They spent a few more minutes catching up, and then a lady with very rigid posture appeared, trailed by several serving women. With a strong German accent, she introduced herself as Mistress Weigand, former lady-in-waiting to Her Royal Highness, Anne of Cleves.
“I shalt oversee thy stay, Lady Anne, and willst show thee to thy rooms whenever thou art ready.”
She made a small curtsey and stepped aside to await their timing, but Anne and Jonathan were ready to go. With hugs and kisses, they said goodbye to Henry and Cath, who left for their own suite of rooms. While the servants began to gather up the remains of the picnic, they followed Mistress Weigand inside.
As they walked through the palace, she gave a brief explanation of the state rooms and the evening’s coming events.
Anne tried to take it all in as they moved along—the view and the information—but gave up eventually and simply enjoyed what she saw. There were at least two courtyards inside the structure, fountains and statuary in every corner, and stairs around every turn. She soon lost all sense of direction and wondered if there were ‘exit’ signs posted in case of a fire.
Finally, Mistress Weigand stopped, thrust open a pair of tall doors, and spread her arms wide. “Sir Jonathan and Lady Anne, your quarters. Your servants await within to assist with your toilette during your stay. The palace kitchen is open all day and throughout the night should you need sustenance, and your staff includes a florist, a seamstress, and, of course, nursemaids for the babe. Should you want for anything, at any hour of the day or night, please do not hesitate to call upon any one of us.”
Stunned, Anne nodded toward the servants and tried to appear as though this was perfectly normal. Other than their wedding at Whitehall, they’d been in the queen’s residences only briefly, and usually at times of crisis. This was something altogether different. They were being treated not as hired help or a darling curiosity from among the lumpen, as Lord Robert referred to normal people, but as privileged guests—as equals.
Anne drew a long, steadying breath and looked about. The central room of the suite was graced with several tall windows, large tapestries on every wall, and a ceiling checkered with plaster intersected by dark, ornately carved beams. She saw Alice sitting in an adjacent room that appeared to be set up as a nursery. She was feeding Rose with the bottle Jon had rigged up.
Anne’s gaze lingered on her baby. Satisfied all was well, Anne looked in the opposite direction. Through an open door, she saw a big canopied bed. Tonight, she thought. She stole a glance at Jon, but he was speaking to one of the serving men.
With a smile, she let her gaze roam over the entire suite once more. It was elegant, the very height of Elizabethan luxury—and all for them.
A young woman stepped forward and curtseyed. “My name is Ellen. We received your luggage yestereve and unpacked and put everything in its place. Please, allow me to show you to your chamber.”
She headed left, toward the room with the canopied bed, and Anne and Jonathan followed. Glancing back, Anne saw Alice’s gaze following their every move, her eyes as round as saucers, but Rose remained quiet, either nursing still or, perhaps, deep in dreamland.
Jon thanked Ellen, excused her, and then shut the door. When he faced Anne, she knew by his serious expression he had more on his mind than the big bed.
“Anne, I saw your reaction to Lord Rich and his hat. I knew immediately you were thinking about Norfolk.”
She nodded, hating to bring that bastard into their private time together. “I try not to worry about him, but I can’t shake it. He’s out there. I know he’s not done with us, and he’ll strike again. So, when I saw the feathers…”
He wrapped her in his arms. “What would you like me to do? I can hire more guards for the hospital grounds.”
“Yes, and maybe a bodyguard for me, too? Bob usually follows me around, but sometimes he’s too busy with his other duties, and I have to wait for him before I can go shopping.”
“Good thinking.” He kissed her temple. “It strikes me hard to see you upset, Annie, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you happy and safe. I swear I will.”
Despite his reassurances, the nagging doubt remained. Okay, we’ll be safe for now. But, what if we let our guard down? What then?
With a grim smile, she took a page from Scarlett O’Hara’s playbook and told herself, I’ll think about that tomorrow.
* * *
Later that evening, dressed in all their courtly finery, Anne and Jonathan were escorted to the Great Hall by four liveried men, two in front and two behind.
