“Of course. Would you care to withdraw to greater privacy?”
Rochford’s gaze scanned Elizabeth, Dominic, Minuette, dismissing each of them with his eyes.
“I would not. We will speak together—all of us.”
That displeased Rochford; it was obvious in the tightening of his jaw. William did not give him time to object. Leading the way back into the privy chamber, he pulled out a chair and said, “Would you care to join us, Uncle? I would appreciate your … insights into this matter.”
“By all means.” Rochford held a chair for Elizabeth; Dominic did the same for Minuette.
When they were all seated tensely around the circular table, Rochford said, “Perhaps we might begin with that message. The Penitent’s Confession—you have all been dabbling in this matter for some time, so I presume you’ve heard of it?”
William nodded. “Elizabeth and I have, from Minuette. Sorry, Dom, there hasn’t been time to tell you everything.”
Rochford leaned back in his chair and drawled, “I’d wondered if that was the reason for Stephen Howard’s visit to Beaulieu. So he’s feeding information to his stepdaughter. Interesting.”
“You know about that?” Minuette asked.
With surprising sharpness, Dominic said, “Does someone want to tell me what the Penitent’s Confession is?”
“A Catholic rumour,” Rochford said. “A claim that one of my sister’s household had, on his or—more likely—her deathbed, sworn an affidavit that Henry was not William’s father. It’s a tissue of lies wrapped in whispers.”
“That is not a whisper pinned to the king’s bed,” Dominic said flatly, meeting Rochford’s stare with one of his own. “Minuette, how did you come to hear of this?”
“As Lord Rochford said, while I was at Beaulieu the Lady Mary was visited by my stepfather, Stephen Howard. He spoke to me privately and offered warning that the Catholics are looking for this affidavit. He wanted me to … well, to speak for him. To assure the court that he personally has no ill intentions toward the king, whatever his family might do.”
“So Norfolk lied to us.” Elizabeth spoke softly, but William heard the steel in her words. He nodded at his sister to go on, and she said to their uncle, “Can one falsely sworn affidavit truly be that dangerous? Surely it has been so long ago that everyone would greet it as the mere ravings of the discontented, even if it is not an obvious forgery.”
“I do not think you appreciate how deeply resentment of your mother still runs. Make no mistake—religion may be the driving force, but Anne has always been the flash point. If William had not been born a boy … if Henry had not been so taken with his healthy son—” Rochford broke off, his face dark with anger and—could it be fear? William wondered. Or the memory of fear? “Anne came perilously close to losing more than just her crown in the year before William’s birth. Henry was always unpredictable and easily persuaded in his tempers. So yes, niece, this affidavit could be truly dangerous—and I assure you that the forgery will not be obvious—dangerous enough that we must keep it out of Norfolk’s hands at all costs or it will be used to raise an army for Mary and drive us out once and for all.”
“Why can’t Norfolk simply create his own false affidavit that meets these criteria?” Elizabeth replied. “We’re allowing him the opportunity, what with Mary being in his household the remainder of the summer.”
“He’s always had the opportunity,” William said. “Mary being there won’t change that. But if Minuette’s stepfather is correct that his brother is searching for it, that implies that Norfolk believes it’s a true document, one not currently in his possession. And if he has evidence for his search … that might lead us to further conspirators.”
In the silence that fell, Dominic alone moved. He stood and walked to the bedchamber. “What are you doing?” William asked.
“I’m going to lay a fire and burn that message. And if I might make a suggestion?”
William nodded.
“Keep your bedchamber guarded even when you are not in it.”
Dominic didn’t have to say why. Only a very limited number had access to William’s bedchamber in any case.
Which meant that whoever had left that message—and the knife—was someone he knew well.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IN A LIFETIME of long days, Dominic thought, this one was the longest. He was late into the great hall for the dancing. By that time he was so keyed up from lack of sleep, long days of travel, and the events of the day that he had to keep blinking himself into reality. Every time someone called him Exeter, it took a breath or two for him to answer. He kept expecting someone to tap him on the shoulder and tell him it had all been a mistake.
