She was given in marriage by the Count of Overstein. She understood little of what the kindly faced archbishop was saying, but when Henry Tudor grasped her hand and jammed the heavy red-gold ring onto the appropriate finger, Anne of Cleves knew without a doubt that she was finally married to England’s king. As Thomas Cranmer concluded the marriage ceremony, she painstakingly made out the words engraved upon her ring. God send me well to keep. It was all she could do not to laugh.
Now the king was grabbing at her hand and practically dragging her into his private chapel. She almost stumbled in her effort to keep up with him, and felt angry that he should so embarrass her on their wedding day. Whatever either of them might think, she was his wife. With effort she calmed herself, managing to get through the mass that followed. And afterward the bridal party was served hot spiced wine.
It was a day of unending ritual. Following the wedding ceremony, the king went to his private apartments to change clothing again. He put on a gown of tissue lined in embroidered red velvet. As soon as he had changed, a procession formed, and the bridal couple led their guests into the wedding banquet. In the afternoon the new queen departed the feast for a brief time to don fresh garments, choosing a gown with sleeves that gathered above her elbow. Her women also changed clothing, picking gowns decorated with many pretty golden chains, as was popular in the German states.
Cat Howard was filled with gratitude to Nyssa Wyndham, for she really had not the means to be a maid of honor. Her uncle, Duke Thomas, had obtained the position for her, but he was not so generous with his gold as he was with his influence. She had few gowns, and was forced to mix and match those she had, but even so, she was not as well dressed as the other girls. She and her sister and three brothers were orphaned. What little their father had left, and it was indeed little, was reserved for her eldest brother. So as the queen’s wedding had approached, Cat Howard had despaired of how she could afford another gown, particularly one that had to be lavishly decorated with chains.
“Let me give it to you as a Twelfth Night gift, Cat,” Nyssa had said. “My allowance is more than I can spend even after having a new dress made.” She shrugged. “What good is gold if you cannot share it with friends?”
“Oh, I cannot let you do such a thing,” Cat Howard protested weakly, but it was obvious her heart was not in her words.
“Why not?” Nyssa inquired politely. “Is there some rule of court etiquette that I have not been told that forbids gifts between friends? If there is, I shall defy it, for I have gifts for you all!”
The others all giggled, and Lady Browne said, “Nyssa Wyndham is most generous, Mistress Howard. You are fortunate to have such a nice new friend. Of course you must accept the gift she offers. To do otherwise would be impolite, I fear, and Duke Thomas would be angry.”
“In that case,” Cat Howard said with a mischievous smile, “I must accept, which I do with thanks, Nyssa Wyndham.”
Lady Browne nodded approvingly. “Prettily done,” she said.
“I have nothing I can give you,” Cat Howard told Nyssa softly, “but I do not forget a good turn done me, even as I do not forget a fault. Someday I will find a way to repay your kindness, for it is indeed kindness you do me. I am as poor as a church mouse, yet you have never made me feel inferior, as do the proud Bassetts. Eventually I shall have a chance to do you a good turn, Nyssa, and I will, I promise you.”
When they returned to the banquet that afternoon in their fresh gowns, the new queen and her ladies were greeted with applause. The ladies received many compliments on their costumes. There was a program of masques and pantomimes. There was dancing. With ill-concealed grace the king led the new queen out onto the floor. But to Henry’s surprise, Anne proved an excellent partner. She had learned well from her ladies. When he swung her up in the air, and she laughed down at him, he considered that perhaps she was not quite as unattractive as he had originally thought. Mayhap they could come to an arrangement.
“Nyssa?”
She turned at the sound of her name. There stood Cat Howard with … with … with him!
“This is my cousin, Varian de Winter, the Earl of March,” Cat said. “He is without a partner. I thought perhaps you would take pity upon him. I know how you love to dance.”
His eyes were green. Dark green. Dark water-green like the river Wye when it settled in sunlit ripples in the shallows where the river rushes grew by her home.
“Madame.” He made her a most courtly bow. His face was grave.
