The Queen's Mistake (30 page)

She sat idly now while the king joked with Wil Somers about something she did not hear—or care to hear, for that matter. Instead, Catherine silently scanned the room for Thomas, knowing he must be present if he hoped to remain within the king’s good graces. Wil Somers said something else, and Henry laughed so hard that he began to cough uncontrollably into a cloth held to his mouth, causing two groomsmen to come to his aid. When he had recovered, she felt his hand slip onto her knee beneath the table cover. She was repulsed, fully aware of what a sick old man he really was beneath the glittering trappings of royalty. At that moment, Jane slipped into the room, sat down on Catherine’s other side, and lifted a goblet of wine. She leaned very casually toward Catherine, as if she were about to ask her to pass the saltcellar spoon.

“Master Culpeper desires a secret meeting. He bade me tell you that his heart depends upon it,” Jane whispered.

She took a swallow of wine, then glanced around, smiling and nodding. Catherine sank back against her chair, her own gaze sliding to the king. He was still conversing with Wil Somers, and his soft, fat fingers were casually resting on her knee. Catherine was angry with Thomas. The implication of what he had done last night was clear. Yet both of them were victims of their circumstances, and
she knew in her mind that she could not be too angry with him for that. Her heart was another matter.

“When does he wish it?” Catherine asked.

“Now. He has pleaded with me to converse with the king while you retire with a headache. He is waiting for you in his chamber.”

Suddenly, Henry leaned toward her from the other side. “Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?” he asked, smiling. His fat face was glistening with perspiration, and there was a drop of spittle on his lower lip, hanging above his beard. “You look so serious. You should let good Wil here put a smile back on that pretty little face of yours. Wil, do tell her something amusing!”

Catherine pushed her chair back slightly, preparing to stand as she looked into the king’s blue eyes. “I’m afraid, sire, that I have a rather dreadful headache, and I fear I shall need to lie down until it passes.”

His hand slid away from her thigh and she could see him stiffen with concern. “I shall call my physician at once. You should be seen in case it is something serious. I could not bear it if you were ill.”

Catherine smiled sweetly but wanly, calling up all of her old skills. “It is nothing, really, sire. I get them from time to time after a long day in the fresh air. It is a nuisance, I know, but I always need to lie down to let it pass. I shall be fine in the morning.”

Henry’s worried gaze hardened as he looked from Catherine to Jane, then back again. “Very well, but I shall expect to see you bright and early at matins, and then we shall have a good game of shuttlecock.”

“It will be my honor, Your Majesty.” She nodded and stood.

“Will you take Lady Rochford with you?”

“That is not necessary. She can remain here and catch up with you. I know my way,” Catherine said sweetly.

“I shall not hear of it. A beautiful young girl like you should not go unescorted in my court. There is no telling what trouble might
find you. Guard, see Mistress Howard to her chamber.” Henry motioned to an attendant nearby.

Even as Henry spoke the command, Catherine was considering what route to take so that she might pass unseen to Thomas’s chamber from her own.

Across the vast table, Norfolk had watched the scene with great intensity. So then, Lady Rochford had fit herself seamlessly back into things here at court—powerful confidante, friend to a prospective queen, and likely go-between for her and her lover. If he could persuade Jane to report everything to him, she would be useful, and he would not object to her growing connection with his niece. This dalliance with the Culpeper lad had been one thing when Catherine first arrived—a way of preoccupying her free spirit until she was called to duty. But now that the divorce from Anne of Cleves was nearly complete, and the king seemed intent on making Catherine queen, she must forget the boy and focus on the final steps of the plan. Nothing and no one must threaten that.

Especially not a handsome, romantic sort like Thomas Culpeper.

Norfolk snapped his fingers over his shoulder in a commanding gesture without turning around, and was immediately answered by a young, freckle-faced page.

“Your Grace?” The page bent down to the duke.

“Take a message to Lady Rochford. Tell her we must speak privately. She is to come to my chamber alone the moment the banquet is over,” the duke said.

Thomas kissed Catherine desperately and pulled her against the broad expanse of his youthful chest. They stood alone in the shadows
and swiftly descending darkness of the private quarters above the rest of the court.

“I know I should have told you before, but I was willful and stubborn, and for that I beg you to forgive me. I am in love with you, Catherine—hopelessly, eternally. My life begins now and ends only with you.”

His declaration was a balm for her aching heart. Hope. Passion. She knew these things would be included in a future with Thomas. Yet it was too late. The king’s whims and desires had set her destiny in motion, and Catherine knew enough from her grandmother’s tales that once Henry desired something he could not be stopped. Still, when she and Thomas were alone like this, she could forget the obese, foul-smelling sovereign.