Anne loved the silky feel of her new dress. The queen, ever indulgent toward them, had gifted her a gorgeous burgundy number, while Jon’s new clothes included a wonderful velvet doublet that matched the blue of his eyes.
A group of musicians paused their music while the Brandons were announced, and after some polite clapping everyone returned to their dancing and conversations.
“Lady Anne! Sir Jonathan!”
Catherine Hastings took her in a warm embrace while Lord Henry clapped Jonathan’s shoulder, then steered him off toward a cluster of men.
“I’ve made sure the two of you will sit beside us this evening,” Cath said, linking her arm through Anne’s. “How is Rose? Did she settle in well?”
“She is fine and sleeping soundly when we left,” Anne replied with a smile. “I don’t know if she’s ever slept so well. I think boating has claimed a new fan.”
Cath laughed. “By fan, I assume thou meant to say devotee and not this.” She waved the feathered contraption in her hand.
“Oh wow,” Anne whispered. “I keep forgetting. I’ll do my best to use proper speech. Jon’s gotten so good at it. I really need to try harder.”
The noblewoman took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Worry not, dearest. I sought to tease thee, not reprove. Forgive me that transgression.”
“Cath, no. You are, uh...er, thou art always wise and patient with me.”
“I thank thee. However, Henry might think thou art overstating mine own attributes.” She winked. “Honestly though, Annie, thou hast the reputation of foreign birth, so none should question if thou dost err from time to time and speak American. Thou art wont to worry, so please cast aside thy disquiet and come with me.”
Cath took her arm and guided her toward a crowd of women. “I’ve people who wish to meet thee,” she went on. “Of course thou knowest Lettice Knollys and Kat Ashley and the queen’s other ladies, who all wish to say good eve. But there are many others, including the secretary of state’s wife, Lady Mildred, who willst not let another day go by without making thine acquaintance.”
“Cecil’s wife?”
“Aye, the very one. She hath heard stories about the Brandons for months and is overflowing with curiosity,” Cath said. “And thou mustn’t think badly of Cecil, for he was only following the facts as they were presented to him when he sentenced Jonathan. But then Jon saved the queen’s life, and Cecil changed his tune. He regrets his actions, thou mayest be sure, which is why he made certain to attend the ceremony when Jonathan was knighted.”
Not sure of Cecil’s regrets in the slightest, Anne planted a smile on her face and entered into a flurry of introductions. Everyone was polite, Mildred Cecil was a delight, and soon she felt relaxed and included by the cream of Elizabethan society.
For the meal, Anne sat between Cath and Lettice, with Jonathan and Henry seated on Cath’s left. The conversation was easy and light-hearted, the food delicious and seemingly never-ending. Platters of pheasant, venison, and fish were served, along with assorted vegetables, including the new sensation of roasted ears of corn from the Americas. It was a first for England, and the courtiers exclaimed over the taste. The main courses were followed by a myriad of desserts, which included honeyed figs, candied chestnuts, and, to top it all off, an enormous pale pink cake constructed of marzipan in the shape of a rose.
Anne felt deeply touched by this and thanked the queen, who nodded and grinned
.
Afterward, there was dancing, and Anne was thrilled to watch Elizabeth enjoy one of her famously favorite pastimes. Lord Robert and Lettice took it upon themselves to teach Anne and Jon the Galliard, a very intricate and strenuous dance, and then set them loose to attempt the steps with each other. Their efforts brought laughter and applause in equal measure, with the queen hooting delightedly and then showing them how it was meant to be done.
At long last, Elizabeth rose from her chair and looked to Robert Dudley, who announced, “Her Majesty wishes to retire. Thank ye kindly, and good eve.”
Elizabeth smiled to everyone. As her courtiers bowed and curtseyed, she gave her arm to Dudley, and they left the hall.
An hour later, Anne and Jonathan stood alone in their candlelit bedroom. After they checked on Rose and Alice, who were soundly sleeping in the nursery, the servants had helped them undress from their complicated finery.
“My love.” Naked, Jon smiled and touched her bare shoulder.
