The Queen's Mistake (52 page)

“So then,” he finally asked. “Is it true this time?”

She knew what he meant without elaboration, and she looked away. “No. But, God help me, I wish it were now. Henry is so unhappy with me.” Once again, her pregnancy had proven to be a false alarm.

“How can that be? You are his perfect queen.”

“I used to be. But I have made too many mistakes.”

“Were those not all before you married?” he asked, trying to ease her guilt.

She paused and touched a tree branch. “That will matter little to him once he discovers them. And the funny thing is, I do care for him. I worry about his health. He has such problems with his leg, and he insists upon pretending he does not. He dwells too much on his youth, I fear.”

Thomas was looking at her intensely. “I understand a man’s longing for something he cherished but can no longer have. Give him time, my love. He will have no choice but to grow accustomed to how things are, as I have done.”

Thomas raised her hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles just above her wedding band. “He is fortunate that you remain true to him.”

“That is not true of my heart,” she said, surprising him with her personal revelation.

They walked with their hands linked as far as the aviary, which they did each time they stole a few private moments together. That and a few kisses were the only physical connection either of them allowed since she had become another man’s wife. Catherine claimed that so long as they were not lovers, she was remaining faithful to Henry. She said it with such conviction that he had even convinced himself of it, though he knew he was dangerously indulging in her naïveté.

Thomas fell silent as they walked back toward the grand brick palace, which slowly slipped into view before them. Luckily, the path seemed to be free of other courtiers.

So it was a shock when they turned a corner to the aviary and saw the king, Charles Brandon and Edward Seymour strolling directly toward them.

Henry smiled broadly as he saw Thomas Culpeper walking alone toward him, Catherine having escaped only a moment before. “You
are always so elusive lately, Tom,” he said. “I have not seen you anywhere since yesterday. No doubt you have some great tale with which to regale your king.”

Henry wrapped an arm around Thomas’s broad shoulders and, as always, tried not to look too closely at his perfect face. Instead, he tried to coax some fun out of the boy, who was more like a brooding poet now than the lighthearted womanizer he once had been.

“Come walk with us. My physician says a bit of exercise and a dose of sunshine will do me good.”

Henry watched Thomas glance behind his shoulder as something moved near the aviary. He heard the sound himself but saw nothing. He smelled a strikingly familiar scent then, something wholly female, but he could not place it.

“Come along, and spare not a single detail.” He kept his arm across Thomas’s shoulders. “So, how do you find the little Basset wench these days?”

“Anne?” Thomas asked in surprise.

Henry chuckled. “I’ve been done with her for days. No, I meant the younger one, Katherine. Is that not her name?”

“Is she at court as well?” Thomas asked, seeming to sidestep the question.

“Lurking about. I was thinking of taking her with us when we leave for York tomorrow.”

Henry was surprised at Thomas’s hesitation. Culpeper had always encouraged a good time.

“What of the queen?” Thomas asked.

“My wife will not accompany me this time. She may be with child at last, and since she is not quite the fertile mare I had hoped, no chances can be taken.”

“I see,” Thomas said thoughtfully.

Henry narrowed his eyes in suspicion, his expression devoid
of his customary, carefree smile. “You disapprove of me with the younger Mistress Basset?”

They were strolling a pace beyond the others, and as they reached one of the many grand splashing stone fountains, Henry sank onto the curved edge and motioned for Thomas to join him.

“Such a thing is not for me to say,” Thomas replied evasively.

“That is true, unless I ask you, and I have asked. Your hesitation these past few months during our more frank discourses troubles me, Thomas. You know I value honesty in you.”

Henry saw Thomas grimace, as if he had been struck by something sharp. He knew the boy was keeping something from his king. Henry had already asked Brandon and Seymour for details, but only Wriothesley’s response suggested something untoward. Perhaps there was a forbidden dalliance.
Someone’s mother? Someone’s wife?
Henry thought with a twisted smile. Ah, well, nothing he had not enjoyed in his own active youth. Whoever it was, he would hear about it sooner or later. He always did.

“Never mind for now. Let us go to dinner. That, at least, is one pleasure we can still enjoy together,” Henry good-naturedly teased. “Besides, I have not seen the queen yet today, and after last night, I should inquire after her health. I used her pretty well for a woman carrying a royal child. I am thankful she is young and strong enough to take the full weight of her king.”

Culpeper shrank back, which surprised Henry. Could this handsome youth who had such a way with women have been tamed by one who had finally reached his heart? Henry wondered.

The queen’s household gathered in velvet cloaks and hats on the brick-lined courtyard as a cool autumn wind blew to bid the king farewell. Henry’s courtiers were already assembled on horseback or
in litters, while the king, who had privately used a stepladder to mount his horse, advanced on a silver-studded saddle on his elegant Spanish jennet. He held the reins tight with black kid gloves. When he nodded to her, Catherine moved nearer and held up her hand. Henry extended his own.

