Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set (66 page)

“He does not like his men to speak of his business, mistress.” Color crept up the boy’s neck and into his face. A lock of dark, curly hair slipped out from under his bonnet to hang over his forehead. She had to fight the urge to tuck it back into place. She might not be interested in being his wife, but she certainly was not desirous of acting like his mother!

“Have you heard him speak of my stepfather, Lord Lisle?” They moved apart with the steps of the dance and came together again a moment later.

“He is no friend to Lord Lisle,” Hungerford admitted.

“I know that much.” Impatient, Nan threw more questions at him, trying to persuade him to say more. She only succeeded in making him more nervous. She read growing panic in his eyes as the dance progressed, and something else that she could not identify.

When the music stopped, he bowed, then stood gaping at her, mouth moving but no words coming out.

“Well? Speak your mind, sir, or begone.”

“Keep your opinions close, mistress. That is all I can say. Remember that it was Lord Cromwell who convinced the king to burn heretics—those who do not agree with His Grace on matters of religion. Anyone
can be accused of holding the wrong view, especially when the right one keeps changing.”

Nan shivered even though the room was well warmed by a fire in the hearth. Young Hungerford, as if regretting he’d said even that much, rushed away. Nan stared after him. His words of warning suggested a mature understanding of the dangers of life at court. There was more to the youth than she’d suspected. Intrigued, she was about to go after him when Anthony Denny appeared at her elbow.

“I have been sent to fetch you to the king,” Denny said.

Nan’s breath caught in her throat. At last!

As she followed Denny from the hall, they passed Sir Edmund Knyvett. He winked at her in a manner that was frankly salacious. Truly, there were no secrets at court!

Denny led her through a series of small rooms into what were known as the king’s secret lodgings, tucked away behind his privy chamber. Nan’s heart pounded harder when he opened a door and stepped back to let her pass through, but she found herself in a library, not a bedchamber. The king, fully dressed, awaited her with a book in his hands.

Nan hastily dropped into a curtsy, as much to hide her reaction as because protocol demanded it. Her first good look at King Henry in many months shocked her. His appearance was greatly altered, and none of the changes could be attributed to his recent illness. He had gained a great deal of weight since Queen Jane’s death, but that was not the worst of it. His hair was now liberally streaked with gray and was thinning in several places. He looked
old
.

“Your Grace,” Nan murmured, hoping none of her dismay leaked into her voice.

“Rise, Nan, and give me your opinion of this.” He thrust a book of hours into her hands.

Nan caught her breath in pure pleasure as she turned the pages. It was beautifully illuminated in brilliant colors. “What a lovely thing.”

The king’s tone was repressive. “It represents all I would overturn.”

Nan felt herself blanch. Was this some sort of test of her loyalty?
The purpose of a book of hours was to provide readings for each of the canonical hours. It contained, in particular, prayers to the Virgin Mary, seeking her intercession. Was that heresy now?

In response to Nan’s stricken expression, His Grace managed a grim smile. It did nothing to reassure her. “You see my dilemma.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” She swallowed hard, remembering what Sir Gregory Botolph had said about the actions of the king’s men when they closed down a monastery or a cathedral. They removed the precious gems from chalices and reliquaries, then melted them down for the gold. Heretical books were thrown into bonfires. She did not even want to think about what might be done with saints’ bones and other relics. “Will you destroy it, Your Grace?”

“No.” He took the book back from her and closed it with an audible thump before placing it in a nearby chest. “A few such things are to be spared. Why even Lord Cromwell, who is most strict in these matters, has added a number of books from the libraries of dissolved monasteries to his own collection. With my permission,” he added, lest she think otherwise.

“That is most generous of you, Your Grace.”

He regarded her intently, then caught her hand and tugged. A moment later he was seated in a generously proportioned chair, Nan was in his lap, and the king was kissing her. His fingers found her breast and squeezed.

“Your Grace!” she gasped.

“Hush, Nan.” He kissed her into silence. She began to tremble as he fondled her, running one hand up under her skirts.

Nan moaned softly. She’d intended the sound to be encouraging, but it came out laced with pain. Instantly, he released her.

