The Boleyn Deceit: A Novel (Ann Boleyn Trilogy)

by Andersen, Laura

  Elizabeth turned back to the duchess. She raised a single eyebrow, a trick she had long practiced. “I hardly think this is the most propitious time for a royal to be visiting your home.” But that was why the duchess was asking, surely—to mitigate the court’s displeasure in the eyes of the people. The petitioner might be Jane Dudley, but the petition had the Duke of Northumberland written all over it.

  “The matter of Guildford’s apology and submission will be resolved this very evening.” The serenity of the duchess’s voice was belied by the tightness of her posture.

  “He has finally deigned to answer the king’s summons?” Elizabeth asked drily.

  “Of course he would not long leave his bride in the Tower. Guildford is a man of honour.”

  “Not honourable enough to seek permission for this marriage. A daring that shows itself rather in the father, than the son.”

  Jane Dudley’s face darkened briefly. But then, in a move Elizabeth could never have predicted, the duchess knelt. Proud, yes, but sincerity radiating from her very stiffness. This was not a woman to abase herself purely for show—it meant something to her, if only that she loved her husband enough to do as he’d asked. Elizabeth’s irritation lessened.

  “Your Highness, my husband’s great sin is that he loves his family. His faults will only ever be those of a father. I swear that my family would never do anything to injure your brother’s throne or his dignity.”

  It was impossible not to believe her. Which was perhaps why Northumberland had sent his wife.

  “I will beg if you wish me to, Your Highness. I swear to you as a mother—as Robert’s mother—that I wish your presence in my home solely for the honour of it, and for such an honour I would be indebted to you all my life.”

  The mention of Robert made Elizabeth purse her lips, for Jane Dudley—like her cunning husband—clearly had more than one purpose to every move. But did not she herself also? She could match the Dudleys for playing games of power, and the truth was that she liked them. No matter how vexed she might grow with Robert, she could not imagine removing him permanently from her life. Who would stand up to her if she did? He was the only man she’d ever met—save her brother—whose will was as strong as her own.

  She offered her hand to the duchess, who kissed it. “When Guildford has made his amends and the summer is over, then I will consider coming to Dudley Castle. You have my word.”

  Let William rage if he wanted—if he could determine to marry Minuette, then she could visit where she wished.

  “He is here, Your Majesty.”

  William looked up from the gaming table where he and three others played dice. “Guildford?” he asked his uncle.

  Rochford inclined his head once. “Shall I send him away?”

  That was one way to play it—make the boy sweat by appearing at court and then being sent away again. William could drag that out for days, making Guildford wonder every night if he would be arrested before he could even see the king. As tempting as that was, the French delegation would be here in two days and it would be better to have this matter contained before then.

  “Wait ten minutes, then bring him to the throne room. Make sure word spreads so that as many as wish are present to watch.”

  He sent a page for Dominic, rolled twice more and paid his losses amicably, then stood and stretched. He was unexpectedly tense about this encounter. It was good to see Dominic, who met him outside the presence chamber. Ignoring everyone else who walked around them, William motioned his friend to match his steps.

  “Ready?” Dominic asked.

  It was such a relief to communicate in brief phrases and be fully understood. “Royally ready.” Meaning his temper was under firm control and his measures today would not be impulsive.

  That did not mean they would be lenient.

  The throne room buzzed with more suppressed energy than normal as word leaked that Guildford Dudley had returned to court. William felt the jostling for position. Courtiers hardly waited for him to pass before they rose from their bows and curtsies. At his side he heard Dominic mutter, “Vultures,” and smiled inwardly. In some things Dominic was—not naïve, but idealistic. Of course people wanted to see someone else fall. It meant they themselves were safe. For today.

  It took a few minutes with his moderate pace to circle the room and feed the tension, then William took his place beneath the canopy of estate, that decorative cloth that hung above his throne, and seated himself. He was wearing a coronet of beaten gold and a collar of rubies to emphasize his authority, and although he rested his arms negligently on the throne arms, his pose was anything but casual.

  There was no announcement, no warning, just Rochford throwing the far door open, then stepping aside to let Guildford Dudley enter. Northumberland was a prudent few steps behind his son, and Robert Dudley was nowhere to be seen. That didn’t surprise William. Of all the Dudleys, Robert had the keenest sense of self-preservation.

  It seemed to him that he could read the different silences in the hall. Gleeful, yes, for Northumberland was often abrasive and his arrogance and ambition had earned him many enemies. But there was pity, too, for a handsome young man, and something less easy to define. Wariness, perhaps.

  He had to hand it to Guildford, he made a wonderful obeisance. If the boy (Guildford was actually a year older than William but he seemed a boy in every way) hadn’t been so staunchly Protestant, he’d likely have prostrated himself wholly. As it was, Guildford knelt on both knees and bowed his head almost low enough to touch the floor.

  William let him remain in that position. “Offering your neck so readily? I thought for certain a Dudley would have some fight in him.”

  “Your Majesty, I crave pardon for my error.”

  “Error?” William echoed softly. “Is that what you call it?”

