I, Jane: In The Court of Henry VIII

by Diane Haeger

  Jane lowered her eyes in agreement. She must do this. She must take on the unaware wife of the man she loved in order to protect herself and William.

  “Now, this will be entertaining,” Thomas murmured under his breath as they approached the young woman and her father, who wore such hopeful, naive expressions that Jane felt a rise of nausea flood her already guilty heart.

  “I am sorry, Jane,” Francis Bryan said quietly. “I tried to put him off the idea of including them as soon as I heard, but Cromwell and I have never been on the best of terms.”

  Sir William bowed to her, and his daughter Mary curtsied as though Jane were already queen. That seemed to be the new standard of things.

  Mary was the first to speak. “I have been waiting a very long time for this moment.” Her wide, buttery brown eyes met Jane’s cautious gaze.

  “Oh?” Jane managed, hearing how much the single word sounded like a croak. “And why is that?”

  Now it was father and daughter who exchanged a glance.

  “Forgive me, Mistress Seymour, for saying so, but I never fancied the former queen,” Sir William revealed. He moved in closer and lowered his voice as if he were about to utter some great state secret. “It was not right the way she stole another woman’s husband like that. She was shameless, and poor Queen Katherine was so unsuspecting.”

  “That was a shame,” Jane concurred, trying not to look too closely at the balding, kind-faced man and his pretty daughter. “Queen Katherine was a wonderful, noble woman.”

  “After she was banished, I did not wish to attach my family to court,” he explained. “But now with you by our king’s side—”

  “I am not there yet, my lord,” she cut him off gently. “Much could yet happen.”

  “Oh no, mistress. He is as good as widowed already. Everyone is saying the case against Lady Anne is secure.”

  Jane felt an uneasy dread crawl up her spine. “Surely she shall be shamed in her divorce and banished from England, and nothing more.”

  William’s wife looked at her with a sweet, soft smile, but her words were full of venom.

  “If you will pardon me saying, my lady, banishment is not good enough for someone who takes another woman’s husband, then makes a cuckold of him.”

  Though she spoke of Anne Boleyn, Jane was uneasy to hear such a sentiment from the wife of her own great love. Jane felt as if she might be ill right then and there.

  “Where shall your husband be, Lady Dormer, if I were to take you permanently into my employ? Amid all this talk of infidelity and divorce, should you not pay heed to that question?”

  Mary Dormer’s smile was indecipherable. “Oh, my William? He is as faithful as a monk, and bound by Master Cromwell, who gave him his opportunity at court. One of the homes we own is in Wiltshire, very near where your family resides, in fact. Did you not know that? He favors that property the most of all our holdings.”

  “You might have been too young to remember,” Thomas suddenly put in with a slight raise of his eyebrows. “But Master Dormer was with us as children when we were called to France to attend the late Princess Mary when she became Queen of France.”

  Jane cast her brother a confused little look, but his expression told her that he had spoken the words intentionally. “I remember,” Jane said, managing those two words, though each tasted like rust on her tongue.

  “As to my husband, since you so kindly asked,” said Mary Dormer sweetly, “he shall work closely with Master Cromwell and the king at York Place until the end of this business with the queen; then he shall join us at Hampton Court. I am most proud of the advancements he has made, as you might imagine.” She beamed in a way that pierced Jane deep in the heart. Her words remained there, twisting.

  “Yes,” said Jane, her stomach tightening with the thick sludge of guilt. “I can imagine.”

  They rode together to Nicholas Carew’s elegant mansion in Beddington, which was secluded enough for the king to conceal her there during this growing tumult. They would progress to Hampton Court soon after. Beddington was only a mile by barge down the river from where Henry was installed in London at York Place, as Cromwell and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Cranmer, worked toward the trials of the accused men and an annulment of the royal marriage, which would be much speedier than a divorce. Jane was surprised to feel a slight kindling of empathy for the beleaguered queen.

