He stared at nothing while he answered her. “Do you think I take pride in the fact that my father managed to die before he came to trial? Even a whisper of suspicion is too much. Do you know what he wrote to King Henry from his imprisonment? Ubi lapsus? Quid feci?”
He could see her trying to work out the Latin in her head, and he translated impatiently. “It means ‘Whither have I fallen? What have I done?’ ”
She saw at once what he meant. “That isn’t necessarily a confession. He might have been truly asking what offense he had caused.”
Dominic took the reins of his horse to lead him back to the stables. “Perhaps. It is not good enough for me. If ever I can bear his arms in honour, I will take that as my motto. I will blazon it for all the world to see, so that everyone will know I am not my father. I keep my fealty.”
He opened his eyes and was once again in his tent on a hot and windy plain in France. Laying aside the drawing, he read the brief note on the second page.
I am not betrothed.
Elizabeth sat in her brother’s presence chamber at Greenwich Palace, listening to Sir Oliver Lytle complain about his men being mustered to guard the Scots border. As he droned on about his crops going to waste if he and his men were not released before September, Elizabeth let her mind wander away from the sunny chamber in which she sat to the more pleasant memories of Robert’s farewell three weeks ago.
“Regent?” Robert had said, laughing. “What a blow to Rochford. The Lord Chancellor must answer to a woman while William’s away.”
With that narrow, focused gaze that always made her feel as if Robert saw straight through her, he’d asked, “Your brother values you. Are you never tempted to find out how highly? To ask a favour of him that no one else could grant?”
She had forced herself to look away from those probing, knowing eyes and said, “My only desire is to serve my brother and England as best I may.”
Robert had slid along the garden bench, until she shivered at the touch of his breath along her neck as he whispered, “Not quite your only desire.”
“Your Highness?” Lytle’s rough voice startled Elizabeth out of memory and back into the ornate presence chamber.
“Yes, Sir Oliver.” Elizabeth did not wait for him to begin his complaints all over again. “I shall review your demands with Lord Rochford, but I remind you that we are at war and not inclined to any request for release of fighting men.”
His round cheeks went scarlet with temper and he opened his mouth, no doubt to argue some more. Elizabeth cut him off. “We will inform you of our decision tomorrow.”
He had no choice but to bow and leave, though even his back looked affronted as he stalked out. Elizabeth turned to her steward. “Is that all, Paget?”
“Lord Rochford is waiting for you without.”
“Very well.”
With a perfunctory bow, her uncle entered and handed over a sheaf of papers. “Dispatches from Surrey.”
Elizabeth glanced quickly through them. The Earl of Surrey was charged with holding the Scots border and had been sending daily dispatches with his outriders. “No movement?” she asked.
“No. It seems the Scots are biding their time—or perhaps they’ve learnt discretion.”
“Speaking of discretion,” Elizabeth said, laying aside the papers and fixing her uncle with a steady gaze, “what news from Framlingham?”
The day after William’s birthday, Mary had departed Hampton Court in company with the Duke of Norfolk for his castle near the eastern coast. Preoccupied as he had been with planning a war, William had passed the burden of watching the Catholics to his uncle. There had been little word thus far, but Elizabeth knew that if she were in charge of a rebellion, this would be precisely the time she would choose, with the king and his army out of the country.
Rochford huffed in irritation—at the situation, she thought, rather than at her. “The lady spends her days in prayer and study, and Norfolk spends his in solitude. He is aging fast, I hear, and we can only hope that is a result of his fading hopes.”
“Then they do not as yet have the Penitent’s Confession?”
“Unlikely. I’ve had no hints of men gathering anywhere in Norfolk lands or in other Catholic strongholds. If they had the Penitent’s Confession, I would expect them to use the king’s absence as the perfect opportunity to strike. As it is, most of them have turned out soldiers for France. The war seems to be temporarily uniting us.”
“Are we any nearer to tracking down the Confession?” Elizabeth was curious about her uncle’s network of spies and how they worked, but he was generally vague.
