Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (20 page)

This set piece was far smaller than the scenes and machines constructed for disguisings at Greenwich or Windsor or Westminster Palace, but it seemed surpassing large in the hall at Havering-atte-Bower. I studied the structure with a critical eye and was pleased with what I observed. No hint showed of what, or rather who, was concealed within.

On the outside, four veiled women clad all in white perched on little ledges around the sides of the towers. Once the pageant wagon was in position, the first woman spoke, revealing that each of them represented a virtue. She was kindness. I suppressed a smile. Kindness was portrayed by Meg Guildford, Harry’s wife, who had become almost as notorious for her sharp tongue as his mother was.

At least she was fond of him, I thought, and he of her. She still did not greatly care for me. Harry said she was jealous of my long friendship with him. I suspected she still believed we’d been lovers.

When Meg finished her speech, Patience, Temperance, and Gentleness took their turns. Then there was a stir in the crowd. Several people gasped and one woman giggled as four black-cloaked men emerged from hiding places scattered around the hall. They stormed the castle, flinging off their outer garments when they reached it to reveal apparel of crimson satin embroidered with gold and pearls. Even their caps and visors matched.

Murmurs rose from the audience as people tried to guess the identity of this veiled lady or that masked man. “That tall one on the far left does much resemble the king,” said a woman standing near me.

“The king is over there, with the queen and that French duke,” her companion replied, “so the gentleman laying siege to the castle must be Ned Neville.”

From a distance, Ned did bear a strong resemblance to King Henry, but I knew him too well ever to be deceived. When he’d been a young boy and one of the children of honor at Eltham, his likeness to his royal master had been so marked that some speculated he might be King Henry VII’s by-blow. Speculation was all it was. Unlike the eighth Henry, the seventh had been faithful to his queen.

After many calls for the ladies to surrender, each of the four lords made an impassioned speech in which he revealed his identity. One was Nobility, another Loyalty, one Honor, and the last, predictably, Pleasure.

They were rewarded with a rain of dates and oranges thrown down from the towers. When the ladies had done pelting their besiegers with fruit, they sent a shower of rose water over their heads. A hail of comfits came next. I joined in the laughter and applause echoing through the hall.

The show of resistance by the castle’s defenders over, the lords scaled the pageant wagon. Each lifted a lady down from her perch. Some lords were welcomed more exuberantly than others. Meg Guildford tumbled happily into Harry’s embrace, greeting him with kisses.

To exclamations of surprise and delight, the front of the castle now began to open. When it stood wide, yet another lady in white was revealed. Unlike the others, Bessie Blount’s features were not hidden by either visor or veil. Her golden curls tumbled free, long enough to reach her waist, and her own sweet innocence shone so bright that she was instantly recognizable as Purity.

I smiled wryly to myself. Bessie and I might have been able to fit
into the same costume, but I would never have been able to appear so innocent.

I held my breath as she began to speak. Her part in the disguising, which I had written for myself, was short but crucial. Sweet, loud, and clear, the words rang out. Her flawless delivery commanded everyone’s attention as she explained that virtues united were stronger than those kept apart.

The masque ended with a ceremony that joined the participants together in the service of His Most Gracious Majesty, King Henry of England. The lords and ladies, now allegorically wed, assisted Bessie from her castle. As the wall closed behind her, she called for music. Everyone who had participated in the disguising went forth to select partners from among the spectators. Meg Guildford approached the duc de Longueville, while her younger sister Elizabeth boldly asked the king to partner her.

I saw Harry Guildford look around for me just as the pageant wagon passed by on its way out of the room. Its bulk obscured me from his view, but only for a moment. In Harry’s second sweep of the chamber, his lynx-eyed gaze picked me out against the background of the tapestry.

“Hiding, Jane?” he asked as he made a leg. “By the saints, that will not do.”

He was right. I would only make myself more conspicuous if I tried to avoid being seen. We danced.

“Another success, Harry. You are a superb master of revels.”

