Royal Mistress

by Anne Easter Smith

  Jane was astonished at her mother’s honest declaration, and putting her mending down, she embraced Amy fondly. She would never now bring up those times when she had felt betrayed by Amy’s weakness. Better than anyone, she now knew that every person must walk her own path in her own way and should not be judged by others.

  “If you want to make me happier, my child, I would wish for a rapprochement between you and your father.” When Jane tried to demur, Amy held up her hand. “I know well why you must despise him, but for my sake, can you not forgive him in your heart? He does love you in his own way, I promise you. It was just that you were always . . .”

  “Defying him,” Jane admitted, bitterly. “He drove me from this house with his abuse and into a wretched marriage. I was so miserable. ’Twas no wonder I could not refuse the king’s advances.” She softened, remembering. “Edward loved me, you know.”

  Amy’s tone was gentle. “I understand your reluctance to forgive your father, but I shall pray for it every day, nonetheless.”

  That night Jane pondered her father’s changed behavior, and looking back over the fortnight she had been in Hosier Lane, she admitted he seemed a quieter, more amiable man. He had not lectured her nor gloated on her fall from grace, but Jane had taken pains to disappear as much as she could when he was at home, knowing she must be a burden on him.

  Aye, she had seen what harm a dour perspective on life could wreak on a person, thinking of King Richard, whose demeanor was that of a man old before his time; this was not the same carefree young duke who had captured Kate Haute’s heart. His hatred of his brother’s way of life had made him bitter, angry, and had hardened his heart. Was she also guilty of a hard heart when it came to her father? Was that the same heart she was offering Thomas?

  “May I speak with you, Father?” Jane asked quietly, turning back instead of following her mother from the hall after supper. “It will not take long.”

  Amy heard the calm in Jane’s voice, and assuming she was seeking advice about the marriage contract or some other business matter, she felt it was safe to leave these two volatile people alone together. Amy was glad Jane had taken the initiative and not used her as a mediator.

  “As you wish, daughter.” John watched Amy go and sat down again, folding his hands on the table in front of him. He had no idea what Jane wanted to say, but he had been pleased with her modesty and respectfulness since her return.

  She smoothed the back of her new madder woolen gown as she settled on the bench and to reinforce her courage, Jane fiddled with the emerald ring Edward had given her, which was the only item left of her former jewels. “Before I go to be wed and leave this house anew, I would like us to be reconciled, Father.” John’s eyebrows shot up, but he let her finish. “I have thought hard about what I am about to say, and I pray you will consider it well.”

  John leaned back in his chair and moved his hands to his lap. “Go on, Jane. I am listening.”

  “I know I have not been the daughter you would have wished, and I acknowledge the many mistakes I have made in my life. If I have hurt and embarrassed you, then I am heartily sorry for it.” Her father gave an imperceptible nod of agreement, but he said nothing. “Aye, I apologize for my mistakes, but”—she took a deep breath—“in my defense, when I was a child you showed me no particular affection and instead lavished it all upon Isabel.” She observed John’s discomfort now and so hurried on. “I missed your love, Father, and I know now that I misbehaved to get your attention. I do not believe I did it to spite you but to make you look my way and see a little girl who craved a father’s love.”

  John could not help but interrupt now. “Aye,” he said, getting to his feet, “you got my attention right well enough. Is that why you abandoned your husband and became a harlot?”

  Jane bit back a natural retort and instead ignored the insult. “You forced me to marry William Shore, Father, and I would have done my duty and stayed with him if he had not been incapable of a loving thought or giving me children. Have pity, Father. I saw a way out and I took it. You were not disposed to help me, were you?”

  “You could have taken the veil,” John shot back. “Were you seeking my attention when you walked the streets half naked for all the world to see?”

  Jane gripped her fingers in her lap, determined to win this battle, which would require staying measured. “Again, Father, I am truly sorry for your humiliation, yours and Mother’s. But a wise man once showed me how destructive hate and anger can be, and before I marry Thomas, I have promised myself I would beg for your forgiveness, just as I forgive you now your hard-heartedness to me when I was young. Can you not see? We have both hurt each other—and my mother most of all—by our feuding. Please, Father, let us put our animosity behind us and be kind to each other for the remainder of the time God has given us.” Then she went down on her knees in front of him. “I beg of you, say you forgive me, too.”

