speak to me outside the shadows of dank cellars or empty outbuildings.”

“You flatter yourself,” Rochford replied smoothly. “Who would think you important enough to catch my eye for more than the most casual conversation?”

“What do you want?” Usually Robert only spoke bluntly to Rochford when he’d been drinking, but he was unnerved having the Lord Chancellor in his home and among his family. It was a reminder of the perilous secrets he was keeping from them.

“You have been reticent with your reports on Mistress Wyatt. As you have seen her quite recently here, away from the court, I wondered what you might have to tell me.”

“Very little.” The truth was, Robert found it hard to concentrate on any woman but Elizabeth, and he was uncomfortable about spying on Elizabeth’s friend. So he fell back on generalities. “Mistress Wyatt is beautiful, she is the princess’s closest confidante, she is well-liked by everyone who knows her.”

Rochford came close to rolling his eyes. “I see I shall have to be specific. Does she continue to pry into Alyce de Clare’s death?”

“Not that I’m aware. She appears to be doing nothing more taxing than dealing with Elizabeth’s correspondence and enjoying herself. Why are you so concerned about her?”

“Because she is an anomaly,” Rochford answered promptly. “I think the time has come to settle the girl’s future. I’m sure I can find her a suitable husband who will occupy her time and leave her less … influential in my niece’s life. Pity none of your brothers are available at the moment.”

Robert tried—and failed—to imagine Minuette married to one of his brothers. John was far too humourless; Guildford too young and thoughtless. Perhaps Henry or Ambrose would have done, were they not both married at the moment, but truthfully,
when Robert thought of Minuette, there were only two men who seemed to belong with her: William and Dominic.

They had turned back to the house and nearly reached Rochford’s horse when the Lord Chancellor remarked in a manner that would have passed for casual in any other man, “By the way, William intends to elevate two men at Easter. He’s going to allow Surrey to become Duke of Norfolk. And the second man …”

Rochford paused meaningfully, and, despite his own studied air of disinterest, Robert felt his pulse twitch. Was he at last going to be given a title of his own, more than just the mere courtesy “lord” afforded him by his father’s title? Was this the beginning of his vaguely promised reward for doing Rochford’s bidding, the beginning of making him eligible in title and wealth to seek Elizabeth, if only his marriage were dissolved?

As though he knew precisely the hopes he was dashing, Rochford finished bluntly, “Dominic Courtenay will be named Duke of Exeter.”

Minuette left her diary open to allow the ink to dry while she fussed with her sleeves and kirtle. William and the rest of the court had arrived at Richmond last night, but it wasn’t for him—nor even for Dominic—that she troubled about her appearance this afternoon. No, the person she was off to see was much more unpredictable, and so Minuette focused on her clothing as if that would be the deciding factor in whether Lady Rochford would speak to her or not.

She had not spoken directly to the duchess since that awful, awkward encounter in a corridor at Greenwich when she had found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. That day, Lady Rochford had been emerging from what could only have been an improper liaison with Giles Howard, but even her husband’s unexpected presence in the corridor had not shaken the duchess. She had simply smiled with all the warmth of a predatory cat and proceeded to give Minuette some rather improper and blunt advice on how to manipulate men. But despite Minuette’s personal distaste for Lady Rochford, one thing John Dee
had said stayed with her as she pondered Alyce’s death:
We all carry with us our pasts. Who we were then informs who we are now.

And Alyce’s past lay in the household of George and Jane Boleyn, where her father had been a clerk to Lord Rochford and her mother a lady-in-waiting to his wife. Perhaps, Minuette thought, Lady Rochford might have some insight into Alyce as a child and young woman that would help her divine Alyce’s secrets.

Wherever the Duchess of Rochford was, there were people; not because Jane herself was engaging, but because of her title and her position and her husband. As aunt by marriage to the King of England, it would have taken more than a bitter disposition and a sour temper to keep people away from her. Minuette did not usually involve herself in this circle, but today she forced herself to small talk and gossip. It was surprisingly easy, but then, she was known to be very dear to Elizabeth and William and so people were flattered by her attention.

At last she maneuvered herself near enough Lady Rochford that, when there was a lull in the conversation, she was able to say quietly, “Might I speak with you privately for a few minutes?”

Lady Rochford considered her with those flat eyes that very nearly made Minuette twitch. “Could it be that you are at last prepared to seek my advice?”

A woman has one power in this world. If you’re wise, you learn to use it to your advantage.

