“I wouldn’t think on things that may never require thought, my lady.”
“It is not official, you know. My father told me he is in discussions with the Duke of Somerset regarding my betrothal.” Jane looked up at me and smiled. “My mother told me I was to behave civilly and graciously to young Edward Seymour, no matter what I thought of him as a future husband, or she’d make life miserable for me. I had to pinch myself not to burst out laughing!”
Jane chanced a giggle, though I could see she was still nervous.
Mrs. Ellen came into the room, saw us both, and clucked her tongue loudly. “What is this?” She turned to me. “You will not be dressing her this early. The dress will wrinkle!”
“I have not asked her to dress me, Ellen.”
“Then why is Lucy here? The sun is just now breaking over the park!”
“Because I asked her here. I thought perhaps I should wear my green gown, the one Lucy made for the King’s birthday party last October.”
Mrs. Ellen pointed to the blue dress. “The duchess will have both my head and Lucy’s if you are not in this gown at noon!”
“Edward likes green.”
“The young earl will not be betrothed to your dress, lass,” Mrs. Ellen said. “Come now. I have a nice bath prepared for you. Let Lucy downstairs to eat before the house awakes.”
Jane turned to me. “You will come when it is time for me to dress?”
“Most certainly,” I assured her.
The morning passed quickly because I was summoned to Jane’s younger sister Lady Katherine after breakfast to mend a tear in the dress she would be wearing to receive the Duke of Somerset and his family later that afternoon. I could not help but wince when I saw that Katherine’s dress was a calming shade of sea green.
I could only hope that Jane would be too preoccupied with the proceedings of the day to notice.
When I was finally free to return to Lady Jane’s rooms, I found her to be strangely calm and serene.
“Are you quite all right, my lady?” I closed the door behind me so she could dress.
“I am, Lucy. Don’t fret over me, or I shall lose my composure, and I’ve spent all morning praying it into existence. Fetch that nightmare of a gown.”
I lifted the midnight blue gown from where it hung and brought it to her. “’Tis not a nightmare of a gown, my lady. ’Tis a dream upon a midnight sea.”
“You really think so?” she said as she stepped into the skirt.
“I do.”
As I continued to dress her with the bodice, sleeves, sash, and caul, Jane practiced greetings under her breath.
“My lord, how wonderful it is to see you. I trust your travel to Bradgate was pleasant. My lord, how wonderful it is to see you. I trust your travel to Bradgate was pleasant,” she whispered.
When her outfit was complete, I turned her to the looking glass in her room so she could see how elegant she looked.
“There now. You look like a princess,” I said.
She fingered the sapphire necklace that hung at her throat and cocked her head to look at the caul as it hung down her back, glittering with gold filigree rosettes and tiny pearls.
A knock sounded at the door. Mrs. Ellen came in at Jane’s bidding. “Why, you are a vision, my sweet lass!” she cooed.
Jane smiled at her but said nothing.
There was a moment of silence, and then Mrs. Ellen gently asked Jane if she was ready to go. Her parents were asking for her.
Jane turned to me. “Did you say your prayers this morning, Lucy?”
“Of course, my lady.”
“Did you pray for me?”
I reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I pray for you every morning, my lady.”
She squeezed mine back and then inhaled deeply, raised her chin, and asked me to kindly bear her train.
Our walk to the duke’s reception room, with Mrs. Ellen at our side, was nothing like the one the day before, when she wasn’t with us. Jane didn’t speak and neither did I.
Once, I did hear Jane whisper, “My lord, how wonderful it is to see you. I trust your travel to Bradgate was pleasant.”
At the door to the reception room, she turned to me. “I shall see you in my chamber when I return, Lucy.” And with that, Mrs. Ellen opened the door, Jane stepped inside, and all I saw was the back of a young man with thick hair the color of wheat.
I made my way back to Jane’s rooms to tidy up the wardrobe after dressing her. On my way I met Mr. Staverton on the stairs. He was dressed in clothes to travel and carried a cape over his arms. I curtsied.
