When I faced the full-length mirror that Nick had installed for the occasion, I appreciated why Bridget and Lucinda were blushing at me like I was some sort of magical creature. I was the living image of a glorious Tudor queen, missing only my crown and scepter. You go, girl.
The intense day that ensued was mostly a blur to me. Six of Nick’s most loyal courtiers, including Francis Beaumont, led me on foot to Westminster Abbey beneath a mobile canopy of purple velvet fringed with gold. We kept to the broader streets, but the surrounding alleyways with their narrow timber-framed buildings and overhanging balconies were jammed with chanting spectators. When we reached the gothic arches of Westminster Abbey, I could barely feel my face, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of the sharp wind off the river or the nerves attacking my gut. The constant clanging of bells from the city parishes amid the grimy city smells were overwhelming my senses, and I began to feel suffocated and weak at the knees. By the time I stood inside the abbey before the Archbishop of Canterbury, I was ready to puke all over his fancy robes. But one look at Nick when he strode into my view in full Tudor regalia, a proud smile echoing the glimmer in his eyes, and I stabilized.
You can do this, Emmie Tudor.
The ceremony unfolded precisely as we’d practiced, except a thousand times faster. Before the High Altar, the Archbishop of Canterbury bestowed on me a ceremonial crown, an ornamental mace, and a scepter. Hymns were sung, and then it was over in the blink of an eye. I was officially the Queen of England and would go down in history as a member of the Tudor dynasty. Take that, Henry Howard, and your backstabbing gang of conspirators. You can all bite me.
The king took my hand, and we emerged from the abbey into blinding light and a full-fledged street party. My protective husband sat beside me in a golden chariot, and the commoners cheered—some even wept—at the sight of him. The coronation parade was to lead us down to Westminster Pier, where a feast would be held aboard the royal barges because there hadn’t been enough time to spruce up Westminster Hall.
Our glimmering, sunlit chariot moved slowly to the harmonies of a walking choir, its gentle volume swallowed by the rising chants of the crowds. A gigantic sculpture of a rising phoenix loomed over a moving constellation of fire-breathing dragon puppets, acrobats, and dancers with scarves and bells tied to their limbs. I’d never seen anything more spectacular or more expensive, and I tried to put the impoverished peasants we’d seen on progress out of my mind.
Nick snapped at a string of grimy-faced men standing without caps on their heads—a sign of disrespect to the new queen. As we continued past a classical fountain that poured wine, a tall man with an ostrich feather in his hat appeared in the swarm of spectators, and I stretched my neck to make him out. I could’ve sworn it was Henry Howard glaring right at me. Another guy with a face like thunder looked just like Viscount Hereford, the stuck-up nobleman who Nick had once expelled from his court. As we passed the men, however, I realized my eyes were playing tricks on me—seeing monsters that weren’t there. As our chariot tilted toward the pier, a rush of bodies chased us down the hill. By the time we’d reached a standstill beside the stone water gate, I was clambering to get out of the chariot and away from the stifling crowds. There were too many of them.
Guards jostled with forceful revelers as I stumbled down the carriage steps in my ridiculously oversized farthingale. I stepped forward and jerked to a violent halt. My dress was caught on something. I spun to face a mob of wild-faced spectators, their grubby hands clinging to my skirt folds, preventing me from moving.
“What are you doing? Let go!” I cried in shock, but there was too much noise, too many fingers clawing at me. I couldn’t see Nick, but I heard him shouting my name. The more the guards pushed to get through to me, the more the wall of strangers pulled at my skirts until I was crushed into a pit of deafening blackness.
My heart was beating a hole through my chest, and I couldn’t breathe through the web of bodies closing in on me. My arms, flailing in panic, were seized and ripped upward, nearly popping from their sockets. My legs and shoulders were being violently tugged in all directions, and I screamed in pain until my throat was raw. I was about to be dragged through the streets of London and torn apart, limb-by-limb! I had to fight, but there were too many grabbing hands, before incredible power gripped me and hoisted me toward the sky. Two beefy guards had got hold of me and were carrying me out of the swarm like a crowd-surfer, a dense blanket of clouds swinging over my head. Nick was still yelling behind me—at whom, I couldn’t tell—before I was dropped onto a bundle of plush cushions. In seconds, the clawing fingers had vanished.