“Your mother had quite a number of women in her household, even during the relatively brief time before William was conceived. The records the court holds are not always complete, so it’s taking time to check through each name—and then widen the net to see who in that lady’s web of relationships might have put her name to evil use.”
Elizabeth tipped her head, curious. “You do not think it quicker to ask my mother for her records and perhaps her own knowledge of the women who served her?”
The black stare she got in return was answer enough, but Rochford said anyway, “This does not reach Anne’s ears. Ever. Do I make myself clear?”
While wondering what William would say to such a command, Elizabeth merely nodded. “You are very clear, Uncle.”
Rochford jerked his head in acknowledgment. “As for Scotland, I’ve prepared a dispatch for Surrey, telling him our intelligence sources are quiet and he should continue as he’s begun along the border. Have you anything to add to that, Your Highness?”
He was already turned to the door as he asked, clearly expecting her to say no. Piqued by his easy dismissal, Elizabeth made an instant decision. “Yes. Tell him Sir Oliver Lytle will be returning to the front lines to lead his men. Tell him Lytle’s forces are to remain in the muster as long as the crown so pleases.”
One of her uncle’s best qualities was his sense of humour, sardonic though it may be. The corners of his mouth lifted. “Shall I inform Sir Oliver, or will you?”
“You may do so.”
Rochford bowed himself away, and Elizabeth waved her steward out of the room as well. She had never appreciated that ruling meant being surrounded by more people than even she was accustomed to. No wonder William delighted in hiding away in his private bedchamber with only Eleanor for company. It was the solitude he craved.
Still, in spite of the drawbacks, she admitted to herself that ruling also had its pleasures. Though she had long ago assumed control of her own household, there was something intoxicating in making decisions for a wider realm. She was not immune to the charms of power.
Not that this particular power would last for long. William would come home and Elizabeth would return to her own domestic affairs. A pity, for she could see that she had a talent for rule. If she was lucky, William would marry her off to a man of power, one who might be generous enough to share it—or could be influenced to do so. She would not mind that.
And yet, in spite of that wish, her desires betrayed her ambition every time she thought of Robert, every time she worried for his safety in France. Every time she closed her eyes and felt his hands and his lips as he’d bidden her an indiscreet goodbye six days ago, murmuring in her ear, “I like powerful women.”
Elizabeth’s eyes snapped open when Paget cleared his throat in the doorway. “Forgive me, Your Highness. A most urgent message for you from Hever.”
“A message for you, milady,” the boy said, bowing so low Minuette could not see his face.
She had long ago given up trying to correct the younger, more nervous of the servants, who seemed convinced that any woman who spent as much time as she did with royalty surely must have a title.
The boy gave his message without raising his eyes from the floor. “Her Highness, Princess Elizabeth, asks that you join her at once in His Majesty’s presence chamber.”
She left the room on the boy’s heels but, for his
sake, slowed her pace slightly to allow him to escape her. As she walked through the sparsely populated corridors, she marveled at how empty Greenwich seemed without the men. Many of the women had left court as well, seeing little point in spending money to impress young men who were absent.
Eleanor, at least, was still here, in the apartments William had set aside for her use last year. If Minuette had been regent, she’d have locked her out and sent her straight back home. But Elizabeth seemed unconcerned about Eleanor’s continuing presence. “Let William deal with her as he wishes,” she’d warned Minuette in their one and only conversation on the subject. “He would not thank either of us for interfering.” Elizabeth was right in that, so Minuette had held her peace and avoided Eleanor as thoroughly as possible.
Which was why she breathed out a silent curse when she heard a door open before her, from Eleanor’s apartments. She had only an instant to compose herself to haughtiness before a man stepped into the hall directly into her path. It was Giles Howard, straightening his tunic and looking for all the world as though he’d just come from something more than conversation with his wife.
