“I shall write to Father,” said Violet, twisting toward the desk.
“Don’t bother with that; just go tonight,” I said quickly. “While the king is away.” I looked at Alice. “While the Earl of Warwick is away.” Her toffee eyes met mine for a moment long enough to reveal regret. She hadn’t yet patched things up with Francis.
Both the Grey girls were apprehensive about leaving court without permission or planning, but I insisted. Within a few hours, Alice, Violet, and Lady Grey were bundled up inside a swaying coach bound for Northamptonshire.
I slept deeply that night, waking late and spending a contented few days tucked away in my jewelry workshop. The craftsman that Nick had summoned to court, Andrea Bon Compagni, schooled me on the equipment with cheery patience. I felt instantly comfortable around his gentle face that was pockmarked with smallpox scars.
In the afternoons, Mister Bon Compagni would leave me with the company of neighing horses through the window or the muted crunches of boots crossing the graveled courtyard below. I’d file and pummel the silver until my wrist seized, crafting a simple thumb ring with a hammered pattern for Nick as a thank you present for the studio. It was going to be a total snore-fest beside his blingy Tudor jewels, but I had to start with something I could handle. There weren’t exactly online video tutorials on this old-school equipment. Plus, I had years ahead to perfect my craft here, and for the first time, the thought of a long life in Tudor England excited me more than it freaked me out. All I needed now was my boyfriend back, but imagining where he might be—or if he was being skewered with a bloodied sword—sent my lunch into my throat. I forced myself to focus on whatever else I could to intercept my catastrophic thoughts.
With the absence of Alice and Violet, I became closer to Bridget—and even Lucinda, who was a shining example of a queen’s lady, making sure my chambers were never short of macarons. When she received word that her daughter Ellie had fully recovered from her bout of illness, the three of us held a small dessert party.
Two weeks after the Grey girls left court, a letter from Alice arrived. She wrote that her mom was doing okay, but her father, Sir Thomas, had been called away on the king’s business. I wanted to kiss the letter. Surely it meant that, somewhere out there, King Nick was alive. I knew that I would’ve heard about it had he not been, but communication in Tudor England made a snail look supersonic. It was hard to relax without knowing anything for sure. I wrote back to Alice and urged her to stay on in Northamptonshire until Sir Thomas returned home.
With so many letters coming and going from court, every tap on the door sent me flying toward the handle, hankering for one from Nick. Every day brought disappointment and a reminder of how unfinished things were between us. I wanted to tell him how I felt—that I was ready to make things work with him here. Why wouldn’t he write?
The calendar had reached mid-November when another knock sounded an hour after supper.
“I’ll get it,” I cried to Lucinda and Bridget, and threw open the doors to find Francis Beaumont clutching a feathered cap. After greeting me, he ran a nervous palm down his espresso curls that reached his shoulders.
My throat locked, and I couldn’t breathe.
“His Majesty is well, but not yet at court, my lady,” Francis said, reading my fear. He glanced past me.
“Oh, you’re here to see Alice?” I blurted through my relief. “She’s gone back to Northamptonshire with Violet.” Francis’s face fell, and I explained. “Their mother is back, can you believe it? Lady Grey was found near here and seems well enough, but she has no idea where she’s been for the past four years. Isn’t that great news?”
Francis’s mouth was agape. “Tell me everything.”
I invited him inside the warmth of my chambers, but he politely refused. Any man who hung out behind closed doors with the king’s fiancée had a death wish. Instead, I asked Bridget to pass me a shawl and sat on the front step beside Francis, filling him in on everything I could reveal about Alice’s mom. Nick’s name didn’t come up again until Francis mentioned that the uprising near Lancashire had been quelled for now. I’d been too scared to ask, so I was grateful that he’d volunteered the news.
“Where is the king now?” My voice was a nervous puff of smoke in the frosty air.
Francis rose to his feet and knocked a boot against the step. “That is why I am here, my lady. His Majesty received word that you had returned from Sussex in haste. He desires to speak with you on a great matter but wishes to do so in private.”
“What great matter?”
