“I trust that the king knows what he’s doing,” I said, trying not to stammer. “I’m not here to cause any trouble, and I’ll do whatever I can to help keep the peace.”
“How about serving as the king’s mistress?” Norfolk offered like it was a simple solution.
My teeth gnawed my lip. It was a fair question in Tudor times, but I’d genuinely tried to be Nick’s mistress before while he had a romantic relationship with Henriette. “I wish I could do that,” I replied honestly. “But I love him too much. It would break me.”
Norfolk’s cool eyes narrowed. “Madam, what right do you have to place your needs before a king’s? What dowry do you even offer? No family, no treaty, no land. You say you love His Majesty, but you willingly demean him.”
I maintained my stare. “I don’t demean anyone,” I said through my teeth. “For your information, Nick was the one who chased me—begging me to marry him.” Norfolk scoffed at the concept. “And you have no idea what I’ve had to give up to be with him,” I added. “So unless you want me to update the king on all the unpleasant things you’ve said about us in the five minutes you’ve known me, I suggest you cool your jets and find a way to get over it.”
I was sure that would scare him off, but he squatted to meet my eye level, wine and rosemary on his breath. “You are incapable of ruining me,” he said. “I am the Duke of Norfolk; I speak my conscience. Furthermore, I have known His Majesty since he was a babe. Our dear king has a known weakness for pretty girls. You may be the only pretty girl in England with a mouth and mind dumber than a pail of rocks, but you are not the only pretty girl in England.”
His sharp stare delivered a warning before he shoved past me and continued on his way.
Tears blurred my vision as I wandered back into the western courtyard in a daze, the whir of carts and horses seeming even more foreign than before. I considered the quiet safety of my chambers, but the thought of again facing angry Alice made me want to scream.
Instead, I left the palace proper altogether, crossing the west gatehouse bridge to find a patch of wildflowers sloping its way down to the olive-colored curve of the River Thames. Slippery mud gripped the heels of my satin pumps as I hitched up my skirts and climbed down to the riverbank. White daisies peppered the grass like snowflakes, and I sat among them and hugged my knees. I was still reeling from my intense chat with Norfolk.
For a few minutes, I watched servants offloading bags of grain from barges onto a wooden landing platform. Aside from the wind delivering an occasional odor of sewage, the soothing gurgles and horn-like calls of ducks could have come from the Connecticut River. No wonder Nick liked it here at Hampton Court Palace; it was peaceful.
Thinking about him aroused a twisting heat in my stomach. When jerks like Norfolk weren’t trying to intimidate me, I loved being here with Nick. Having him feel the same way about me as I did him was a literal dream come true. But I had to find a way to be happy here when he wasn’t around. Aside from learning the customs of the court, I needed a freaking life in Tudor England.
I swatted away a bee so that I could snap off the stems of a few daisies. After slicing open their stalks with my fingernail, I wove each flower through the split ends, fastening the daisies into a garland bracelet. When Nick proposed to me, he also promised me a jewelry workshop. Once that was ready, I’d learn how to make the most striking bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and rings that Tudor England had ever seen. Emmie Grace: Tudor queen and jewelry designer. I smirked and slipped the garland over my wrist.
My chest felt lighter as I made my way back to my chambers, surprised to find them empty. After untying the ribbons of my muddy shoes, I sat on a velvet chair and curled my legs up in my silk stockings. I helped myself to a macaron from a silver bowl on the table, already conceptualizing the first showpiece I’d create in my jewelry workshop. I’d seen a noblewoman at the feast wearing a cool chain of pearls tied into knots, and it spawned an idea for a corsage-like bracelet of knotted pearls and gemstones.
While hunting for a quill to sketch the idea, I spotted the black box on my pillow. It was tied with a bow made from peony-pink ribbon—the same color of the knot ring I’d once made for Nick.
Butterflies crowded my stomach as I untied the bow and lifted the lid. On a bed of navy velvet sat the enchanted blue-diamond ring and a folded note. All the air in my lungs escaped in a rush of relief. I brought the ring to my nose as if I could smell the future through its cold surface…my mom, my friend Mia, my schnauzer Ruby…even those hideous alphabet blinds in my bedroom.
