Betrayed, Betrothed and Bedded

by Juliet Landon

  ‘Elion! This is...is dreadful! And you say the king knows about it? How?’

  ‘It was reported to him. He told Culpeper off, but decided to forgive him for what he was pleased to call high spirits. Can you imagine? That’s the kind of relationship he and Henry have. The lad can do no wrong, it seems. Not even that.’

  ‘And does Kat Howard know of this?’ Ginny said, trying hard not to reveal on her face the horror of what she’d heard.

  ‘I doubt it, love. And if she did, it would not make the slightest difference to her feelings for Culpeper. The thing is, Ginny, I fear that one day he’ll go too far and she won’t be able to stop him, and then there’ll be trouble. From Henry, I mean.’

  ‘Maybe she won’t want to stop him. She’s besotted. And very indiscreet. But I never thought Paul would do something like that, Elion. That has shocked me.’

  ‘As I said, I have no proof, but I know that to be in Culpeper’s crowd means a lot to Paul. He’d do anything to stay there.’

  ‘Even that?’

  ‘My advice, for what it’s worth, is to keep well away from them. All of them. I believe they’ll go too far one day and then the king may not be so tolerant of their high spirits. If Culpeper takes what Henry wants, he certainly won’t be amused.’

  ‘All I hope is that Henry wants Kat Howard more than he wants me,’ Ginny said in a low voice. ‘I know that sounds selfish, but I cannot help it. Do what you can to push her under his nose, Elion.’

  His large grey eyes blinked at her like an owl. ‘That’s not like you, lass,’ he said. ‘Is Raemon not doing what he can? Are things not going well with you and him? Have you still not made up your differences? I’m sure he means to protect you.’

  She preferred not to answer his questions directly. ‘Did you ever meet his wife, Elion? Maeve and George couldn’t tell me much.’

  ‘Nor can I,’ Elion said, looking away. ‘She was very lovely, but I was not in her sphere. I know very little about her, actually, except that she had wealth that Raemon found very useful.’

  Since any husband would have found his bride’s wealth very useful, Ginny attached no great significance to that, but Elion either knew little about the first Lady Raemon or would not to go into detail. She wondered if that was part of his protection, too, or if there was truly no more to tell.

  * * *

  As she had feared, the evening could not end without Henry claiming her attention for a good hour and talking about his need of a beautiful companion, by which she knew he meant ‘mistress’. Were she and Sir Jon getting on well together? Was she enjoying being a married woman? She tried to be positive, telling him of the young child left behind at Lea Magna. She asked about the young Princess Elizabeth and the Prince Edward, always a safe topic of conversation, for he was as proud of them as any father, though not as involved as he would like to be. To Ginny’s great relief, he did not suggest a meeting that night, but asked her to be in the queen’s gardens in the morning to walk with him, and she wondered if he’d asked the queen’s maids to be there, too. She saw her husband watching Henry from a distance, though he did not, this time, interrupt them as he had done before.

  * * *

  The candle had burnt down to its last inch before Sir Jon came to her room with the muffled bells of Westminster pealing quietly through the blackness. Ginny was on the edge of sleep. She stirred, then sat up to lean on one elbow. He had begun undressing even before the door was closed behind him, throwing his clothes upon the floor like a trail left for the hounds. Expecting him, she had not anticipated the urgency that impelled him towards her. Nor could she possibly have known of the overpowering need that had occupied his mind throughout that evening when he’d been obliged to manufacture small talk to those he had nothing in common with. Pressed back into the pillows by his arms and body, she gave herself, in half sleep, to whatever it was he desired, wondering if this might be the kind of passion that comes with love, or whether it was the kind of thing men could do at will, whether they loved or not. She had no way of knowing and it was too late to ask, for her arms instinctively wrapped themselves around him and her legs entwined his lithe body to experience along every surface what she had missed over two whole days of longing.