Trying to escape the inevitable, Catherine sank into the protection of Thomas’s safe, warm chest as he kissed her. And she wanted nothing so much as to escape, as if she could, by coupling with his powerful body and melting into his very soul.

As always, the passion came first, followed by exquisite tenderness as they lay entwined in the bedding, their damp bodies still joined.

“I’ll not let him have you,” Thomas murmured defiantly into her unbound hair, which lay like a thick amber wave across his bare chest.

“I believe it is already too late for that,” Catherine replied sadly.

“It will not be too late until the day he marries you, which we can prevent if I claim you first,” Thomas said with determination.

Catherine rolled onto her side, propped herself on her elbow, and gazed down at him. “You would take your life in your hands, and mine as well, if you defied a king like Henry.”

“I am not so certain. He likes me. He thinks I understand him,
and he me. Perhaps if he were made to see that we are in love . . .” Thomas trailed off.

“You do not know my uncle very well. He would have us both killed before the king could send us to the Tower.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “This is serious business, my love. Thomas Howard has spent his entire life becoming one of the most powerful men in England, second only to Cromwell and Henry himself, and he has done so by using the women in his family. I am the next rung in his ladder to ultimate power.”

Thomas arched a brow, seizing on Catherine’s use of the king’s name. “Henry, is it now?”

Catherine smiled sheepishly, embarrassed that she had allowed that to slip. She knew he would not understand the enormous pressure being brought to bear upon her in this. “We both must do as our king bids. What other choice do we have? It makes no difference what we say or do, really. He is King of England, and we are all here for his pleasure.”

“Well, you are mine, Catherine Howard. And I am yours. That is eternal.”

“If only you had declared yourself a few days sooner. I would not have felt so free to accept his favor.” She sighed.

“Well, what do you expect me to do, just give up without a fight? That, I’ll not do.” Thomas climbed out of bed and walked naked, with his elegant stride, to the window. Leaning on the wide wooden window frame, he gazed out into the vast darkness. Catherine could see the wheels of his mind turning, thinking of what to do next.

“I can reason with him. I know I can. He may be king, but he is a man first, and he respects the connection between us. I have seen it myself a dozen times when he asked my opinion or told me tales from his heart. I knew all about his feelings for Jane Seymour before
Anne Boleyn was even sent to the Tower. And later, after Jane had passed, I believe I was the only one to whom he admitted that he married Queen Jane too quickly after Anne’s death.”

She went to him and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pulling his back tightly against her chest. She laid her head on his broad, bare back and closed her eyes. “He may have confided in you, my love, but think of it. It was always selfishly. The topic, the focus, was always him. You were only telling him what he wished to hear, as everyone else at court does.”

He turned to her and took her into his arms again, and there was a sense of desperation between them. Outrunning fate was something neither of them could do, and despite their brave faces, they both knew it.

“I have never been in love before, not truly,” Thomas whispered into her hair.

“What about Arabella?”

“I was infatuated, yes. I’ll not lie to you. But did you not ever play at love in your youth, only to realize, later, how it did not measure up to the real thing?”

An image of Francis Dereham came to mind. Though she had once promised him her love, she knew now that her feelings had been naive and childish. She was relieved that he had gone to Ireland to seek his fortune, and that he was not even in England anymore, much less a part of her life.

“I realize that now,” Catherine said softly.

He looked down at her seriously. “He’s just a man, Catherine. He might want you now, but he shall not want someone whose heart already belongs to another after all he has endured in love.”

“That is a huge gamble, and we have no guarantees that he will not punish us.” Catherine sighed. “Because he is not a man first, as you say. He was a prince all of his life, and then a powerful king accustomed
to getting his way. My uncle says if Henry wants it, then it is his. After that, there is nothing.”

Near dawn, Catherine slipped unseen and weary back into her own little room. She had taken her life in her hands with this dangerous game, and she knew it. But there was no choice. She was doing it for Thomas, because she loved him. If there was even a chance that he was right, if he could make the king see that this was a true love match, if he could appeal to Henry’s romantic heart and save her from a lifetime with a decaying old man, then she must let him try.

She sank onto the edge of her bed, crumpling like a rag doll. She was exhausted and confused by her choices. It was too much for a girl who had never had to make a single serious decision in her life before she came to court.

Suddenly Jane appeared in the doorway, with Mary Lassells standing behind her like a shadow. They had risen early to wait for her. “Where the devil have you been? The poor thing has been crying like a baby all night.” Jane gestured toward the foot of Catherine’s bed.

Catherine glanced down to find a box decorated in crimson velvet sitting on the floor. Inside was a white, mewling kitten with a sparkling collar of bright green emeralds around its neck. The poor little thing was terrified and lonely, its wide eyes dark as opals.