Love, Remember Me

by Bertrice Small

  Nyssa said nothing for the moment. She let her aunt babble on, for it would have been impossible to get Bliss to cease. I have imagined my wedding my whole life, Nyssa thought, but I could have never imagined anything like the reality I now face. Am I dreaming? She pinched herself, but she was not dreaming. This was truly happening. Her aunt’s strident tones brought her back to the present.

  “My lord de Winter!” Bliss’s beautiful face was the picture of perfect outrage. “Surely you are not going to your wedding dressed in such a manner? This matter is scandalous enough as it is!”

  “I do not choose to outshine my bride, madame,” he answered her calmly. “To do so would be unforgivable. Unless Nyssa has some objection, I will remain as I am. What say you, Lady Wyndham?”

  For the first time since this dreadful affair had burst upon her, Nyssa truly liked Varian de Winter. Whatever else he might be, he was a man with a sense of humor. He stood before her in a white silk nightshirt, over which he wore a deep green velvet robe trimmed with dark sable. His feet were as bare as hers.

  Nyssa giggled, much to her aunt’s mortification. “I am content with your garb, sir. It seems appropriate to this particular occasion.” She curtsied to him, and he bowed in return.

  Bliss sighed dramatically. “Then there is no help for it,” she said, “and if we keep the king waiting much longer, all our heads will roll, I fear. Come along, both of you. We have a wedding to go to. Ohhh, Nyssa! I can but imagine what your parents will say! Hurry now! Your uncle is awaiting us outside the door. He did not want to come in for fear of embarrassing you, but you do not seem the least ashamed of your actions this night. I do not understand you at all!” She bustled from the room, her skirts flying about her.

  “Is all your family like that?” Varian asked Nyssa.

  “You will shortly learn if they are,” she responded. “I realize that we have both been trapped into this marriage, my lord. When it is finally fact, I will look forward to your explanation as to why.”

  Chapter 6

  “I shall hear Lady Wyndham’s confession privately before I administer the sacrament of marriage,” the Archbishop of Canterbury said calmly. “You, Bishop Gardiner, will shrive Lord de Winter.”

  “Can we not just get on with it,” the king grumbled. The Chapel Royal was chilly at midnight, and his leg ached damnably.

  “Your Grace cannot think that I would allow these two young people to enter into matrimony without observing all the proprieties,” Thomas Cranmer said, just the barest touch of censure in his voice. “Particularly under the circumstances that have brought us here tonight. I have, after all, waived the banns.”

  “Oh, very well!” the king consented irritably, “but do not dally.” He glowered at Nyssa. “Remember, madame, you have far more important sins to tell this priest than the envy of another’s gown, or an unkind word to one of your fellow maids. And be quick about it!”

  Bliss clung nervously to her husband’s arm. Ohh, why had she not listened to her brother-in-law and to her mother! If she had not insisted upon chaperoning Nyssa to court, none of this would be happening. Her family would never let her forget it, particularly her husband. From now on, whenever she decided upon a course of action that he disapproved of, he would surely bring up this incident. She peeped up at Owen to see what he might be thinking, but his handsome face was serene and without emotion. Damn him for a smug bastard!

  The Earl of Marwood could feel his wife’s great disquiet as she fidgeted by his side. He restrained a smile. It served her right! Bliss always wanted to have her own way in everything. Well, at least she would behave herself for a few weeks before she totally forgot her part in this affair. He himself would not have been half as calm as he now was had he not been inquiring discreetly about the Earl of March over the past few weeks. The earl’s interest in Nyssa had not escaped him.

  Varian de Winter had not quite struck him as a cad. Owen FitzHugh’s interest had gained him the knowledge that although there had been one rather unpleasant scandal regarding the gentleman, there had been no other. He was in favor with his grandfather, the powerful Duke of Norfolk; he paid his gambling debts; and his few love affairs were limited to the kind of women who indulged in such affairs. It was said among the gentlemen that Varian de Winter would marry but for the fact that the ladies of the court would not allow his youthful indiscretion to be forgotten.