I slipped it onto my thumb and split open the king’s seal to read Nick’s note.
* * *
Dearest Emmie, my miracle girl.
My heart is so sore to take leave of you. However, it is made worse by the thought that you feel a prisoner here. You are not. You never will be. Therefore, I commit this ring to your care.
Please know that, no matter where your person shall lie, there is a king, and a man, who desires to be with you, then and now, and every day for all eternity. You have not—in any time or place—a more loving or loyal servant.
Your most true,
NR
* * *
I flopped back onto the bed, my heart a racehorse flying at top speed. My season ticket back to my homeland sat on my thumb, ready for boarding. But Nick had trusted my promise not to use the time-traveling ring without him, and I had to be worthy of that. Plus, it had taken a few goes to work correctly last time. What if I used it to pop home and then I couldn’t get back here again? It was unthinkable.
What I needed was to find out more about the enchanted ring…like why it sends people through time when they fall asleep and its reasons for acting so strangely the other night. There was so little I knew about it, apart from the fact that it had been cursed by a soothsayer hired by Mary, Queen of Scots. Bridget Nightingale had said that her cousin was a renowned soothsayer in Buckinghamshire—perhaps she could help; maybe she was even the same soothsayer! Feeling the dangers of witchy business in Tudor England creep up my spine, I turned to the map of England on the paneled wall, but I was terrible at English geography. My fingers traced the parchment, searching.
The front doors to my chambers banged shut, making me jump. I slid off the ring and locked it inside my jewelry coffer.
In the drawing-room, Alice was helping Bridget out of her cloak. Bridget fell into a curtsy. “Oh, my lady, Mistress Grey and I searched for you.”
Alice tugged off her fringed gloves with her teeth. “We found you not, but Mistress Nightingale did discover the Earl of Surrey making his way to a tennis match.”
“His silk shirt was so fine that one could see his flesh right through it,” Bridget added, her bronze eyes glinting. “Surrey must have felt the chill. It was no wonder that his handsome tennis partner closed his arm around him as if to keep him warm.”
“Never mind that,” Alice replied. “It is the king’s pleasure to begin your lessons this day, Mistress Grace. The pavan, the almain, and the volta.”
Lines of confusion touched Bridget’s brow, and I flushed hot. These were basic sixteenth-century dances, and a queen-to-be should have learned this stuff years ago, if I’d been of this time. Now, if I had a hope of convincing people like the Duke of Norfolk that I wasn’t an appalling substitute for a French princess, I needed to become a total badass at all things Tudor, starting with the weird dancing.
“I’m ready,” I said. “I’ll get up to speed with all the moves, and the three of us can put on a show that’ll bring the house down.”
Alice laughed, drawing my smile to hers. Her icy expression had thawed a little.
Bridget had to finish her embroidery, so she stayed behind while Alice led the way to the rehearsal room. I fumbled for something to say as we strolled in awkward silence, but it was Alice who spoke first, sounding surprisingly choked.
“I pray you forgive me for my earlier words about your closeness with the king,” she said. “I meant not to upset y
ou. My damn tongue.”
I nearly tripped at the apology, my pulse soaring. “It’s okay,” I said. “Your summary about us wasn’t exactly off the mark.”
As we turned into the clock courtyard, I gathered the courage to ask Alice the question that’d been on my mind since the feast. “Are you mad at me because I disappeared from Whitehall a few weeks ago without telling you?”
Her lips turned downward. “Well, it was not the first time you vanished from court, and I understand if you are unhappy here; sometimes, I miss Northamptonshire in great measure. But you did not even speak a word of farewell, yet you know what I have suffered with my mother’s passing from sight.”
“I know.” We reached the gatehouse bustling with courtiers queuing to ascend the staircase to the Great Hall. “I’m so sorry, Alice. Please believe me that I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”
She pulled me outside to a streak of graffiti chipped into the brick wall, lowering her voice. “Then why must you lie? I once asked you if you had a dalliance with the king, and you assured me that you did not. We spent every day together, yet you never mentioned your pursuit of His Majesty’s hand. Now you return from Sussex as our promised queen?” Her tanned forehead rumpled. “For how long had you been plotting this?”