“I will miss you,” she said.

She knew he still was not entirely well. But he tried hard to maintain a front, ruled by pride rather than sense.

“Take care of your health,” he replied, smiling down at her. “Give me a fine, strong son this time.”

“I shall do my best,” she replied, knowing that she was not with child. She had not been able to bring herself to tell him.

She caught sight of Thomas then on a large black bay, a few paces behind the king. She could tell, as he looked away, that he was trying very hard not to be a part of their royal farewell. But she maintained her gaze and he turned irresistibly toward her, their eyes meeting. The pain that shot through her was all too familiar now. As her eyes misted over with tears she looked quickly away, and Henry chuckled at her.

“Dear sweetheart,” Henry said gently, leaning down slightly. “You are ever my rose with no thorns, aren’t you?”

Without saying more, he raised his gloved hand and signaled, with kingly authority, to the trumpeters, who let loose a fanfare of music. The courtiers were gone then in a blaze of horses, flying banners and ribald male laughter.

Chapter Twenty

 

 

T
he course of the royal journey took the king’s entou- rage from Doncaster to Pontefract, and to York for All Saints’ Day. Meanwhile, Catherine remained at Hampton Court. By the end of the monthlong separation, the king was anxious to return to his wife. Henry missed her and longed for her, despite the fact that there was no royal child. But he had decided that she was young and strong enough to invest hope in, so long as he returned speedily to her bed.

The memory of her sweet, warm and willing body played across his mind as he strode toward the great stone cathedral on a hilltop in York in a costume of luxurious gold and silver. He was surrounded by an elegantly clad group of his courtiers, including Charles Brandon and Thomas Culpeper. Trumpeters, drummers, the peal of bells and the cheers from the surging crowd of townspeople marked their arrival with great fanfare.

Moments later, inside the vaulted chapel that smelled heavily of beeswax and incense, Henry sank into a pew with the others behind him. It was then that he saw the letter addressed to “Your Majesty,” sealed with a stamp of red wax, tucked into the corner of the pew.
He would have disregarded it, but then he saw that the seal belonged to Cranmer.

As the Archbishop of York moved toward the altar, Henry pushed his thumb beneath the wax and cracked the seal. In his mind, Cranmer was indelibly linked with Cromwell, whom he desperately missed. Whatever Cranmer had to say, he would listen. Henry scanned the page as the archbishop began to speak.

The words, printed in a bold, black script, were a confusing jumble at first:
warning . . . the queen
. . .
promiscuous past . . . proof . . . evidence . . . account given to the privy counsel.

Henry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make sense of the slander. He opened them again, struggling to push back the bile and anger rushing up his throat as he finished reading the indictment. Someone had come forward, Cramner wrote, with grave concern for the king. A man named John Lassells had brought proof to the counsel that the queen had not been pure when they married and had actually been betrothed to another. Norfolk and Lady Rochford had a hand in maintaining the ruse since her arrival at court.

Not Catherine . . . not my rose . . .

Henry could not catch his breath. There was a lump of fury and pure disbelief in his throat. There must be some mistake. People came to the privy counsel every month to slander someone in his court for personal gain. But why would Cranmer want to implicate his wife . . . his love? Henry’s anger spun far beyond his control, and dark thoughts swirled like a tempest as a rich, sobering chant echoed from the gallery above and through the chapel nave.

Henry sat motionless, stunned.

Catherine . . . Jésu! Not another Howard wife to betray me.

By the time the service was over and he went back into the street, his shock had become full-blown rage. Today his leg was aching. Now so, too, was his heart. He had not trusted Cromwell and Cranmer
before, and he regretted it every single day. But he had been given a chance to make amends. He would not make the mistake of doubting them again. For Catherine to have lied to him about her past, after he had so willingly trusted her, was unforgivable. Norfolk had presented her to him as a virgin, and she had perfected the ruse on their wedding night. Lady Rochford had obviously assisted her, since the two of them were always thick as thieves. As he had feared, Catherine had made of him a cuckold and a fool.

One thing Henry could not abide was being deceived. Especially by a woman he loved.

He wanted to kill the vile bastard who had defiled his wife. His eyes darted among the faces of his courtiers and friends. He was relieved when he realized that the culprit was not likely among them, since he had married her so soon after she had come to court.

... Or was he?

After the service, once he was safe within the confines of his privy chamber, he faced Charles Brandon, Thomas Wriothesley, Edward Seymour and Thomas Culpeper, some of his greatest intimates. Henry’s heart was shattered, as well as his senses. In his mind, their concerned expressions became condescending sneers, mocking him for taking a fifth wife. And another Howard.