He felt he had accomplished little enough in Europe, and so he had claimed last night at the final gathering of the regency council. But in spite of the general resentment of the French, the lords had been gracious in their thanks, and even Rochford had unbent so far as to shake his hand and say softly, “Never underestimate the power of backstairs diplomacy.”
Dominic suspected that the next encounter with France would have little to do with diplomacy, backstairs or not. He had seen the look in William’s eyes and knew his king was itching for the opportunity to fight the French. The next move was Henri’s—and Dominic planned to keep in good fighting condition until then. Like William, he preferred the thought of an open battlefield in France to the twists and uneasiness of the Penitent’s Confession and Catholic conspiracies. Better to face off against a known enemy than brood over a hidden one. Rochford could do the latter well enough—as he had pointed out earlier. “Let me monitor conditions for a few weeks,” he’d concluded after Dominic had burnt the banner. “I am not certain it is wise to allow Lady Mary to continue on to Framlingham with Norfolk.”
“I think it is,” William had said with conviction. “Most important, I gave her my word. She came to chapel with me—and managed to acknowledge my mother without throwing anything. Her reward is a stay with Norfolk. And if we wish to draw out the enemy, we must give him space. If we give her a measure of liberty in this, the traitor may very well be drawn out. Especially if it is Norfolk.”
He’s starting to think like Rochford, Dominic thought, and didn’t know if he was pleased or not. Normally he would celebrate any restraint from William—but while restraint was one thing, cold-blooded calculation could be turned to something else entirely.
When he at last entered the great hall, his eyes went straight to Minuette with the unerring instinct of a man besotted. She positively glowed in a dress of shot silk that swirled through every shade of blue and green when she moved. She spoke to a young man that Dominic recognized as Jonathan Percy, her head tilted to the side in a manner that made his chest ache.
“How is the newest peer of the realm?” William came up next to him, sounding remarkably pleased with himself.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever learn to answer to Exeter.” Dominic smiled a little. “Thank you. It was as generous as it was unexpected.”
William shrugged, but Dominic did not miss the satisfaction in his eyes. “It was for my sake as much as yours. I need you independent. You now rival Norfolk and Northumberland as a landowner.”
“And you don’t mind tweaking their noses a bit.”
“Not at all.” William grinned. “But that doesn’t take away from the fact that you’ve earned it. There is no man on this earth I trust more than you.”
William uttered the words easily enough, but they struck Dominic with a force he would not have expected. For the first time since his father’s death, he felt the weight of his family’s disgrace slip away, and in that moment it was not William he saw before him but his king.
“I live only to be worthy of that trust, Your Majesty.”
William clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, tell me about France—and not the boring diplomatic details. Plenty of pretty women at Henri’s court, I’ll wager.”
Minuette rushed back into Dominic’s mind, and h
e answered automatically while his eyes searched the room for her. “Very pretty.”
There was a long silence, broken by William’s unregal snort. “That’s it? Really, Dom, it is possible to take discretion too far.”
But Dominic’s roaming eyes had lighted on Minuette, dancing now. “Does Percy spend a lot of time with Minuette?”
“Still playing big brother? Jonathan Percy is harmless enough. A musician—I stole him away from the Bishop of Winchester. He composed the music for this morning’s service.”
Dominic, who had not the faintest idea of what this morning’s music had been, nodded vaguely while William continued. “He spends all his spare time writing sonnets to Minuette.”
Feeling a trickle of ice along his veins, Dominic asked, “Is he serious?”
“He’s asked for her, if that’s what you mean.”
It was as though all the colours in the room had dimmed suddenly. “They’re betrothed,” Dominic said flatly.
“You’d have to ask Minuette that. I told Percy he’d need her permission before he gained mine. But she seems to like him well enough. Young, poor, poetic—yes, I imagine she’ll take him.”