“Once upon a time, you liked my kisses.” Accusation tinged his words and temper was brewing in his stormy expression.

For a moment Nan’s wits deserted her. Tears sprang into her eyes.

“Nan?” Beneath King Henry’s irritation, there was concern.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace. It is just that … I fear … I—”
Inspiration struck. “It is the megrim, Your Majesty. I suffer terribly from such headaches and I have sensed one coming on all day.”

Instantly, he was solicitous. “My poor Nan. I, too, suffer from megrims, an affliction I have endured ever since a fall I took during a tournament three years ago.”

Nan’s mind raced. The king hated being around sick people. He was supposed to send her away, not commiserate with her. And yet, she did not want him to lose interest in her. She had not intended to plead a headache. She’d meant to give herself to him, to become his mistress. If only he were not so old and so fat!

Awkward, nerve-racking seconds passed. If the king suffered from megrims himself, would he see through her ruse? Should he realize she was only pretending to be incapacitated by a severe headache, he would be furious with her. He might even banish her from court.

At last he spoke: “You must lie abed with the hangings pulled tightly closed against the light. That will ease the pain, even if it will not vanquish it.”

Nan forced a weak smile. She began to think rationally once more. “Darkness does help, Your Grace. But I have found that once the throbbing begins to die away, a walk alone in the open air is effective to complete the cure.”

He shifted her on his lap so that her head rested on his broad shoulder. The gold braid and the gemstones studding the brocade bit into her cheek. She ignored them. His gesture was well meant. The king—the king of England!—was concerned about her health.

“I suppose that could have a positive effect,” he mused. “I would not know. I am almost never alone.”

“Mistress Mewtas has but a small garden,” Nan ventured. “As I lodge with her, I have few opportunities to walk far, or to find fresh air.”

Apparently lost in thought, King Henry said nothing. Nan shifted in his lap, trying to make herself more comfortable. Beneath her rump she felt the shape of his codpiece, and abruptly stilled. It was heavily padded and elaborately decorated, as was the fashion. The size of the bulge had
decreased once he’d stopped fondling her. The last thing she wanted was to induce it to grow larger again.

Nan frowned. She had little basis for comparison, having taken only one lover, but it seemed to her that the king was not nearly so well endowed in that area as Ned Corbett. Now that she considered the matter, she was certain her kisses should have provoked a more pronounced effect.

“I should send you to your bed,” the king murmured. “You need to rest and recover your health.”

“Your Grace is most kind and understanding.”

“I want you well.”

Reminding herself of her goal, Nan broached a possibility she had been considering of late. “My cousin Denny has a fine house in Westminster. Near at hand are open meadows that stretch clear down to the Thames. Such a place would be most healthful to live in.”

Whitehall Palace was also near at hand.

The king rose and set her on her feet without taking the hint. “There is something I would show you before you go, if you are not too ill to stay a few minutes longer.”

She assured him she could manage and he led her to an easel covered with a velvet cloth. He lifted it to reveal a portrait of a woman.

Nan gasped. “She is beautiful.”

“Anna of Cleves. Master Holbein returned with this likeness at the end of August. I have no doubt that she will be even more attractive in person.”

“The new queen.” It was not a question.

“The treaty is already drawn up.”

Staring at the portrait, Nan wondered that His Grace still had any interest in mistresses. She fled back to Lord Lisle’s lodgings convinced that her chance had passed her by. She was both disappointed and relieved.

The next day, Nan received an invitation to move into Anthony Denny’s house in Westminster. The offer confused her, but she lost no time in accepting. After that, she was often at court. She danced with the king
and flirted with him. If he had pressed her to come to his bed, she would have yielded. He did not. To her delight, Nan enjoyed all the benefits of His Grace’s favor with none of the drawbacks.

Meanwhile, plans commenced to welcome Anna of Cleves to England. The queen’s apartments were repaired and redecorated at all the royal residences. The marriage was to take place at Greenwich at the start of Yuletide, followed by twelve days of revelry before Anna made her state entry into London. Her coronation would take place on Candlemas Day, the second of February, in Westminster Abbey.

