“Do what?” Dominic asked.
William struck him once, hard on the cheek. “Don’t ever lower your guard. I will be the best because I’ve earned it. I don’t need you to hand me my victories.”
He turned and walked out of the practice arena. He had not raised his voice or lost control of his colour, but Dominic had felt the force of his anger whipping through the air.
If William’s skill had increased as much as his height, he might earn a victory today, and Dominic had just the weapon for him to use. He opened his trunk and removed a layer of neatly folded clothing—plain tunics and jerkins, as befitted a soldier in the field—to uncover the gift that lay beneath.
There was really no way to make a sword unrecognizable. With a grin of delight, William pulled it free from its scabbard and took a few enthusiastic swings before holding it horizontally in one hand to test the balance.
Dominic turned the sword so that William could see clearly the four star-shaped gems laid in the gold hilt. “Now there’s one place where the four of us are always together.”
William laughed. “You sound as though you’re dying. Or perhaps you’ve met an accommodating Welsh miss and wish to change allegiance?”
With a grin, Dominic shrugged off his sentimentality. “You’ll be the first to know.”
As she entered her mother’s outer chamber, Elizabeth straightened her shoulders, ensuring that the green and gold brocade of her dress did not ripple across the stomacher but flared perfectly from tiny waist to wide skirts. Elizabeth had heard her mother cut a lady to shreds with her tongue for an uneven hem or a slight stain, and she did not doubt that Anne would subject her own daughter to the same.
A dozen of her mother’s ladies were grouped in threes and fours around the ornate presence chamber. Several were working on a tapestry while others wrote letters or talked quietly amongst themselves. One lady, with a straight fall of rich brown hair, played lightly on a lute. As Elizabeth passed her, the young woman looked up and her fingers missed a chord.
She returned to playing almost at once, but not before giving Elizabeth a hostile glance. What was her name? One of the de Clares, she thought, but not from an important branch or Elizabeth would know her better. Almost she stopped to speak to the woman, but her mother was waiting.
Queen Anne sat in a gilded wooden chair placed next to a tall window, a Tyndale Bible open on her lap. As Elizabeth curtsied, she wondered how much longer her mother would be able to see the fine print of the books she loved so well. These days she could read only in brightest sunlight.
Rising with a seductive grace that was still the envy of every woman in England, her mother said, “Will you join me within, Elizabeth?” Despite the intonation, it was not a question.
She followed her mother to the door in the north wall that led to the intimate but no less elegant privy chamber. Only one lady of the privy chamber was inside—one who flung herself at Elizabeth in a most inelegant manner.
“Elizabeth!”
Minuette hugged Elizabeth with unrestrained delight while the queen, who would have frozen any other woman with a stare of ice for such behaviour, smiled upon the pair. Beneath her own delight, Elizabeth felt a brief spasm of pain. Minuette had always had charm—not the studied, showy type, but natural as breath and as much a part of her as her honey-coloured hair. Elizabeth could clearly remember her father visiting the schoolroom in the year before his death. She had spent an hour translating Latin and Greek for him, doing mathematics, and discussing theology. Though he’d complimented Elizabeth’s mind, it was nine-year-old Minuette who had disarmed him. When the formidable, enormous King Henry had left, it had been Minuette whom he’d hugged goodbye.
Elizabeth might have hated her for that charm, if Minuette weren’t so utterly without guile.
Queen Anne’s beautiful voice broke into Elizabeth’s memory. “I take it that you are both pleased.”
Beneath the words lay a hint of perplexity, as though she could not imagine why. Truthfully, Elizabeth would have been hard-pressed to name a single woman whom her mother considered a friend. She had always preferred men.
Feeling almost sorry for her mother, Elizabeth said, “I could not be more pleased. It is generous of you to allow her to return to my household.”
Her mother might like flattery, but she was never stupid. “Considering that you have been pressing the king for months, you cannot be surprised. She is a trifle young still—as are you, Elizabeth.”
“I will be twenty in September,” Elizabeth said mildly.
