The Boleyn Deceit: A Novel (Ann Boleyn Trilogy)

by Andersen, Laura

  The shadows shifted, black to gray, as the door opened and a cloaked figure slipped through. The concealing cloak did not quite cover the silver glimmer of her gown, and the jewels round her neck and in her hair were like little sparks of moonlight. Or stars, caught fast to the woman who was like a star herself …

  Dominic reached for her hand as she neared and pulled her wordlessly forward, deeper into the concealment of an orchard just beginning to bud. Only when the walls and windows of Hampton Court were out of sight did he stop.

  She was in his arms at once, and he felt his shoulders relax. This feeling of relief surprised him every time; he never realized how tense he was until they were entirely alone and he could let it go.

  “I’ve missed you, my lord duke,” she murmured.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Why not? It was a such wonderful thing for William to do.” So Minuette had been saying ever since his investiture.

  “William does many wonderful things.” Could she hear the knife-edge of jealousy in his voice?

  Whether she could or not, she did precisely the right thing, bringing her mouth up to his in an unhesitating movement. He let his mind empty of everything, aware only of the texture and taste of her lips and, briefly, her tongue. He spent so much of his time not letting himself think about touching her that it took an effort of will to drop that restraint and allow his body to guide him.

  Much too soon, she stepped out of the kiss. “William does nothing so wonderful as that,” she said lightly, though Dominic could hear the shiver beneath her words.

  They sat at the base of a tree, Dominic’s back against the trunk and Minuette carefully arranging her skirts and cloak before leaning against his side. He put his arm around her, and her head came to rest on his shoulder.

  As pleasant as it was to sit in silence and peace, this time would not last and Dominic had things to say. “Elizabeth leaves court the day after tomorrow.”

  “She does.”

  “I will miss you.” Which was always the truth, no matter the relief of knowing she would be somewhere safer.

  And then Minuette said the unexpected. “I’m not going with her. I have told William no.”

  Dominic shifted so he could look at her face. In the moonlit shadows filtering through the trees, she appeared absolutely serious. With a steady voice that cost him an effort, he replied, “You cannot stay at court, Minuette.” Why did she even want to? Because she couldn’t bear to be parted from him? Or was it William who had persuaded her to stay?

  Again, uncannily, she spoke straight to his worst instincts. “This isn’t about William! Honestly, Dominic, can you not see that part of him will be glad to have me gone? You miss the strain in him. He is warm-blooded. And though he has no wish to offer insult to my face, I imagine he will welcome the opportunity to seek relief.”

  Dominic gave a strangled laugh at Minuette’s cool assessment of the nature of William’s strain—and its remedy. “If you aren’t going with Elizabeth, then where?”

  He heard the laughter beneath her words. “The new Duke of Exeter has not been paying attention to the right kinds of gossip. You should be listening to the women, Dominic, then you would guess what is coming.”

  He let himself answer in kind. “Be as superior as you like, my love, but at least tell me straight out what I have missed.”

  “On the last day of the French delegation’s visit, it will be publicly announced that Lady Rochford is going to return the favour. She will go to Paris, bringing with her several young ladies who will remain to serve in Elisabeth de France’s household until she grows up enough to marry William. He has asked me to go as well.”

  “Not to remain?” Elisabeth de France was not even ten years old yet, surely William didn’t mean to send Minuette away for so long … not that William meant to marry Elisabeth in any case. He was finding it hard to follow all the twisted pathways of secrets.

  “Of course I won’t stay for more than a few weeks,” she replied. “I’ll return when Lady Rochford does. But that’s not the important part.”

  Minuette going overseas, an ocean between them—how could that not be the important part? Dominic’s heart couldn’t decide whether to stutter or stop all together.

  “I have asked William if, rather than going to Hatfield with Elizabeth, I might go to Wynfield until it is time to leave for France. I told him I wished a little time to myself away from the pressures of publicity and travel. He has given me permission.”

  She bit her lip, and when she spoke again her voice was husky. “And if I am at Wynfield …”

  She did not finish. She did not need to. Dominic felt his blood quicken at the thought of Minuette away from court, away from prying eyes and sharp tongues, away from Elizabeth and, especially, William. He could visit Wynfield. Indeed, William might even ask it of him, as he had asked him numerous times since November to dance with Minuette or sit with her at pageants or otherwise keep her occupied when the king was busy.

  She ran her fingers along the line of his jaw, making his heart stutter in quite another manner. He could see only the pale shimmer of her face as she whispered, “You will come to Wynfield, won’t you?”

  He answered her with his lips and his hands. She moved against him, and the tree trunk dug into his back and the ground was hard but he didn’t care, he would have stayed there all night if he could, with the warmth of her lips and the softness of her throat and the elusive curves of her figure beneath the stiff bodice.

  Reluctantly they parted at last and Dominic pressed his lips to her hair, waiting for his breathing—and hers—to even. Then he led her back to the orchard’s edge, where she would slip away first. She lifted her head, and for one moment Dominic thought she would kiss him once more. He should have known better, for the walls of Hampton Court rose before them and they were ever careful to minimize their betrayal.