  Bleary with delayed sleep and tiredness after the long ride to London, Ginny let her remaining thoughts fade into oblivion, giving herself up to the comfort of his attentions, for he seemed to understand that consolation and relief would come together in the tenderness of his arms. Soothing her with his hands and lips over the satin smoothness of her skin, he stroked back the lethargy he had interrupted, demanding nothing more than her willingness and sleepy appreciation, her languid caresses, and the cooperation of her lovely body. His gentle preparation came as a relief to Ginny, for although her need of him was great, she was still new to the rigours of passionate lovemaking. And in spite of, or perhaps because of, his blissfully unhurried loving, she felt the growing desire ignite within her thighs and spread into her belly like a slow flame, wakening her to deeper responses that could wait no longer for fulfilment. ‘Take me now,’ she whispered, moving her hips against him teasingly. ‘Will you take me to the end this time, Jon?’

  ‘I will take you,’ he said. ‘I could have taken you at any moment this evening. I should have taken you nights ago. And if he’d sent for you tonight...’

  ‘Don’t!’ she said. ‘Don’t spoil it. He hasn’t. He didn’t. I don’t suppose he will. Now, let’s forget that...please?’

  I cannot forget it. I cannot. For it’s that which haunts me. ‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said. ‘I cannot allow it to get in the way, or I stand no chance, do I?’

  The exact meaning of his words was lost on her, not only because she did not understand what he meant by them, but also because his tenderly thrilling invasion closed her mind to everything else. There was no force, no pain, only a certain resistance on her part and an insistence on his, and a strange perception of accommodating part of him in a new and untried place. Instantly, she felt both safe and deliciously vulnerable under the gentle weight of him where no one but he could reach her. Stormed by a torrent of contentment, she gave herself up to him, for in this if in nothing else, she was learning to trust in his care.

  Yet even in his careful loving, there was an anger in the magnificent body lying just below the surface where she could sense it through her fingertips, trembling like a bad dream on the point of waking. His silence puzzled her, for it was as if he was afraid of saying something he might regret and of hearing something he might not want to know. Only days ago, he had talked of ways to keep her silent, yet she could not believe he meant it to apply to times when pleasure might be expressed in words. These were early days, however, and so as not to disturb this special experience, she went along with the inarticulate lovemaking that had a language of its own after all, thankful that he found her pleasing enough to have wanted her all evening, rather than some other woman. For years she had tried to persuade herself that he was not the man she wanted, that he meant as little to her as she apparently did to him. Now she could no longer deny her feelings for him, even if the method used to bring them together had humiliated her beyond anything, when he’d had to be bribed and rewarded to bring it about. So had he really meant it when he’d shown concern at Henry’s interest this evening? Had that been show, for her sake? Was that what men did when they possessed something new? Refuse to share it?

  Well, since talk of love so soon would be sure to embarrass him, she would not talk of it. She would take what he offered and be glad that he desired her, for whatever reason. But as for telling him so, she would not take that risk. She would have to cultivate acceptance and serenity, like clever Queen Anna with her marital problems. She would confide in her. Ask her how it was done. Having reached this point, she was not going to spoil what she had by telling him what he obviously did not want to know. That her feelings for him were
not what she’d led him to believe.

  She knew, somehow, that she had satisfied him as she would like to have done before, though the warm contentment she felt after his withdrawal was obviously not of the same intensity. When he had braced himself above her, she had been aware of a change of pace, deeper and faster, as if a new urgency spurred him on to something just beyond his reach. She would like to have known what and where it was, and why he groaned into her hair as if he would never let her go.

