Queenbreaker: Perseverance (The Queenbreaker Trilogy Book 1) (22 page)

Lord
John’s eyes flicked his way. “I was a babe in arms amongst the French
gentlemen, Sir Francis,” he said. “But here at home, I expect I may be
accounted more accomplished.”

Wyatt
snorted. “Six months abroad brings no accomplishment, my lord, only its
veneer.”

Lord
John’s smile went cold. “What true Englishman could bear a longer absence?
Unless he had no choice.”

Marshall
gasped. Everything went still. No one ever spoke of Wyatt’s unofficial exile
after the King declared himself to Anne. No one.

Wyatt’s
beard twitched. His expression defied translation. But he studied John as
closely as we studied our stitches, seeking flaws and how to undo them.

“I
could,” I said into the silence.

Lord
John’s brow leapt. Weston jumped in. “How could you abandon us?”

“Very
simply,” I said, as a welcome bolt of warmth shot through me. “A boat, and a
fair wind are all that’s required.”

Weston
shook his head. “I would follow you.”

The
corner of my mouth lifted. “Anywhere?”

“Anywhere,”
Weston vowed.

I
looked at Master Wyatt. “Would you?”

Wyatt
bowed. “I am your servant.”

I
turned back to Lord John. “And you?”

He
settled back on his heel, twirling the rose between his fingers, eyes lowered.

Why
did he hesitate? We all knew the answer he must make. Why the delay?

The
audience waited, eager to see what his long hesitation portended. Their
anticipation infected me. My toes wriggled inside my shoes.

“Lord
John?” I prompted.

He
delayed a moment longer, sliding the rose against his own lower lip as he did.

“No,”
he finally said.

“No?”

My
heart clanged like a warped churchbell. My smile slipped.

Weston
vibrated with satisfaction. Marshall’s eyelids fluttered. The crowd groaned. I
felt the moments accumulate, counted out by each furious beat of my heart.

“I
would not go.” Lord John’s smile surged, catching mine just before it fell. “I
would give you cause to stay.”

________________

We
strolled the Inner Courtyard, Cousin Mary Carey and Bess pacing us at a
discreet distance. A dozen others had followed us out of the Presence Chamber,
eager to see what came next after Lord John’s brilliant play had sent Weston
and Wyatt reeling from the room.

Wyatt
though had caught my hand a moment just before I accepted Lord John’s
invitation to walk.

“Take
care,” he whispered at my ear then let me go.

Take
care?
For what?
Not to choose too quickly?

For
if Wyatt or any man were to put the question to me now, I would say that Lord
John de Vere had won my favor.

‘I would give you cause to stay.’

Had
any man ever, anywhere or in any time answered so well? The Countess’s
gut-wrenched face told me no, it had never happened. A Howard girl’s addled
squealing said the same. My own ringing heart concurred.

He
was young, titled, without scandal, and beautifully fashioned.
And playing against Weston and Wyatt, for me.

God
was more than good.

“I
hope you will be kind, mistress,” he said as we made our first turn of the
courtyard.

“As
kind as you were that evening at the Tower,” I said.

Lord
John grinned. “That was easily done. Surrey’s an arse.”

I
covered my mouth, hiding the laughter that wanted out. I agreed with him, but
was it wise to show how much?

I
twirled the little rose. “I did not thank you for it, my lord. You—you
saved me from many awkward questions.”

“Save
one,” he said.

My
foot caught the edge of my skirt. “My lord?”

His
flawed smile tugged my heart again.

“Did
you have some attachment to Surrey?” he asked.

I
recoiled. “My God, no!”

“It
just seemed—his manner implied…”

I
raised my hands. “There was no implication, my lord—only imposition. Lord
Surrey’s attention that evening was wholly unwanted.”

Lord
John’s conflicted smile flashed. “You are wise, mistress. Wiser than many young
ladies in France.”

A
slow blush crept through my cheeks. I glanced back to see if Bess and Cousin
Mary paced us close enough to hear, and noticed a thin man with such an
enormous Adam’s apple I almost mistook it for a goiter, seemed to stalk us as
well. He wore gloves and a fur-trimmed collar despite the heat of the day.

“My
lord, a man in a grey cap follows us. Do you know him?”

“Neck
like a goiter?” John asked without turning around.

“Yes.”

Lord
John’s jaw tightened. “That is Enowes, my groom,” he said. “Probably come to
warn me that my father’s about.”

“W-was
he very wroth that you stayed at court and did not return to Oxford when he
asked?”

Lord
John plucked the rose from my fingers. “He turned exactly this shade of red
when I showed up on his doorstep and cursed me for a fool.”