“I am seeking information.”

“On behalf of my niece?”

“For the peace of my own conscience.” Minuette itched to be elsewhere, but she would not rush Lady Rochford. She was gambling that the woman would not be able to resist being important.

“Dear me,” Lady Rochford replied. “A conscience at court—how remarkable.”

She stood and beckoned Minuette to follow her to a corner somewhat secluded by several high-backed chairs. Settling into one with her back to the rest of the room, Lady Rochford waited for Minuette to sit, then said, “What is it you wish to know?”

Taking in the duchess’s ostentatious gown embroidered in gold thread and the costly jewels around her neck, Minuette knew she had been wise to armour herself in a similar, if less showy, gown of intricately pleated silk. Jane Boleyn set great store by the perquisites of her position and she respected only those who could match her. Minuette settled in to ask her questions without being either pleading or condescending.

“The de Clare sisters, Alyce and Emma. I understand their parents were in the service of yourself and your husband.”

“They were.”

“Do you remember them?”

“Of course.”

Minuette tried to hold onto her patience. “What can you tell me about them?”

Lady Rochford arched an eyebrow in a face that was remarkably smooth for her age. “That one is married, and one is dead.”

So much for patience. “Why was Alyce brought to court, and not Emma? Alyce was the younger sister, after all.” Minuette had met Emma de Clare, now married none too well to a gentleman farmer, and knew how much the older sister had resented the younger one her opportunities. Not that she could see what bearing any of that had on Alyce’s death.

Interest sharpened Lady Rochford’s unnaturally white face (everyone knew she powdered it liberally with white lead and vinegar), though she was still clearly determined to be
unhelpfully brief. “I had intended to bring Emma into my household at court after her father’s death. My husband objected.”

“But he allowed Alyce at court.”

“Not in my household.”

No, that was true. Why had Alyce been placed with the queen rather than the duchess? It argued greater favour, from Lord Rochford at least. Why would he have preferred Alyce to Emma?

Lady Rochford waited as though she could see Minuette’s thoughts tumbling over one another. Smiling grimly, she said, “My husband has his own criteria for appropriate women at his court.”

His
court, not
the king’s
court. Fascinating. “What made Alyce more appropriate than Emma?”

“Precisely what you are imagining.”

“Lady Rochford—”

“If I have to spell it out for you, then you should be in a convent. If they still existed in England. Everyone keeps telling me how innocent you are, how sweet, how refreshing in your directness and such a bright counterpoint to Elizabeth’s intensity—everyone except my husband.”

Minuette nearly shivered at the notion that people were gossiping about her, and that Lady Rochford was listening. But she couldn’t resist a final question, although she wasn’t at all certain she wanted the answer. “And what does your husband say about me, Your Grace?”

Lady Rochford rose. Pinning Minuette in place with her gaze, she replied, “My husband says nothing. But he watches you.”

She swept away, leaving Minuette feeling as though she’d been in the clutches of a cat that had determined at the last moment not to eat the mouse. Yet.

Minuette spent so long getting dressed that Elizabeth actually went on to the dancing without her. She could not regret it, though, for she was conscious of how well she looked tonight. Her gown was new, made with fabrics that William had (discreetly) gifted her: a sky blue satin underskirt and bodice, with an overdress and sleeves of white embroidered in shades of blue and green. The pearls and sapphires of the necklace Dominic had
given her almost two years ago complemented the dress perfectly. She matched them with pearl drop earrings borrowed from Elizabeth and a silver-gilt ribbon studded with minor gems wound through her loosely piled-up hair. Even her shoes were perfect, blue silk with a velvet bow on each.

When Carrie finished adjusting the last curl off her neck, she said softly, “You are a vision and no mistake, my lady. He will be very proud of you.”

I hope so, Minuette thought, without knowing if Carrie meant William or Dominic or both. She had never spoken directly of either one to her maid, but she didn’t have to. Carrie had seen her weep at Hever and shiver at Hampton Court, and Minuette had often come back to her rooms flushed and happy or thoughtful and melancholy, depending on the occasion. Sometimes she believed Carrie knew her heart better than she did.

So happy, so proud, so delighted was Minuette on this night that she could not believe her eyes when she entered the great hall and the first person she sighted was Eleanor Percy. She had not seen William’s former mistress since the night of her husband’s death (the night I killed her husband, she thought, then forced the memory away) and Minuette had never anticipated seeing her again at court, preening at a bemused Earl of Pembroke as though she had never been away.