I’d started to tremble. “I never wanted to keep this from you. There was no plot. I only became close with the king after I caught the one-day fever, but he was still pursuing Princess Henriette…he asked me not to tell anyone. I didn’t know what to do.”
She exhaled, shaking her head and staring at her feet. I’d never known life at Tudor court without the friendship and support of Alice Grey. I wasn’t sure I could pull it off.
“Why does it bother you so much that he and I love each other?” I said, a little exasperated at the constant disapproval.
“It bothers me not!” She spoke quietly but vehemently. “I can think of no one I desire to see His Majesty with more than you. But the last time I saw you, you told me you loved Lord Warwick. You were weeping over him. And then you left court without a word—was it not Lord Warwick who drove you away?”
Shock overcame my face. One of my countless lies to Alice Grey was that I was in love with Francis Beaumont, the Earl of Warwick. I’d forgotten all about it. No wonder she was so angry with me!
“Alice, no,” I said. “I made the Lord Warwick thing up as part of my cover for being with the king. God, I’m so sorry. I don’t love Francis; I never did. The person I’m in love with—the one I was weeping over—is Nick.”
There had been so many lies that I didn’t know how to untangle them. When tears threatened my eyes, Alice pulled me into a hug, her fern-colored gown silky beneath my fingers. “I have been furious with Francis for driving you away like he did Violet,” she said into my hair. “I have not spoken a word to him since.”
I pulled back, gutted at my role in this. “Are you serious? I already told you: I think that Francis Beaumont loves you. In fact, I know he does. Please don’t push him away because of me.”
She blanched at my endorsement of Francis as her potential boyfriend, keeping her focus on me. “Emmie, I am happy for you, truly. I am happy for King Nick…for the realm. While the advantages of marriage alliances are plain, I do feel our glorious king is deserving of a love match of the greatest measure.”
I squeezed Alice’s small hands, the return of her favor lifting a boulder off my chest.
Inside the dance chambers, a stout man with a beard clipped into a triangular point greeted us with a bow. I recognized him from Whitehall as Lord Mayberry, the Master of the Revels. He invited us to sit on the window seat while he barked in French at the quartet of musicians who were warming up their instruments.
We sat down, and I begged Alice to catch me up on any gossip. She beamed, seemingly only too happy to do so, intense relief loosening my shoulders. We fell back into our old routine as easily as slipping on a cloak. She told me that the Dowager Countess of Warwick was still under house arrest for her suspected role in her daughter Isobel Beaumont’s plot against the king, and that Robert Fox, the twin brother of the traitor Mathew Fox, had been exiled because of the disgraced family name.
“Yikes. How’s your old man, Sir Thomas?” I said. I kind of missed Alice’s cantankerous dad, even if he did once try to bribe me to break up with the king.
She smiled. “I am greatly pleased that my father has retired. His mind is calmer now. He has taken to caring for hawks and raising bloodhounds for hunting. It was not a simple decision for me to remain at court without him, but I fear that if I return to Northamptonshire, I may miss word of my vanished mother. Such news would likely reach the king first.”
I swallowed the beginnings of a lump in my throat. Alice had no idea that her mom had been a traitor conspiring with Mathew Fox and Mary, Queen of Scots to bring down King Nick. Another Titanic-sized lie between Alice and me.
She twisted toward Lord Mayberry and huffed. “Shall we begin, my lord?”
He glided across the squeaky floorboards like that was a dance move in itself, his slender fingers pressed together. “My ladies, I bid you forgive me for the delay. Mine instruction partner will surely arrive here at any moment.”
“I am to serve as an instruction partner,” Alice corrected.
“You may assist,” Mayberry replied with an anxious smile. “A lord of the Privy Council has advised that Mistress Grace’s new lady of the bedchamber has presently arrived at court and is accomplished in all the dances…one of the finest ladies in the realm.”
Alice’s brow puckered. “What does a member of the king’s council care about dancing?”
