The Boleyn Deceit: A Novel (Ann Boleyn Trilogy)

by Andersen, Laura

  “I mean it,” she insisted when he stopped to draw breath. “I wish you would talk to me like you used to. Or do you not trust me anymore?”

  That startled him into releasing his hold on her. With creased brow, he said, “You know I do. You, Dom, Elizabeth—you are the only three I trust.”

  “Then tell me the truth—who pressed for Bonner’s burning?”

  “Look, the man committed treason in everything but the final action, he didn’t trouble to deny it at the end. He wanted me off the throne and Mary on it.”

  “And you could have had his head for that. Why burn him at the stake?”

  “A well-placed blow to heresy carries a long reach. I spared the young Thomas Howard, allowed him to be made Duke of Norfolk, and still the Catholics are discontented. And with the Dudleys behaving badly and out of favour, the Protestants are also restless and want to ensure that I remain firmly on their side. Bonner was trouble. I did what had to be done.”

  She studied him intently, then nodded. “I just don’t want you to be taken advantage of.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “No one takes advantage of me, sweetling. That’s my prerogative.”

  “Is it? Then why is Eleanor Percy serving in Lady Rochford’s household once more?”

  His jaw tightened. “She is nothing to do with you, Minuette. Eleanor is under strict instructions to leave you alone.”

  “That’s as good as throwing fuel on a fire, Will. If she thinks you are trying to shield me—”

  None too gently, William removed her from his lap and stood. “That’s enough, Minuette. Eleanor is my concern. But since you are so curious about knowing things, I will tell you that I have formally recognized Anne Howard as my daughter.”

  Minuette thought of this little girl, not even two years old, caught in political and emotional forces that could so easily destroy her. “Did you like her?” she asked.

  “Did I like who?”

  “Your daughter. When you saw her at Kenninghall. Did you like her?”

  William’s face twisted and he sighed. “I loved her, the moment I saw her. The child reminds me of Elizabeth.”

  And of course clever Eleanor had used that resemblance to her advantage, Minuette thought cynically. But William was right—Eleanor had given him a child and he owed her certain things. And it wasn’t as though she herself was truly afraid of Eleanor Percy. Although she’d wanted to believe that Eleanor had orchestrated the incident of the adder in her bedchamber, she’d never been convinced of it, and the dead rat in France was more evidence of Eleanor’s innocence. She could hardly have left a rodent and a nasty broadside in Minuette’s chamber in France while she’d been at Kenninghall in the north of England.

  William wrapped his arms around her and said softly, “Eleanor is in the past, my darling. You know that, don’t you? I am sorry to cause you pain in anything. It is never done intentionally.”

  Something about the urgency in his voice and the way he held her more in appeal than passion … all at once Minuette could see what had happened at Kenninghall as clearly as if she’d been there. William had met his daughter, had been instantly smitten by her, and Eleanor seized the moment. No doubt William had been easy to persuade. Probably Eleanor knew how to touch him just so, how to encourage him to slip. Unlike Dominic, William did not make a habit out of saying no to himself.

  He had gone to bed with Eleanor at Kenninghall, and now Eleanor was back at court. Right where she’d always intended to be.

  Could this be Minuette’s moment to tell the truth?

  She imagined opening her mouth and pouring out to William her love for Dominic. And she knew instantly that she wouldn’t, without exactly knowing why. Because of the dangerous, royal fury that had sent Guildford Dudley and his bride to the Tower? Because William had listened to Rochford and allowed a man to burn to death?

  No. Politics had nothing to do with her silence. She had kept this secret for months now, locked away so deep that even Dominic could hardly find it in her any longer, for the sole reason that it would hurt William. More than just wound his pride or damage his ego. You are the only three I trust. And with her confession, that number would be down to one. No matter if William forgave them—he would never trust either her or Dominic again.

  I can’t do that to him, she realized bleakly. Something has to break elsewhere.

  His breathing ragged, William whispered, “I wish we could be alone tonight.”