  Only after she vanished through the outer door that would lead her through the back lanes of the kitchens did Dominic let his mind wander to the possibilities of Wynfield and the pleasures of being alone with Minuette in a house not owned by William.

  On her last day at court before retreating to Hatfield, Elizabeth went hawking with William and the French, after which, when she and William were alone, growing irritation with her brother spilled out into a blazing row.

  The catalyst was William’s casual announcement to the French and various English court members that Prince Erik of Sweden would be sending his brother to pay court to Elizabeth on his behalf. But the seeds of the argument had been planted long before—from the moment months ago when William had told her he meant to marry Minuette. If he married for love, then her chance of doing so vanished. Though she accepted that, she was human enough to fiercely resent it.

  “I don’t want him here,” she told William flatly once they were behind closed doors. “You can just send straight back to Erik and tell him his brother is not welcome in England.”

  “No, I can’t. It’s a reasonable request, and politically wise at this point. Erik expects I would like to balance the effects of my expected French marriage with a staunchly Protestant husband for you.”

  “And what does he gain?”

  “You. This isn’t political for Erik. The man is genuinely enamoured of you.”

  “The man has never met me.”

  “Which is why he’s enamoured of you.” His tone was somewhere between irritation and amusement.

  Elizabeth struggled to keep her voice level. “I won’t do it. I won’t meet with an envoy from a prince whose suit you have no intention of granting.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you were truly going to marry Elisabeth de France, then Erik might indeed be a serious prospect for me. But you are going to marry Minuette. And when you do, all hell will break loose with the Catholics. That’s where I come in.”

  “Go on.”

  He must have known she would figure it out; she felt a burst of resentment that he was humourin
g her. “When you break the French treaty, you’ll need Spain on your side. What better way to achieve that than to marry me off to Philip?”

  Heir to the Spanish throne and a large part of the Netherlands, nephew of the Holy Roman Emperor—yes, Philip Hapsburg would be a far more powerful alliance than the passive Swedes. Elizabeth waited for her brother to refute it.

  He did not refute, or confirm. “Allowing Erik to send an envoy can do no harm. We’ll entertain him, show him the best of the English court, and send him home with a carefully equivocal response. It will serve its purpose.”

  “That purpose being to distract attention from your own behavior?”

  William was beginning to lose his temper—she could see it in his darkening cheeks and hear it in his too-precise enunciation. “I will inform Prince Erik we will gladly receive his brother at our court this autumn. And you will look to your own behavior while he is here.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning you’d best keep away from Robert Dudley.”

  She longed to scream at him, or slam her way out of the room, or even throw something. But an idea struck her at the very moment she opened her mouth. Instead of an angry retort, she found herself saying, “I’ll agree to behave precisely as you want on one condition.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t do conditions.”

  “You do with me.”

  “What is it?”

  “I want to go to France with Lady Rochford.”

  He gave a bark of astonished laughter. “Absolutely not.”

  “Why not?”

  “You are my heir. I cannot risk sending you out of England as long as that is true.”

  “You are king and you left England last year. To fight a war, as I recall. I will be doing nothing so risky.”

  He shook his head, but she knew she was every bit as stubborn as her brother. “Let me do this, Will. I am a much better representative than our aunt anyway. And if you want to impress the French with your devotion to their princess, then who better to send than your own dear sister?”

  Then she delivered the final blow. “Besides, you are sending Minuette. Won’t you feel better having me there to protect her from any amorous French gentlemen?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “If I agree, you will be gracious to Prince Erik’s representatives?”

  She smiled sweetly. “As gracious as ever a woman was.”

  In her head, she heard an echo of a voice from a wintry night, John Dee saying, Before another year passes, you will be your brother’s voice in a foreign land.

  As if he were reading her mind, William said, “Do you suppose this was fated to happen? Or are you merely taking advantage of John Dee’s words?”

  “Does it matter?” she answered lightly.

  He shook his head, ruefully this time, and grinned down at her. “I should know better than to fight with you, Sister. I never win.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  9 May 1555

  Wynfield Mote

  I confess to a pang of envy when I read Elizabeth’s letters from Hatfield. Even removed from the court, her household is always in the heart of things. As she plans for her first visit abroad, she is deep in study and correspondence. Trust Elizabeth to put all her energy into being perfectly prepared.

  Though Wynfield is more remote than Hatfield, both physically and culturally, I have myself been busy from morning till night. I begin each day in consultation with Mistress Holly, who has kept the interior of Wynfield spotless all these long years. She is almost giddy now that she has someone to actually serve. And the presence of an actual duke in the house … frankly, I am surprised Dominic hasn’t yet given her a fit.

  In the afternoons, while Dominic is busy with treasury business, I ride out with Asherton. I have now visited every tenant farm and cottage on the estate. There are only twelve in all, but I quite delight in the pretty households and the healthy faces of my people. My father was born at Wynfield and I can judge the respect in which he was held by the reverent manner in which he is spoken of to me.

