Love, Remember Me (16 page)

"Aye, Uncle," she said low, telling him what she knew he wanted to hear. What other options did she really have? These were powerful men dealing in matters far too complicated for her to understand. She was just a helpless girl. At least the king was clever, and he loved music as she did, and when his leg was not paining him, he was an excellent dancer. She must concentrate upon the positive elements of this matter. Perhaps if she could learn to soothe and dress his leg when it pained him, she would endear herself to Henry Tudor. She could not be squeamish about it, no matter her own delicate sensibilities.

"I am pleased with you, Catherine," the Duke of Norfolk told her. "I am going to teach you how to ingratiate yourself with the king. You must be a bit more helpless with him, yet always gay and amusing. Defer to his judgment both publicly and privately, for it will please him. Most important of all, my child, is that you keep his lust at bay until he has put his wedding ring upon your finger. If he can have what he wants of you without that ring, you are as ruined as any maid who lets the stable boy fumble her in a dark barn. Do you understand me? A chaste kiss, a tiny cuddle,
but nothing more
, Catherine, even if he begs it of you, or grows angry with your refusal. Fall back upon tears then. You are a virtuous maid. Remind the king of that when he importunes you for more than you are willing to give him. Your virginity is the only real dowry you have to bring him."

"Yes, Uncle," she obediently answered him. "I will do all you say. You have but to guide me, and I will obey, I swear it!"

"Now, I will tell you another secret," the duke said to her. "Lady Rochford is my spy in the queen's household. You may trust her, but never completely, Catherine. She is an unhappy woman. Her guilt over her husband George Boleyn's death weighs heavy on her. She gives me her loyalty because I have secretly seen to her support since his death. The Boleyns, of course, disowned her, as did her own family. As for Nyssa Wyndham, my girl, you must immediately sever your friendship with her."

"Nay, Uncle, I will not! She is the first true friend I have ever really had. Besides, if I cut her, will not people wonder why, when we have become so close in the queen's service? I would certainly think it strange of another."

"Perhaps you are correct, Catherine," he said, surprised at her astute insight. He had not thought her capable of such reasoning, but then she was a Howard. "Aye, very well, my girl, you may keep your friendship with Lady Wyndham. Yes, it is better that you do, I think upon reflection. That way no one will really be certain which of you the king will choose until we want them to know. But remember, girl, you cannot tell your friend what we have planned. Do you understand? No giggling girlish confidences in the Maid's Chamber at night."

"I understand completely, Uncle. I am not dim-witted," she answered him calmly. "If you are to succeed in placing me above all others in the king's affections, you need a clear path."

Again he was pleased, and he told her so. She was not quite as silly as he had previously believed. She had a sharp little mind, but her kind heart worried him. It could be her undoing. Time, he hoped, would take care of that weakness in her character. He dismissed her from his presence, and sent her on her way feeling quite satisfied with the afternoon's work.

He had placed one Howard on England's throne. If she had but heeded him, she might still be there with her head intact; but Mistress Anne had been overly willful and headstrong. Now he had, to his great amazement, been given a second opportunity to be the power behind a queen. This wench would not fail him. His family was about to climb higher than it had ever climbed, and would soon be the most powerful in all of England. The Seymours would fall back into the obscurity from which they came. If Catherine would give the king another son, who knew what would transpire?

T
HOUGH
deferential to the queen, the king now appeared to be openly paying court to two young women. Catherine Howard giggled and smiled up at the king with melting glances; but Nyssa Wyndham was more circumspect in her behavior. She was not quite certain exactly what the king's attentions meant. His open kindness of her had to be because of his long-lived affection for her mother. It could surely be nothing else. Yet the sly glances of the court made her very nervous. Even her aunt was disturbed.

"My God, Owen," Bliss declared to her husband in a soft voice one afternoon as they watched the king showing Nyssa how to notch her bow with just the right arrow. "He cannot possibly be romantically inclined toward her. It's horrifying! She is but a child!"

"So even your ambition has limits," her husband replied.

"Oh, Owen, do not scold me! It was different with Blaze," Bliss said. "It was entirely different!"