Francis rubbed his lips together like he was ill at ease. “The King’s Majesty is expecting your person without delay at Robin House.”
“Robin House?” I said with confusion. The humble manor in the countryside with the thatched roof was the king’s most private place that most people didn’t even know about. Nick clearly had something to tell me that required secrecy, and anxiety slid into my stomach. Perhaps he’d decided the opposite of what I had these past few weeks: that our engagement was a mistake and the smartest thing for him to do would be to marry Princess Henriette of France after all. Wouldn’t that solve all his problems?
Francis surely knew what the deal was, and I tried to read his face, but it was concealed by winter darkness.
“You will consider this matter not to be delayed and will make ready to leave, my lady,” he advised briskly. “You may bring your ladies.” He bowed and marched away before I could press him on the topic any further. The earl was clearly keeping any opinions on this mysterious matter to himself—perhaps by order of the king.
I rubbed my clammy palms up and down my thighs, my mouth dry. Not only was Nick’s great matter urgent, but it came after our unspoken agreement to reconsider our engagement. I felt like I might be sick on the damp cobblestones.
After all the troubles we’d already been through—Norfolk, Lucinda, Agnes Nightingale—what did he have to say to me that was so important? I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
14
Heavy rains made the roads dangerous for travel that night, so I slept at Hampton Court Palace with my mind in overdrive. What was Nick’s ‘great matter’ that prevented him from riding to Hampton Court to face me in public? At first light, I yanked the shutters open, gaping with trepidation at the clear sky through the diamond-crossed panes. Was this the day that I would find out that he wanted us to go our separate ways after all? The thought stole any appetite I might’ve had for breakfast.
Bridget gnawed her fingertips for most of the slushy coach ride through the mud to the king’s secret hideaway—thrilled for another adventure—while Lucinda gazed silently through the open window. Did she know about Robin House? Had Nick taken her there for a cheeky couple’s weekend during their fling? I pushed the jagged thoughts away.
The moment our coach swung onto the stone pathway leading to Robin House, I watched for Nick through the window, my stomach a tropical storm of butterflies. I wasn’t ready to go through what could be the most heartbreaking day of my life.
The modest manor’s front yard looked desolate except for a couple of discreet guards in plain clothes. The main house with the thatched roof was even smaller than I remembered—perhaps because Hampton Court Palace had become the benchmark by which I now measured all royal residences.
A stocky guard with strong hands helped me to the ground. “His Majesty will see you inside, my lady,” he said as our short procession of carts and horses clopped toward the stables. A gust of wind bit my neck as I approached the house. I inhaled a steadying breath and pushed through the thick wooden door.
The sight was so unexpected that it sent me back a step. Around the modest dining table sat Alice’s dad Sir Thomas Grey, the wrinkled Bishop of Winchester, and King Nick in a doublet of navy velvet, his white peekaboo collar centered with a blood-red ruby. When he glanced up at me, the urge to move toward him was so intense that my thighs clenched.
“Lady Pembroke, I give you good morrow,” he said f
ormally, his glittering eyes giving nothing away.
I found myself curtsying, a searing flutter in my stomach. The other men rose to kiss my hand.
“You may sit with us,” Nick added, like I’d just joined a corporate meeting.
A page slid a chair in for me beside the king. My elbows brushed Nick’s as I sat, sparks heating my skin through the fabric. I wanted to kiss the sweet-smelling space beneath his ear, but that would’ve been weird. Being this close to him always offset my balance in a way that I never wanted to end.
“It is time for your king and the Marquess of Pembroke to be united in holy matrimony,” Nick stated without looking at me.
I nearly choked on my breath, needles of shock prickling my cheeks. I’m sorry…what?
The only sound was the king’s commanding voice. “The Bishop of Winchester will conduct the proceedings, and Sir Thomas Grey will serve as a witness.”
Wrinkled skin sagged beneath Thomas Grey’s wearied eyes as he took note of Nick’s continuing instructions like his life depended on it. So, this was the ‘great matter’…Nick had decided to push forward our wedding without even speaking to me about it. I gaped at my boyfriend’s frustratingly perfect profile as he continued issuing orders without looking my way. “Lady Pembroke, you may take your dinner and then dress, and thereupon the service will begin.”