“Sir.” She curtsied, even as a shiver rippled up her back. His voice was deep and musical. There was a mysterious quality to it. His stern, handsome face set her heart to racing.
“Oh, do dance with Varian, Nyssa,” Cat begged. Then she was gone to find her own partner.
“It is said you are not a gentleman, my lord. I am told by Lady Marlowe that to even speak with you endangers my reputation,” Nyssa said boldly, regaining her composure.
“Do you believe her?” he asked dryly. She could hear the amusement in his wonderful voice. Still, his face remained serious.
“I think that Lady Marlowe, who is my aunt’s dearest friend, is a gossip who thrives on scandal,” Nyssa answered him slowly. “Yet within every scandal there is a grain of truth. Still, if we are in a public place, and surrounded by the entire court, I cannot quite see how you might compromise my reputation. Therefore, my lord, if indeed you are asking me to dance, I accept. To refuse you would be unthinkably rude.” She curtsied to him again.
He took her hand, and she felt the warmth of his grasp pulse through her. They joined the lively country dance already in progress. A second dance followed, but when the music had finally ceased, Nyssa’s uncle, Owen FitzHugh, was suddenly at their side.
“Nyssa, my dear, your aunt wishes to speak with you.” He took her arm in a firm grip. “You will excuse us, my lord?”
The Earl of March bowed, a faint, sardonic smile upon his handsome face. “Of course, my lord,” he said softly, “if you insist.” He then turned and walked away.
“How could you!” Nyssa demanded of her uncle, stamping her foot for emphasis. “You have embarrassed me before the entire court!”
“My darling girl, I have full faith in your ability to handle your own life, but your aunt, egged on by Adela Marlowe, has not. Save your outrage for Bliss and her bosom friend.”
“I will,” Nyssa said ominously, and pulling away from her uncle, hurried across the floor to where the two older women sat.
“Nyssa!” Bliss said before she might even speak. “Have you not been warned about that man? Why, if Lady Marlowe had not seen him dancing with you, I can but imagine what would have happened.”
“Nothing would have happened!” Nyssa retorted. “Little harm can be done to my reputation in a banquet hall full of people. You have embarrassed me greatly. I was introduced to the Earl of March by his cousin, Mistress Howard, one of my fellow maids. I could scarce refuse his invitation to dance under the circumstances, could I?”
“Dear sweet child,” Adela Marlowe said, “an innocent such as you cannot possibly know the sort of man Lord de Winter is. Remember that you have been sent to court to find a suitable husband. No gentleman of good breeding will want to enter into a match with a woman of dubious repute.” She smiled in what she believed was a kindly manner, but it seemed more supercilious to the younger woman.
“Madame,” Nyssa said, her eyes dark with anger, “how dare you presume to lecture me on morality and manners? You are my senior in years only. I outrank you both by birth and position. Were I as foolish a peahen of a creature as you seem to think me, perhaps your interference would be of some value. I am not foolish, however, and I am mortally offended that my aunt would have been so influenced by you as to forget that I am my mother’s daughter. I know well how to behave in polite society. You allude to some unsavory scandal in Lord de Winter’s past, yet you do not elaborate. As far as I am concerned, the Earl of March is a pleasant gentleman, and an excellent dancer.
As for me, I am a maid of unblemished virtue. If you have anything else to say on the matter, then do so. If you have not, I will thank you to rein in your wild imagination and not interfere in my life again!”
“She must be told!” Adela Marlowe declared dramatically to Bliss. “My conscience will not allow it otherwise.”
“What must you tell me?” Nyssa demanded, her tone almost mocking.
“This man you insist upon defending, and with so little true knowledge of his history,” the older woman said, “this man is an admitted debaucher of innocence. He seduced a young girl, and when she found herself with child, he would not own up to his responsibilities. The poor young creature killed herself. Will you defend such a man now, my fine young lady?”
Nyssa was shocked, but worse, she felt like a total fool. Yet how could she have been aware of such a terrible thing?
