Betrayed, Betrothed and Bedded

by Juliet Landon

  Ginny was well able to piece together what he was saying, having been the butt of Paul’s so-called pranks all through her childhood. ‘So what did you mean to happen, then? For me to march into the royal bedchamber and announce myself? Was that it? To throw myself at him, unasked? Like the whore Father and Mother wish me to become? For pity’s sake, Paul, do you still not know me better than that?’

  ‘Shh! Keep your voice down, Ginny, or they’ll all know.’

  ‘I think they should all know what kind of a brother I have.’

  ‘We meant no harm, sister. We thought you’d be amused to see him snoring loud enough to wake the dead. I’ve never heard anything like it.’

  ‘Paul, I know you hanker after a post as gentleman of the bedchamber, but you’ll never pass the test if you cannot be more discreet about His Majesty’s functions. I suppose I need not ask who let you into the royal presence so late at night. If the king learns of this, you know what’ll happen, don’t you? To you and Culpeper?’

  ‘He won’t,’ said Paul, dismissively, turning his horse’s head away. ‘I’m sorry you take it so ill, Ginny. It would have to happen soon anyway, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘My wedding? Yes, Paul. But I’d have rather it had not been you to say when.’ Digging her heels into the mare’s flanks, Ginny swung round in time for her bridle to be caught by Sir Jon’s gloved hand. She saw his eyes flash in the sunlight, cold as ice, his voice rasping with controlled anger, directed at her brother.

  ‘If you were worth the effort, D’Arvall,’ said Sir Jon, ‘I’d have you down off that horse for the thrashing you deserve. If your own sister doesn’t merit your good manners, then who does, I wonder? It’s time you grew up, lad. Come, Ginny. We have more interesting things to do today.’ He led her clear of her brother’s presence and then let the bridle go. It was the first time he’d called her Ginny and the first time she had looked at him with something approaching a smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I was running out of words.’

  ‘Well, now,’ he said grimly. ‘That would not be one of my methods.’

  She could have pursued the subject on several levels, but thought that now was neither the time nor the place for such a discussion, or for a release of the fury she felt at being manipulated yet again by men, least of all by her own brother. What was more, the acceleration of their nuptials was not Sir Jon’s fault in any respect, so to berate him for what her brother had done would be quite unfair. He had, after all, fully cooperated in protecting her from the king’s attentions, even though they had turned out to be false, and had tried to keep from her the humiliation of discovering her brother’s disrespectful behaviour. She also realised, as they moved to join the lunch party spread out in the copse, that by calling her Ginny, he had shown her brother that the ice had been broken already. That vague memory of an intimate warmth returned to tease her, but hunger overtook it before it could be examined.

  Her sister Maeve and her brother Elion joined them for the outdoor meal, keeping the conversation general and well away from weddings as long as the king was nearby. Afterwards, Maeve and Ginny were able to talk more specifically about what she might be expected to do, to wear, to say or not to say, particularly to their father and mother, who had stayed at home to prepare. They had, naturally, been shocked to have been excluded from the betrothal ceremony and had been prepared to scold her soundly for this piece of thoughtlessness. But it was too late to make a fuss about the manner of it when they’d insisted on her obedience, and when Sir Jon reminded them of the advantages to be had, their objections had become less strident, though Ginny could not help but be cynical about the importance of her own happiness compared to her father’s acquisition of Sandrock Priory. When she said so, Sir Jon refused to discuss it. ‘Let’s not go down that road again,’ he said. ‘It can do no good. It’s too late now and we have no choice but to move on at the king’s pace. We’ll get the wedding part over, then I’ll take you to Lea Magna tomorrow. We’ll go early. I don’t want to be cross-examined by this crowd about...’

  ‘About what?’ Ginny said, knowing what he referred to, but wanting him to say it.

  ‘About anything.’

  ‘So we shall not return to London with the king?’

  ‘I’m off duty for a few days. Special dispensation. We’ll take a day or two to look round your new home and see Etta, my daughter. Then we’ll go on to Whitehall and you can rejoin the queen there. Will that suit you, mistress?’