“But,
he seemed so determined to have you home—I was in the Queen’s Presence
Chamber the day he asked her to recall you.”

His
lips twisted. “After six months, he worried the French might polish me too
well, and I’d no longer be taken for an Englishman. Believe me, mistress. He
wanted me home more for his sake than my own.” He snapped the stem of the rose
between his fingers. “And here he is.”

The
Earl of Oxford stood at the doorway. Two grooms in black and green livery
flanked him. The distance between us diluted none of the rage darkening his
narrow face. He whistled between his teeth, short and sharp, as one would call
a dog.

My
jaw fell. “How
can
he—?“ I gasped.

“He’s
the almighty Earl of Oxford,” Lord John quipped. “He can do what he likes with
his things.”

He
handed me the intact part of the rose—the crown. “Will you attend the
gaming in the King’s apartments tonight?” he asked.

I
instantly collected myself. We still played
Pass-the-Time
and this was his real invitation to play.

“Perhaps,”
I said with a little roll of my shoulder.

Lord
John’s soft smile struck me like a gale-force wind. Everything about him came
into instant, sharp relief. Everything around him faded to nothing.

“I
hope so,” he said, backing away toward the stiff figure waiting in the shadow
of the stairs. “I want to see how you play your cards.”

I
watched him walk away, and thought, of course, I will attend. I will be
anywhere you are.

Greenwich
Palace, Greenwich

June
1533

Every
night the Queen held a masque, play, or dancing in her chambers. This evening,
gambling tables had been arranged in the Watching Chambers and halpace.
Courtiers wandered at will between them when their luck was flush and when it
failed they danced.

I
avoided the tables so had no need to soothe my losses. I danced for pure joy.
Lord John de Vere had supplanted Weston as my chief worshipper.

Lord
John offered two poems for every one of Weston’s. He plied me with roses and
candied ginger. Weston was put out to learn how much I loved the stuff. I
assured him I had never told Lord John. He must have asked Madge. I did not
care how he found out. I was gratified by the effort and dazzled by the one
making it. He was more handsome than Weston and mayhap wrote a better line than
Wyatt…

At
first, disloyalty had pinched me. Weston had been my first admirer. He and
Wyatt had honored me with their attentions and elevated my standing at court
far more quickly than I could ever have done on my own. How could my heart
abandon them so easily? The answer was simple: they were married and Lord John
de Vere was not. And Weston most like had the pox.

I
returned to the dancing in the Queen’s Presence Chamber. A pavane began, led by
the Queen and Sir Henry Norris. Then Lord John de Vere appeared behind them
with his sister Frances for partner.

Lady
Frances’s chopines made her too tall for a woman. She and Lord John were of a
height and given her disposition she challenged his lead, stepping ahead of him
and the music. Headstrong, Cousin Mary had said. I thought her foolish. With
such a one as Lord John leading she would never go astray.

“You
should aim for the father,” Bess, settling in behind my left shoulder,
murmured.

My
eyes flew to the silver-haired Earl speaking with Uncle Wiltshire and Master
Cromwell. His neat, trimmed beard could not entirely hide his jowls. His
careworn looks were a complete opposite to the son’s and cast doubt on the
relationship. Lord John must resemble his late mother.

I
shrugged, affecting nonchalance to answer her ridiculous suggestion. “I won’t
marry an old man.”

Bess
snorted. “He’s your father’s age. Is that old?”

“Yes,”
I said without a thought.

I
winced as she squeezed the tender back of my arm. “So he is, lambkin. So are
most of the better choices. Such as my lord Northumberland.”

I
sighted the Earl, leaning against a wall, cradling a tankard in both hands,
eyes listlessly following the dancers.

“Did
his timely rescue not win your affections?” Bess asked with a tiny laugh.

“No,”
I said. “He is married so his gallantry was wasted.”

Bess
tilted her head and offered me one of her knowing smiles.

“And
what if he were not?”

I
gaped at her. “What are you saying?”

Bess
made a tiny shrug. “If the King may take himself a new wife, why not the Earl
of Northumberland?”

“But
they—they tried before…”

Bess
shook her head. “The Countess tried. She chose the wrong time and the wrong
reason. But now the King has safely wed Anne, if the Earl petitioned—he
would give better cause: he needs an heir. The King will sympathize with that.”

Bess’s
suggestion spun itself in my mind.
Countess of
Northumberland.
Mistress of Alnwick Castle.
Joan Percy’s aunt by marriage.
No, it did not appeal.
 