  “We can’t.”

  “I know. Will you come hawking tomorrow? I’m taking the French ambassador out, but you can ride along with Elizabeth and no one will think twice.”

  She shook her head. “Not tomorrow. It will be better for us both if I’m not there.”

  He groaned and nuzzled her neck. “You are so good, Minuette. So good for me. What would I do without you?”

  I honestly don’t know. And that’s why I’m lying to you and breaking my own heart as I do so.

  “Courtenay, I’d like a word with you.”

  Rochford’s voice was unmistakable, and Dominic stopped in his tracks. He’d been stalking through the corridors of Nonsuch, attempting to remember where he’d been quartered, while trying to ignore the fact that William and Minuette had disappeared after dinner.

  The last thing he wanted was to spar with the Lord Chancellor just now. “Can it wait?” he asked, more abruptly than he’d ever spoken to Rochford before.

  “If it could wait, I would not have asked.”

  Dominic folded his arms. “If it’s to do with France, the privy council is scheduled to meet in two days. I’ll report then.”

  Apparently more amused than irritated, Rochford replied, “It is to do with Mistress Wyatt.”

  Dominic waited for more. It was never wise to anticipate what Rochford might be going to say; better to be certain of the specifics first.

  Rochford obliged. “What did the French make of her?”

  “The French find every female charming.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Dominic sighed. He wanted to run his hands through his hair in frustration but wouldn’t allow Rochford that sign of discomfort. “As far as I could tell, the French are content with the English respect offered their princess and expect her marriage to William to be celebrated in due course.” He left out Renaud’s hints about Minuette; he was not going to stand here and debate with Rochford the nuances of French opinion on Minuette as William’s mistress.

  “What do you expect?” Rochford asked.

  “Why are you asking me?”

  “Because you are the only man who might have some idea of how to stop the king from his disastrous plans.”

  Dominic laughed bitterly. “If I knew how to stop William doing as he chooses, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I know England needs the French princess. Do you think I haven’t told him that?”

  Rochford tipped his head thoughtfully, as though he’d heard something more in Dominic’s tone. “Tell me honestly, Courtenay—despite your personal friendship for the Wyatt girl, would you rejoice to see her crowned queen?”

  Dominic met Rochford’s unblinking eyes and, as he’d been bid, answered honestly. “No.”

  “Then I suggest you find a way to make William listen to you. The king has a brilliant mind and his father’s instincts for political survival. But he also has his father’s stubbornness. Of all his advisors, you are the only one to whom he might listen. You must remind him, as many times as necessary, that he is meant to look to England’s interests.”

  Rochford nodded once, as though setting a seal on his orders, then strolled away. Dominic would have sworn after his retreating back, but he couldn’t summon the strength.

  Definitely time to leave court. Tomorrow he would ask William for permission.

  As summoned, Robert Dudley arrived at Nonsuch Palace the morning of August 15. He had been summoned by Rochford, not William, and as he was led to the Lord Chancellor’s private apartments, Robert wondered what t
he king would have to say about his return. At least he would have the chance to see Elizabeth—he had missed her desperately the last six weeks.

  Lord Rochford was not alone when Robert was shown into his privy chamber. The room itself was dominated by a square desk of English oak and, as always, there were clerks and attendants coming in and out with papers to be signed, reports to be made, and orders to be issued. But unusually, Lady Rochford was also there, turning her hard, assessing gaze on Robert from the seat across the desk from her husband.

  With a flick of his hand at his wife, Rochford said, “You must excuse us, my dear.”

  “Of course.” She rose and offered her hand to Robert, who kissed it. “Lord Robert, you are looking very well.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” But don’t think your position is enough to entice me into an affair, he thought. You’ll have to find another young man to absorb your jealous fury at your husband. Not that Jane Boleyn was unattractive—her pale skin remained smooth, her hair thick, her figure untouched by childbearing—but there was a restlessness behind her tightly held control that made Robert wary.