  ‘Thank you, yes, as much as anything suits me these days. Believe it or not, it’s the first time I’ve been asked since I came home.’

  ‘Then maybe it will not be the last, once you bear the title of Lady Raemon.’

  His tone, while not exactly frosty, bore the slightly defensive edge it had held at their first talk in the garden when he’d told her what he expected of her, reminding her that he was probably no more pleased about the speed of events than she was. She watched to see if he favoured any particular lady in the party, either by look or speech, but found no sign she could identify. He was as courteous to them as he was to her, no more and no less. What she knew, however, now that she’d seen beneath that fine velvet doublet and linen shirt, was that he was even more worth looking at than she had supposed, and that, whenever she rode next to him that afternoon, she could not keep from her memory the graceful movements as he’d pulled off his shirt, the undulations of his skin lit by the fire’s glow, and the way he had lifted her in his arms and placed her on the sheets, lingering over the task as if he would have done more before he covered her. She recalled also how his fingers had touched her skin and set it alight, making her gasp and tremble. She must be on her guard, for something similar would happen again tonight unless she disallowed it.

  * * *

  The wedding in the small private chapel, on this occasion more crowded than usual by the king and his courtiers, passed in a haze of unreality like a dream over which she had no control, unable to wake, or believe, or protest, or seek help to escape from. At no time did she believe that this was her day or that she was the most important element in it, only that she was doing this because she must, rather than because she wished it. Her parents smiled, the king smiled even more, and everyone told her and Sir Jon how fortunate they were not to have to call the banns, with the king being head of the church now and able to give permission for it and to have a private chapel here at home, with its own chaplain, Father Spenney. His assistant, twenty-year-old Ben, was in love with her, she knew, and contrived to emulate her mechanical demeanour throughout the ceremony and the mass that followed, earning him a frown of reproof from the priest when his hands shook so much that he almost dropped the prayer book. Ginny could give him no comfort.

  Later, wearing a gold ring provided by her mother from her best jewel box, Ginny accepted the light kiss from her new husband before the smiling congregation, a kiss so fleeting that she hardly noticed it compared to that of King Henry, who took full advantage and almost suffocated her with the smell of onions and the mint leaves with which he’d tried to mask it. The food that followed, lavishly heaped upon Sir Walter’s best plate, tasted of nothing, even those delicate bits placed before her by Sir Jon, who knew what the problem was. ‘Just drink,’ he advised her under the cover of the laughter. ‘We’ll make our excuses and go. He won’t mind and I don’t really care if he does. The rest of them could be here till the early hours.’

  ‘I don’t want them to follow us,’ she said, taking the beautiful Venetian glass by its twisted stem and emptying it. ‘Will the king insist on it?’

  ‘No, he won’t. He’s surprisingly prudish about that kind of thing. And anyway, he knows we’ve already been bedded, doesn’t he?’ The way he said it made her blush, partly for the pretence, and partly for the evocative word itself. The preparation for the bedding ceremony could have been riotous, but it was not. Not this time. In fact, so few s
aw them slip away after the feast ended that they were spared all the superfluous advice usually thrown after newlyweds to embarrass them, then they were alone in Ginny’s small firelit chamber like a couple of runaways without even Mistress Molly to attend them. The sound of music and laughter floated through the passageways and under the doors.

  Deliberately, Sir Jon locked the door and, as if to keep in the warmth that the wine had provided, threw another log on the fire and watched as the sparks flew and crackled and flames licked at the dry bark. ‘There,’ he said. ‘I think this day has lasted long enough, don’t you?’

  ‘We have denied Father Spenney the pleasure of giving us his blessing, Sir Jon. Was that your intention?’ Ginny said, yawning.

  ‘Do you want me to send for him? I have no objection. It was an oversight.’

  She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t really matter, does it? He’ll understand, I think.’

  ‘But who is Ben, exactly?’