“We’re getting married today?” I sputtered, unsure whether I was more relieved or aghast about the lack of notice. I was getting used to the opinions of women being an afterthought in this place, but surely I got a say in my own wedding day.
The king rose quickly, and the rest of us scrambled to our feet, bowing as he strode out of the chamber without a backward glance. As relieved as I was that he wasn’t breaking up with me, I could’ve throttled him in that handsome doublet. We were going to have words.
I excused myself to Sir Thomas and the bishop and picked up my skirts to dash up the narrow staircase leading to the upstairs bedchamber.
There was no sign of Nick, however—only Bridget standing before the fireplace, warming her fingers. She danced toward me as I entered. “Lady Pembroke, we hear there is to be a wedding—oh, blessed day!”
Lucinda scooted over from the clothes chest and dropped to her knees, pressing her soft lips to my hand. “My lady, if you find the heart to forgive my past actions and permit me to attend to you as Queen of England, you will find me a most loving and loyal servant.”
It was the first time she’d openly alluded to the kiss with Nick, but that seemed pretty far down the scale of bombshells right now.
“Why would he want to get married in this small house?” I asked them, genuinely gobsmacked.
“To hide it,” Bridget answered plainly.
“Because he loves her,” Lucinda argued. “It is the pleasure of the king to keep his more tender inclinations private.”
My stomach rolled over itself. I had to find Nick and ask him what planet he was on. The girls looked startled as I rushed back out to check the washroom before clomping downstairs, where four cooks bustled in the tiny kitchen, bumping hips.
“Where is the king?” I blurted to no one in particular.
A guard with imposing shoulders stepped forward. “Mister Joseph Blackburn, my lady,” he introduced with a bow. “I believe His Majesty is in the guest lodgings beyond the garden.”
“Guest lodgings?” I didn’t know there were any here. I thanked the guard and headed outside to a grassy courtyard, where Thomas Grey and Bishop Winchester hovered in their billowy black cloaks like two stage magicians who’d popped out for a smoke.
“Lady Pembroke,” said Thomas, stopping my stride. His pale eyes fixed on mine. “When I once bid you to leave the company of the king, I admit that I had mistook you for little more than a lovesick girl. But, madam, I see now that you are nobody’s fool.” He tipped his head with a short nod. A hot flush of embarrassment crept across my cheeks as I made a thankful curtsy for the vague apology. Thomas had once offered me money to break up with Nick, and I’d not only done the opposite but ended up becoming the future Queen of England. “I also understand that it was you who helped return my wife to her home,” Thomas added, a peace offering in his eyes.
“Uh, yes, you could say that.”
When he made a nod of thanks and turned away again, I knew this was the closest thing I’d ever get to the old man’s blessing.
Before he could leave, a nervous question spilled from my lips. “Why Robin House, Sir Thomas? Why would the king choose to marry me here on this small property—away from everybody?”
I’d expected him to warn me about rebellions and what the nobles really thought of me, but his cheeks blushed fondly. “Your dear betrothed may have the heart of a king, my lady, but he also bears the heart of a man.”
As I glanced over the stony courtyard that clung to visibility within invading thickets of wildflowers and rose bushes, it came together. A part of Nick—a bigger share then I’d have guessed—envied the simplicity of the quiet farmer’s life. It was the reason he enjoyed visiting Robin House so much, where I’d seen him tending the roses and picnicking on the grass. Despite the countless times that I’d butted heads with Thomas Grey, he knew layers of Nick that’d take years for me to peel away. He was the father that Nick had never had, which was why he’d been asked to witness the wedding—even above Francis Beaumont. That gave the old grump a stack of cred in my books.
“I’m really happy your wife is finally home,” I said to him with a wary smile. “I hope you can get back to her soon.”
A film of tears brightened his eyes. He bowed in gratitude and stepped aside for me to pass.