  As if she could sense his reservations, Lady Rochford withdrew her hand and gave him a rather chilly farewell. When she left the privy chamber, Rochford indicated that Robert should take the seat she had vacated.

  A public conversation, Robert thought with interest. That’s new. The Lord Chancellor’s men were well-trained, of course; not one came near enough the desk to be a serious threat to privacy as long as they kept their voices down.

  “I’m afraid,” Rochford began, “that the young lady about whom I have been concerned is more of a threat than I first thought.”

  “Yes?” Robert said neutrally. Playing politics with the Catholic powers was one thing—meddling with a king’s affections was far more dangerous. Besides, he rather liked Minuette.

  “I need you to speak directly to the young lady. Make it clear that she is on treacherous ground. I do not particularly wish her ill, but I will not let England be ruined by a simple girl of no particular talent or ability.”

  And how many men said the same of your sister? Robert wanted to ask. But he knew better than to attract Rochford’s displeasure. Also, he had a favour to ask.

  “I’ll speak to her,” he agreed. “In return, might I be allowed to visit my brother, Guildford, in the Tower? It would ease my mother’s heart to know I have seen him.”

  “That may not be in my power. You would better ask the king.”

  “Surely a word from his Lord Chancellor will go a long ways in predisposing the king to such a request.”

  Rochford’s hooded eyes didn’t waver. “I will consider if such a request is in the country’s best interests.”

  Which could mean anything from, Do what I want and I’ll take care of it to What makes you think you have the right to ask anything?

  With effortful politeness, Robert said, “Thank you.”

  “You’d best deal with the issue of the young lady at once. I believe she did not go hawking with the court this morning.” Rochford waved over a clerk, pointedly dismissing Robert.

  Only when he had left the Lord Chancellor’s apartments did Robert think seriously about what to say to Minuette. She was almost as willful as Elizabeth, more likely to persist in a course simply because someone told her not to. But he did not like that she was in Rochford’s sights. It was in her best interests to remain inconspicuous and stay away from William.

  And as Rochford had said, might as well get it over with. He was looking for someone to direct him to Minuette’s chambers when Eleanor Percy intercepted him.

  “May I be of service, Lord Robert?” she purred in that throaty voice that could make any man stop in his tracks.

  “Back at court?” Robert asked. “I wonder if you’ll manage to remain this time.”

  Her smile promised tangled bedsheets and skillful hands and eagerness. So that’s the way of it, he thought. She’s got her claws into William once more. One more reason to warn Minuette off.

  But might as well make use of her. “Could you locate Mistress Wyatt for me?” he asked abruptly. “Tell her I’d like to speak with her. I’ll be in the map room.”

  She curtsied. “I am at your service, my lord.”

  I doubt that, he thought uneasily. The only one you’ve ever served is yourself.

  As Eleanor walked away, Robert dismissed her from his mind and concentrated on finding the right words with which to warn off Minuette.

  Minuette had tossed and turned all night, her conscience conflicted and restless. The next morning, with most of the court out hawking, she picked up a veil she’d begun embroidering before she went to France, and put it down somewhere else a minute later. She considered pulling out her diary, but knew she would never be able to focus enough to write anything. At last, she sat down long enough to reread the letter that had been waiting for her at Nonsuch.

  Genevieve, her stepfather had written, I have reached the end of the list of names you handed me earlier this year. I do not like what I am left with. There are only four names that cannot be absolutely ruled out, but almost a dozen more that are alibis for one another. Can we trust for certain that the Earl of Sussex was with his wife that important month when your friend fell pregnant when it is his brother-in-law, also on your list, who is his sole alibi? You must see the issues there. Men will lie for many reasons, and covering another man’s infidelities is one of them. I would tell you where my own suspicions lie, but likely you already have guessed and would think me merely prejudiced. Perhaps I am. That does not mean I am wrong.