  For so many years Anne Boleyn had wanted nothing more than to be queen. Now Archbishop Cranmer was about to announce, with the stroke of a pen, that she had never been queen at all. And while Jane knew it would be unwise to protest, with decisions already made at the highest level, she was reasonably certain that the accusation of infidelity with five different men was unfounded. She did not have proof to aid the embattled queen, but she had spent enough time in Anne’s company to know she likely had only ever indulged in such flirtations to incite the king’s jealousy. She had never truly wanted anyone but Henry.

  As it had been with Katherine, Jane knew it was Henry’s ardent desire to be free of the marriage that was primarily driving this wild and slightly frightening course of events, and she was trying her best not to let it frighten her. To preoccupy her mind, Jane marveled at the sheer elegance of Nicholas and Elizabeth’s home in Beddington Park—a stately redbrick structure with a clock tower, a brightly painted blue door, and a long driveway guarded by a great iron and golden gate. The mansion was surrounded by lush emerald lawns and flanked by heavy evergreen trees.

  It was a cool and windy day for May, and Jane felt a chill as she walked before the Carew servants, who lined the walkway in order to be presented to her. As she passed them, they bowed and curtsied to her, as nearly everyone she met did now. It was overwhelming and distracted her—until she saw her sister, Elizabeth, waiting for her near the open door, radiant and smiling. They embraced deeply, and Jane felt unexpected nostalgic tears wet her cheeks.

  “Hal mentioned you might come to court, but I had no idea he meant so soon.” Jane wept with happiness. “I am heartily glad you are here. Your husband is at home with the children, then?”

  “He is, but he sends his love. It was such a kind invitation from the king that Anthony could not deny me a chance to attend my own sister, the queen,” she said with a genuine smile.

  “I am not queen yet, remember.”

  “You shall be soon enough, once she is dead.”

  “The marriage is to be annulled,” Jane quickly countered. “There is no reason to execute her.”

  “We shall see about that, shan’t we?” said Thomas as he came up the steps to greet his youngest sister with a hearty embrace.

  Jane shook her head to cast off the comment, glad to have the three of them reunited like this. As to anything else, she decided not to think about it. For now.

  Dresses were strewn everywhere. There was an entirely new and elegant wardrobe assembled and prepared for her review in the grand, carpeted withdrawing room to which Jane was shown. Behind her, Elizabeth, Lady Ughtred, Elizabeth Carew, and Anne Seymour awaited her reaction with smiling faces. Jane was stunned by the yards and colors of luxurious silk, embroidered velvet, ermine, pearls, and beadwork laid like an offering at her feet.

  “’Tis breathtaking,” she murmured, pressing two fingers to her lips.

  “’Tis a wardrobe fit for a queen,” said her sister with a note of happiness further brightening her face.

  “Commanded by a king for his lady,” explained Elizabeth Carew.

  “Hal saw to this?”

  “Approved of each pearl and button,” Lady Carew confirmed. “He confides to my husband that he is tired of being unhappy, and you make him happy.”

  “And now you really must decide what you shall wear for your wedding. There’ll not be time to add the jewels if you do not, and His Majesty has ordered that your wedding dress be very grand,” Elizabeth said.

  Jane’s wedding dress would be ornamented as her predecessor sat in the Tower of London. What, she wondered, must Anne be doing a
lone in her chamber, which was actually a prison cell, as Jane chose fabrics for her wedding gown? Perhaps if she had not seen Katherine’s sad end, the bitter irony of Anne’s situation would not come to mind now.

  Jane had been witness to a great many things in her life. Now she was at the epicenter of it all. On her wedding day, Katherine had worn a dress of white embroidery and miniver; Anne had worn a gown of crimson velvet with rubies. She would wear emerald satin so that everyone could see how it matched her new husband’s eyes. Her dedication to him would be reflected in every choice she made for the wedding.

  Yet, even after everything, the image of Anne Boleyn, alone and frightened for her life, haunted Jane. But she pushed it aside. No one could outrun their destiny, and she felt that down to her soul.

