by Diane Haeger
“We’ve lost so much time due to my stupidity and fate’s intervention,” he said with a sigh. She could feel his warm, slightly honeyed breath on her face. “Your cousin, Sir Francis, has said he would speak to your parents about us now to see if there is approval for our courtship. Tell me, Jane, that he can act as intermediary as well with my family.”
“You wish to marry me?”
“I have wished it for over ten years, if memory serves,” he replied, smiling a bit grimly this time.
Jane pulled away from him and wrapped her arms around her waist in self-defense. “This is too much too soon, William.”
“Until your cousin came to me this afternoon telling me you did not reject me outright, that you never even read my letter, I believed there was no hope, Jane. Still, no matter how many willing candidates my mother has found since then, I have had no interest in marriage with anyone else. Can you not see that this is our time, finally? That we are meant to be? Read my letter, I bid you, please,” he desperately urged her.
Jane hesitated, then pulled the crumpled letter from her bell sleeve. She smoothed it out and read:
My dearest heart,
It is said in the work of Thomas à Kempis, which you so love, that, so long as we live in the world, we cannot escape suffering and temptation. The truth in those words has brought me much solace, since I know how dear you hold them to your heart. I did wrongly by you that afternoon long ago, and “every vice will have its own proper punishment.” You were young and I was tempted. For that, I believe I have paid a price. We both have. But the fact remains as it was then. I do love you, my heart. I do wish to marry you, as I do no other. If you will but send word telling me I have at least a chance, I will come away to you this very night. I love you, Jane.
Then. Now. Forever.
William
“Apparently, I am not very good at choosing my messengers,” William said as Jane lowered the letter to her side. She was surprised by how much it sounded like the king’s missive to Anne. Those words had so struck her as having been from an open and desperate heart. Only when she looked up at him did she realize that there were tears blurring her eyes.
“Do you not still love me, Jane, even just a small bit?”
A second time, he filled the space between them by drawing her into his arms. And this time she let herself surrender to the power beneath a darkening night sky that was quickly filling with stars. For all of the clandestine embraces and drunken romantic encounters she had stumbled upon at court, Jane knew how different this was, because it was not only lust between them, but love. Yes, she loved William with her whole heart. She always had. She just could not quite believe he still loved her, too.
“More than a little,” she finally admitted, and though her admission was softly spoken, she knew he took it, and its powerful meaning, as fully as she had meant it.
In response, William swept her up then and kissed her so powerfully that she could not breathe, nor did she want to. Her mouth melted beneath his, and she parted her lips as he pressed his tongue sensually between them. Jane reached up and twined her slim arms, like a new vine, tightly around his neck, and William pressed himself fully, tightly, indecently, against her. They were not children, her mind said, calming her. They had waited many years for this. No matter what ardent liberties they took with each other now, they would marry soon anyway. And, besides, nothing in her life had ever felt this good. His powerful hands snaked down her spine as they kissed, and he pulled her so tightly against his groin that she thought for a moment he was trying to make them one person. A low growl escaped his lips, and she tasted it.
Abruptly then, and just as powerfully, William pulled back and skillfully drew her arms from his neck with forceful hands. His breathing was ragged and his face was flushed.
“We dare not do more until our wedding bed is beneath us, sweetheart. But then, I warn you, we shall bridge these years we have lost, and swiftly!”
Jane smiled as her mouth burned from his kisses. “May that well be a promise.”
“Then Sir Francis has your leave to speak to my parents as well, since they are sure to be our biggest challenge?”
“Of course,” she answered as he kissed her again, but not before she asked him, “Think you they shall find cause against it?”
But his answer was lost to the moment, the deepening chirp of the crickets, and another powerful kiss that convinced Jane to hope they might have a happy ending after all.
The next afternoon, Francis Bryan stood, gloves in hand, in the archway of the heavily paneled library, his arrival having just been announced to Lord and Lady Dormer by a servant. It had gone smoothly with John and Margery, who were relieved to hear that their daughter had managed to ensnare anyone’s heart, much less that of an impressively wealthy heir like William. Due to Margery’s royal connection, albeit somewhat weak and distant, as well as the family’s current court ties, Francis expected mere formalities today with the Dormers, and he had not allotted much time or attention to what he would say. After all, did not the king himself trust Francis Bryan at skillful diplomatic negotiations with entire countries? Unless he missed his guess completely, this should be child’s play.
“Sir Robert,” he said, approaching the compact little man with the ring of hair and small dark eyes. He stopped to bow, then turned to William’s mother. “Lady Dormer,” he said with a nod.
“To what do we owe the honor of your visit, Sir Francis?” Robert Dormer asked, rising as his wife remained seated, gazing up with an oddly suspicious expression from her book and afternoon sherry.
“I pray you find the cause as charming as I do,” he said, taking the seat Sir Robert indicated on an empty bench near their two upholstered chairs.
