Martial law was declared in London as news of Norwich falling to Kett and his men reached them. Frances did not leave Dorset House and ordered the girls to do the same. Jane was more than happy to comply.
She rolled her eyes at her daughter’s piety. If she could, she would send her to a nunnery, for she belonged in quiet cloisters, not court. It irked her that with all the wealth of the family, she chose to dress plainly and wear as little jewelry as possible. It felt like a personal affront to herself, seeing as she liked dressing in bright colors and enjoyed wearing precious stones.
Her husband brought news of William Parr’s defeat in Norwich, which was unsurprising given his lack of experience and being severely outnumbered. Meanwhile, in Essex, Lord Russel had laid waste to the rebellion. He hunted down men with a vengeance unexpected by the council.
Frances was sick to her stomach when she heard he had the throats of nine hundred men slit. Henry had maintained his good mood though, and she knew from this that something was afoot. Then one day he was no longer rowing down the river to Hampton Court but rather going to Westminster.
“Henry, are you sure this is wise?”
He kissed her brow, dismissing her concern with a wave of his hand.
“This is more than wise. We shall be on the winning side,” he whispered in her ear.
She hated how dismissive he was of her and worried he had fallen for some other fool promising him the world.
By October the shocking news of Edward Seymour fleeing with the King to the defensible castle of Windsor was all over London. Seeing he was about to lose power, he had taken the drastic step of kidnapping his own nephew.
The newly formed council headed by none other than John Dudley, Earl of Warwick, chased after him. Frances thought Edward Seymour had gone very mad indeed.
Not even a week later he was being marched into the Tower.
Frances was invited to court, now a chief lady. Without having to watch Edward Seymour’s wife parade around like a Queen, she enjoyed the luxuries it had to offer.
“I shall be given a seat on the Privy Council,” Henry said.
But Frances was not interested, she was not surprised Henry was being given some reward for supporting Warwick. She only hoped he had not been bought cheaply.
“And the Lord Protector?”
“What about him?”
“What shall be done with him?”
Henry shrugged. “But he is lost for sure. He will never regain power.”
Warwick proved to be more astute than Henry, however. The rebellions around the country were put down, and, though charges were laid on the Lord Protector, a sentence was not passed. He was popular with the common people and to sentence him now would be to spark more rebellions.
After Christmas of that year, he was released and even invited to sit on the Privy Council. Frances could smell a trap a mile away but had listened to her husband venting his frustration.
“It is embarrassing to see him every day. He knows me for a false friend. God help me if he ever has the power to bring me down.”
“He won’t.”
But her reassurances went unheard.
The Earl of Warwick had shown himself to be a dangerous player. He had let Edward Seymour dig his own grave with his pride and ambition. Instead of accepting defeat, Edward had sought to take down John Dudley but was ill-prepared. Arrested on a felony charge, he was executed.
Frances watched the young King on his throne. He seemed untroubled by the recent death of his last uncle. Perhaps his upbringing had made him cold-hearted. A succession of mothers, and seeing his father’s ruthlessness, had probably led him to being the same.
“I am happy to see you at court, Lady Frances.”
Frances turned to find Jane Dudley standing before her. She gave the countess a respectful curtsey in greeting. She was still above her in rank, though her husband held the reins of the court in his hands.
“I am happy to be back.”
“You must go hunting with me tomorrow.”
“If the weather is good,” she stipulated. She didn’t like feeling as though Jane Dudley was being charitable towards her.
“Of course.” The older woman managed a smile. “Shall your daughters join us?”
“Jane cannot be prevailed upon to leave her studies, I am afraid.”
“Ah, that is unfortunate. Well, good evening.”
Frances watched her weave her way around the crowds of courtiers, saying hello to her favorites. She asked Henry if there was any particular reason for the friendliness shown to her. She had become increasingly distrustful in her adult years.
“They need our support.”
“It’s as simple as that?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they propose a marriage between our families. They don’t have much noble blood in their veins, and Jane has not yet been betrothed.”
“You know she thinks herself betrothed to that Seymour boy.”
Henry waved away her fears. “She shall do as we please. We are her parents. But it is too soon to think of such things.” He yawned. “I am going to retire.”
She watched him go. He had not come to her bedroom for many a night nor invited her to share his. Did he think her an old woman past her prime already? She was only thirty-three.
Perhaps he thought there was no point, seeing as she had such a hard time getting with child.
She still hoped she could give him a son. Then their child might have an even better claim to the throne than the bastard Tudor Princesses. But if he had given up hope…
Thoughts of this riled her up. She knew she was handsome enough for a woman her age, and she certainly had the style and breeding of a desirable woman.
She shouldn’t be smiling but she was. She would have to confess to this grievous sin later.
She took her letter directly to her husband, though he probably knew already. Her father’s two sons and heirs had died of the sweat. The title and lands would pass to the King to dispose of as he wished, and Katherine Willoughby, had lost everything she had held.