  Owen FitzHugh knew that there was something far more sinister to this “discovery” of his niece in the gentleman’s bed tonight, and the hasty wedding about to be performed. How had Nyssa been cajoled into that bed? The girl was not the flighty sort of flibbertigibbet who could be seduced. And how had the king known to seek her in Varian de Winter’s bedchamber? He did not think Nyssa was a part of the plot.

  The archbishop escorted the bride-to-be into a small private room off the chapel. She knelt respectfully before him. Taking her cold little hands in his warm ones, he said, “Now, my child, you are protected here by the law of the confessional. I shall repeat nothing of what you tell me, but on peril of your immortal soul, Nyssa Wyndham, I want the truth from you. How came you to the Earl of March’s bed this night, and why?” His gray eyes bore into her eyes.

  “My lord archbishop,” Nyssa answered him, her gaze not flinching, “I swear to you that I know not how I came to be in the Earl of March’s bed. I went to sleep in my own bed in the Maidens’ Chamber. When I awoke, I was in the earl’s bed and he was leaning over me. I swear to you that this is the truth. I swear it on my deceased father’s honor!”

  “Will you swear it on your eternal soul, my child?” Thomas Cranmer asked her softly. When she nodded vigorously, he said, “Tell me again exactly what you remember of this evening.”

  “There were only four of us tonight in the Maidens’ Chamber,” Nyssa told him. “Cat, Bessie, and Kate were with me. We gossiped and played at cards. Then Lady Rochford came in bearing a tray. It was a treat, she told us. A secret we must not reveal lest we get her in trouble. We agreed, and she served us tiny glasses of a most delicious cherry cordial. Lady Rochford would not give us more than a single serving for she claimed it was potent and had made her tipsy. Bessie wanted more, but she would not relent. When Lady Rochford wasn’t looking, I let Bessie have the rest of mine, for I thought it was too sweet. Then we all disrobed and retired for the night. ’Tis all I remember.”

  “Nothing more, my child?” he gently encouraged her.

  “Well,” Nyssa said, “I can vaguely recall a feeling of floating, and when I opened my eyes, I saw velvet bed hangings above and around me. Our beds do not have velvet hangings in the Maidens’ Chamber. Then I saw a man’s face staring down into mine. I asked him if I was dreaming. He said I was not, and then he said, ‘Forgive me, Nyssa,’ and he kissed me. It was at that moment that the king burst in with the others,” she finished. “There is nothing more, my lord archbishop, but I swear to you that I am no wanton to seek a strange man’s bed! You must believe me!”

  “I do, my child,” he said, and indeed he did. Lady Jane Rochford. The Earl of March. There was a common denominator here, and it was Tom Howard. What mischief was the duke bent upon, and why had it involved ruining the reputation of an innocent maiden? This is a strange conundrum, the archbishop thought to himself. I will need time to puzzle it all out, but eventually I will learn the truth. “Kneel, Nyssa Wyndham, and I will absolve you of your sins,” Thomas Cranmer said. Poor child, he said to himself as he blessed her. What have you become involved in?

  The archbishop escorted the bride back out into the Chapel Royal, where, assisted by Bishop Gardiner, he quickly married her to Varian de Winter. Her uncle, the Earl of Marwood, acting in her father’s stead, gave her away. Her aunt wept copiously. The Duke of Norfolk seemed too pleased with this situation, while the king continued to look furious.

  When the two clerics had finished their task, the king said in surly tones, “You will no longer be considered a maid of honor, madame. Your marriage makes that impossible,
as you must surely know.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” Nyssa said softly, “but I would ask your leave to remain in the queen’s service for the present. She does need me now.”

  The girl is no fool, Henry Tudor thought, but then neither had her mother been a fool. Nyssa certainly knew the future Anne of Cleves faced, but she wanted to remain by her mistress’s side until the end. He approved of her loyalty. His voice softened a trifle as he said, “Very well, madame. When you inform the queen of your marriage tomorrow, you may tell her I will allow you to remain in her service for the present.”