The fog that seemed to have descended on Dominic spread, deadening both sight and sound. He was hardly aware of William moving away, and if the king said anything else before leaving, he did not hear it. The only thing he could see clearly was Minuette’s coronet of burnished hair as she left the hall on Jonathan Percy’s arm.
No doubt they would walk in the gardens or somewhere else a little more private. No doubt Percy had things of a personal nature to say to her. No doubt he was as certain of her answer as William was.
In an instant, the adrenaline that had buoyed Dominic through this day vanished, and he was left feeling exhausted. He had thought only about himself. He had never considered that she might fall in love with someone else.
As he stared unseeing across the hall, he felt a near overpowering urge to follow her. No, not just follow her—stop her. He need only ask to speak to her. She would not deny him that.
And then … what? Dominic knew he could be persuasive. He had titles and wealth and royal kinship on his side. Any other woman would gladly dismiss Jonathan Percy in favour of a marquis.
But Minuette wasn’t any other woman. Oh, he might be able to convince her, for he knew her weaknesses—already he could hear sentences forming in his head, the effortless manipulation of her emotions and loyalties. He could do it, he thought; he could tear her away from Jonathan Percy.
But he wouldn’t. Though he felt as though his bones might crack beneath the burden of jealous desire, he would not override her choice. If she wanted Percy, she must have him. William had left her free to answer for herself—Dominic would do no less.
Minuette knew she could not avoid Jonathan forever. So, determined not to let nerves get the better of her, she sought him out as soon as she reached the great hall. He greeted her as he always did—with a mix of awe and gratitude that she had always found pleasing. But tonight she could not help contrasting his shy and halting words with the easy conversation of William or Dominic.
Such a comparison was laughable. William and Dominic were her friends, the nearest thing she had to brothers—of course they conversed easily with her. They didn’t even think of her as a woman.
She smiled and laughed and danced with Jonathan and acquiesced when he asked her to walk in the gardens. It was only when they reached the quietness of the riverbank and Jonathan turned her to look at him that she grew nervous.
He told her of his audience with the king and of William’s permission to proceed. Minuette kept her eyes modestly lowered while Jonathan’s voice strengthened. He spoke of her beauty, and her kindness, and her virtue, in words that flowed ever more easily as the poet in him took over. And when he grasped her hands in his and asked her to marry him, she looked up, prepared to make him happy.
But as she looked in his eyes—a light, clear blue that surprised her for some reason—the ready words died away and she felt again that faint panic closing off her throat.
“I … I don’t know what to say.” That much, at least, was true. She saw his hurt, deep and immediate, and hastened to ease it. “I do care for you, very much. And I thought I was ready for this. But …” I’m frightened, she wanted to cry, and I don’t want to hurt anyone.
He released her hands and said stiffly, “I would never presume to offer any addresses I did not feel were welcome.”
Stricken by the look in his eyes, Minuette said, “They are not unwelcome. It is myself I am unsure of, not you. Would you give me a little time to think? A day, even?”
She fixed him with a pleading look. When he moved away, Minuette clung to his arm and tilted her head in appeal. She could not bear for him to leave unhappy.
He hesitated, then reached out one hand to cup her chin. “You look just like a bird when you do that. A most enchanting bird.”
Minuette had wondered what it would be like to be willingly kissed. She closed her eyes as Jonathan’s lips, soft and dry, brushed against hers. It was not quite what she’d expected—her breathing did not falter and her heart continued to beat its normal rhythm—but it was pleasant enough.
They did not linger by the river. Jonathan escorted her back to the great hall, where he bowed himself away with a kindness that only increased Minuette’s guilt. She nearly went after him, but her nerve failed her. She was not prepared to say yes. Not yet.
She looked around the crush of courtiers, wondering if she should find Elizabeth and excuse herself for the night. There was an ache behind her eyes and she felt a great need for quiet.