A part of her understood the heavy loss Katherine had suffered and sympathized with her. The death of heirs was especially hard. On the other hand, now, as her father’s next legal heir, she stood to benefit.
Henry did not look up from his papers as she walked into his office. She waited patiently for his attention, trying not to be irked. When he finally looked towards her she beamed at him.
“I have very sad news,” she tempered, realizing being happy at the moment was ill advised. “My father’s sons have died.”
“Most unfortunate, I heard the Duke had taken ill, but I thought perhaps his brother had escaped.”
“We shall attend the funeral, if there is time,” Frances suggested.
“Yes, of course.”
“And the title? Shall the King allow it to become extinct?”
Now she had her husband’s full attention. He looked pensive as he played with the feathers of his quill.
“No, I suppose not. It would be such a waste.”
“That’s just what I thought.” She smiled, walking around his desk and placing a kiss on his cheek. “You shall speak with John Dudley?”
He nodded. “The matter must be approached delicately.”
“Of course,” she said, happy they had come to some secret understanding. “Poor Katherine, though. She must be bereft.”
He nodded.
She wondered if perhaps she could put aside her anger and reach out to her as a friend. No sooner had this thought crossed her mind than she felt her stubborn nature flare up, and she knew she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was too late to make amends.
Eventually, in an act of Christian charity and repentance of her sins, Frances wrote her a long letter. She expressed her sorrow for Katherine’s loss of her sons — reminiscing that she knew the pain of this loss. She ended the letter asking for forgiveness for the harsh accusations she had made to Katherine following the death of her fa
ther.
Nothing, not even the chilly October wind, could ruin this day for Frances. She was dressed in her finest gown, dripping in jewels from head to toe. The ladies of the court now referred to her as Duchess, and she had received the ducal strawberry leaves she had always coveted as a child.
She wore them as proudly as any crown during the investiture of her husband as Duke of Suffolk in her right. He had become tender towards her, pleased by the position he had gained through her.
That night they danced before the King and the court as though they were a young married couple. They gambled heavily and drank deeply.
Life was good.
As was expected, the Dukedom came with a price. John Dudley was hungry for his own title and demanded Henry’s support. No Englishman had ever held the title of Duke before without royal ties or blood. Now here he was, being named Duke of Northumberland.
He prostrated himself before his King as his titles were read out to him, and he was finally invested with the title.
Frances could practically see his heart leaping to his chest as his Letters Patent were read out. She knew the feeling but felt she had borne it with more grace than he was doing. Of course, she had royal blood in her veins and had expected nothing but greatness her whole life.
That night they feasted again, the swan being prepared especially well.
“You’ll turn to fat,” Henry teased her, seeing her fill her plate again.
“I will do no such thing.” She threw back her head and laughed. “It wouldn’t matter anyways as I can have my coronet adjusted anytime I please.”
“That is the sin of gluttony.” He tapped her on the nose as though scolding his dog, but his eyes were merry and he kissed her full on the mouth.
“Are you as happy as I am?” she asked him.
“Very much so.” He kissed her again and she leaned into his warm embrace, not caring if they could be seen by the court.
For all the lands and gifts the King gave away, his treasury was always on the verge of being empty.
Frances decided to quit court and let her husband spend his days in the privy chamber, deciding the fate of the Kingdom. She sought pleasure not work. With her three daughters in tow, she went to stay with Lady Mary at her town home in London.
Despite their religious differences, they remained close friends and Mary loved to spoil her daughters.
“I brought you a gift of pomegranates imported from Spain,” Frances said.
“I have gifts for you as well, I hope you shall enjoy your stay here.”
Indeed, Mary seemed starved for company. Ever since her brother had forbidden her to have the Mass said in her chapel, she was left very much alone by conservatives wishing to evade notice of John Dudley. Frances looked into Mary’s face and was surprised to find a gaunt sickly woman. Where was the pretty Princess of her youth? The scholar and musician who she had always envied?
“Jane, I shall have you whipped if you send back that dress of gold tissue,” Frances hissed at her.
“You cannot prevail upon me. I am not to parade around in finery. It is against the word of God.”
Frances raised her hand to her daughter but did not strike.
“You shall do as I say or I shall make sure you are left without tutors or paper and ink. I shall keep you locked in your rooms with nothing to do but contemplate your immortal soul.”
Jane looked almost pleased by this prospect but faltered. She could not be without her books.
“Very well, mother. For as the bible—”
“Yes, yes.” Frances waved her hands. “I know.”
Frustrated as always by her daughter, she went to see if Mary would wish to go riding today or take a barge down the Thames.
Chapter Eight
1553
“The King looked ill today at dinner,” Frances whispered under her breath.
She was in their own bedroom, but still she feared being overheard by some spy.
“He has a cough but the doctors say that the summer weather shall cure him,” Henry reassured her.
“My mother was also told the same thing,” she reminded him.
