The Queen's Mistake (37 page)

She did not take the bait, but she was growing anxious. She had been told that the king would be there any moment. Catherine glanced nervously at the path that led from the palace to the riv erbank. She knew the king’s infatuation with her was based on his belief in her innocence, and that was an illusion Francis could easily shatter, so everything in the world, especially her uncle’s ambitious
goals, was riding on how she conducted herself in the next few minutes. If she did not handle this absolutely perfectly she feared not only being sent away from court, but from Thomas as well. And not being able to at least see him was a circumstance she simply could not bear.

Catherine steeled herself against Francis’s words and feigned a look of indifference. “What do you want, Francis?”

“To bring my wife home, of course.”

“I am not your wife,” she replied, trying to sound unconcerned.

“Ah, but we were trothplighted, which is nearly the same thing,” Francis pressed on, unconvinced by her performance.

She began to feel desperation well up inside of her like a hot rush. But she could not afford to have Francis know it. She must focus on self-preservation.

“When last I heard, you had gone to Ireland to seek your fortune. How did you find me here, anyway?” she asked with a hint of boredom in her voice, as if she could care less.

“Such news travels swiftly, my love, even as far as Kilkenny.” Francis took a step nearer, and instinctively she took a step back, betraying her anxiety. Francis tipped his head in amusement. “Oh, now, I merely wished to greet my wife properly.”

Now she was certain he was here because he wanted something from her. “Do stop calling me that. You know perfectly well that I am not your wife.”

“Let us not cavil with the details, hmm?” Francis said with a bitter smile.

There was a commotion across the sprawling lawn that drew her attention just then. As she had expected, a group of gentlemen, with the king at the center, walked toward her in a great swirl of velvets, satins, feathered hats, jewels and hearty male laughter. Catherine’s heart began to race, and she fought a swell of panic.

She turned to Francis and said in a low voice, “I haven’t much money of my own, but I shall give you what I can. How much do you require?”

“Oh, I do not want something as simple as money, you silly little mite,” Francis replied, advancing toward her.

“What is it that you want, then?” Catherine asked.

“Find a way for me to remain near you and be a part of your world to advance my own.” While the request was sincere, the way he spoke the words did not speak of love for her.

“Would you rather not have jewels? I have a rare emerald bracelet worth a fortune that my pet kitten wears. The king would believe that the little animal lost it. You could sell it and live not like a servant here but like a king yourself.” She desperately tried to convince him.

Catherine glanced again at Henry, who had paused a few yards away to speak with one of his gentlemen. She was relieved to discover that for the moment she and Francis were obscured from the king’s view by the trunk of the tree yet she could still see him through the heavy willow branches. When she looked back at Francis, she saw that his expression had gone stony.

“I want a position at court. I shall be your secretary once you are queen.”

“How on earth would I ever explain that?” Catherine replied in astonishment.

“Why, you could say that I am a trusted old friend from Horsham, and it is your wish to have someone near you upon whom you can depend.”

Trusted friend—how ironic
, she thought in a full, raging panic as she stared into the face of a man who wanted to profit for himself from her position at court. Her only saving grace was that he would be ruining his own life as well if he pushed too hard. She had to gamble on the fact that he was smart enough to know that.

“I will speak to my lady grandmother.”

“When?” Francis pressed.

“I am not yet queen! There is only so much I can do, Francis. Now you must leave before he arrives. You can see for yourself that he is coming!”

“Hmm, I don’t know. I have always wanted to meet the king,” he said, clearly stalling to toy with her.

“Very well. I promise I will see you made my secretary
if
I do become queen,” she replied hurriedly.

“And I should take your word for that after you disavowed our own marriage?”

“An old country ritual does not constitute a marriage, Master Dereham. But very well, go to the duchess yourself. Tell her we have spoken. She will grant you what you desire and see that it comes to pass.”

“Very well, I shall go. But you have promised. And this is a promise I fully intend for you to keep. One way or another.”

Catherine glanced away in panic to see if the king was nearby, and when she turned back, Francis Dereham had disappeared. She took a deep breath to steady herself just as the king took leave of his men and approached her. She could not still her racing heart. She was overwhelmed by her confrontation with Francis, and upset that yet another person had power over her.

“Ah, there you are!” Henry exclaimed as he came upon her. Despite her turbulent emotions beneath the surface, she knew she must look lovely against the picturesque broad, blue sky and emerald grass. “I looked for you on the pathway. This wet earth makes it difficult to walk.”

“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I was drawn down here. It is just so beautiful.” Catherine curtsied and lowered her head respectfully. “I was not thinking.”

He took her hand in his and lifted her chin up to face him. “Well, you will certainly need to work on that. A king must be able to rely upon the counsel of his queen.”

She had known it was coming, yet now that it was here, Catherine could not quite wrap her mind around the enormity of it all. As she looked at his fleshy face, wet rosebud mouth and small, pale eyes, she began to feel sick rather than honored.