The musty old room was warm and full of flies. Out of good breeding, he tried not to wave them away. He longed for an open window but reminded himself that this was only a summer home for the Dormers. They had just taken up residence for the season and most likely had not had the chance to air the house properly.
“As you may know, there has been affection of some duration between your son, William, and my own cousin Mistress Jane. I am told by both that the affection has endured their separation while she was at the court of our king and I am assured by both parties, as well as by my own relations, that a betrothal between them would be looked upon favorably. Neither of them have the full bloom of youth about them any longer, as you know,” he added with a hint of his most charming and successful court smile. “So I am assuming your side will see the move with equal favor.”
“You should assume nothing, Sir Francis,” Lady Dormer quickly interjected, and he could see her hands tighten and go bloodless as they curled around the carved mahogany arms of her chair. “While it may be true that the bloom of youth has left your relation, my son—an unmarried man of means—is not under the pressures of time. I shall not have our good name, or his future, burdened by such a marriage because of some residual youthful fondness.”
Francis stiffened on the hard bench, having been caught entirely off guard by her fervent response. “Sir Robert, might I trouble you for your opinion on the matter in the event that it is aligned with my own? After all, the Seymours are a venerable family of strong standing in court circles, as you know.”
“Their sons are hangers-on, clinging to the fringes of society. If my information is correct, it would be a humiliation to a family of means such as ours if we were aligned together, particularly by the indelible tie of marriage,” Lady Dormer snidely interjected, cutting off her husband’s reply without releasing her death grip on the chair arms.
Francis arched a dark brow, the one above his ebony silk eye patch, and kept his calm demeanor. He had certainly met sharper opposition at the court of France than in this old crone, he thought, but he dare not show it. “What you mean, I assume, my lady, is that Mistress Seymour is beneath your son.”
“Well beneath.”
“And yet your only son remains an unmarried ma
n and has offered no heirs to your…good family name?”
“Sir Francis, you are welcome in this house, but pray, do mind your tone with my wife,” Sir Robert finally spoke up as he lifted a warm cup of ale from a carved side table. He made no attempt to offer one to his guest.
“I meant no offense, only clarity, sir,” Francis returned, his calm now beginning to turn to ice.
“You may be clear that there is no hope of a match between your cousin and our son,” Lady Dormer again interrupted. “Besides, we have been in the midst of negotiations for some time with another family on our son’s behalf. So the point is all rather moot.”
Francis struggled not to appear surprised. William had told him personally that there was no one else. There never had been. “I had no idea,” he managed coolly to say. “Might I ask if your son is aware of these negotiations?”
“Our son is aware of the overtures we have made to the family of Mistress Sidney,” Sir Robert replied before his wife could stop him.
“Mistress Mary Sidney, daughter of Sir William Sidney?” Francis asked in surprise.
“I see you know of the girl,” she remarked, shooting her husband a censorious stare. “Not altogether a surprise, however, since her family, like ours, is well-placed and financially beyond reproach.”
She would be their entry into higher society, Francis thought. Sir William Sidney’s position as a courtier was higher than his own because his reputation was above reproach and Francis had certainly had his difficulties in that regard. It was understandable, if a bit sad, considering the obstacles William and Jane had faced, and the years of estrangement they had endured, to have it all end here.
“Is there nothing I might do to convince you to consider an alternate alliance for your son? I am not without a certain connection in royal circles myself,” Francis offered.
Lady Dormer barked out a very unfeminine laugh in response. “You are a rake and a libertine, Sir Francis! You may well have powerful friends willing to humor you and your particular brand of lechery, but William will have no part in that. He will be on sound footing when he goes to court.”
Francis arched the same brow and steepled his fingers in an attempt to maintain control. “Do you not mean respectable footing, my lady?”
“Take it as you will. The Seymours are a low family with only faint connections to the king, which that dreadful Margery Seymour trots out vulgarly like a prize to anyone who will listen. I am afraid an alliance with them is quite simply out of the question.”
Francis could not quite wrap his mind around this woman sitting before him now with the arrogance to lecture him on connections at court when he had sat less than a week ago at a banquet in the company of the king himself at Richmond Palace. Francis rose to his feet in the strained silence and began to don his riding gloves. “Just to be clear, neither of you make any allowance here for love?”
He watched the couple exchange a glance before Lady Dormer finally rose from her chair to face him. “Love, Sir Francis, is highly overrated. By your own enduring behavior, the stories of which precede you, I can well guess you take my meaning. They shall both recover from it, and William shall marry someone suited for him. As to poor Mistress Seymour’s fate, I cannot speak.”
“Life is full of surprises, my lady,” he shot back as he turned to leave. “I pray you are prepared for those awaiting you.”
“A veiled threat seems beneath one who claims to walk with our noble king.”
“I claim it not, my lady. I shall be next month in the party at Greenwich for Queen Anne’s coronation. And where, I wonder, will you and your family be?”