  Chapter Six

  Dreamy with memories of the previous night and her body still alive with sensations, Ginny gowned Queen Anna in her finest furs and most becoming greens to walk in the gardens at Whitehall, determined that if the king wanted to walk with her, he would have to walk with Anna, too. Crystals frosted the garden like a confection, glistening on the long colour-striped posts that decorated the corners of each pathway where, in the raised beds, crocuses, snowdrops, and hellebores were hardly noticed by the groups of courtiers strolling with their faces towards the weak sun. Topping each pole, mythological beasts bearing shields shone with gold leaf, adding rich colour to the silver-white frost, Anna’s soft velvet gown being the only sign of green on that occasion. Ginny saw the king looking hard at her but, after the shortest of enquiries about her health, left his queen in the company of Sir Jon Raemon and took Ginny by the arm to walk with her apart, too conspicuously for her comfort. Others fell back to give them some privacy, though she could feel Sir Jon’s eyes upon them.

  Henry tucked her hand into the soft bend of his elbow and patted it in a fatherly manner. ‘I’m glad you’ve returned to us, my lady,’ he said. ‘I knew you were the one to set the queen’s wardrobe to rights. You have style, you see. More than any woman at court.’ He sighed. ‘I thought I, too, would have a wife with a liking for our culture, for music and singing, for poetry and fine things. Mistress Howard has an eye for pretty things, does she not? Now, if you were my wife, my lady, we would have so much more to talk about, I know. But my new wife will never understand me, I fear, the way you do. Charming, of course, in her own way, but, ah...I cannot see how I shall ever come to, well...be with her as a husband should. It’s so hard for me to find a way forwards on this matter. I have no heart for it anymore.’

  ‘The queen has many fine qualities, Your Grace. Once you get to know her better, I’m sure you will find you have much in common. And she’s so eager to learn our language and our customs. She has the most wonderful sense of humour, too.’

  But Henry was feeling sorry for himself, sure he’d made a mistake that could not be rectified by any effort on his part, with not a thought about how his foreign wife must be feeling far away from home amongst strangers. He had done little to rectify the situation, or make things easier for her, nor had he offered her more than courtesies in place of the love she would have preferred, and Ginny was left with the impression that things would not improve when he had now begun to leave Anna to her own devices, especially at night.

  She need not have been concerned that Henry, on that occasion, would try to suggest seeing her in private for, disregarding royal protocol, Katherine Howard danced past to chase after a ball that bounced ahead of them, her skirts swishing, her hair fraying across her face as she turned, laughing. Her cheeks were flushed with mischief as she tossed the ball to the king without a word of warning, obliging him to catch it, and Ginny knew then that their conversation, such as it was, was at an end.

  Joining Sir Jon and the queen, she thought sadly how blind the king was to his wife’s qualities, for even now she was chatting animatedly to her escort in her limited English about the differences between a pavane and a galliard, making Sir Jon laugh at their linguistic problems. ‘Come here, my lady,’ he said to Ginny, holding out a hand, ‘and show Her Grace the steps. See... Watch this...’

  At once, Ginny entered into the spirit of the lesson and there, on the frosted lawn, they joined gloved hands and executed the steps, slowly and gracefully, for the queen to watch. Then, as Sir Jon took the queen for his partner and others joined in with Ginny, they hummed the tune and clapped hands for the rhythm as if they were in a candlelit hall, their fur bonnets and booted toes making them look like solemn, woolly, well-dressed dancing bears.

  If Katherine Howard had hoped to monopolise the king’s attention, she must have been gratified to see how the courtiers gathered round the dance on the silvery grass where the queen laughingly counted her steps out loud, with Sir Jon talking her through the moves, stopping, starting again, correcting the details. And by the time the dance was mastered, the king and his young friend were nowhere to be seen. It did not matter to Ginny or to Sir Jon, for they had at last enjoyed something together in public instead of each pretending that the other did not exist. Ginny felt almost heady with pleasure. Perhaps, she thought, they were beginning to make some progress.

  However, it was only a short time later when she saw her husband, as she had seen him many times before their marriage, enjoying the company of a very pretty woman with black hair and a deeply cut bodice who was openly flirting with him as if he was still single. They obviously knew each other well. Feeling it beneath her dignity to comment on it, she called to mind what he’d said to her only a few days ago in the chapel at home, that she must learn to look the other way. At the time, she had not believed she would care enough for that. Now she did.