  Later that afternoon, as Jane sat wearily amid the pile of gowns, each of which she had tried on, she accepted a small goblet of claret from Lady Carew’s maid. She lay against the back of an embroidered settee to catch her breath with her new ladies of honor. Mary Dormer’s presence made the wine necessary for her.

  “Is it to be a big wedding, then?” William’s wife asked as the group idled for a while.

  “I shouldn’t think so,” Jane replied. “His Majesty, after all, has already done this before.”

  “Twice,” Elizabeth Carew put in with a slight smile before she took a sip of her own wine.

  “Mine was a quiet event as well. My husband was adamant that it should be small and private. My father would have liked something more grand, and he fought for that, but William would not be put off his stance,” Mary said with a wistful sigh.

  Jane and Anne Seymour exchanged a little glance before Jane looked away. Any reference to William was a painful one, and Jane stubbornly pressed his image, and the memory of their passionate kisses, to the back of her mind yet again.

  Jane did not realize how late it was getting until she noticed the slant of shadows on the floor. Suddenly, Francis Bryan stormed through the doorway, short of breath.

  “’Tis done. The queen is condemned to die. They all are!”

  Roused from a half sleep, Jane struggled to sit up and focus on her cousin, her brothers, and Nicholas Carew, who had followed Francis into the room. She was seized with terror at the announcement and could barely breathe. Was there truth after all in the whisperings she had heard earlier?

  “All?” Jane murmured as she absently grabbed her neck.

  “Smeaton, Norris, Brereton, Weston, and Rochford have already met their ends on the Tower lawn.”

  “When?” she croaked, unable to find her voice.

  “Two days past. The king did not wish you to be disturbed by the details, but now with the queen herself condemned to die, His Majesty thought it was time you were informed. Anne Boleyn is to be executed next for the crime of infidelity. Cromwell has come to report to you, but I told him ’twould be better coming from me.”

  So that was why she had been spirited away from the rest of the court; not to protect her, but to keep her from voicing the objections Henry knew she would present. There was little she could say to spare the woman most loathed by all of England.

  Francis sank beside her and gently drew her hand into his lap. “Are you all right, cousin?”

  “He said the marriage would be annulled. There is no reason for her to die!”

  “It was annulled. Cranmer made the pronouncement this morning, thus also declaring Princess Elizabeth a bastard.”

  A harsh word, gently delivered, did not make it any easier to hear. Yet Jane could not help but remember Princess Mary and how devastating the same pronouncement had been for her mother, Queen Katherine, long ago.

  “Is that not enough? Must she die as well?” Jane asked in a dry whisper, yet already knowing the answer reflected on the faces of her companions, who were not nearly as stunned as she was.

  “His Majesty is coming by barge to see you. He will arrive this evening.”

  “So he sent a team in advance to soften the blow?” Jane snapped bitterly.

  “I believe he thought ’twould please you, knowing you are a step closer to becoming queen.”

  “A step nearer for me is a step nearer the grave for her,” she said.

  “Jane, have you forgotten how she treated you all these years?” Elizabeth Carew tried feebly to remind her. “I see that your throat still bears the scar of her wrath that day.”

  Instinctively, Jane reached up to press her fingers to her neck as she scanned the faces of her friends, deeply feeling the cataclysm that neared.

  “And remember what happened in France all those years ago,” Thomas put in with a note of support for the others’ sentiments.

  You remembered me not at all from when we were children in France, did you? she thought bitterly then of her rival. Jane had worn the scar since that time as one of the many things that had hardened her. But even now, was she hard enough for what lay ahead?

  “You cannot lose your courage now,” added Francis. “Not when you have come so far.”

  The crash of her conscience, the pressure and guilt, were almost too much to bear. And suddenly, out of the blue, she knew she must see William. The need called to her. He was here with Cromwell. She was certain of it.

  As everyone whispered together, two liveried servants came to stoke a fresh fire. Jane went to Francis and drew him away to the window.