It was the nearest she’d been to Giles since that night at Hampton Court when he’d—before Dominic—
But Giles didn’t give her a chance to think long on Dominic. “Mistress Wyatt,” he said, managing to make even her name an insult.
She stared back evenly, as she had learnt from Queen Anne. Giles was dressed for riding and Minuette remembered that he was supposed to be in the North, supporting his nephew, the Earl of Surrey, along the Scots border.
He seemed in no hurry to return to the Scots. “Must be lonely for you with all your young men away. Jonathan being the least of them.”
She was surprised into replying. “You need not concern yourself with my affairs.”
“Affairs?” His smile was cold, and Minuette realized that he had hardened in the last year—his features were sharper and his stance more confident. “What a well-chosen word. I’m afraid I can’t help but concern myself with the … affairs of a woman who will shortly be my sister-in-law.”
Minuette nearly told him that she had refused Jonathan, but she swallowed her retort. Her personal life was none of his business.
In any case, he seemed more interested in talking than listening. “Jonathan is such an innocent. He’s probably never imagined just what it is you do with your dear friend William behind closed doors.”
He took half a step nearer, until his face was only inches from her own. “And what of the bold new Marquis of Exeter? Tell me, do they take you in turn, or is it both at once?”
Without pausing to consider, Minuette slapped him with all the force she could muster. Giles’s face snapped to the side, the imprint of her palm stamped against his cheek.
“Little hellcat,” Giles said, catching her still-raised arm.
She had not even time to feel afraid before footsteps and a commanding voice came from behind Giles.
“Is there a problem?” Lord Rochford asked, surveying the two of them with what appeared to be absolute indifference.
Giles released her arm and stepped back. “Not at all.”
“Mistress Wyatt?” Rochford turned to her.
Not for anything would she have repeated those vile slanders to that cool, composed face. Curling her lip in a practiced manner, Minuette looked at Giles and said, “A misunderstanding. He had me confused with his wife.”
As Giles turned scarlet and Rochford assessed her, Minuette heard the door open once more. Wishing she had the nerve to curse aloud, she held her chin high. Damned if she would cower before either of the Howards.
But it was not Eleanor in the open doorway. It was Lady Rochford, staring straight into her husband’s eyes with a bitter humour she did not bother to mask. Lord Rochford held his wife’s gaze with a hint of a smile playing across his lips.
It was he who spoke first. “You found your own rooms unsuitable?”
Lady Rochford raised her eyebrows, the only movement in the smooth whiteness of her unlined face. “A change of locale does add a certain spice to things.”
Minuette had to clamp her mouth tight to keep from gaping. What did they mean? Was Lord Rochford implying … Lady Rochford and Giles Howard? But she was so old. And, stupid as Giles was, surely he wasn’t stupid enough to seduce the wife of the most powerful man in the kingdom.
But Giles seemed … Minuette had to look twice to be sure. Where she expected to see fear, she found only grim amusement and that unnerving confidence. Rather, she realized, like Rochford himself.
And Rochford did not seem disposed to make an issue of it. “Howard, I have dispatches for Surrey. We’ll have you on your way within the hour.”
Thoroughly bewildered, Minuette stared after them as they walked away. What was going on between Lord Rochford and Giles Howard?
Or, for that matter, between Giles and Lady Rochford, who said now, “You needn’t look so shocked, girl. A woman has one power in this world. If you’re wise, you learn to use it to your advantage.”
With a gaze that was disconcertingly like her husband’s, Lady Rochford looked Minuette over before shutting the door behind her and walking rapidly away.
Shaken by the encounter, Minuette withdrew into the nearest convenient alcove and perched upon a window ledge. Elizabeth would have to wait until she could present herself without any trace of distress.
It had been a miserably sordid encounter all around. Giles’s questions, Lord Rochford’s veiled barbs, Lady Rochford’s unwelcome advice—all had left Minuette feeling contaminated and uneasy.