As if she hadn’t heard, her mother went on, “But your brother is determined to allow you an unusual measure of independence.”
It was Minuette, naturally, who had something complimentary to say. “And how could he do otherwise, with the example of his great father before him? Did not King Henry give you the right of femme sole over the objections of his council?”
Anne smiled slightly. “And I trust he never had cause to regret it. See to it, Elizabeth, that your brother never has cause to regret your independence.”
Elizabeth met her mother’s eyes, biting back the impulse to argue. Independent? She couldn’t even sell one of her farms without the council’s approval, let alone travel abroad or marry whom she liked.
With a steadiness to match her mother’s, Elizabeth said, “I will act in all ways as you would.”
And then came one of those rare and disconcerting flashes from her mother, as though she could read every shade of meaning in Elizabeth’s careful words. “That is what worries me.” Then Anne waved her hand at the girls. “You may go,” she said. “I will see you both this evening.”
Elizabeth drew a deep breath as they left her mother’s rooms, unsure if it was regret or relief that she felt. She looked at Minuette, walking beside her in a passable imitation of demure restraint, and said, “Do you think there will be any difference between being my friend and being my attendant?”
“Do you?” Minuette’s directness was disarmed by her smile. Without waiting for a reply, she tossed her head. “At least it means that I am finished with tutors and teaching. Now my duties will be considerably more to my taste.”
Elizabeth could not resist teasing. “Your duties will be at my discretion. Perhaps I will require you to translate a page of Greek each day.”
But Minuette knew her too well to take her seriously. “I am to translate people, not books—to discern who is making a bid for power, which diplomat should be seen and which snubbed, who amongst your ladies can be trusted in the privy chamber. And, perhaps, who is in the best position to claim you as a bride.”
“You think me incapable of seeing such things for myself?”
With a look of mingled amusement and scorn, Minuette said, “Of course not. Everyone knows you are far more clever and subtle than I am. I’ve no doubt you see things that go by most of the men at court. I am to be your foil. The lighthearted, merrymaking girl who is thought to be less discreet than her mistress.”
Elizabeth laughed from the heady sense of mischief that Minuette carried with her. “I think you and I will do very well together.”
William was annoyed to find his uncle and the Duke of Northumberland waiting for him when he returned from the morning’s exercise. He was sweating after two hours in the practice yard, but when he asked sharply, “Can’t this wait?” his uncle merely gave him a measuring look and answered, “If this were a courtesy call, Your Majesty … but we must discuss the French situation.”
He changed clothes rapidly, wincing at the bruise on his upper arm. Though he had forced Dominic to work hard, William had still been disarmed in the end by a spectacular and unexpected kick to his hand that had sent his wooden practice sword flying. Afterward he had made Dominic show him just how he’d done it, and then practiced the move himself for twenty minutes.
Dominic had always been sought after as a sparring partner, and he’d had plenty of competition this morning aside from William. After more than a year spent honing
his skills against the Welsh, he had faced little serious competition from the men at court, some of whom were not as careful as they should have been. Giles Howard, Lord Norfolk’s youngest son, had suffered both a clout to the head and a slash to his doublet.
William rejoined his uncle and Northumberland in his privy chamber, where he once again picked up his sword. No matter what palace he stayed in, the privy chamber was always his favorite, because he could keep out the hordes that buzzed around in the more public rooms. While listening to his councilors discuss the latest proposed treaty with France, he paced the room, refighting the morning’s exercise and perfecting each move. It wouldn’t be long, he vowed, before he and Dominic were evenly matched.
Northumberland flinched when the sword came within a foot of him and, as was his custom, spoke bluntly. “Your Majesty, if you could stop roaming and pay attention … This is serious.”
William came to a dead stop and stared at him. “Do you imagine I can do only one thing at a time?”
Rochford intervened with a touch of amusement. “Lord Northumberland imagines that he can persuade you out of this treaty, or at least the provision for your sister’s marriage.”
William had been expecting this from the staunchly Protestant Northumberland, and his reply came easily. “King Henri and I meet in Calais in September. I support France against the Hapsburgs in exchange for a thousand pounds in gold and French support of England against Spain. This to be sealed by the betrothal of my sister, Elizabeth, to Henri’s brother, Charles.”