“Oh, Miss Day!” His tone was joyous and hopeful. “I was much afraid I would not see you again before I returned to Oxford.”
“You are leaving Bradgate, Mr. Staverton?” He was not supposed to return to Oxford until nightfall. It was just past noon. A strange and tiny ribbon of sadness wound its way through me in an instant.
“With the Duke of Somerset and his family here, Mr. Aylmer thought it best I take my leave at midday so as not to trouble Lady Jane’s parents. I hear today is a most important day for young Jane.”
“Yes. Yes it is.”
He paused for a moment. “Would you care to walk with me to the carriage, Miss Day?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
We began to descend the stairs. An awkward silence fell about us. “And how is Lady Jane this morning?” he finally asked.
“She is well,” I answered. “She is nervous.”
“Of course. Mr. Aylmer tells me she is to be betrothed to the young Edward Seymour.”
I nodded.
“Are they acquainted?”
“Yes. Jane’s guardian was Edward’s uncle.”
“Ah, yes. The unfortunate Lord Admiral.”
I stiffened involuntarily. “Lady Jane was very fond of her guardian. There was much about him she was not aware of.”
“I meant no disrespect,” Nicholas said quickly. “What happened to him was indeed unfortunate.”
“True. But he brought much of it on himself, I’m afraid.”
“I … I worry for his brother, the elder Edward Seymour. He hasn’t the same selfish arrogance as Thomas Seymour. And he is quite popular among the people. But he seems to have wound up in the same predicament as his brother. He has fallen out of favor with His Majesty’s Council.”
“But he was released from the Tower months ago,” I said.
“Indeed. But not reinstated as Protector. The elder Seymour’s position is a bit tenuous, I think. John Dudley is not overfond of him.”
“John Dudley?”
“He is a very powerful man at the moment, Miss Day. He has the King’s ear.”
We reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to make our way to the entrance to Bradgate Hall.
“What is it that John Dudley wants?” I asked. “If he has the King’s ear, what more could he want?”
“To have the King’s muscle, I suppose. He is desperate to have His Majesty marry a Reformer. He doesn’t want Rome to interfere ever again with the government of the Crown. With Princess Mary, in theory, next in line to the throne, John Dudley would have King Edward married and producing Reformed heirs posthaste. Mary would bring Catholicism back to the realm were she to rule. John Dudley won’t have it.”
“The King is but fourteen this October, and already he is rushed to produce an heir!”
“All in due time, I am sure. But still. This is the talk at Oxford. His Majesty has always been prone to illness. It is disconcerting to those opposed to Rome. Dudley worries about the throne reverting back to Catholic rule.”
“Would that be so terrible, Mr. Staverton? ’Tis the same God that is worshiped.”
“Ah, but it is not the part about God that has men at odds over this. It is the part about men. And power. And practice.”
We stepped outside into the glory of a late summer noon. Birds sang in nearby trees. Horses at the waiting carriage shuffled their feet. A warm breeze tugged at my hair. A coachman
opened the carriage door for Nicholas and waited.
“I did not dictate the words to the lullaby,” I said.
Nicholas held out his hand. A second later, I stretched out my own hand. He pressed into it a slip of parchment.
“’Tis my address at Oxford. Perhaps you would send the words to me, Miss Day?”
As I took the bit of parchment, our fingertips brushed, sending a tremor through my body. He took my hand, bowed, and kissed it.
“I shall be waiting every day to hear from you, Miss Day.”
He turned, then stepped into the carriage and took his seat. His eyes were on mine as the door closed and the carriage began to move. He held my gaze until the carriage was well past the steps.
The carriage had turned to follow the curve in the drive before I realized I had not curtsied a farewell or even bid him Godspeed. My hand still tingled where he had kissed it.