  My only concern is Carrie. It cannot be easy for her, returning to Wynfield where her husband and children are buried. If only she would talk about it, I would be easier in mind. But she has become withdrawn and speaks only when asked a direct question—and then only if the answer cannot be conveyed by a nod or shake of the head. I shall have to do something about her.

  15 May 1555

  Wynfield Mote

  I have walked out with Carrie every morning for the past five days, hoping that a less formal setting would induce her to talk. It has, little by little. She has shown me the cottage where her children were born and the creekside path they would run along. With each mention of them, the shadows in her eyes have rolled back a little more, until she can speak almost easily of her lost family. Ben, her husband, did the blacksmithing work on the estate and had a marvelous touch with horses. The little boy, named for his father, was an adventuresome lad who walked at nine months and climbed his first tree when he was not quite two. And her daughter—I never knew that her daughter was named Marie for my mother.

  18 May 1555

  Wynfield Mote

  Not all is as perfect on my estate as I had thought. Today I came upon two little girls at the entrance to the kitchens. Both bobbed when they saw me and scurried away before I could speak to them. As I wondered, perplexed, what I had done to frighten them, the cook came out with a basket filled with food. She, too, bobbed an uncertain curtsey and would have fled if I had not stopped her.

  When she told me that the food was for a widow and her family, I told her to deliver it herself and then went to find Asherton to demand why I had not been told of such need in my own household.

  The father of the family was one of my tenant farmers, Asherton told me, who died from the sweating sickness last summer, along with his two oldest sons. Now there is only his widow, the two small girls, and a twelve-year-old boy who is doing his best to fill his father’s shoes.

  “I know I should have told you,” Asherton said, voluble in defense. “It’s your decision what to do with a farm that has no one to run it. You’re within your rights to find another farmer and turn off the family—”

  As if I would! I was shocked he would think such a thing of me, and told him so in no uncertain terms. I also told him that the boy is to be given whatever laboring help he needs from my own gardeners and servants, and that of course the family must be fed in the meantime.

  I visited the widow and her children tonight. It pained me to see their hollowed cheeks and even more to hear their effusive thanks. I have done as close to nothing as anyone could, and for the first time the words I’ve heard around court have taken on personal meaning: drought, crop failures, starvation.

  I will not let that happen to anyone in my care, so far as it is in my power!

  22 May 1555

  Wynfield Mote

  I have been here nearly three weeks now and still I have found reasons to put off visiting Alyce’s sister. Emma Hadley was so unpleasant to me last year that I do not relish being alone with her again. But unpleasantness aside, I need her. I know that Alyce’s personal belongings were sent to Emma after her death, and if there is anything to be discovered about the man who Alyce loved, it will be somewhere amongst her clothes and books and mementoes.

  I shall send Harrington with a message today, asking if I may call on her the day after tomorrow.

  As expected, Emma Hadley’s permission was instantly granted. She might envy and dislike Minuette—at least that had been the impression she’d given last year—but that same envy meant she would never turn down a personal visit from someone so closely connected to the court. Minuette prepared to grit her teeth and pretend Emma was just another annoying foreign dignitary who had to be flattered.

  She decided to take Fidelis with her. The wolfhound, as predicted, had recovered quickly from the adder bite, and she gladly brought him with her to Wynfield. He loved the country and was at her side whenever
she rode out or walked. She was glad to have him as steadfast ballast when she rode to Emma Hadley’s home.

  Harrington rode with her. Minuette had refused to allow Dominic to come—she could imagine how unbearable Emma would be if the Duke of Exeter showed up at her house—and Dominic refused to allow her to go alone, so Harrington was the compromise. Though Minuette had never spoken more than a few words to Harrington (she wasn’t sure anyone ever spoke more than a few words to Harrington), she was glad of his solid presence.

  As the Hadley farm and manor house came into sight, Harrington said suddenly, “I knew her, back when she was Emma de Clare.”

  Minuette startled noticeably, and Winterfall shied under her. Reining the horse back in, she said, “You knew Emma de Clare?” But of course, Harrington came from Rochford’s household. She should have remembered that.

  “A little. She and her sister.”

  Harrington was full of surprises, Minuette thought. “And what did you think of Alyce de Clare?”

  “A woman always searching for the next thing. Ambitious, but not cruel with it.”

  “Did you like her?”

  He shrugged. “She wasn’t the sort of lady I could know well enough to either like or dislike. But I’ll tell you who did like her—Lord Rochford.”

  Which squared with what Lady Rochford had hinted—that at one point Alyce had been more than a clerk’s daughter to Rochford himself. Of course, he wouldn’t be the man who’d fathered her child while ordering her to undermine his sister and nephew, but it was interesting. If Lord Rochford was the sort of man Alyce liked, then who else might fit the role of ambitious, proud, charismatic, the kind of man to blind her to danger until too late?

  “Well, Harrington,” Minuette said as they reined up in front of the Hadley manor house, “now I’m wondering what sort of lady you could know enough to either like or dislike.”

  She meant it to tease him, as she would have teased Dominic, but instead he answered gravely, without even looking at her, “I like you.”