Wedged into the back corner of the courtyard was a tiny cabin built from hand-sawed planks of wood. The door was so stiff that I had to shove it with my hip to get it open. Inside, I found Nick sitting on a wooden stool beside a square hole for a window—a jewel swimming in mud in the ramshackle space.
“Oh, sorry,” I said quickly. “You’re praying.”
He looked up at me, his lips falling open a little. “Lady Pembroke. You are to be preparing your person for the ceremony.”
I felt my forehead crease, but this time, I promised myself I’d stay calm. Nick would never be a modern guy, and he’d always think like a dictatorial Tudor king, but I still deserved a voice in this relationship. I’d never stop fighting for that.
“What’s all this about?” I said gently. “The last time I saw you, things were weird between us, then I went home for no more than a day, you were away forever, and now you announce a sudden wedding without even speaking to me about it?” I shook my head, bewildered. “That’s really different to how things are done in my time and definitely not how I imagined our wedding day to be. We haven’t even had a chance to say a proper hello to each other.”
He twisted back to the window, sunlight tinting his chestnut hair a lighter shade of caramel. “Emmie, I cannot bear the uncertainty of this matter any longer. I love you so truly that it makes me ill to consider that you have had a change of heart about us. But I must know—you may speak your conscience now, I beseech you to.”
“When do I ever not speak my conscience?”
It was my attempt to lighten the atmosphere, but his cheeks didn’t move. I grasped what was happening: despite the show of command in front of Sir Thomas and the Bishop, Nick was giving me one more opening to back out of this thing and return to the twenty-first century if that’s what I wanted. I sensed that he wouldn’t try to stop me this time.
My voice broke on the truthful words that drew me closer to him. “When you were away, I went home to my time and brought back Susanna Grey—as I’m sure you’ve heard. But the whole time I was there, I couldn’t wait to get back here to you.”
He looked back at me, his tormented eyes softening at the edges.
“Do I always agree with you?” I continued. “No. Will I ever completely understand you? Maybe not. Do you make me insane? One hundred percent. But do I seem to love you more
every day, rather than less, for some irritating, inexplicable reason? Completely.”
His voice was a whisper. “So you do wish to marry me?”
“Didn’t I already say yes?”
His full lips puffed with relief, and my heart swelled. For a moment, we just drank in the sight of each other, before his mouth curled into a teary smile. He tipped forward to wrap his arms around me, and I fell into his light like a sunflower. After so long apart, our embrace quickly escalated to deep kisses that made my head spin, before we broke apart, remembering ourselves. Nick dropped back onto the stool and tugged me down into his lap. His lips burrowed into the crook of my neck.
“If you weren’t sure that I still wanted to get married,” I said, “then why did you go ahead and try to force it? Why plan everything without me?”
“Is it the custom in my time for the man to make ready the marriage rites, even though most assuredly I would have stopped it, had I not had your consent.” He skimmed his palms down my arms. “I also feared that mine idleness was causing you to drift away. I should have wed you in more haste. I have taken too long…been too consumed with the Spaniards, and the French, and all manner of duty.” He cupped my cheeks and gave them an affectionate squeeze. “You mean more to me than aught, and I wish to wait no longer to marry you.”
“Who’s Aught?” I said with mock horror. “She’s not another one of your ex-girlfriends, is she?”
He breathed a cute laugh, and I tilted into him, kissing the dip in his crinkled brow. “Then let’s do this thing, Nicholas Henry Edward. Make me a Tudor, too.”
Upstairs in the bedchamber, Bridget and Lucinda had laid out a pretty pale-yellow kirtle sprinkled with diamond dust and embroidered with a trail of silver wildflowers that wouldn’t irritate Nick’s asthma. After dressing me in the gown’s myriad pieces, they pinned a medieval circlet of fresh wildflowers over my loose hair and clipped on a necklace of white diamonds. I appraised myself in the hand mirror, my fingers shaking. If only Alice was here to keep me calm with her steadying words. I couldn’t believe that she was about to miss my wedding, but I didn’t have time to send for her, even if I’d been okay with dragging her back from her mom’s side.
Emmie and the Tudor Queen Page 18