I was not summoned to Lady Jane’s rooms until long after the evening meal. I was not part of the day’s developments at all, which allowed me many hours to ponder the pull I felt toward Nicholas Staverton. My sole duties after tending to Jane’s wardrobe were to mend a bit of torn lace on Lady Katherine’s gown and then assist Jane’s youngest sister, Mary—who only made an appearance in the afternoon—dress in a gown of sunny yellow, which made the little girl look like a bouncing daffodil. After this I was dismissed to the wardrobe room by the duchess’s attendants to spend the afternoon as I wished. I spent it contemplating the strange set of feelings Mr. Staverton had awakened in me. It annoyed me some that he knew so much about me, via Jane’s kind but liberal tongue, and that I knew so very little about him. And his admiration for me was unsettling. The young man whom I had pined for all those years ago when I was but a child had not even known I pined. I found myself sad that Mr. Staverton had left so soon, even though his presence in the house had been disconcerting, albeit to no one save me. I missed his presence the moment he left.
I only saw the Duke of Somerset, his wife, and his son Edward, from the third-story windows as the two families partook of afternoon ices in the rose garden. From my limited vantage point, it appeared that the two families were having a lovely late summer afternoon, but the two dukes appeared to be cautious and pensive. Neither one laughed or smiled.
Young Edward and Lady Jane did remove themselves to a bench in the garden, but in the full view of their parents and several attendants, of course. At one point I saw Edward hand something to Jane, but it seemed a stolen moment that I was not meant to see, nor anyone else. I looked away until my peripheral vision suggested the two were rejoining the others underneath a striped canopy where a trio of musicians began to play happy tunes.
When at last I was called for, I found Jane sitting in the cushions of one of the windowsills in her bedchamber, looking out onto an indigo sky and its sprinkling of stars. She had dismissed her other attendants. Even Mrs. Ellen was gone. We were alone.
“Lucy!” she said, when I stepped into the room.
I curtsied and came to her. She patted the pillows next to her. Instinctively, I looked to see who might see me take a seat on the sill with her, even though I knew there was no one else in the room.
“Do not worry. I sent the others away. And Mrs. Ellen is off to fetch me something from the kitchen. I was too excited to eat before now.”
I wordlessly took a seat, arranging my legs for a speedy change in position should the door open and Mrs. Ellen step in. Jane seemed content, but on edge, as well. I waited for her to speak.
“You were right,” she said softly.
“My lady?”
“Edward is quite happy to be in a marriage contract with me!” Her smile widened, and she looked away from me, toward the vast, slow-moving summer twilight outside her window.
“You spoke with him, then?”
“Oh yes. We spoke!”
“So it is official? You are betrothed to him?” I could not help but lean toward her in excitement for her.
Jane cocked her head so that her forehead rested on a diamond-shaped pane. A line of worry appeared on her forehead. “There is nothing in writing. Not yet anyway.”
“Perhaps that will come later?” I suggested.
“Maybe. I think Papa is waiting until the duke’s affairs are settled. I heard them talking, my father and Edward’s father, about John Dudley and the Privy Council and the mess Edward’s father was in. The Duke of Somerset has had a falling out with John Dudley, you know. I don’t care for him.”
“Pardon?” Though I had heard her.
“I don’t care for John Dudley. I don’t trust him.”
I said nothing.
“But the people love Edward’s father,” she went on. “They call him the good duke.”
Again, I merely listened.
“But I do not want to trouble my mind with any of that.” Jane leaned toward me. “Lucy, Edward wants to marry me. He does! He told me his heart has stirred for me since his uncle became my guardian! And I laughed and told him it has been the same for me.”
“I am so glad for you, my lady,” I said.
She leaned even closer. “He gave me a gift, Lucy!” Jane stretched out her hand. On her ring finger on her left hand, a lovely sapphire, set about with rubies and tiny diamonds, glittered on a gold band.
“It is beautiful,” I said.
“Look inside.” Jane took the ring off her finger and handed it to me. I turned the ring toward the opalescent moon on the other side of the glass. I could make out Jane’s name in beautiful script. But there were other words, tiny and foreign to me.
Jane sensed my inability to read what Edward had inscribed there.