  Thomas Culpeper turned out to be a convenient accomplice as they stood in a group behind the queen where Sir Jon could not fail to see them. Ginny had not noticed that Culpeper was standing closer to her than she would have liked, but nor did she prevent him when he bent his head to hers to compliment her on her beauty. She’d heard it all before. It meant nothing, although, in retrospect, it was foolish of her to stay when there were so many others she could have talked with, rather than a man she despised for his unprincipled behaviour. Afterwards, she wished she’d had the sense to walk away, but the pert and self-satisfied expression on the face of Sir Jon’s companion made her reckless with jealousy and that moment of hesitation gave Culpeper all the encouragement he needed to make what trouble he could. ‘To continue our conversation,’ he said, being careful not to be overheard, ‘I wanted to ask you how you liked your new home at Lea Magna. Did you get to meet your new stepdaughter there? Is she growing to be as lovely as her mother?’

  Ginny sensed the not entirely innocent nature of his questions, but here was a chance to discover something about the first Lady Raemon that her siblings had been so reluctant to remember. ‘You probably know that the child is adorable,’ she said, speaking to him over her shoulder. That, at least, would be giving nothing away. ‘As for her being as lovely as her mother, I have no way of knowing that, have I, Master Culpeper? The child has all the makings of a beauty, certainly, but that is hardly surprising with such a handsome father. Perhaps you can tell me who she favours.’

  ‘Oh, Magdalen was his match in every way,’ Culpeper said, smiling at her curiosity thinly veiled under the careful words, ‘but if you’d seen her portrait, you’d have been in no doubt about the child’s—’ Whatever he’d been going to say was cut off sharply by a scuffling sound that made Ginny turn to look. Thomas Culpeper’s shirt front and doublet were caught fast in the grasp of a man’s fist being used to propel him backwards with a thud into the stone wall of the passageway. His face, contorted with outrage, showed that he had been taken as much by surprise as Ginny had. ‘What the devil...?’ he croaked, knocking the restraining hand away and pulling down his ruffled doublet. ‘Have a care, Raemon. You know the penalty for violence in the king’s ward, surely? Not to mention the regulations about the courtesy due to His Majesty’s gentlemen? Do I have to remind you?’

  Sir Jon needed no reminding that the penalty for any kind of violence within a certain distance of the king was to lose a hand, no less. Yet the sight of his wife receiving Culpeper’s insidious gossip was worth the risk and only force would have stopped him
in time, though it had already whetted Ginny’s appetite for the rest of the revelation, whatever it was. ‘A little harmless fun, Tom,’ he said smoothly, dusting a hand over Culpeper’s well-made doublet. ‘Sense of humour deserted you, has it? Forgive me for interrupting, but I need my wife rather urgently. Come, my lady.’ Taking hold of Ginny’s elbow through her fur cloak, he escorted her at speed down the passageway, telling her more clearly than any words that whatever Culpeper had been about to say was not something he wanted her to hear.

  Wrenching herself free from his hand, Ginny swung herself away from him in anger, putting space between them in the now-deserted passage, snarling at his high-handedness. ‘That was not harmless fun,’ she said, checking to see that no one was within earshot. ‘Was it? If you can talk to who you like, why should I not do the same? It was perfectly innocent.’ She knew it was not.

  The expression on Sir Jon’s face chilled her heart, so far was it from the laughter he’d been sharing with the black-haired woman. ‘I cannot prevent him speaking to you, my lady, nor can I prevent you from speaking to him. But don’t for one moment imagine that anything he tells you will be innocent. What did he tell you this time to warp your mind against me?’

  ‘This time? What on earth can you mean? Does it warp my mind to know that your first wife was beautiful? Do you think I’d not heard that before? Do you think,’ she panted, ‘that I’m not reminded of it when we are in bed together, when we make love, do I not become her, the one you still grieve for? Do you think I cannot tell, Sir Jon?’