Still, she was irritated at Adela Marlowe, who now looked at her with the light of righteous triumph in her eyes, a small smile of victory upon her lips. Nyssa wanted to wipe that smile from the woman’s face.
“You, madame,” she said in scathing tones, “are the most vicious gossip I have ever encountered.” She was pleased to see the woman wither beneath her assault.
“Nyssa!” Even Bliss, noted for her temper, was astounded at her niece’s outburst. “You must apologize to Lady Marlowe this instant!”
“Rather I think Lady Marlowe should apologize to me,” the girl snapped. “And you also, Aunt Bliss.” Then she turned on her heel and hurried away to find her friends. Her heart was beating violently in her breast. It was not that she was enamored with Lord de Winter, for until this moment she had known virtually nothing about him. But she bitterly resented being treated like a child by her aunt and Lady Marlowe. She was seventeen now!
Adela Marlowe took several minutes to recover from her shock. She was white about the lips. “Never in my life have I been spoken to in such a fashion,” she gasped. “If that girl were my charge, I should beat her black and blue, and then send her home to her parents. She is totally out of control, Bliss, and will come to a bad end, mark my words!”
“Nyssa was rude, I agree, Adela, but ’twas you who encouraged me to be overprotective of her. I forgot that she is not that kind of girl. She is intelligent, and has quickly learned the ways of the court. She knows the stakes involved, and will not allow her reputation to be ruined. Besides, she loves the new queen, and delights in serving her.”
“I suppose her large dowry will smooth over any tittle-tattle,” Adela Marlowe said nastily.
The time had come to put the king and queen to bed.
“Fifteen hours of night,” Henry grumbled. “The next time I wed with an ugly woman, it shall be a midsummer’s eve wedding, on the shortest night of the year instead of a long winter’s night.”
“The next time he weds,” murmured the Duke of Norfolk meaningfully to Cromwell.
“The night has only begun,” Cromwell answered. “By the dawn the king may be a happier man, my lord.” He smiled with a confidence he was not truly feeling, and the duke smiled back. Norfolk’s smile was a knowing and superior one. Thomas Cromwell felt an icy premonition slither down his backbone. What was the duke up to?
The queen was divested of her wedding finery by her ladies, and the maids of honor were kept busy running to and fro fetching this item and the other. Anne was a tall, big-boned woman with slender limbs and a narrow waist. She had small pear-shaped breasts, which were entirely out of proportion for a woman of her stature. The queen’s ladies silently eyed one another and shook their heads in despair as they helped the queen into a simple white silk night shift. Still, her lovely blond hair was long and thick as they brushed it out.
Mother Lowe, the queen’s old nurse, and now comistress of the maids, said to Anne in a soft voice, using their own language, “What will you do with this great bear you have married, child? He does not like you, as we both know—thanks to young Hans, who listens to the foolish men who ignore him because he is a boy, and chatter in his presence. Your mother, I know, has told you nothing of what transpires between a man and his wife, but I have enlightened you. Will you try to win him over, child? I am fearful for you.”
“Do not be,” Anne reassured the old woman. “I do not know what I shall do yet. It depends upon this king, my husband. Perhaps if I give him an excuse to annul our marriage, he will think more kindly of me. If he had had an excuse to break the betrothal, to avoid the marriage ceremony today, I do believe he would have done so. He is not, I am told, a man who likes being denied his will. We are just married. He has no cause for divorce, yet he wishes to rid himself of me. If I do not give him just cause for an annulment, then he must kill me. I did not come to England, Mother Lowe, to lose my head, but rather to gain my freedom from that boring court of my brother’s.” she smiled and patted her old servant’s hand. “Pray for me that I make the right decisions.”
The sound of revelry came from the queen’s antechamber, and then the door to her bedchamber was pushed open. All the ladies in the room curtsied as the king, in a velvet robe and nightcap, reluctantly entered, followed by his gentlemen and the archbishop. Without a word the king climbed into the bed next to the queen. Archbishop Cranmer then droned a prayer for the marriage’s success and the couple’s fertility.