  Speechless, John stared down at his daughter; he had never been spoken to thus by any of his children. He saw the contrition in Jane’s face, and, suddenly, struck by her resemblance to his wife, his heart softened. How glad he had been since Bella’s death when he had come to understand what a jewel he had married. He had desperately tried to demonstrate his love for Amy since and compensate for the years of neglect. Had she not forgiven him? Aye, and what a pleasanter life they were leading now. Even his dealings with his customers had become more satisfying. He turned away and searched his conscience, recalling times he had rebuked Jane, slapped her, punished her—and for what? For physical gifts over which she had no control, for an inherited intelligence that had attracted him to woo Amy, and a personality that charmed where he could not. Had his behavior toward her truly led her to want to escape his authority?

  He turned back. “You have spoken your piece bravely, daughter. I can see that you are changed by your experiences, and I like you better for it.” He bent and raised her up. “You do not need to kneel to me, Jane”—he smiled wryly—“I am not the king. I am your father, and I am humbled that you have shown me the way to behave. I do forgive you, aye,” he said, “but more than that, I am heartily sorry for having wronged you. I have heard of your good and generous spirit, and you should know that your mother and I are overjoyed to see you wed Master Lyneham. He is a fine man.”

  “Oh, Father,” Jane cried, her tears blinked back. And for the first time in her life that she could remember, Jane went into his arms and knew a father’s fond embrace.

  Thinking it wise to inform his king of his intentions to wed Jane, Thomas did not wait long to meet with Richard, even if it meant putting his position as solicitor general in jeopardy, as had been implied in the king’s letter. He did not wish to dishonor the trust Richard had placed in him all these years.

  At the frosty meeting, Richard reeled off a list of Jane’s sins, ending by reminding his solicitor, “She took her penance so lightly that she went straight to Dorset’s bed not a month later. Do you truly wish her as your wife knowing all of this?”

  Thomas did not hesitate in front of his king. “I do, your grace. And I am prepared to accept the consequences. I believe Jane has a good heart and merely needs the strong, lasting love and respect of a husband to keep her from straying. I think I understand her, and I wish to care for her.”

  Richard relented then. “Very well, Thomas. I am right well pleased with your work these past difficult months and have always found you loyal. Thus I am disposed to keep you on my council.” He held up his hand to quell the thanks Thomas was attempting to express. “But I warn you, one hint of misconduct from Mistress Shore and you will be dismissed.”

  “I understand fully, your grace, and I thank you.” Thomas bowed low and assured his king he would work hard to deserve the royal magnanimity.

  Richard had been disappointed that his beloved son Edward had not been in the cavalcade from Middleham when Anne arrived in mid-December to celebrate the yuletide season at Westminster. “He had a cold that he could not shake off,”
Anne told her husband. “I did not think it wise for him to travel, after the sickness he had at Pontefract in July. He has the best care in the world, Richard, and surely the bracing Yorkshire air is better for him than this damp.” She wrinkled her pert nose. “It seems to seep into my bones when I am here. I am grateful for all the fireplaces. Edward spared no expense to make Westminster comfortable, I will allow him that.”

  Richard grinned. “Aye, we even have hot water in the conduit,” he said, pointing to an decorative brass tap protruding from the wall. “You can bathe at any hour, provided they have stoked the fire under the cistern.”

  Again the nose-wrinkling. “ ’Tis not healthy to bathe in wintertime, my dear. My mother would never allow it.”

  “Aye, so you have told me on many occasions, Anne,” Richard said patiently. He could not help but remember how Kate loved to bathe no matter the season, and he pushed out of his mind the image of her smooth, young body immersed in the scented water just before he would join her to make love. He refocused his attention on his wife, whom he loved dearly after all these years, but who, although devoted to him, did not possess Kate’s passionate nature.