  “He is here with Master Cromwell, is he not?” she asked softly, knowing he knew whom she meant. “I need to see him, cousin…privately.”

  “There’ll not be much time,” he warned in a tone so low only she could have heard.

  “Then I shall take what I can gratefully,” Jane said.

  They could outrun the moment, but not the future.

  Jane and William knew it as they embraced desperately inside the hidden grotto down a short, wooded trail that had been built by Nicholas’s father. It was a place of which few knew, and where no one would disturb them. Their time would be brief. Francis had warned them. But like a drowning man grasping at straws, William clung to Jane desperately, kissing one cheek tenderly and then the other. Their lives had paralleled each other’s for so long. Now, not only Jane but William could see that in the distance their paths were about to diverge forever.

  “She is dead.” Jane murmured the words painfully, sinking against him as if somehow he could shield her, take her into him, and keep her there, safe from harm, safe from the future.

  “I know. But they say it was quick. He brought a swordsman from France.”

  “’Tis so violently horrid. He sent me here to have me out of the way until it was over. He did not need to do it that way.” Jane began to weep. “Cromwell got the annulment from Archbishop Cranmer…She could have gone to France. She did not need to die!”

  “The king is a man, though, Jane,” William tenderly tried to explain in a soothing tone. “And you must know that his pride was wounded. How could a man not avenge that much flagrant infidelity?”

  “If ever she was unfaithful…I was in her company often, William, and yes she bantered with them and smiled at them. God knows I did not like Anne Boleyn, but I do not believe her guilty of the crimes for which she has been executed. Now I am to take her place, two days hence! What if he finds fault with me next? What if he learns about you?”

  “That would be impossible,” William said, but his smile was a grim line in his impeccably handsome face. “He loves you, Jane. As do I. And I always will.”

  They sank onto the edge of the iron bench at the grotto’s center, their arms still wrapped around each other. He touched her then in an intimate way, as if they had been the lovers both had always hoped to become. He ran a hand gently down her neck to the crease between her breasts, which the new fashion of her dress formed. His fingertips lingered there on her warm, smooth skin, and Jane did not move or object. She wanted this, and so much more. But there was no future for them, only a long, disappointing past of almosts.

  “You know, I used to daydream about our
children, and in my mind our daughter always looked fair and gentle, just like you,” he said achingly.

  “Poor dear,” Jane tried to jest, though her heart was broken.

  “Her name was always Jane. Jane Dormer,” he whispered tenderly, and she saw his eyes glisten with tears as he leaned over and kissed her.

  “You’ll not be able to do that again after today, or we shall both end up like Anne and those men,” she said, touching her lips.

  “I know you are right, but my heart resists believing. As it has resisted for so many years. I would have married you, Jane,” he murmured pleadingly. “I would marry you right now.”

  “I spent my life wanting to be your wife. That will never change.”

  This time, it was Jane who kissed him with all of the wild abandon she felt. She pressed William’s hand into the bosom of her gown until she felt him arch with restrained passion. She moved her own fingers down to his codpiece and let them linger there, touching the part of him she would never fully have. She tasted his desire.

  I, Jane, have known great love…

  “Be happy, Jane,” he said achingly as he drew her hand from his codpiece and pressed it to his lips for what she knew was the last time.

  “I would settle for remaining alive, which may prove more difficult to achieve than I previously had thought,” she tried to joke, but there was truth to her words that neither could deny.

  “He’ll not harm you, or he shall have Sir William Dormer to contend with,” he declared on a boastful little smile, belying what she knew was true heartbreak at the end of something so enduring.

  They were interrupted then by the trumpets’ blare, the jangle of heavy silver harnesses, and the thunder of galloping horses fast approaching the manor along the trail outside of the grotto. The king had arrived.

  So had the end of their story.

  William kissed her again, and she tasted the salt of his tears, along with her own.

  “Promise when you are Queen of England that you’ll not forget the country lad who once saved you from drowning at the edge of a little pond.”

  “I could never forget the other half of me,” she murmured as she softly wept.