“It’s Latin,” she said. “From the Song of Solomon. It reads, ‘You have captured my heart, my sister, my bride.’”
Twenty
With the frosts of October, the sweating sickness waned, and the noblemen and women who had retired to the countryside began to return to London. Jane’s parents, as the newly named Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, were eager to be back at court to display their new titles. They made plans to return—and bring Jane with them—at the first opportunity.
I was given leave to return home before we headed south.
Nicholas had written me the moment he had returned to Oxford, and I had quickly returned a letter to him with the words to the lullaby. His next letter arrived only days after. We found a kinship in each other’s thoughts and even in matters of faith that surprised us both, perhaps me more so than him. By the turning of the leaves, we had exchanged a dozen notes. I began to dread the thought of our friendship ending, or worse, of its never blooming past friendship. I was to learn he felt the same way. He asked if he might ask permission of my father to court me, even if only by letters, and I admit this was the primary reason I entreated the duchess to allow me a visit home to Haversfield before the household returned to London.
My father spent his days seated by the fire, wrapped in blankets, even in the summer, where he could mend seams and stitch pockets in between his frequent naps. Within an hour of my arriving home, I knelt by him at this chair and told him there was something I needed to ask him.
“I’ve met a young man, Papa. A student at Oxford. He is a friend of Lady Jane’s tutor, Mr. Aylmer. His name is Nicholas Staverton. He wishes to court me, albeit through letters.”
My papa’s long illness had robbed him of strength and vigor. But he smiled and laid a hand on my cheek. “Tell me about him.”
I shared what I knew of Nicholas, how we met, his kind heart and genteel manner.
“And what are Mr. Staverton’s plans after Oxford, Lucy?”
I told Papa that Nicholas wished to teach, that his uncle was headmaster of the King’s School in Worcester and that perhaps he might join him there upon graduation.
“And where does this young man stand on matters of faith, child?” Papa asked.
It was against the King’s law to practice the Catholic mass; such had been the case since Henry the Eighth broke awa
y from Rome. There were those, including the banished Princess Mary, who defied this mandate and quietly went about finding priests to bless their communion bread and wine. It was dangerous business. But Nicholas had no bonds with Rome, and not just because it was against the King’s law. This mattered to me, that Nicholas believed what he did because he was convinced of it, not because it was the safe or popular choice. And I knew it would matter to my father.
“Mr. Staverton is a follower of His Majesty’s faith—and yours, Papa.”
My father touched my face. “Would it please you if Mr. Staverton were to court you? Would this make you happy?”
I nodded. It surprised me how much I believed it would.
“Tell Mr. Staverton he may write to me,” my father said. “I should like it very much if he would write to me.”
In the next room, I heard my mother exclaim a celebration was in order and that she would bake a ginger tart. It was then I realized how much my parents had prayed for my future. Cecily was already betrothed. My father’s illness showed no signs of leaving him. They had worried about me. My announcement—my request—had been an answer to their prayers. I wrote to Nicholas that hour.
Leaving Haversfield to return to Lady Jane was bittersweet. I prayed God would spare my father’s life long enough to see me married.
In the weeks after Edward Seymour and his family left Bradgate, both Jane and I waited upon coaches that brought us news from the men who’d won our affections. There were many evenings that Jane and I would find a quiet corner to share the news of the letters we’d received. And sometimes we’d write our letters at the same hour, Jane in her bedchamber and I in mine, and in the morning as I readied her wardrobe for the day, we’d share what we had written.
Jane’s parents did not discourage her many letters to Edward, nor did they encourage them. Some days Jane would wear the ring Edward had given her, but most days she would place it in the Turkish jewel box on her dressing table. I think the duchess’s moods dictated Jane’s confidence in whether or not she’d wear the ring. On the days the ring was placed in the box, she did not confide in me the reason why. She seemed sad and withdrawn on those days, spending long hours translating passages of Italian or Arabic, for no reason—it seemed to me—than to pass the time.
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