  He thought Northumberland flinched—no doubt the duke recognized the silken tone of fury that William knew was so like his father’s.

  Guildford prudently did not rise, but his head came up enough for him to meet William’s gaze. “I call it love, Your Majesty. A sin, to be sure, but motivated by love alone.”

  “If you love Margaret Clifford so much, why did you hide away and let her be taken to the Tower in your stead?”

  Was it his imagination that Guildford’s eyes flicked to the side, toward his father? “I am young. Perhaps I listened to counselors I should not have.”

  William rose and gestured impatiently for Guildford to do the same. Warily, the boy stood and waited while William stepped near enough that he might have whispered if he’d wanted. Instead, he let his voice carry to every avid listener in the throne room. “I too am young, and I know what it is to have competing counsel. Do you know what the difference is between us, Dudley? I am not stupid enough to follow evil counsel straight to my own destruction.”

  Northumberland moved in protest as guards stepped through to seize his son by the arms.

  “You will have time to ponder on the difference between youth and stupidity while I ponder what to do with you,” William said coldly.

  He gestured to the guards. “Take him to the Tower—and on no account is he to see his wife.” He almost spat the last word, and everyone in the room averted their eyes. Except Dominic, who watched William with that familiar hooded expression that disapproved without ever having to say a word.

  William remained in the throne room after Guildford was taken away—his father went after him, to try to pick up the pieces, no doubt—mingling with the crowd to show that he was not shaken, to show that he knew what he was doing, to show that he had the pulse of his court and knew his people well. Dominic also remained, but he did not so much mingle as stand in one place and reply briefly to whoever attempted to speak with him. It would have exasperated William if he hadn’t found it so amusing. Dominic had to be the most reluctant duke in English history. Where any other man would be avidly building his power base and making alliances with every breath, Dominic appeared indifferent. Was there noth
ing that could move that aloof temperament? William wondered. He might have to get serious about finding Dominic a woman.

  And yet, as different as they were, it was a relief to leave the throne room behind and walk out with Dominic. However frustrating his friend might be as a political player, at least with Dominic one always knew exactly where one stood.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ON THE LAST day of April the English court removed from Richmond to Hampton Court just a few miles west. And on a May Day of clear but chilly blue skies, the French delegation arrived. They came in a procession of barges that stretched more than a quarter mile along the Thames, a breeze just sufficient to play out the blue banner of France with its three gold fleur-de-lis. Charles de Valois—duc d’Orléans and younger brother of King Henri—was greeted by the privy council, Lord Rochford doing the honours of first welcome. Minuette, standing with the women of Elizabeth’s household, watched the Lord Chancellor and his wife step forward to greet le duc with a salute on each cheek and speaking fluent French.

  Minuette pointedly ignored Dominic, who spent more time watching her than he did the French. Did he really think someone was going to attack her in daylight, with dozens of courtiers pressing round? When she was sure no one else was watching, she rolled her eyes at him. His lips almost quirked into a smile, but then he was swept up into the small group that would accompany Charles to greet William and Elizabeth personally. The king and princess had waited in the throne room together, manipulating the moment to give the best impression of royal protocol and position.

  That was an encounter Minuette would have dearly loved to see. Just two years ago Elizabeth had been meant to marry Charles, but he had married a relative of the Holy Roman Emperor instead, and that first disintegration of an English/French marriage treaty had led irrevocably to open war. Minuette was certain Elizabeth would not regret the lost marriage—though only thirty-three, Charles’s penchant for adventurous living had aged him prematurely, and even draped with all the gold and silver and expensive fabrics a French prince could command, as a man he could never compare to Robert Dudley. Not that Elizabeth had had much to do with Robert the last while. She claimed to be keeping her distance out of political necessity, what with Guildford in the Tower and his father teetering on disgrace, but Minuette knew better. Elizabeth was hurt that Robert had not warned her of Guildford’s rash marriage, and she also hated being reminded that, like all his brothers now, Robert was a married man. Not that Robert was a man to give up easily. He alone of his family remained at court, wisely keeping a low profile, but present all the same.

  Was there any way their love could ever come to a good end? Minuette wondered. And just for a moment she imagined pressing William for a favour, attempting to persuade him that if he meant to marry for love, he should allow his sister the same …

  It would never work. For one thing, Minuette was not comfortable with imagining just what sort of persuasion she would have to employ, and for another, William was not likely to allow himself to be persuaded. He needed Elizabeth to make a politically smart marriage for England’s sake.

  “Going to remain at the river all day, Mistress Wyatt?” Lady Rochford inquired. Minuette wondered why she had not continued inside with her husband and the French. Probably she had not been invited—Jane Boleyn was prickly at best, not at all the sort of woman to put men at ease.

  “Good day to you, Your Grace,” Minuette replied impersonally. “You are looking quite well.” If one likes a woman who’s all brittleness and venom. Even attired in a wine-coloured bodice and cloth-of-gold underskirt, no amount of gilding could smooth away the sharp angles of Jane Boleyn’s face or the suspicious sharpness of her gaze. And yet, Minuette knew there were men who found their way to the duchess’s cold bed—either they liked the pale, thin, spiteful sort of woman or else they wanted to disconcert Rochford by bedding his wife. Minuette was fairly certain Lord Rochford didn’t care.