"Aye, the king only wanted Blaze for a mistress, as he had a wife. Now he still has a wife, a different wife to be certain, but he considers our niece for the next queen. Well, Tony did not want her to come to court. If you had not volunteered so gaily to chaperone Nyssa, she should not now be in this dangerous predicament," the Earl of Marwood severely reminded his wife. He had heard talk among the gentlemen of his acquaintance that Nyssa's coolness was far more challenging to the king than the little Howard girl's charms. He knew not how much truth there was to the talk, but he dared not tell his wife.

"Ohh, Owen, what shall we do?" Bliss said desperately.

"There is nothing we can do, my dear. Not now. It is all in the king's hands, I fear, and those hands are reaching out eagerly for a new sweetmeat. Perhaps he will favor the Howard girl over Nyssa."

"Nyssa is far lovelier!" Bliss said in defense of her niece, and her husband laughed till his sides ached.

"Madame," he told her, "you are mad, I think!"

They turned at the sound of the king's voice. He was smiling down at Nyssa, and to their surprise, he gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Very good, my sweet wild rose! What an archer she is, gentlemen. She is a veritable Diana, Goddess of the Hunt, is she not?"

His companions murmured their assent, smiling toothily.

"I do not think I could ever learn to shoot as well as Nyssa can," Catherine Howard said, smiling up at the king, and then she sighed. "I am not very clever, I fear, Your Grace."

"I do not believe that for a minute," Henry Tudor said. "Let me teach you to shoot, Cat. I believe there is little you cannot do if you but put your mind to it. You are a rose without a thorn, my dear." The king turned to his page. "A bow and quiver for Mistress Howard."

Once again the court was perplexed as to which one of the young women the king favored. Henry Tudor was obviously enjoying keeping them in suspense. As the terms of the dissolution of the king's marriage to Anne of Cleves were slowly being worked out, he was obviously preparing for a long sweet summer of sport.

The Bishop of Winchester sought out the Duke of Norfolk. "We cannot take a chance that he will choose the Wyndham girl," Stephen Gardiner said nervously. "Once he is free of Cleves, anyone can catch his fancy. We must act quickly to solidify your niece's position."

"Aye," the Duke of Norfolk agreed. "He is becoming like a young stallion let loose in a meadow full of pretty mares. We must fix his attentions upon Catherine, and Catherine alone."

"And how will you do that?" demanded the bishop.

"By discrediting Mistress Wyndham in his eyes," the duke said.

"By all accounts Mistress Wyndham is a virtuous young woman," the bishop replied. "Even I can find no fault with her, or her behavior. There is no gossip attached to her name, nor has she permitted any gentleman to single her out. Her manners cannot be faulted, and her loyalty to the queen is to be commended. She would appear to be the perfect gentlewoman."

"Yet, if she were found naked in the bed of an equally naked gentleman, my dear bishop, what do you think the king would say?" the duke answered with a small smile. "Appearances are often deceiving."

"God's blood, my lord, you cannot mean to destroy the maid's reputation? She has come to court to find a good husband. If you do what you propose, her reputation will be in shreds, and no man of decency will have her. I certainly cannot be a party to such a scheme!"

"Calm yourself, Stephen," the duke said. "I can discredit her, and at the same time supply her with an excellent husband that even her family will approve of, I assure you. I will tell you no more lest I discommode your conscience, but I swear to you that no real harm will come to the Wyndham girl. I simply need to remove her from the king's attentions. This is the only way in which I may successfully do it. Henry Tudor will want no other man's leavings. He will order Mistress Wyndham's marriage himself, I guarantee you. You must trust me."

The Bishop of Winchester said nothing more, but he thought placing trust in Thomas Howard was like placing one's trust in a fox with the key to the henhouse door. There was nothing he could do, he decided, and besides, the fate of one young girl could not be allowed to interfere with their plans to see that the Church remained conservative and orthodox in its beliefs and in its centuries-old traditions.