  Ginny was glad of a reason to talk, to delay whatever was to come. She sat at one side of the fire on a heavy floor cushion, clasping her knees over her brocade skirt. ‘Father Spenney’s nephew. I don’t know any details and my father won’t talk about it. Ben’s uncle longs to return to Sandrock, so if the king allows my father to have it, he’ll have to spend some money putting it to rights again. Mother sees herself as Lady Agnes of Sandrock Priory because that tells everyone they’re favoured by the king, doesn’t it? All the best people have a priory or an abbey these days, don’t they?’

  ‘And you? Is that what you want, too?’

  ‘Me, Sir Jon? No. My aspirations are less grand than that, as you know.’

  ‘Like being the mistress of Lea Magna, perhaps? The idea appealed to you once, didn’t it? Three years ago?’

  ‘That was only because I liked the idea of being close to home, in case we didn’t get on, sir. Nothing else was in my mind, I assure you, but convenience.’

  He smiled at that. ‘So you’re still of that mind, are you?’

  ‘No, not anymore.’

  ‘Why not? Are you thinking we might, er...get on well together after all?’

  ‘I’m thinking, Sir Jon, that after what’s happened, my mother is the last person I would want to run home to. Or my father. I had not understood their ruthless ambition until now, or that their daughter’s happiness meant so little to them. I hope they get their priory, for then they’ll be farther away and Elion will be here at D’Arvall Hall. Perhaps that’ll encourage him to marry someone he can be happy with. As for me, if I need advice I shall turn to Queen Anna. She’ll understand.’

  Ginny’s bitter words seemed hardly the best topic of conversation at such a time, yet Sir Jon knew they had to be said, to clear the air between them so that things could move on. There was, he knew, much more to come, but not tonight. So he let the matter rest and, for a long interval while they watched the fire blaze, she seemed half-expectant, yet content in his company. Or was it resignation?

  She looked up as he stood and went to sit behind her on the floor, close enough to begin untying her sleeves without disturbing her. ‘Perhaps I ought to send for Mistress Molly,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘To prepare me.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. For whatever it is you’re supposed to do to me,’ she said, rather hoping he’d not ask her what she was expecting.

  He went on untying. ‘And that is?’

  She was silent then, but heard a soft chuckle as he pulled the sleeve down her arm. ‘Listen to your husband,’ he said. ‘Lovemaking is not something a man does to a woman, it’s something they do together. The only experience I have of virgins is when I was fifteen and, as I told you last night, I don’t relish having an unwilling partner. So until you tell me that you are ready to accept me in bed, as a husband, our nights will be as chaste as they were last night. I take it you are still not willing? Or has anything changed?’

  His honesty was one thing, but she thought he might have sounded more eager to woo her, just a little. Was he telling her he was not interested? Could she blame him? ‘No, nothing has changed,’ she said, holding out her other arm as he nudged it. ‘But I thought it was a requirement. Part of the essentials, so to speak. What about the bloodstained sheet and all that? Won’t they want to see it?’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he said, pulling her other sleeve off. ‘That’s an old wives’ tale. There’s no reason at all for there to be a bloodstained sheet, as if you’re being torn to shreds. You ride, don’t you? Well, that would have done the trick long ago, very likely. And anyway, no one but your Molly is going to see our bedding, is she? Does she talk?’

  ‘She was my mother’s lady until a few days ago. Then she was given to me as my maid, and I would not be surprised if Mother expects her to find out all that happens, or doesn’t happen. Still, I don’t think she’d talk. She’s not like that. But what did you say just now about virgins? Did you know the first Lady Raemon when you were fifteen? Is that—hic—what you meant?’

  ‘No, that’s not what I meant. She was not a virgin when we married.’

  ‘Oh, I see. She was s’perienced. Well, many women at court are, aren’t they? I s’pose it’s almost s’pected these days. Some of the young women around the queen are, even if she thinks otherwise. I must be one of the few ex-pec-shuns.’