“Then we shall hope that God hears the prayers of this county’s good Christian people. He has always been a healthy child. He has been still attending council meetings regularly. Smallpox weakened him last summer but he shall rally again.”
“And… if he were to… leave this earth?” Frances pressed.
“Lady Mary would inherit.”
“Dudley would never allow that to happen and you know it. He fears she would overturn all the religious reforms and return England to Rome.”
“There’s no use speculating.”
Hearing the finality in his voice, Frances dropped the matter. She put on a russet robe and strode out of the room without a glance back.
“He’s running a fever, pray to God, Frances, that he is spared.” Her husband came running into her rooms, pale as a ghost.
“Who? The King?”
“Yes.” Henry pulled at his hair. “It is too soon…”
“What?”
“Lady Mary is to come see him, but she does not know. She is not to know of his illness,” he changed the subject.
“We would keep this from her?”
“From as many people as we can,” he said. “We would not want to cause a panic. Dudley is suggesting we go meet Lady Mary at her home and escort her to Westminster.”
“It would be the first time she would be shown this honor. Would it not make her question?”
“You shall be at the head of the ladies.”
He seemed to ignore her completely but the thought pleased her.
“We are good friends.”
“And that is why she will trust you when you tell her that all is well with the King.”
Slowly, she nodded, agreeing to do as he wished, thinking to spare her friend the worry.
As expected, Mary was taken aback by the attention and deference paid to her. She was especially concerned about the kindness shown to her by John Dudley, who had always been an enemy to her. She had thought that the delay of being summoned to see Edward was due to his being angry with her. Frances had to reassure her.
“He has been unwell but nothing to concern yourself over. He asked you to come to his rooms.”
“Very well.” Mary was as skittish as a cat.
Frances was not with her when she entered the King’s rooms, but she heard from the grapevine that they had spent the afternoon talking pleasantly.
“Are you once again disobeying me Jane?” Frances slammed her hand on the table between them.
“I shall not marry him.”
“You will do what we command,” Henry yelled, though this did not seem to scare the young girl one bit. Frances walked around the table to tower over her daughter.
“Before God, I swear—”
Whatever oath she was about to utter was cut short by Frances’s slap.
“Be silent or I shall have your tongue cut out of your mouth. I had not realized I had raised such a disobedient child.” Frances turned to Henry. “I blame you for this, letting her study all day has given her airs.”
“You shall be obedient to us and marry Guildford Dudley.”
“No.” Her voice was not as sure now.
“Shall we have you beaten until you agree?” Henry was furious his favorite daughter would not bend to his will.
Frances’s eyes met Henry’s.
“You shall remain locked in your rooms until you come to your senses. Without food or water.”
Jane looked aghast but remained resolved to disobey them. Perhaps she thought Frances was bluffing.
Her daughter proved to be made of sterner stuff than her. She endured a day’s captivity and her father’s temper, which turned violent until Frances prevailed on him to stop. Finally, seeing that they would not relent, she agreed to the betrothal.
Frances was happy plans could go ahead as planned.
The wedding of her e
ldest daughter would be a triple-wedding, and she would also see her second daughter married to Lord Herbert. The Dudley and the Grey families would be cemented by an alliance, sealed with the intermarriage of their heirs.
Frances had hoped to have given Jane a better husband than the fourth son of a recently ennobled Duke with no prospects but now she felt Jane deserved even less. She lacked all gratitude for the opportunities her parents had given her.
“Shall King Edward be attending?” Frances thought of the sickly King, pale and withdrawn in his bed.
“No, I don’t believe he can, but he has given this union his blessing and is sending jewels and gowns from the royal wardrobe,” Henry said.
“He’s doing so poorly?”
“I am afraid so.”
After Easter, the King was still not well and was restricted to his bed. Slowly they moved from Westminster to Greenwich. It was hard for Frances to ignore the rumors.
The citizens of London were not blind to the failing health of the King. Word seemed to spread like wildfire that the King was unwell. Some rumors claimed he had already died and it prompted King Edward to make a public appearance, but his ghostly physic did nothing to silence rumors.
“Jane’s marriage cannot be stalled. It must go ahead with all haste,” Henry informed her looking up from the letter.
“It is too soon.” Frances brushed it aside. Secretly, she was hoping the betrothal would be broken.
“No, Somerset writes to me that preparations shall begin immediately and that she should stay with them at Durham House.”
“And you would obey him?” Frances asked, sickened to think her husband was Dudley’s lapdog.
“It’s for the best. You shall see.”
“I wish you would tell me. This wouldn’t be the first time you jumped head first into unknown waters.”
She could tell he did not appreciate that from the twitch on his forehead, but he said nothing.
The ceremonies took place by the end of the month. Frances attributed this to the King’s increasing ill health, but it seemed more like a move by Dudley to consolidate power. She almost feared the elderly man. There was an air about him that forced her to look away from him.
To Crown A Rose Page 18