“Wait until you see what I have planned for Christmas at Pleasure Palace.”

We exchanged a private smile at his use of the name I had coined so long ago. Then his expression changed to one of consternation, but it was already too late to avoid the other couple bearing down on us. With as deft a maneuver as I have ever seen, Meg
executed a trade, dancing off partnered by her husband and leaving me to finish the pavane with the duc de Longueville.

“Sweeting, I have missed you,” he murmured close to my ear.

We stepped apart, but that low, sensual tone had already had an effect. In spite of everything I had heard at the bower, in spite of the hurt and anger that had simmered inside me in all the hours since, I still felt a flutter of desire deep within.

I forced myself to smile when the dance brought us face-to-face once more. Even if I dared reveal that I had been listening when he offered me to the king, I could scarce berate him for what he’d done. Even in private it would be folly for a mere gentlewoman to take a duke to task.

Each casual brush of his hand against mine weakened my resolve to avoid him. In spite of his betrayal, my traitorous body longed to lie with him.

Unpalatable as it was, I could not deny the truth: I still craved his touch.

A daring thought came to me. He had used me for his pleasure. Could I use him for mine? I needed time to think. Forcing my lips into a smile, I parted from him at the end of the dance. “There are others who would claim you as a partner, my lord,” I told him, and all but shoved him into Elizabeth Bryan’s arms.

Meg’s sister was happy to have him. He was an excellent dancer and his skill would allow her to show off her own agility. While they capered, I retreated into a window alcove, one shielded by a curtain partway drawn across to keep out drafts. There I hid, catching my breath and gathering my composure while I contemplated stealing away to my lodgings.

When a shadow fell across my skirts, I looked up, bracing myself to meet Longueville’s black-eyed gaze. Instead King Henry
stood there, so big and solid that he blocked all the light from the hall, and at the same time cut off any hope of escape.

“Your Grace!” I tried to make an obeisance, but there was no room for the maneuver.

He stayed my pitiful effort with a gesture and moved closer. The smell of musk, rose water, ambergris, and civet, the combination he preferred as a scent, was nearly overwhelming in the confined space.

“An excellent entertainment, Jane. Harry tells me you wrote some of the speeches.”

“I am glad my poor attempts pleased you, Your Grace.”

“You always please me, Jane.”

My heart stuttered in my chest. For one terrible moment I was afraid the king’s talk with Longueville had piqued his interest in me. He had said he’d “take another look” after the duke had been ransomed and returned to France. What if he had decided not to wait?

“Do you fancy yourself in love with the duc de Longueville?” The king posed his question casually, but I was certain it was not prompted by idle curiosity. King Henry did nothing without purpose.

It came to me in that moment that what I’d felt for Longueville all along had been exactly what I’d thought it was when I’d first seen him—lust. If I’d been a man, I would not have hesitated to say that to His Grace. How unfortunate that the king held those of my sex to a different standard. By royal decree, “lewd women” were not permitted in the royal household.

“I was intrigued by him, Your Grace,” I said carefully, “and interested to hear his stories about life in France.”

The king’s round, almost cherubic face knit into a frown, but it vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. “You are Velville’s niece. I had forgot.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“He’s sworn allegiance to England. Can you say the same?”

“I have always been loyal to the Crown, Your Grace, from the moment your father first took me in.” I did not remind him that I had been his father’s ward and now was his. As my guardian, he might decide to exercise even more control over my actions.

He pondered my statement, his blue-gray eyes as serious as I’d ever seen them.

Although the king’s big body obscured most of my view, I caught a glimpse of the queen when he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. She did not look pleased to see her husband conversing with me. If we remained in the alcove much longer, she would think the worst.

“I cannot say I was pleased to learn you had become Longueville’s mistress,” King Henry mused aloud. “When I sent orders to make him welcome in England, I did not intend to go so far.”

At his comment, my stomach tied itself into knots, but I forced myself to offer an excuse. “I was swept away by passions I did not understand.”