  In her precise, imperious voice, Lady Rochford answered, “I am glad that I still look well, despite the loss to my household. Eleanor Percy has long been such a favorite of mine, I found it difficult to have her sent away.”

  Minuette knew she was being baited and steadfastly held her tongue.

  With a grudging respect, Lady Rochford added, “It appears you have taken my advice to heart and learned to use your power to persuade a man, else the king would never have sent Eleanor away. I wonder how precisely you persuaded William—and how the French would feel about it if they knew?”

  That was rich, this woman who was all subterfuge and deviousness, accusing her of scheming. But because Lady Rochford had hinted at things best left unsaid, Minuette forced a civil answer. “I can’t believe the French have ever thought twice about me. I am not nearly interesting enough for such notice.”

  Lady Rochford all but hissed her final piece of advice. “See that you keep it that way. Consider that counsel from my husband as well as myself.”

  1 May 1555

  Hampton Court

  I have spent the afternoon carrying dread around in my stomach. I do not trust Eleanor Percy, and Lord Rochford is alarmingly devious, but Lady Rochford is the only person I’ve ever met who truly frightens me. She is a woman of unstable passions and I cannot possibly predict what she might do next. She might as easily announce to the French that William is in love with me (although she cannot have proof) as she could stick a dagger in my back. Is it possible that it wasn’t Eleanor who loosed that adder in my room, but Lady Rochford? I know I should tell Dominic the things she said to me today, but I am tired of always speaking of conflict and danger. And after all, it was only a warning.

  For now I must let the worry seep away, because there is a banquet tonight to welcome the French and then there will be dancing … and when William is at his busiest being king, I will ask Dominic to slip away and meet me somewhere private. Not everything I have to tell him is unpleasant.

  After an afternoon and evening spent entertaining Charles de Valois, Elizabeth was devoutly glad that she was not his wife. They would never have suited each other, for he was vulgar and outrageous when he thought he was being charming, and yet she was able to make such sly fun of him that he could not quite pin it down. She did her duty and danced with him first, and then with great relief passed him over to Jane Grey. Let Charles try to make headway against Jane’s solid piety.

  “Regretting your lost husband?”

  At the sound of Robert’s voice, Elizabeth smiled instinctively before remembering that she was still angry with him and all the Dudleys. “Not everyone takes marriage lightly,” she replied, turning. Robert was looking especially handsome tonight. Black and white suited his dramatic dark colouring.

  “No, not everyone.” He gave her that look of being able to read every unexpressed thought, then said, “William, at least, seems happy. Perilously so.”

  “What could be perilous about happiness?”

  Robert lowered his voice once more—not in seduction this time, but in warning. “Happiness can make men careless. People are talking, Your Highness. And not just the gossips and the jealous. The older lords are worried. They, at least, have not forgotten your mother.”

  “I have no idea what you mean,” Elizabeth remarked, but she could not keep her eyes from straying to where Minuette was the center of a circle of young men. Her laugh was the merriest sound in the entire room.

  Robert had followed her gaze. “I quite like your friend, and I would not fault the judgment of any man who fell in love with her. She’ll make a charming diversion. The nobility will grant him that.”

  “How very generous of them.” Elizabeth was dismayed, not so much at the gossip, which she had anticipated, but at how accurately the court seemed to be reading William’s intentions. If the lords encouraged her brother to make Minuette his mistress, it was because they feared she might become much more.

  Robert leaned closer while keeping his face turned to the crowds, as if they were discussing any matter of slight
importance. “The realm is not as stable as your brother would like. The treasury’s in dire straits after the French campaign and several years of drought, and William’s religious moderation has not been popular with either faction. But the Catholics are always and ever the real concern. They are keenly aware that Mary remains under house arrest. If William breaks his French betrothal …”

  He did not need to finish that thought. Elizabeth knew perfectly well the only thing keeping the Catholics at bay was the French Catholic princess who was meant to become England’s queen.

  Robert had one final word of advice. “You must keep him reined in, Elizabeth. And for heaven’s sake try to talk some sense into him.”

  He offered her his hand. She allowed him to lead her out to the dancing, her eyes still on Minuette, laughing and chattering away as if she had not a care in the world.

  Robert’s head turned that direction as well. “Dangerous,” he murmured.

  Dominic reached the orchard first and braced his back against an apple tree. From there he could see the faint outline of the door in the stone walls of Hampton Court through which Minuette would come. It had been dark for an hour and he wasn’t sure how long he would have to wait. Minuette needed to time her departure so as to be unnoticed, not only by William but by those at court who were beginning to pay attention to her. In the days before the French arrival, William had hardly been away from her side at all; though the king had publicly managed to maintain the illusion of friendship, the whispers were beginning to strengthen. At tonight’s welcoming banquet, Dominic had caught the French ambassador watching William and Minuette together and had itched to strike the smug look of approval from his face. Being French, the ambassador would have no problem with William having such an appealing mistress.