When he had finished, the king growled to them, “Get out! I want to get this over and done with. Out! All of you!”
The ladies and gentlemen of the court departed, chuckling, and casting sly looks at one another. The door closed behind them with an ominous sound.
The bride and groom sat silently side by side. Finally Henry turned and looked at his new queen. He could barely repress a shudder of distaste. It was not that she was really ugly; she wasn’t. But her features were stronger than Holbein had painted them, and she was so damned big when he compared her to Katherine, the first Anne, and his sweet Jane. Her blue eyes were intelligent, however, and they regarded him cautiously now. Best to get the thing over with. He reached out and fingered a strand of golden hair. It was soft, and somehow that pleased him. At least there was something about the woman he liked.
“You do not like me,” Anne said suddenly, her voice clear in the tense silence.
He remained silent, surprised, and curious as to what else she would say to him.
“You vould not haf ved me, but you not haf … haf … ach! I do not know the vord!” Her accent was thick, but he fully understood her words.
“Excuse,” he supplied gently.
“Ya! You not haf excuse to … to …”
“Reject,” the king offered.
“Ya! Reject me!” she concluded triumphantly. “If I gif you excuse, vill you let me stay here in England, Hendrick?”
He was amazed. She had been in England but eleven days, yet she was already speaking the language, a clear indication of her intellect; and, she had quickly grasped the situation with regard to his feelings. Was he making a mistake? No. He would never love this woman. He could not. Not even for England’s sweet sake.
“What excuse?” he demanded of her, his blue eyes narrowing with speculation. “It must be foolproof, Annie. They tell me my reputation with wives is not the best, but ’tis not true. I am misunderstood.”
He had spoken very slowly, that she might at least grasp some of his words, but it seemed that his bride understood more than she could say. She laughed aloud, and he saw she had big teeth.
“I understand Hendrick vell,” she told him. “Ve no make luf, and you haf excuse to reject me. Ya?”
It was simple and absolutely brilliant, Henry Tudor thought, and then he realized that it must be he who could not make love to her, not she who refused him. Either way, he thought, he would be embarrassed, but he would be less embarrassed if he blamed her unattractive person for the problem. She had to understand that.
“We need Hans to talk for us,” he said, “but not tonight. In secret. Tomorrow. Yes?”
“Ya!” she nodded, and then swingin
g her legs off of their bed, she stood up and asked him, “Ve play cards, Hendrick?”
Henry Tudor laughed. “Ya!” he told her. “We play cards, Annie.” She wasn’t the sort of woman he wanted for a wife, or for a lover, but he had a strong feeling that she was going to become a good friend.
The king was up early the following morning. They had gambled until well after midnight, and his Flanders mare had won heavily off of him. At any other time he might have been angered to be beaten so thoroughly, but his new queen had been a good companion. Gaining his own bedchamber by use of a private passage, the king greeted his gentlemen dourly. It was all part of the plan that had formed in his head the previous night. He must continue to appear dissatisfied from the very start with Anne of Cleves. He would not be believed otherwise.
Cromwell met the king on his way to mass. “What think Your Grace of the queen now?” he asked low. “I trust your night was pleasant.”
“My night was not pleasant, Crum. Not pleasant at all. I have left the queen as good a maid as I found her. I cannot for the life of me bring myself to consummate this marriage, though my dreams were of a most sensuous nature, I admit. At least twice I soiled myself with the passion of them, but I am not happy, Crum.”
“Perhaps Your Grace was tired with all the pomp and excitement,” Cromwell offered weakly. “ ’Twill be better tonight when you are better rested.”
“I am not tired!” the king snapped. “Bring me another woman, and I could perform the act eagerly, but not this woman! She fills me with repulsion, Crum. Do you understand me?”
Cromwell understood all too well. Unable to get out of the marriage before it was formally celebrated, Henry Tudor was now going to seek another route by which to rid himself of this unwanted new wife. He had gotten the king into this situation, and he knew for certain that his very life would be forfeit unless he got the king gracefully out of it.
Love, Remember Me Page 10