  ‘Which makes you a richer prize, in men’s eyes. You’ll have to stand up, Lady Raemon. I cannot reach these last few laces. Your hair’s getting tangled.’

  Yawning again, she clambered to her feet, but stumbled against him, felt his hands on her bare arms, steadying her, pulling her back to his body while her feet untangled from the hem of her dress. The wine, her father’s best, was working its magic and was preventing her eyes from focusing as quickly as usual, making her feel heavy and clumsy, her face flushed. Sir Jon’s warm hands moved over the soft skin of her arms, then went to finish undoing her laces and, before she could stop him, to remove the bodice that had held her rigid all day. She watched, bewildered, as the boned contraption flew past her to hit the chair and then slither to the floor as if it had a life of its own, and by the time she had turned to move away, the flimsy linen kirtle had dropped over her shoulders as the drawstring slid open, revealing far more to Sir Jon’s interested gaze than yesterday, when she’d been angrily sober. Pausing in its flight downwards, it was caught first on the swell of her breasts, then on her hips, sliding to the floor like a white pool around her feet. Instead of catching it up again in horror, Ginny looked down the length of her figure as if to reacquaint herself with what had been hidden for at least two days, giving her new husband the chance to do the same. She was not so tipsy that she could not recognise the raging desire in his eyes, already dark but now almost black, soft, and perceptive of every detail, roaming over her like a man starved of comfort, and so unlike that barefaced assessment she had suffered at Sandrock years ago. She allowed him to look, then picked up her kirtle, knowing that, in doing so, she was testing him to his limit as her lovely body bent, swayed and readjusted to gravity. Something inside her gloated with satisfaction, reaping some kind of reward for what she’d suffered at men’s hands: the use Henry hoped to make of her, the compliance of her husband, the bargaining of her father, the unkind prank of her younger brother. She held the trump card, even if they did not know it, for she could withhold her body for as long as it pleased her.

  The facts did not quite accord with this, however. When he lifted her and carried her to the bed, as he had last night, it would have been all too easy for her to relent and to meld herself into his maleness with abandon, to give in willingly to whatever he asked of her, trusting in his carefulness. And there were moments when she wondered whether she was holding on to her virginity to no purpose, or whether she was punishing him as she thought. Wine was not a good friend at such times. And though she slept at first, being tired after a long day, the n
ight was punctured by sleepless hours when she longed for his touch again, or a stolen kiss she could protest about, or even his arm on her side of the bed, the hand of which she might hold without him knowing. How long, she wondered, would she be able to hold out against him? And what would she lose or gain by doing so?

  * * *

  Aching for her touch, Jon lay as silently and patiently as he had with Magdalen during those nightmarish years when she had never even pretended to want him. Then desire had eventually dwindled to periods of undiluted male lust that were more difficult to control, lying there in torment, knowing in his heart that duty had been allowed to triumph over conscience, just as Ginny had said it could. He had been so sure of himself then, all those wasted years ago.

  Chapter Four

  The new day brought with it all Ginny’s previous aversions to the schemes that threatened to blight her life and the independence that had never, sadly, been tested. Whatever slight wavering of her resolve she had experienced last night under the influence of too much wine, she must now make the best of whatever lay ahead and show that she had control enough to make her objections clear. It would not be easy when plans were being made without her consent, but she would find a way.

  She was able, before she and Sir Jon set off for Lea Magna, to thank her parents so frostily for their hospitality that they could hardly have missed her meaning, that it would be some time before she would find the charity to forgive them, or to visit. King Henry was too intent on his own business to note the strained family atmosphere, parting with plenty of advice on how to be an obedient and loving wife, by which Ginny supposed he meant her to be available whenever he summoned her. His instructions for them both to hurry back to court seemed to confirm this, though Maeve told her she was reading too much into it. Ginny hugged her and Sir George, and Elion, too, who assured her that they would be there for her wherever the king was, which put a smile on her face as they and their small party moved off through the bright morning as Sir Jon and Lady Virginia Raemon of Lea Magna in Hampshire.