We jolted at the thump of the oak doors swinging open, a tall, feminine figure striding toward us. I thought I’d seen beautiful with Princess Henriette of France, but this was another level.
“Heavens,” whispered Alice.
The Victoria’s Secret model curtsied at me, her honey-colored skirts rippling with silk cleverly embroidered to catch the light. Her hairstyle belonged in an art museum: the wheat-colored curls styled diagonally across her scalp and topped with a stylish French hood.
“Hi, I’m Emmie Grace,” I blurted, my supremely un-elegant voice echoing off the paneled walls.
She dipped her heart-shaped face at me, the letters ‘LP’ swinging from her pearl choker. “Good morrow to you, madam. I am–”
“Mistress Lucinda Parker,” Alice finished, her voice barely above a breath.
Their eyes met in a steely stare, and my mind tore backward. I’d heard the name Lucinda Parker before. She was Nick’s former mistress before I came along…the one who’d been in his bed the way I hadn’t. Rumored to have had a child with him. Pain shot through me like a lightning bolt.
“Shall we begin with the volta?” Lucinda offered, smiling playfully at the mention of the seductive dance. “His Majesty always took such pleasure in it.”
My head swarmed like a shaken beehive. When Norfolk said I wasn’t the only pretty girl in England like it was a threat, this must have been his plan. He wanted Nick to fall back into the arms of his former girlfriend, Lucinda Parker, who was elegance on steroids.
It wasn’t just Spain that the Duke of Norfolk wanted a war with, it was also me. And he’d just fired the first shot.
5
Did Nick know that Lucinda Parker was at Hampton Court? Did he want her here? The questions pecked at me like pigeons as I watched Lucinda frolic through dances like a gazelle while I did my best to copy her with my trademark clumsiness. When the torture-fest ended, Alice suggested the three of us return to my chambers so Lucinda could become acquainted with “all manner of our promised queen’s needs and wishes.” It was a pointed remark to drum into Lucinda that I was the king’s girlfriend now.
I slipped Alice a look of appreciation as we wandered back to my chambers, but Lucinda’s statuesque shadow trailing us left me a little flat. It’d never been in my nature to be catty or to make a girl feel unwelcome. I’d been a new girl out of my d
epth enough times to know how lonely it felt. But that didn’t mean it was easy to watch Lucinda flooding my drawing-room with her perfume and intimate knowledge of Nick’s body. The thought hollowed my stomach.
We introduced Bridget to Lucinda, and the four of us chatted with tedious politeness over mini cheesecakes before Lucinda excused herself to use the privy.
“Mistress Parker is so pretty,” Bridget gushed to Alice and me like that was all that mattered. “I do wonder if she has a handsome brother. For no other man shall look twice at any other maiden as long as Mistress Parker is present.”
Alice shot Bridget a look.
Our dear king has a known weakness for pretty girls.
Norfolk’s cruel words crashed back into me. Before Lucinda returned from the washroom, I filled Alice and Bridget in on my uncomfortable conversation with him.
“Should I tell the king?” I asked them. I shuddered to think what Nick might do to him in retaliation, and I didn’t fancy antagonizing the duke any further, but Alice and Bridget were quick to school me on the power of Norfolk. Even the king had to be careful about offending the most influential duke in the land. It wasn’t exactly music to my ears.
Alice pressed a slender hand over mine. “Norfolk is a pillock and has always been. However, I caution you to trouble the king not with the matters of women. His Majesty is likely to think ill of such things, and we should handle this with discretion.”
I nodded through my disappointment, but I knew that Alice was right. Nick wasn’t the boy next door. He was a sixteenth-century King of England. He had bigger issues to deal with than any insecurity I might feel over his ex.
“I pray you are not vexed, my lady,” Bridget said to me. Her rust-colored eyes radiated awe. “For it is you His Majesty has chosen to marry, and you are quite extraordinary.” Her gaze brushed over my tweezed eyebrows, my teeth that had been straightened by metal braces, my hair recently softened by a sample from Walgreens.
Emmie and the Tudor Queen Page 5