  He watched now as Anne busied herself with her ladies, including his fifteen-year-old illegitimate daughter, Katherine, instructing them where to place her jewel chest, personal items, and her favorite Turkey carpet. He was glad she appeared to have put the deaths of his nephews from her mind, but he could not. He had hoped once he had given the order to execute Buckingham that the nightmare visions would disappear, but now Harry’s fleshy face joined the boys’ innocent ones to haunt and mock him. And it was a bad night when in one recurring dream Will Hastings’s bloody head rolled down a hill toward him, its expression accusatory, as if to say, “Why me? What did I ever do to you, Richard of Gloucester?”

  “My lord, a groat for your thoughts.” Anne’s voice jolted him from his reverie.

  “Forgive me, my dear, I was thinking about Thomas, my solicitor,” he fibbed. “Would you believe he wants to wed Jane Shore.”

  “How sweet,” Anne replied, “but now I need your advice on which gown to wear for the Christmas banquet.”

  “Aye, my lord father,” Katherine exclaimed, pulling him toward the collection of gowns strewn on the bed. “Which one?”

  Richard allowed himself to be drawn into the decision making, and, putting his arm around his beautiful daughter, he gladly gave Anne his complete attention. Soon they chose a delicate blue and white overdress trimmed with Venetian lace, and Anne kissed him tenderly. “A man of good taste, your father,” she informed Katherine kindly. “Always wed a man of good taste.”

  Unbeknownst to the king and queen of England, on that Christmas Day, in the great cathedral of Rennes a hundred leagues from Westminster, Henry Tudor, earl of Richmond, knelt at the altar in front of his fellow exiled compatriots and his host, the duke of Brittany, and pledged to wed Elizabeth of York should he return to his native land and win back the crown for Lancaster.

  In her forlorn lodgings in Westminster sanctuary, Elizabeth Grey, as the former queen was now known, prayed she had done the right thing in facilitating the event. Would Edward have approved? She could not say, but her decision haunted her waking hours that yuletide season.

  Thomas took care of all the legalities, and on one snowy January morning soon after Twelfth Night, he and Jane were married quietly with Jane’s parents, Ankarette, Sophie and Jehan, and Thomas’s superior and mentor, Morgan Kidwelly, in attendance. Jane’s brother, Sir William Lambert, parson of the parish of St. Leonard’s in Foster Lane, performed the brief ceremony outside the church door.

  Jane wore a gown of palest green satin with an overdress of dark green velvet, a gift from her father. “The color of hope,” she had assured Sophie as she went to be joined to Thomas, her golden hair loose about her shoulders like a maid, covered by a shimmering piece of gauze and crowned with ivy leaves. “Then your eyes are full with hope,” Sophie whispered back. Even though Jane had just turned thirty-two, Sophie thought her friend had never looked more beautiful.

  Thomas’s hand was warm and reassuring when Jane gave him hers to receive his ring. “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, wilt thou love her, and honor her, keep her and guard her, in sickness, as a husband should a wife, and forsaking all others on account of her, keep thee only unto her so long as ye both shall live?” Father Lambert demanded, daring Thomas to change his mind. Although he had long ago agreed to disavow his wayward sister at the behest of his father, William Lambert could never forget the childish devotion Jane had shown him, and he was glad that their father had finally forgiven her. William was now determined to see his sister happy.

  “I will.” Thomas’s robust response mollified the priest and made Jane smile. She gave her answer just as enthusiastically and felt Thomas’s fingers squeeze hers. After they spoke their vows, the ring was blessed, and considering Thomas had managed to remain a bachelor for thirty-eight years of his life, he did not flinch from firmly fitting the gold band on Jane’s slender finger.

  The expressions of relief on the faces of the family might have been misconstrued as signs of contentment by the few curious onlookers witnessing the handsome couple plight their troth. John Lambert found Amy’s hand and entwined his fingers in hers, which made Amy smile all the more on the happy union before them.

  Thomas took Jane in his arms then and bent down to kiss her waiting lips. Her heart sang when he beamed and said, “God’s greeting to you, Mistress Lyneham.” She would never again be addressed as Mistress Shore and, as though reborn, she knew she could release the person she had once been as well as relinquish the many travails that name had brought her.