  She could guess, all right. Two of the men who had alibied each other on that list of Alyce’s possible lovers were the Duke of Northumberland and his son, Robert Dudley. Minuette did not especially want to think about that just now, but it worried away at her.

  After the fourth circuit of her suite—William had insisted she have more space, so now she had a small reception chamber as well as a bedchamber and a tiny room for Carrie—Minuette’s attention fell on the silver casket she had taken from Emma Hadley’s home back in May.

  It had been amongst the possessions sent from Wynfield to Nonsuch for her return. She wished Fidelis had also been returned to her, but the wolfhound remained at Wynfield. She would have to speak to William about having him brought to court again. In the meantime, she needed to dispatch Alyce’s personal items back to her sister. Might as well look them over one last time before having Carrie see to their return.

  Minuette forced herself to reread every letter contained in the casket, including the ones Alyce had written to her sister. But no matter how hard she tried to find something unusual, some sign of a code or clue about the man in the dead woman’s life, she could find nothing. After nearly two hours of staring at the single letters of each word on each page, she laid them aside and rubbed her temples.

  Now what? She could hear John Dee’s voice, saying with surety of Alyce: She was a woman to leave a record.

  But where? The orders from her lover had been openly ciphered, so that anyone seeing them would know they contained secrets. Nothing Minuette had found showed any sign of being anything other than what it was. Where else could she look?

  As she pondered, she stared at the casket that had held the letters and now stood empty. It was silver, perhaps a foot wide and high, with ornate fretwork details on the sides. On the curved top were cinquefoils, the five-pointed flowers enameled in yellow and red. Minuette knew the casket had belonged to Alyce’s mother and that her friend had always had it with her at court.

  She ran her fingers carefully along every surface, recalling the hidden altar piece at Framlingham that had once concealed a precious document. She detected nothing unusual. Next, she opened the casket. The interior was lined entirely with brown velvet that was shiny in several spots, no doubt from age. Considering, Minuette used her fingertips to trace the edges of the velvet. The bottom yielded nothing to her touch. But when she moved to the rounded top, almost a
t once her fingers caught at a corner where the fabric did not quite align.

  Holding her breath, she pried loose one corner and then along one edge to another corner. The fabric pulled loose where it had merely been tucked in and she could hear the rustle of pages before she pulled them loose. She let her breath out in relief.

  Here at last was Alyce’s accounting of her actions.

  He danced with me tonight, twice … I should not be moved by him, but he makes me laugh … he is dangerous but that is part of the allure, I could never fall in love with a commonplace man … I know I am not the only woman in his life, but he makes me feel that I am … he’s asked me to spend a month with him, and though I know it is reckless to the point of lunacy, I will go … I told him about my condition today and he could not even be bothered to be angry—worse, he was indifferent … I am finished doing as he bids—rather risk the king’s wrath now than later … I will tell him what I mean to do, for I owe him that much …

  Nothing as useful as a name, of course. But from the descriptions alone, the words convincingly ruled out the late Giles Howard. Even the most besotted woman could never have described him as alluring.

  Minuette considered the pages before her and the letter from her stepfather. In that tangle of information, she knew one thing for certain: she needed to talk to Dominic.

  She didn’t think he had gone hawking with William and Elizabeth—more likely he was working somewhere in the palace. She penned a brief message, asking him if they might meet later today to discuss “a matter of the past.” Let him interpret that as he wished.

  When Minuette handed the message to Carrie and asked her to deliver it to Dominic, Carrie frowned and suggested she leave the suite as well. “You could walk in the galleries. It will do you good to look at something other than your own walls. And with the court out hawking, the galleries will be empty. You will not have to watch yourself so closely. I will find you when I have Lord Exeter’s reply.”

  Minuette wondered, not for the first time, how much Carrie guessed of her dilemma. She had the uncomfortable feeling that her maid knew the innermost workings of her heart as well as she knew the linen underclothes she wore. Well, whatever Carrie might know or guess, Minuette could not speak freely. Not in the very heart of William’s palace.