With one insult, Giles had managed to insinuate his nastiness into the most precious of her memories—that moment in the corridor at Hampton Court, when she and Dominic had looked at each other as though they alone existed. After Dominic had left her that night, she had flung herself onto her bed in her rain-ruined gown and hugged the sweetness of that feeling tight. It had remained with her ever since, a spark of warmth and light at every turn.
And now Giles Howard and Lady Rochford between them had managed to make her doubt. Was that the sum of Dominic’s interest in her? Was he no better than any one of a dozen lords, interested only in the pleasures her body could provide?
She could not believe it. Not of Dominic. There were too many of the other memories—the stories he had told, the games they had played, and even the flares of anger at her impatience or recklessness. Someone so fond of lecturing her must be interested in more than just bedding her.
That, she told herself firmly, is quite enough thinking for today, and turned her mind to duty. When she entered the presence chamber several minutes later, Elizabeth looked up from the table where she was writing. Her expression was enough to make Minuette forget all else.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, fear clutching at her stomach. Not France. Please, not France.
“I need you to go to Hever,” Elizabeth said calmly, folding up the letter she’d been writing. “My mother has had a fall. She is conscious and does not appear to have broken anything, but I’m sending a physician and I’d like you to go as well. She’ll want a familiar voice around her.”
“You cannot come yourself?”
“If there’s any change, send word at once.” Elizabeth paused, and a flicker of worry crossed her face. “As regent, I have responsibilities here, and the government is not so easily moved. As long as there’s no immediate cause for concern, I must stay.”
Minuette crossed the room and planted a kiss on Elizabeth’s cold cheek. “Of course you must. No one will understand that better than your mother. I’ll write as soon as I arrive.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TWO WEEKS AFTER their deliberate retreat from Calais, the English armies were in possession of Le Havre and Harfleur and, with the port firmly held, had laid siege to Rouen. The good weather of July had given way to a rainy August that made both men and horses miserable, as did the long and boring work of wearing down a town’s defenses. Rouen was
decently provisioned, and each day’s delay was nearly as dangerous for the English as for the town. Campaigning had a season, and Dominic knew if they did not get moving, they would have to fall back for the winter. Already the first few cases of illness had been reported in the camp.
There were those who felt they should hold what they’d taken, garrison Le Havre and Harfleur for the long term and leave that thorn in Henri’s side to fester. Others wanted to press forward the advantage they hadn’t had in a century. And while the debate continued, every day was a gift to Renaud LeClerc inside Rouen, allowing him time to plan and prepare for any eventuality. Dominic chafed at the inaction.
No more. He finally had a plan, one that even Northumberland might be persuaded to accept, though Dominic was less concerned with persuading the Earl Marshal than he was with persuading William. As long as the king was in the field, the king would decide.
Dominic ducked inside the tent where Northumberland and Sussex were engaged in their daily reports. William sat at a table, reading and signing letters and apparently not listening at all. Dominic knew that was an illusion. William was quite capable of doing ten things at once and still recalling word for word any conversation held in his hearing.
He motioned Dominic near while the others continued to discuss supply lines. Looking at Dominic’s mud-splashed plain gold tunic, William said, “Tell me again why I bothered to make you a marquis. Any other man would gladly flaunt his new rank and colours.”
William’s teasing had been going on for two weeks, ever since the day they sailed from Calais and William first saw him still dressed in his familiar plain gold. Dominic had not been able to articulate why, offering fumbling responses about not wanting to wear his new colours at sea. The truth was vaguer—he simply hadn’t felt that the time had come for him to don his Exeter colours. He looked at them every day, the tunic and pennon laid neatly in his tent, and felt that they were saying to him, Not yet.
Then, late last night, Jonathan Percy had come to him with some question about horses and armour. Dominic really couldn’t remember what it was he’d wanted to know, because the first thing Percy had said was, “I’m sure Lord Robert will mention that I was talking to him about this earlier. That’s the third time I’ve mistaken him for you and got halfway through a question before I realized. You’re both so dark it can be hard to tell you apart without paying attention.”
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