“Shall we walk for a bit?” he suggested.

“It would be a pleasure, sire.”

“Hal,” he corrected.

“Forgive me, Hal.”

“I hope I will not have to forgive so much in the future. I am not the world’s most tolerant man,” he said with a smile, although there was a strangely ominous quality in his voice as he led her back to the brick pathway up the embankment.

“I shall always do my best. I am a quick learner.”

“I can ask for little else. Except, perhaps, for your love in return.”

After a small, awkward silence, Henry stopped and turned to her with a little grunt. A flock of geese flew past them overhead. Catherine felt her face flush. It was the moment for which she should have been prepared.

“I trust your uncle has spoken with you of my intention, Cat,” Henry began.

“He did say that Your Majesty might feel an inclination toward me,” she said slowly.

“I am madly, childishly in love with you, Catherine, and if you will have me, in spite of my many obvious and unsettling flaws, it is not only my inclination but my fondest wish that you become my wife.”

Catherine must have grimaced or flinched, because she saw the king scowl.

“The notion of becoming Queen of England is not a pleasing one to you?”

Catherine recovered quickly. “It is an honor, the magnitude of which I cannot fully comprehend.”

“But is it
your
desire, Catherine? Might I be fool enough to hope that one day such a young, beautiful and energetic girl might love me in return?”

He was surprisingly vulnerable. His eyes were wide with hope, and he was baring his heart to her. Everything a girl could ever dream of was before her, cloaked in exquisite brown velvet and glittering gold. Unfortunately, the man beneath the dream was limping, decaying and unappealingly obese. But this was not about Catherine or what she wanted. She reminded herself that this was about family, loyalty and a dynasty that had taken decades to build and then rebuild again. Everything was riding on what she said next.

“Hope is never foolish, Hal,” she finally replied in a tone so sincere that she surprised even herself.

The king leaned over and placed a chaste kiss onto her lips. His breath was a noxious combination of food and stale ale, and she fought with all her strength not to recoil. When she opened her eyes and looked at him, she saw that he was smiling.

“Then we are agreed?”

She felt a sudden shiver.
Your fifth wife . . . but for how long? How long until I, like the others, displease you?

“Yes.” She forced the word from her lips because she knew she must.

“You have made me a happy man, my innocent little Cat. And I know I shall be even happier on our wedding night. But until the formal announcement is made to the people, for propriety’s sake, I am sending you away from court to your uncle’s home at Lambeth.”

Catherine was taken aback. “When?”

“This afternoon. I do not wish to test myself. Your ladies are packing for you presently.”

Catherine’s mind raced. She needed desperately to see Thomas before she left. She needed to tell him the news herself. She owed that to him.

Henry leaned forward and kissed her again. It was less chaste this time. Inwardly, she cringed again at the taste of his sour breath, but she forced herself to smile sweetly and serenely, as she was trained to do. Satisfying the king was now her sole purpose.

“I will do my best to make you happy, sire.”

“Hal,” the king gently corrected her again, just as he belched loudly and put a hand to his mouth.

Thomas balanced both arms on the casement of a large oriel window that faced the garden and the great river shining beyond. He did not want to watch, but he needed to see it. The king and Catherine. His Catherine. The proposal. The kiss. Everyone at court knew, but like reading the last page of a book, he needed to finish it himself, no matter how much he did not like the ending. Catherine belonged to the king now.
Keep her safe, Lord,
he whispered in silent prayer.
She will need Your gracious protection now more than ever. You are really the only one she has.

From the height of the gallery in the redbrick Clock Tower, feeble Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, and close ally of the imprisoned Thomas Cromwell, had watched what he knew to be the king’s proposal to the Howard girl, his dark, ambitious eyes shining. He had also seen a mysterious young man in a beige jerkin approach the young woman, then, moments later, the king. The archbishop
had fingered the cross around his neck as he watched the king and the waif until they were nearly out of sight. He had then seen the mysterious man with the scarf in his hand watching the pair as well, concealed by the trees.

Apparently, the Culpeper lad was not the only one to garner private time with the little beauty who had turned the king’s head . . . for now. What would great, bluff King Hal, as the people called him, think of his little conquest if he actually knew about not one, but two competitors? Cranmer bit back a clever smile.

Ah, but he would make use of those details another time. Not quite yet.

If only poor Cromwell could be here to see this. They both loved the thrill of the battle almost as much as their righteous cause. Cranmer hated Norfolk with a bitter violence that no clergyman should ever permit himself to feel, but he could not help it when the man he had fought beside for years now faced execution at the hands of that Catholic zealot.

But even without Cromwell’s help, he would vanquish the Howards. And he would do it more methodically and more diabolically than they had ever managed. The destruction of a powerful dynasty would be Cranmer’s gift to Cromwell’s memory.

But Cranmer needed to wait for the right moment. Fortunately, the Lord Great Chamberlain had taught the archbishop the art of patience. It was indeed a virtue that the prelate now possessed in spades.

Chapter Thirteen