  “You are most generous, Your Grace,” Nyssa said, curtseying.

  “Aye,” the king responded. “I am generous to you. I should not be, madame. Your shameless behavior this night does not merit my kindness. Still, for the sake of your sweet mother, I am prepared to be forgiving. Be as good a wife to your husband as your mother is to her husband. That will please me, Nyssa.” He gave her his hand, and she kissed it, curtseying again as she did so. The king smiled briefly, then turned to the Earl of March. “Remember, I will expect proof in the morning that this marriage has been consummated, my lord,” he said grimly. “If I have the slightest doubt, Dr. Butts will be called upon to examine your wife.” Then he turned abruptly and left the chapel, followed by the two clerics.

  “I do not know what to say to you,” Bliss told her niece.

  “Good night, Aunt,” Nyssa replied. “Good night, Uncle.”

  Owen FitzHugh gripped his wife by the elbow and hustled her from the Chapel Royal before Bliss might recover her composure.

  Now there were but three people in the king’s chapel.

  “You have done well, Varian,” the Duke of Norfolk congratulated his grandson. Reaching out, he caught Nyssa’s chin between his thumb and his forefinger. His cold dark eyes looked into her soft violet-blue ones. He was amused to find she would not look away. A brief wintry smile touched his mouth. “She is a beauty, my boy, and as you said, she has spirit. You’ll get strong sons from her.”

  Nyssa pulled angrily away from his grasp. “You, my lord, are, I assume, responsible for this marriage,” she said scathingly. “I think I am entitled to an explanation from you!”

  “Take your wife to bed, Varian, and make a woman of her,” the duke said coldly, and then he was gone.

  “Ohhh, he is the most arrogant man!” she fumed.

  “He is,” her new husband agreed, “but he is also brilliant, and loyal to his family.” He took her by the hand. “Come along now, sweetheart. We do not want to be discovered by anyone in our nightclothes wandering about the palace. There will be speculation aplenty about our marriage as it is. I know a shortcut back.”

  “Back to where?” she asked him as they hurried along, hand in hand.

  “To my grandfather’s apartments, where we have our bedchamber,” he told her calmly. “I have some good red wine, and we will toast our union, as no one else has bothered to do so for us.”

  Nyssa suddenly realized that her feet were cold. They made a faint little slapping noise as she hurried along next to Varian de Winter. She wondered if his feet were cold too. She was married. She was a bride. How had it happened? She had to know! They reached their destination, and as the door closed behind them, she whirled about.

  “Tell me now, my lord! Tell me how I came to your bed tonight, and why? There can be nothing between us until I know,” Nyssa said.

  “I will never lie to you, Nyssa,” he said seriously. “The cordial Lady Rochford brought to the Maidens’ Chamber tonight was laced with a light sleeping draught. It was believed that you were possibly too deep in the king’s favor. Once his union to Queen Anne is undone, he will be required to marry again. It was feared that you might be his choice.”

  “Feared by whom? The Duke of Norfolk?” she demanded. “My dreams have been snatched from me, and I wish to know for certain who the thief is, my lord.”

  “You are right in naming my grandfather,” the earl answered her. “There is another whom he thinks will make a more suitable wife for the king.” Varian de Winter sighed deeply. “Thomas Howard is an ambitious man. Ambitious for himself, and ambitious for his family, Nyssa. I do not always agree with him, but I owe him my loyalty, and I love him despite all his faults. My mother was his bastard, yet he raised her lovingly, and saw to it that a good match was made for her despite her accident of birth. She died shortly after I was born, yet Grandfather did not desert me. He came every year to Winterhaven to see me. He always remembered my birthday and Twelfth Night with gifts. When I was six, he took me into his own household to raise. He is not always kind. Sometimes he is even cruel. But I love him even as he loves me. Can you understand that, sweetheart?”