The king nodded, as though I had said something profound. “Would you end it with him if I asked you to?”

“Your wish is my command, Sire.”

“I said ask, Jane, not order.”

“My loyalty is to you and the queen and the Lady Mary. No other will ever come before you in my heart or in my mind.”

“A pretty speech, but I believe you are sincere. I am pleased, Jane, and will be even more so if you will allow me to take advantage of the situation.”

“In what way, Your Grace?” Grateful as I was to have been spared either anger or censure, something about the purpose of this conversation eluded me.

“I want you to continue to bed the duke for the duration of his stay in England. During that time, as my loyal subject, you will report to me anything Longueville confides in you, no matter how trivial it seems.”

“You…you want me to
spy
on him?”

“I do. You are a clever creature, Jane. Persuade him to talk to you of French troops, French politics, even old King Louis himself. We are still at war with France. If Longueville plots against me, I must know his plans.” He put one heavy hand on my shoulder. “I am generous with my rewards for loyal service, Jane.”

“It is enough reward just to serve you, Your Grace.” And it would scarcely be a hardship to do as he asked.

A
FTER THE MASQUE
at Havering there could be no more such entertainments until Christmas Eve. Advent, encompassing the four Sundays before Christmas, was a time for fasting and prayer, and for forsaking all frivolity.

That did not include entertainments of a private nature. With the duke and his entourage now living at court, I came into daily contact with both Longueville and his half brother, Guy. It was difficult at first to make myself smile and laugh, flirt and entice, to pretend I did not know how little my lover thought of me. But I was so often in his company and he was so constant in his attentions to me, that it was not long before I was on the verge of forgetting everything I had overheard him say to the king.

“I have missed you, Jane.” He whispered the words in my ear as we strolled together toward a table set up for card play. His warm breath sent a rush of heat straight through me. “Will you not visit me later tonight?”

“I must remain with the Lady Mary, my lord.”

His chuckle was low and sensual. “It is not your turn to be on
duty, my sweet. Others are assigned to see her off to bed and guard her through the night.”

I did not ask how he knew what schedule the princess’s attendants followed. Such information was not difficult to come by in a place where everyone accepted bribes. Instead I sent what I hoped was an enigmatic smile his way and busied myself arranging my skirts as I sat down.

The game was honors, which I had played since childhood. With pleasure, I saw that Longueville and I were matched against Harry Guildford and his wife. My smile faded at the hostile look in Meg’s dark brown eyes.

“You shall teach me this game, yes?” The duke’s tone made it obvious to all three of us that this was a command, not a request. As usual, he spoke in French, and Harry and I replied in that language. Meg Guildford, having only English, had to rely on her husband for translation. The necessity did not make her look any more kindly upon my presence.

“In honors, forty-eight cards are dealt,” I explained, trying hard to ignore the glares from the other side of the gaming table. “All the twos are discarded.”

When Harry had dealt twelve cards to each of us, he turned over the last one he’d given himself, revealing the five of spades. “That is trump,” I told Longueville and gave a little cry of delight when I saw that I had the ace. “I have the honor,” I said, producing it. “Have ye?”

He blinked at me in confusion. I switched to French. “You are my partner. I am asking if you have any of the other honor cards in spades. If we have three of the four—ace, king, queen, or jack—we score one point. If we have all four, we score two points.”

“Ah,” he said, sending me a smile so intimate it turned my insides liquid. “Alas, I have none.”

“Then play commences with you, since you sit to the dealer’s left. You must lead a card and the rest of us will follow suit, if we are able. A player who cannot may play any card. We win the trick by playing the highest card, either the highest in the suit that is led or the highest trump. The winner of each trick leads the next. One point is awarded for every trick taken over six tricks. The first team to score nine points wins the game.”

He frowned at me over his cards. “But if I understand you correctly, it is only possible to score eight points in a single hand.”

I beamed back at him, pleased that he’d caught on so quickly. “And so we must play at least two hands. Lead a card, if you please, Your Grace.”