“The Earl of Rutland will be lord chamberlain of Queen Anna’s household,” the king told Nan. His leg, propped up on a stool, had been bothering him and he’d sent for Nan to distract him from the pain. “Sir Edward Baynton will be vice chamberlain. And you will be one of the maids of honor, as I promised long ago.”

“I look forward to my new duties,” Nan replied, and began to strum the lute she’d brought with her to the king’s privy chamber.

As she played, seated on a cushion at King Henry’s feet, she stole glances at the bulky wrapping of linen bandages beneath His Grace’s hose. He suffered from gout, but the padding hid an ulcer that would not heal. She tried not to wrinkle her nose in distaste when she caught a whiff of a strong, unpleasant stench.

“Have you decided who the other maids of honor will be?” Nan asked when she finished the first song. She had not forgotten that her mother expected her to find a place at court for at least one of her sisters. Cat was still with Lady Rutland. Mary and Philippa remained in Calais.

“I have received requests from many quarters,” King Henry said.

Some of those originally named to serve Queen Jane’s successor had married since her death. Others, like Jane Arundell, had decided they preferred to remain where they were.

“It is not easy to be king, Nan.” His Grace winced as he shifted in his oversize chair. “Everyone expects favors of me.”

“And yet, I suspect, Your Grace has already decided.” She smiled up at him. “Will you not tell me who my companions will be?”

“The first is Catherine Carey, Lady Stafford’s daughter.”

Nan hoped she hid her surprise. Lady Stafford was Mary Boleyn. Rumor had it that Catherine Carey’s father was King Henry himself. Certainly Mary Boleyn had been his mistress before His Grace fell in love with Mary’s sister, Anne.

“Then there is Lucy Somerset,” His Grace said. “She is the Earl of Worcester’s sister. And you already know Mary Norris, for she was one of Queen Jane’s maids, as you were. There is also a Howard girl, one of the Duke of Norfolk’s many nieces.”

“And the sixth name?” She’d heard several possibilities mentioned, including Lord Bray’s sister and Lord Cobham’s daughter.

“A young woman who, like yourself, is kin to the Countess of Sussex. Her name is Katherine—”

Nan felt an explosion of joy, certain he’d chosen her sister to please her. And that, in turn, would please their mother.

“—Stradling.”

Stunned, Nan stared at him. Katherine
Stradling
? Cousin
Kate
?

Nan had not given Kate Stradling a single thought since leaving Cousin Mary’s service. Kate’s selection as a maid of honor made no sense. She was not the sister or daughter or niece or stepdaughter of anyone important.

The only explanation was that the Earl and Countess of Sussex had sponsored her. What dark secret, Nan wondered, did Kate know about one of them? Aloud she said only, “How delightful,” and began to strum another tune.

Her thoughts raced in time to the music. Cousin Kate would have returned to court in any case when the new queen came, since Cousin Mary was one of the six “great ladies of the household” and Kate was one of Mary’s waiting gentlewomen. But in that post she’d have had only occasional contact with Nan.

That Kate was to be a maid of honor changed everything. Nan would see her every day. She might even have to share a bed with her again. That was far too close for comfort, but there was not a thing Nan could do about it.

She told herself she could deal with Kate. If her cousin asked for gifts to keep silent about Nan’s liaison with Ned and the resulting child, then Nan would give her whatever she asked for. She’d have no choice.

As always, the reminder that she had a son made Nan sad. She had managed to pay a few visits to the silversmith’s shop while living in London, but none since she’d moved in with Anthony and Joan Denny in Westminster. She doubted she’d be able to see him at all when she was living at court as a maid of honor.

Nan reined in her regrets, resolving that she would not dwell on the things she could not change. She set aside her lute. She was all but alone with the king. She had his undivided attention and her playing seemed to have soothed him. She would never have a better opportunity.

“My mother writes that all is in readiness to receive Queen Anna at Calais.”

King Henry shifted in his chair. “Lady Lisle’s conserves are the best I have ever tasted. I pray you bid her send me more of the codiniac and some of the conserve of damsons, too.”