  “So because of Howard ambition,” Nyssa said angrily, “I have had my dreams torn from me! All my life I dreamed of the man I would marry, and the wedding we would celebrate with our happy families in attendance. I would wear a gown of white satin, silver tissue, and pearls. There would be flowers in my hair. Papa would give me away in the same church where my father formally married my mother.” She brushed the tears from her eyes.

  “There would be a great feast on the lawns of RiversEdge,” she continued. “All my family would be there: my grandparents, my aunts and my uncles, my cousin Mary Rose would attend me, along with some of the littler cousins. We would dance, and Violet, my old nurse, would weep, foolish creature. And my bridegroom, my lord—he would be a man who knew and loved me. A man I loved. A man my family would respect. Now I will have none of that because your grandfather believed the king lusted after me. Thomas Howard has a more suitable candidate than Nyssa Wyndham for Henry Tudor’s bed and crown. My reputation must be discredited in the king’s eyes to serve Howard ambition. God damn you for it, Varian de Winter! And God damn your grandfather as well!” She burst into tears.

  He reached out to draw her into his embrace, but Nyssa jumped back like a scalded cat. “Do not dare to touch me, my lord! I hate you! You and your family’s overweening ambition have destroyed my life!” She angrily wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand.

  “Destroyed your life? How have I destroyed your life?” he demanded. “By marrying you? Who else would have had you under the circumstances, madame?” This was not going at all as he had anticipated.

  “The circumstances,” Nyssa answered him coldly, “were not of my making, my lord. How easily you forget it.”

  Varian de Winter drew a deep breath, then said to her, “The day you came to Richmond, and I stared so boldly at you across the Great Hall at Hampton Court, I fell in love with you.”

  Nyssa gasped with surprise. Then she replied, outraged, “How dare you say such a thing to me! A man in love with a woman does not compromise her reputation as you have done mine.”

  “I love you enough that I allowed my grandfather to use me in this wild plot of his lest another be chosen to disgrace you, Nyssa,” he told her. “Do you think the great Duke of Norfolk cared about what happened to you? My grandfather cared nothing for your fate. When he first brought this scheme to my attention, I tried to dissuade him. When I was unable to do that, I agreed to aid him when he threatened to choose another. I thought his design wrong for many reasons, but what if he had chosen a man of low degree to ruin you? Then your reputation would have been truly destroyed. Had you been caught with a guardsman, there would have been no one to marry you, despite your wealth. Instead, this sudden marriage between us will be but cause for good gossip which will shortly die away, particularly as I mean us to leave court. If we are not here, then something else will distract the gossips.” There! Certainly he had explained it so that she would understand, and he had admitted his love for her. He held out a hand to her, but Nyssa slapped it away.

  “Now I see the crux of it,” she said scathingly. “Your grandfather has managed to forward his plans and gain you a rich wife in the bargain. I am not surprised, my lord, that you agreed to aid him in his wickedness. Who else would have me? Rather, who
would have you? Your reputation is so black that no decent parents would entrust their daughter in marriage to you, a man who deserted his mistress and caused her death. Only by deceit could you gain a respectable wife, sir!” Nyssa glared at him furiously. This was certainly not how she had imagined she would spend her wedding night; but then this was not how she had imagined she would be married either.

  To his credit, he did not lose his temper, although it was near to boiling over. Yet she was correct in many ways, and he could not blame her for his past. “I told you that I would never lie to you, Nyssa. What I am about to tell you is the truth, but it must be kept secret, for so it has always been and must remain. Will you agree to keep what I say between us, madame?”

  Nyssa nodded slowly. She was curious as to what he would reveal to her. Having had her say, she felt her anger beginning to drain away, for she was a practical girl. What was done was done, and there was nothing that could change it. “I will keep your secret, my lord, unless, of course, it is treasonous. If that is the case, it would be better not to tell me.”

  “There is no treason involved,” he said quietly, and then he offered her his hand once again. “Come, madame, let us sit by the fire while we continue our discussion. I find I am growing cold, and surely you must be.”