“Put it out of
your head, Bess,” I said as a
volta
started and Lord John lead Mariah to the floor. The
coy smile she gave him turned my stomach. Its intimacy implied a depth of
feeling beyond the expected affection of foster siblings.

“Is
there aught between them?” I asked, dreading her answer.

Bess
gave a breathy sigh. “No. His father once held hopes, but Mariah has done
better than an earl’s son.”

“She
can have the Duke of Richmond,” I declared. “An earl’s heir suits me fine.”

Bess
smiled at me over the lip of her goblet. “And what will your parents say?”

“They
might wonder at it, but how can they be displeased? Lord John will be Earl of
Oxford.”

Bess
chuckled. “It is hard to believe you’ve barely been here two months.”

“I
have not time to waste, Bess. I must make my mark before September. You have no
one pushing her way behind you and through you if she can.”

Bess
smirked. “No, I had a miserable old Duchess ready to have me burned for
bewitching her husband away from the marriage bed.”

My
mouth went dry as stale flour. “The Duchess accused you of witchcraft?”

Amusement
lightened Bess’s voice. “Indeed. She went so far as to put the matter to the
Bishop of Norwich. She wanted me proved by water.”

My
lungs hitched, cutting a breath mid-stream. “W-what did the Bishop do?”

Bess
tapped her feet as the
volta
intensified. “The Bishop properly informed the Duke. The Duke properly beat the
Duchess, and the whole matter was properly forgotten.”

I
stared at her, aghast. “He beat her?” Margot and Mariah had been right to call
him the Devil.

Bess
snorted. “No pity for it, Mistress Mary. That lady’s done worse to many,
including your Lord John.”

My
heart stumbled. “What? Whyfor?”

Bess’s
face shed its coat of mirth, leaving a hard, bare-boned smile.

“The
usual affronts boys are wont to commit,” she said. “You’ve seen the scar at his
left eye. Her handiwork, and more besides.”

Any
pity I’d held for the Duchess burned away.

“Then
the Duke did right to lock her away. She’s a madwoman.”

Bess
snorted. “No, just a fool too proud of her blood and ancient rights to see
sense. Just like Spanish Katherine.” Bess arched her neck, swung her eyes at a
gentleman who watched her. “When a man tires of you, what choice do you have
but to go? Make the best terms you can, and relish your retirement. That is
wisdom.”

“But…but
why do men tire of us?”

“A
man’s heart is not like a woman’s,” Bess muttered. “It is slower to feel love
and sooner to lose it.”

“Is
there no way to keep it?” I could not stop my voice quivering.

Bess
sighed her impatient sigh. “None. It may only be prolonged.”

Her
stony
certainty frightened me more than talk
of
witchcraft. “Then no man loves forever?”

Bess
flipped the man an intriguing smile. “Not a one.”

The
volta
ended
and a
basse
dance began. Mariah
turned her back when Lord John offered his arm to escort her away from the
dancing. He shrugged and found me watching him. Mary Wyatt tentatively
approached him, but he had no eyes for her. She blanched as he walked right
past her to join Bess and I.

“Sharing
secrets?” he asked us with an impish grin.

Bess
laughed. “Just one,” she said. “And you, my lord? What did you whisper in
Mariah’s ear?”

Lord
John grinned. “I told her she does not dance half so well as Mistress Shelton.
She does not believe me. I aim to prove it.” He offered his hand and I did not
hesitate as should be done when playing
Pass-the-Time
.
Bess pursed her lips, but said nothing.

John
led me to the center of the long line of dancers. Another couple gave way. I
usually hated the
basse
dance. Its
sluggish, gliding steps bored my feet. But it did provide one
compensation—the partners held hands for the entirety of the dance.

“Should
we not dance a
volta
, Lord John? To
provide Lady Mary the proper comparison?”

He
gave my fingers a quick squeeze.

“I
would like it if you used my Christian name alone, mistress,” he said.

“Th-that
would not be proper, sir,” I said as my stomach fluttered.

“Properly,
I should have gone to Oxford,” he sighed with a little glint of defiance in his
eyes. “Properly, I should not have kissed you on the green. Properly, the King
should not have married Queen Anne. Folk who bend to propriety live dull as
doornails. Do you want to be one such?”

Then
he caught my waist and threw me in the air even higher than he’d done at the
Coronation. The dancers behind us, caught off guard, stumbled to a stop. The
dancers behind them fell to disorder.

“Young
fool!” some greybeard shouted and others took it up.

I
hung an instant above the shock and outrage, weightless as a spark, and just as
incandescent in my joy. I laughed so loud I knew I turned heads.

No,
I thought, just before I fell back to earth. I will never be dull. Not with you
in the world.