Francis tipped his head, seizing her with a menacing stare, his black eye patch making him a far more formidable foe than the easygoing courtier he usually appeared to be. “No reply? I thought not. I am a tenderhearted enough libertine to know a great romance when I see one. A pity that your only son shall not be able to say the same. Jane may not know it now, but she is better off without the lot of you. Your son sees greatness inside of her, in spite of you. One day, perhaps she shall surprise us all.”
Lady Dormer scoffed as her husband rose to his feet along with them. “I cannot imagine how.”
“I suppose we shall see, won’t we?” said Francis, wondering if there really could be some miracle in the offing.
When William returned to the manor that night, his parents were waiting for him like two sentinel dogs. The light from the fire brought the bony angles of his mother’s face into harsh relief.
“Did you honestly believe we would ever approve of that Seymour girl, William?”
He walked cautiously toward them, guessing what had happened. “That is cruel, my lady mother, even for you. But I gather you have spoken to Sir Francis about our plan.”
He moved to the fire as calmly as his trepidation would allow and extended both of his hands toward the flames to warm them. He heard them whisper to each other behind his back, but he refused to look at them. Better to let his mother rant, since he who struck first generally lost.
“A dashed hope is not a plan, William,” she clarified icily.
“Is there a point in your distinction?”
“Since it will never happen between you, I suspect you should say that the point is imminently salient.”
His body went rigid with resolve as he finally turned around. “I have only ever wanted to marry Jane, Mother, and no matter how many impediments you place before me, my wife Jane shall be.”
“A pity youthful zeal contains so little practicality,” she acidly returned, showing colors he had always known were there but had rarely seen.
“I cannot contradict you, Mother, except to say that my zeal is not a product of youthful fancy. I am a man, and my affections and my intentions toward Jane are true. You have known that since I was a boy.”
Lady Dormer turned her mouth down into a mocking pout. “I did so hope you would grow beyond such folly, William. ’Twould have made everything so much simpler.”
He could not help it. In spite of his intention not to give way to panic, he glanced at his father for support. But Sir Robert was as impotent then as he had been with Sir Francis. Lady Dormer had long ruled her husband. And as much as William had tried to distance himself from her, living on whatever family property she did not inhabit at the moment, Lady Dormer had long ruled him, too. This one time, however, was going to be different.
“I will marry Jane, and that is final,” he declared defiantly.
“As it happens, my boy, you will not,” said his father, speaking up for the first time. The sting of his rejection was a painful thing to William.
“You know that your mother has been in talks for some years with the family of Mistress Mary Sidney.”
“Do you not mean she has been in the process of bribery for some years, Father?”
Sir Robert ignored the cutting remark. “We are close to completing the negotiations with Sir William, son. You know that.”
“So they have finally decided the size of our family’s holdings is worth surrendering their vain and silly daughter to us. Is that what you are trying to say?”
“Something like that,” he confirmed, unable even to look at his son. They were caught in the trap of a woman whose relentless ambition knew no equal.
“Well, I told you ‘no’ then, and I declare it even more boldly now.”
“Do not indulge the boy, Robert,” Lady Dormer countered, calmly ignoring her son’s declaration. “Our two families have simply come to terms. ’Tis cause for celebration since, along with her dowry, you shall receive a position in the household of Master Thomas Cromwell, His Majesty’s own senior financial adviser. You shall be going to court at last, William, and you will attend the most wonderful banquets and masques with all of the dignity that we have always desired for you!”
“Do you not mean that you have always desired, Mother?”
She rolled her eyes in frustration and sank into a padded chair. “’Tis truly for the good of t
he family, William. You shall see that in time when you are mingling with the King and Queen of England and writing home to tell us of it.”
“So that a mother may bask in the glory of her son’s success? Is that how it is in your fantasy?”
“William, do mind your tone,” his father interjected tepidly as he sank with a little thump into the chair beside hers.
“Well, ’tis your fantasy, not mine, that shall be dashed, Mother. I am going to marry John Seymour’s daughter Jane, and there is nothing you can do to stop that.”
“And on what shall you live?” she calmly asked.
His mother had always played to win, and he knew it. William struggled to keep himself in the game, out of love for Jane. “I have Gainsbury and the surrounding lands that net a goodly enough profit, which is my inheritance from father’s father.”
“Or do you?”
William was stunned. “You would take away that which I have earned, in addition to all that I stand to inherit?”
“In a heartbeat. We would do whatever is required to see your marriage to Sir William Sidney’s daughter come to pass.”
“I understand this not, Mother. By your leave, pray, explain how the daughter of one knight so surpasses the daughter of another in your good opinion?”
“Mistress Sidney comes with the key to great riches and fame. Mistress Seymour comes with an embarrassing connection to that lothario Sir Francis Bryan. Our good name and our standing would be instantly reduced.”
“Well, if I must be reduced to asking that same lothario for a posting in order to care for my wife, I shall.”