She found Dominic, watching her unsmilingly as he leaned against the far wall. In an instinct she did not stop to analyze, she headed straight for him.
“Come dance with me, Dominic,” she said, her heart pounding an unfamiliar rhythm.
Dominic shook his head. And when Minuette laid a hand on his arm, he stepped away and made a bow in her general direction before turning and vanishing into the crowd.
All at once, her confused emotions crystallized into clear anger. What did he mean, ignoring her like this? What had happened to his earlier happiness?
It was easy to track his dark head, as he was taller than almost everyone around him. He moved rapidly, and Minuette had to catch up her skirts to keep pace. He went down the stairs and wound his way through courtyards and doorways and arches until they were in a part of Hampton Court she’d never been before. Narrow lanes carved between brick buildings that, by the smell of things, housed kitchens and storehouses. The pastry house was all right, with its heat and scent of bread and sweets, but soon she was wrinkling her nose at the overwhelming smell of fresh game and fish. Servants brushed past with platters of sweetmeats and trays of comfits. Minuette ignored the stares directed at her, though she did look up at the rumble of thunder overhead. It was too dark to tell if rain was imminent.
Dominic turned a corner, and Minuette thought she’d lost him. But when she rounded the corner, he was waiting, with arms crossed and a scowl that would frighten off most women.
“What do you think you are doing traipsing around these lanes in a dress that cost more than these people will see in their lifetimes?” Dominic had always liked to lecture.
The tone of his voice called up her own combative instincts. “I wouldn’t be traipsing around if you hadn’t run away from me as though I had the plague.”
Something flared in his eyes. “I didn’t ask you to follow.”
“Dominic, why are you angry?” His mouth opened, as if to deny it, and she rushed on. “Yes, you are angry at me. What has happened?”
“You’re imagining things.”
Her temper increased at the flat denial. “You’re a rotten liar, Dominic. However did you manage as a diplomat?”
Even in the shadows of the torchlit alley she could see his cheeks darken, and she was momentarily sorry.
But only momentarily, for he said, “I hear
you’re betrothed to Eleanor’s brother. I imagine you’ll quite enjoy family gatherings with Giles Howard.”
Minuette let out a gasp, feeling as though he had hit her. Almost at once Dominic apologized. “That was unforgivable. My temper got the better of me.”
“Then you admit you are angry.”
At last he let out a long sigh and shook his head. “Only with myself. I wanted something and, in my arrogance, made no effort to secure it. And now it is too late.”
Minuette searched the face she knew better than her own and felt a faint prickling at the ends of her fingers. “What did you want?”
Dominic uncrossed his arms and moved forward until Minuette was forced to step back. She stopped only when her back came up against the wall. She spared a thought for the condition of her gown, pressed up against the smoky yellow brick, but she couldn’t concentrate. Rain began to fall, cool against her flushed skin.
He put his hands flat on the wall on either side of her shoulders and leaned in so near that she could feel his breath. His eyes were like liquid emeralds and his hair fell in curved wings around his face.
His voice came soft and clear. “Do you love him?”
“What?” Minuette had to scramble to think what he meant. “Who?”
“The Percy boy. Do you love him?”
The thought of Jonathan Percy seemed unbelievably distant, as though she were struggling to remember a mere acquaintance, not a man who had kissed her in the dark a short time ago.
Dominic stepped back so suddenly that, although he had not touched her, Minuette felt that a support had been withdrawn. Beneath the yards of heavy silk, her legs quivered and she had to will them to keep her upright. The wall at her back helped a little.
When he spoke again, it was with the distant courtesy of the court. “Forgive me. You need not answer that. He, of course, is in love with you. A desirable quality in a husband.”
She swallowed hard and tried to think of a sensible reply. Just then a servant bustled into the lane and stopped cold, his expression comical as he looked between her and Dominic. No doubt the poor man was wondering what he had interrupted.
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