Anne felt strangely shy and held a nightgown to her chest. It had been weeks since he’d seen her undressed. Her breasts were swollen with milk, her stomach hadn’t yet regained its firmness, and a few tiny stretch marks showed here and there.
She looked into his eyes and then reached out to trace the sexy line of his upper lip.
He kissed her fingertip and said, “You are very beautiful.”
“But I’m not the same.”
He stopped her words with a kiss to her lips, then drew back and whispered, “Battle scars, my darling. Beautiful battle scars.” He took her hand and placed her fingers against the silver line beneath his eye. “You once told me this scar made me attractive in your eyes—the word dashing was used, as I recall. Well, darling, it goes both ways. I do believe childbirth has only enhanced your splendor.”
What could she say to that? He had a way with words—oh yes, indeed.
He lifted the edge of the nightgown with the tip of his finger.
With a smile on her lips, she let go of the gown and her inhibitions.
Jon took a slow breath as he gazed at her—all of her. “Annie, I love you. You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”
He bent and scooped her into his arms, her nightgown forgotten on the floor.
They made love for hours, sometimes soft and gentle, worshipping one another with their bodies—sometimes hard and insatiable with need. All the while, he caressed her with his gaze, and she felt beautiful.
Finally, nestled in each other’s arms, they fell into a deep, contented sleep that lasted until well past dawn.
* * *
After his ablutions, Brandon found Anne nursing Rose in the privacy of their palace bedchamber. Caught in a sunbeam and picture-perfect, he watched them for a moment, then said, “My two beauties. I wish I had a camera. Almost ready for the royal christening, my love?”
Anne looked up. To his surprise, her eyes were red, her face wet. He felt a visceral punch to his gut. From her bleak expression, he knew these were not tears of joy.
He rushed to her side. “What’s wrong, darling? Are you still worrying about Norfolk?”
Tearfully, Anne shook her head.
“Is Rose all right?” he asked.
“She’s fine, but...” Anne looked at their baby, still suckling and content. “Rose is fine, but they’ll never see her.”
He immediately understood why Anne felt despondent. He’d been thinking along the same line as well, reminiscing about his father, Nigel, and how pleased he’d be with his new granddaughter.
“Oh, darling, I understand exactly. I’ve been thinking of my dad and how much he would adore Rose.”
When Anne sadly nodded, he searched his mind for something more to say or do, some way to comfort the woman he loved.
But he could only kiss her on the brow and whisper, “I am so grateful we found each other.”
“Me, too,” Anne quietly said. “Still, I’ll miss them forever, Jon.” She shook her head. “Forever.”
Chapter Four
Richmond Palace, England
The following afternoon, Rose’s christening began as a quiet, solemn affair. The royal chapel was breathtaking, with beams of light streaming through tall, stained-glass windows that bathed the interior in hues of red, amber, and blue.
The somber-faced Archbishop of Canterbury—the same man who’d married Anne and Jonathan—stood at the altar, head bowed and hands clasped before him as a duo played soft music on the virginal and lute from a balcony just over their heads.
Anne looked up at her husband, who squeezed her hand and smiled back, and then her gaze went to the balcony, expecting to see the musicians. Instead, she saw an unfamiliar gentleman with a long, pointed goatee and black skull cap, who tilted his head when their eyes met, then looked away.
All of the other guests stood near the front and watched as their group made its way toward the altar. The queen, as godmother, led the procession. She proudly held Rose in her arms, the baby cradled in a mantle of sheared beaver fur. Elizabeth was resplendent in a violet-blue gown trimmed with ermine. Lord Henry, as godfather, walked behind her, clad in purple, too, for he was the queen’s cousin and also of royal descent.
And Rose—such a pretty baby! Her baptismal gown was beautiful beyond compare, with yards of finely woven linen and lace draping to the ground and a train nearly ten feet long.
Lady Catherine, Rose’s second godmother, was given the honor of carrying the train, and so she walked next in line behind the queen and Lord Henry, while Anne and Jonathan came last.