  Thomas entered Jane’s chamber clad only in his shirt, open at the throat and showing a prolific amount of chest hair. The sight caused Jane’s blood to flood her lower belly and thighs in the primeval tug of desire. Although she was no longer a maid and had obviously not been averse to giving herself outside of marriage, Thomas had respected Jane’s wish for celibacy throughout the betrothal period. She knew it was because she was afraid of intimacy after Tom’s betrayal, but she knew she could not keep Thomas from her bed once they were married. And now, as the familiar rush readied her for his intimate touch, a seductive smile curved her lips, and she reached out her hands to him.

  Gently removing the ivy crown and veil, Thomas took handfuls of her luxuriant hair and buried his face in it, breathing in the exotic scent of cinnamon and rosemary. Ankarette and Sophie had removed Jane’s gown and underdress before, and she stood barefoot in her spotless linen shift, the outline of her body silhouetted through it by the candles behind her. Jane let Thomas move his hands to her face and then her neck, as if he was committing to memory every satiny inch. His tenderness thrilled her, and she laid her hands on his chest and felt the muscles flex beneath her fingers. Sensing that his respect for her was making him reticent, she stepped away from him and without a word pulled loose the ribbon at her throat and let the flimsy undergarment slip off her body and to the floor.

  Thomas gasped in awe. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined in my dreams,” he confessed, reaching out and touching her creamy skin. Jane gave a little moan of anticipation, and seeing the telltale movement of his rising excitement under his shirt, she knew she wanted this man as passionately as he did her.

  “Then step out of your dreams, Thomas, and take me to bed, I beg of you. We have waited long enough.”

  When they both achieved rapture at exactly the same exquisite moment, Jane experienced tears of joy in bed for the first time, and she knew, with the certainty of one who had suffered too much in her young life, that her heart had finally found its home.

  A few days after the wedding, Thomas had left her at the Lamberts’ when he was required, as a king’s councilor, to attend Richard’s first Parliament, which convened on the twenty-third of January. As he sat in a boat headed for Westminster pier and thought on his new status, he determined to prove to Rich
ard that Jane was not the unprincipled, sinful woman the king thought she was, and he gave silent thanks for Richard’s trust in him.

  Thomas also prayed that, in the near future, Jane’s opinion of the king might be tempered by evidence of his good governance, or fair distribution of the law. Thomas also thought Jane would be surprised by the reports that Richard had even held a festive yuletide season that might have been worthy of King Edward.

  Parliament was dismissed in late February, and in mid-March the Lynehams went to look at a house for rent in the Strandway. It stood just past the bishop of Bath and Wells’s impressive inn and far enough away from the crowded city to enjoy a more rural setting with a garden that ran down to the river. Jane was ecstatic.

  “Are you sure we can we afford to live here?” Jane asked after running from room to room and exclaiming at the views from the second-story windows. They stood by the wide casement in the airy solar looking out over the garden to the river as a light snow fell. Jane leaned back against her husband, and he cradled her to him.

  Thomas laughed. “I am on the king’s council, my love, and when his grace gave me that commission to investigate a case of treason in Essex last month, I was well paid.” Jane knew that Thomas had also been granted the fees associated with being named escheator for Essex and Hertfordshire, and for his services during the recent rebellion, Richard had rewarded his solicitor general a manor in Bedfordshire. “Besides I promised your father I would keep you happy, and as I have noticed you have a penchant for luxury, my love, I am keeping my promise.” He chuckled mischievously as he moved one of his hands to cup her breast.

  Jane slapped the hand playfully. “Be serious for a moment, Thomas,” she scolded. “Then if we can afford the house, naught would make me happier than to live here.”

  How safe she felt, she marveled, thinking back to a year ago when Edward had begun to feel unwell and Will Hastings had been sent to the Tower for a spell. It conjured up the first—and so far only—meeting face-to-face with Edward’s youngest brother, and now Richard was king. How much had transpired in one short year, she realized, including the end of her relationship with three men who had loved her and the start of one with Thomas. What fate had in store for her now, she could not begin to imagine, but she knew for certain that, barring war or the plague, Thomas Lyneham would anchor it for a long, long time, and, she hoped, forever.