William locked eyes with Northumberland and went on quietly, “Are you saying you would rather ally with the emperor? Because it’s one or the other. And Elizabeth married to Philip of Spain would be far more dangerous.”
A man of both great temper and high humour, Northumberland was not easily cowed. He looked like what he was—a newcomer to noble ranks—and standing next to the sleek, elegant Rochford only highlighted his imposing figure. “I would rather that an English princess honour her father’s legacy and not tie herself to a Catholic prince.”
“My father’s—” William made himself stop until he was sure he could go on without anger leaking through. “My father’s legacy is practicality. When Elizabeth marries Charles, English Catholics are appeased and my choice of a bride widens.”
Though Northumberland was less subtle than Rochford, he was no less clever. More, possibly, except that he always let people see what he was calculating. “So Princess Elizabeth marries a Catholic and you marry …”
“Whomever I wish,” William said shortly. “Which is also my father’s legacy.”
He could practically hear the turning of Northumberland’s mind. If he could persuade the king to marry the partly royal and wholly Protestant Jane Grey … well, that would be worth sacrificing Elizabeth for.
Even if Northumberland’s son, Robert Dudley, objected.
The door to his privy chamber opened and William saw Dominic hesitating beyond the guards. “We’re finished,” William said. “The French treaty must be presented to the full council. But not today.”
He turned away as they bowed themselves out of the room. Dominic spoke behind him. “You really shouldn’t bait them.”
“Do you think my father would have put up with insolence?”
“Your father wasn’t ten years old when he became king. The regency council is to help you learn, Will, and to protect England while you do.”
William replaced his sword in the scabbard and tossed it on a table. “I’m not ten years old anymore.”
He stalked past Dominic, ignoring the pressing crowds in the presence chamber. His guards could read his moods and kept the people well back. William was aware of Dominic following him down the arched corridor, but his friend had the good sense to keep quiet. Even in his anger, William knew he was acting in precisely the childish manner that his councilors seemed to expect.
Dominic caught up to him and spoke carefully. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. Sometimes I forget which one of you I’m addressing. I speak to my friend when I should be speaking to my king.”
That brought William to a halt. Shaking off his injured pride, he turned back to Dominic, glad that the guards had closed off the ends of the corridor so that the two of them were briefly alone. “Don’t you know that’s why I value you? Because you I can always trust to speak honestly—even when you shouldn’t. That’s more than I can say for any of my councilors. They speak what they think I want to hear, or only as much as they want me to know.”
Pausing for breath, William grinned. “One year, Dom. Then I can dispose of the regency, if not of councils altogether. When I am eighteen, they’ll see I’ve been paying a good deal of attention. They think they are molding me to be biddable when older. They will learn better.”
Throwing an arm around his friend’s shoulders, he pulled him forward. “Let’s go see what the women are up to. You must have missed them this last year.”
As they reached the stairs that led down to Clock Court, they heard voices drifting up from below. Amongst the chatter of the court, two voices were nearer and damningly clear. “So the king’s agreed to your marriage with the Wyatt girl?”
William knew the voice that answered: Giles Howard, Norfolk’s son, the one Dominic had disarmed rather brutally this morning. “Father’s determined on it. She’s poor, but as the queen’s ward, she’s well connected. And now that she’ll be in the princess’s household, someone will use her. Might as well be the Howards.”
As though they were discussing a London doxy, the first voice said, “A bit skinny. Not much to sink into.”
Howard’s reply was even coarser. “Genevieve will breed well enough. And my uncle claims that her mother was less than a lady in bed. Besides, the girl is rather like a colt—all eyes and legs and spirit. It will be no hardship to break her in.”
“Genevieve? She’s called something else around court, I thought.”
“She’s got some pet name from the royals. Thinks it makes her important. She’ll learn humility quick enough when I get hold of her.”