The Duke of Norfolk watched as the bishop moved away from him. How sickeningly pious he is, the duke considered. He cared not what happened to the Wyndham girl as long as his own power was preserved. Oh, he did not want to be involved in what he considered an un-Christian and immoral act; but he would not protest the benefits of such an act. Then Thomas Howard searched among the courtiers for one particular person. Finding him, he called to his personal page, "Go to the Earl of March, boy, and tell him I would see him in my privy chamber."

The duke turned away from the archery field and walked slowly back to the palace. Inside, he made his way to his own private apartments. A servant came forward with a cup of wine for him as he entered. Taking it, he told the man, "The Earl of March is expected. Show him to my privy chamber when he arrives, and make certain that we are not disturbed while he is with me." The duke then entered the private room he maintained for special meetings, and settled himself into a chair by the fire. There was a good blaze going, for though it was April, the day had a chill to it. Thomas Howard was always cold, and though he was parsimonious in many ways, there were always fires burning wherever he was in residence. He sighed deeply and sipped at his wine. He was sixty-seven years old this year, and he was beginning to grow tired of always having to watch out for his family, but his son could certainly not be expected to handle matters as well as he. Henry was a poet, not a tactician. Well, at least he had a son to carry on the Howard name.

I have sired four children, the duke thought, and two are dead. The meanderings of an old man, he decided, shaking himself. He drank deeply of his cup. He had become a father for the first time when he was fifteen, and what an uproar his illegitimate daughter, Mary Elizabeth, had caused. Her mother had been his distant, orphaned cousin, Bess, and she had died giving birth to their child. Bess had been only fourteen, but she had been one of his best friends. Her death had somehow changed him. He never again gave away his heart. Their daughter was raised by the family, for he would have it no other way. He arranged a good match for her. Mary Elizabeth had been married at twenty, the same year in which his first legitimate son, Thomas, had been born to Anne of York, and had died.

It had not been easy finding a suitable husband for Mary Elizabeth Howard. But as his family was rich and powerful, and because his daughter was formally recognized, a bridegroom had finally been obtained. Henry de Winter, Earl of March, was an ambitious man. Marriage to a Howard, even one on the distaff side who had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, offered advantages he otherwise would have been unable to obtain.

His family had never been an important one. Although they were comfortable, they were not rich by any means. Henry de Winter had not expected to fall in love with his wife, but he had done so. Hence his grief at Mary Elizabeth's death in childbirth, two years after their marriage, had been great. He had not remarried, and been somewhat confused as to how to raise the infant son he had been left. Fortunately, his father-in-law had involved himself in the matter.

Thomas Howard's first wife, Anne of York, had died in 1513. He had married Lady Elizabeth Stafford three years later. Their son, Henry, had been born the following year. A daughter had been born in 1520. His wife had insisted upon naming her Mary, and he dared not protest. Mary Elizabeth had been dead these ten years past, and what difference did it really make? But he never forgot his wife's insensitivity, for she had known of that first daughter, as she knew his grandson, who lived in his house.

There was a knock upon the door, and Varian de Winter, Earl of March, entered the duke's privy chamber. "Good day, Grandfather," he said. "What mischief are you up to now?"

"Help yourself to the wine," the older man said gruffly, "and then come sit opposite me. Varian, I need your help in a small matter."

Varian de Winter lifted an eyebrow questioningly as he poured himself a generous goblet of wine. His grandfather kept a good cellar, and had taught him to appreciate a fine vintage. He was obviously not so far off the mark. The old man was up to something. He sniffed at his wine, smiled, satisfied, and took a swallow even as he settled himself across from Thomas Howard. "Very well, my lord, I am listening."

He's got my long face and eyes, the duke thought, but the rest of him looks de Winter. How deceiving, for he is pure Howard in his thinking. "The land that was part of your mother's dowry," he began.

"The land you somehow never remembered to turn over to my father?" the earl said, his tone amused. "Aye, I know it."

"Would you like it if I signed it over to you, Varian?"

"At what price, my lord?" the earl said softly.

"Must there necessarily be a price between us, Varian?" the duke asked his grandson, his tone just faintly pained.

"Do you remember the first lesson you ever taught me, Grandfather?" the earl said. "You taught me, that which you can have for nothing, is worth nothing. That everything desirable has some price attached to it."