Standing to one side, Alice and Bob gawked at everything—the church, the queen, the ceremony. Alice dabbed at tears every now and then. “Thanks be to God,” Anne heard her say as they passed, “for bringing me into this life.”
Unaware, Rose slept contentedly. Elizabeth looked at her with such aching tenderness, Anne could discern the shadow of loss in her gaze, and she hoped that someday the queen would also be able to experience the joys of motherhood.
When they reached the altar, the archbishop nodded toward them, then began the service, his rich voice filling the lofty space with dramatic flair.
Anne watched Rose carefully and kept her fingers crossed that the child would not cry if she woke up early. When the archbishop made the sign of the cross on her forehead, she didn’t react. As the ceremony neared its conclusion, he poured holy water from the baptismal font into a shallow dish and approached, then tipped it over Rose’s head, softly intoning a prayer.
Anne held her breath. Holy words. Holy water. Holy…
A single drop of water hit Rose’s brow. And then another. Her eyes flew open and her body convulsed.
Crap.
The queen held tight and grinned.
Wet and angry, Rose opened her eyes and glared at the queen, then let out a screech that nearly broke the plaster off the walls.
Many chuckled, but Anne tensed as Rose sucked in air and let out another screech, her little legs kicking in protest.
The queen turned with a look of good-humored defeat. “It seems she wouldst prefer her mother.”
She handed the baby to Anne, but it took a few minutes more before Rose stopped howling.
* * *
Brandon made small talk with the men as food and drink were passed around. Never one for ceremonies, he was glad this one was over. By tomorrow he would be back at his surgery with his wife and child, and life would settle back into a more normal pace. He could hardly wait.
Luxurious gifts were given, including expensive fabric for Rose’s clothing, a golden, baby-sized bracelet, a tiny silver coronet studded with a trio of pearls, and from the queen, a sterling silver rattle with the polished teething end carved from pink coral.
Little Rose was too young to manage most of the gifts, but she did keep a tight grip on the rattle, which delighted Elizabeth.
Brandon smiled at his wife and child. The queen stood beside them, fussing over Rose.
He leaned in to kiss his daughter on t
he forehead. As he straightened, Elizabeth touched his arm.
“Accompany me, Doctor, for I must speak to thee in private.”
He nodded, and they slipped away from the others.
“How may I help thee, Majesty?” Brandon asked.
“Firstly, I have asked Lord Dudley to make certain the watch on Norfolk continues unabated.”
“I thank thee, Majesty. Anne and I discussed this as well, and I will hire another bodyguard for her and more watchmen for St. Bart’s.”
“That is welcome news.” Elizabeth lowered her voice. “Now let us turn the subject to mine own concerns.”
Brandon frowned. “Art thou having health problems?”
“No, all’s well, my good doctor. Actually, all seems very well, indeed.” She glanced back at the crowd, then at Dudley in particular, and a soft smile lit her face. “It seems I may be with child again at last. Methinks I am late by three weeks, and I wouldst like thee to be mine only physician as this progresses, since we must needs find a way to keep the news to ourselves alone, until Lord Dudley and I feel ’tis prudent to make an announcement.”
Brandon wasn’t surprised. After her miscarriage, Elizabeth made it clear she still wanted a child.
“Majesty, my sincere congratulations. Thou hast my full support.”
Elizabeth grinned. “Good, then I shalt call upon thee to attend me under the guise of needing sleeping draughts. I willst take naught from my barber-surgeons unless thou dost concur—and they shalt not be privy to my condition. I willst make pretense at accepting and complying with their recommendations on other health matters, but I trust only thee as regards mine own health and that of my babe.”
Brandon bowed humbly with a hand to his breast. “Understood, ma’am. I would like to examine thee to confirm thy condition.”
She nodded. “As you know, I leave tomorrow on progress. We shalt stay in London first, but then go on to Essex. I shalt expect thee to join our party at Lord Rich’s manor at Wanstead, so that thou canst examine me and attend to my needs. My staff shalt inform thee of the details.”
Ever Crave the Rose (The Elizabethan Time Travel Series Book 3) Page 4