William jerked his head at Dominic, who had gone utterly still, and they went noiselessly down the steps. They interrupted Howard and his friend in raucous laughter, which died instantly at the sight of the king.
Giles Howard managed an awkward bow. “Your Majesty.”
William could invest a great deal of contempt in a single word. “Minuette.”
Howard looked at his friend, who seemed determined to melt into the bricks behind him, then back to William. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty?”
“Her name is Minuette. You, of course, will refer to her as Mistress Wyatt on the very rare occasions when it is necessary for you to refer to her at all.”
Howard’s face flooded with colour until even the tips of his ears were red. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
William stepped back, satisfied with the effect of his words.
Dominic, apparently, was not satisfied. He stepped right up to Giles Howard and, in a voice William had never heard before, said, “If you refer to the lady in such terms again, I’ll take more off you than a strip of fabric.”
The two men stared at each other until William could almost feel the hatred pouring off Howard’s skin. But Howard was not fool enough to fight the king’s nearest friend in the king’s presence. Never mind that Dominic could probably beat him senseless without even breathing hard.
It was Dominic who broke the tension by turning his back and walking away. It wasn’t often that William had to scramble to catch up to someone.
Keeping his voice deliberately light, William said, “You surprise me, Dom. I thought you disapproved of impulsive violence.”
“And I rather thought you preferred it.”
“Howard’s easily managed with words, so why waste the effort? He’ll not insult Minuette again.”
Of that he was sure. He was not so sure that Howard wouldn’t come after Dominic. He had seen the quality of his stare at Dominic’s retreat
ing back. It was the look of a man who has revenge on his mind—and revenge was something the Howards did impeccably.
CHAPTER TWO
ELIZABETH SPENT THE early part of the afternoon with her personal secretary, leaving Minuette to her own devices. She went straight out of doors, through the royal privy garden—to which William gave her unlimited access—and, after looking around to make certain she was unobserved, climbed nimbly up to sit on the low brick wall enclosing the knot garden. With her back to the river, she gave her full attention to the palace spread before her.
The smooth green of turf, the jewel-bright colours of primrose and clematis, the scent of roses heavy in the air—and beyond, the unshakable permanence of redbrick walls, turrets, and chimneys. Hampton Court was Minuette’s favorite palace. She and Elizabeth would be leaving next week to accompany William on his summer progress, and after that they might go on to any of the half-dozen manors owned by Elizabeth herself. Though Minuette knew she would return here often in the coming years, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it would never be the same.
It seemed likely that Elizabeth’s betrothal to the French king’s brother would take place before the end of the year. The princess could not be delighted at wedding a man more than ten years her senior and twice a widower. Still, married or not, odds were she would remain in England for some time. Until William had a queen and children, Elizabeth was his successor and the council would want her near. But the thought of her friend’s marriage made Minuette wonder what her own future would be. Would she stay in Elizabeth’s service, forever single and devoted? Or would she marry away from court and leave the closest thing to a sister she’d ever had? Perhaps she would follow her mother’s example and marry a man also tied to royal service, giving her the best of all worlds.
Marie Hilaire, French from the top of her blonde head to the tips of her petite fingers, had befriended Anne Boleyn more than thirty-five years ago when both had been in service at the French court. As different in temperament as in looks, Anne had nonetheless come to trust “my Marie” as she had trusted very few in her life. When Anne had found herself embroiled in the most tangled love affair in history, she had sent for Marie, and the Frenchwoman had left her home without a moment’s complaint. Even marriage did not separate them, for shortly after Anne was crowned queen, Marie married Jonathan Wyatt, a gentleman lawyer who served in the Exchequer. The old king had been effusive in his thanks, rather less so in material goods, and when Jonathan Wyatt died of the sweating sickness in 1541, all that had been left was a modest manor house and farm. It was then that Minuette—at five years of age—had been introduced to Elizabeth’s household, and within a year her mother had married again. But this time the marriage meant leaving court and Anne, for her second husband was brother to the Duke of Norfolk and he took his wife to the country. Minuette had often wondered if her mother’s spirit had been broken by being removed from the royal circle she had always known.
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