“Make haste!” roared the irate voice of Francis Beaumont, and the ground beneath us glided forward with two sturdy arms holding me steady.
“Shush,” Nick whispered soothingly into my ear. I clutched him tightly like a terrified cat, whimpering.
“What happened?” I said, orienting myself so I could sit upright. Nick and I were inside the cabin on the king’s royal barge.
“The people set upon you,” he said grimly. “This is why I shun the city as I would the plague. The people love you so greatly that they could have suffocated you for it.” He nuzzled his cheek into mine. “Dear God, if something had happened to you.”
Nicholas the Ironheart would split this country apart. That’s what would happen.
I gripped my quivering knees, finding a tear in the delicate fabric of my gown. The men and women who’d mobbed me hadn’t looked in love with me. I didn’t want to break it to Nick that their expressions had held nothing but hatred. Just because I’d come around on the concept of Emmie Grace, Tudor Queen, didn’t mean the rest of the country had.
Through the curtains, Francis Beaumont was speaking gravely with the king’s security team. I shut my eyes and curled into my new husband, fighting to forget the feeling of a thousand enraged fingers on my skin. We were supposed to enjoy the coronation feast on the river outside Westminster, but our barge continued gliding farther from London. Cannons blasted salutes as we passed with our procession of boats drifting close behind. Nick announced that the coronation feast was to move closer to Hampton Court Palace, which subdued my thumping heart. It’d be safer and quieter there.
The wharves of greater London were soon replaced with fishing villages and lush parklands. The oarsmen swept the murky water as we coasted along the river’s edge to the cries of swooping birds finding a home for the night. Trying to forget the nightmare at the water gate, I watched a heron land on a grassy river island, its beak digging into its wing. By the time we made our way around the windy bend to Hampton Court Palace, the sky had blackened.
“We shall feast here,” Nick commanded, and our fleet of barges formed a line outside the palace. A crewmember dropped anchor, and a slow barge three times the size of ours drew up beside us, holding feasting tables that were hurriedly being checked and redressed. Sweet herbs were lit to mask the river smells as we climbed on board.
A second boat delivered the senior nobles to the feasting barge, as well as Bridget and Lucinda, who were freaking out about the pandemonium at the pier. Nick left us alone so they could cheer me up, and we sipped wine inside the barge’s cabin while a musician gently strummed his lute. Already, I felt the terror of the mob at Westminster withdrawing from my bones.
Through the cabin window, I spotted a girl in a grape-colored gown standing at the Hampton Court Palace water gate, her waist-length, wavy hair making me sit higher on the cushion. She said something to a guard and pointed at our barge.
“That’s Alice; she’s here!” I cried, jumping to my feet. I leaned out of the open window, waving, but Alice didn’t see. When she climbed into a small boat that began rowing to the furthest barge containing the dullest nobles, I cupped my hands around my lips and called out to her.
“What in the devil?” Nick said, pushing through the curtain. When I explained, he ordered his attendants to retrieve Mistress Grey and make her a place setting on the king’s feasting barg
e.
“She’ll sit beside me,” I instructed, trying out my new authority. Nobody dared argue with me.
Minutes later, Alice climbed aboard, grinning with a healthy glow. She flew toward me but then remembered herself and bowed, praising me as her new queen. Francis Beaumont tipped his tousled curls to her in greeting, and a deep blush coated her cheeks.
“Can you believe it: I left Northamptonshire a week past, but we were stranded in Aylesbury,” Alice moaned. “We rode so hard that one of the horses came up lame, and we had to acquire a new one.” She gave both Bridget and Lucinda an energetic hug.
Grateful for the heat of the torches in the chilly night air, I caught up with Alice over a sprawling supper of roasted lamb, pheasant, venison, peacock, swan, dolphin, and seal.
As we nibbled on edible marzipan phoenixes with gold wings dressed in rose petals, Alice updated me on her mom. She said that Susanna Grey recognized her former home and appeared happy to be reunited with Sir Thomas, but there was a change in her. Susanna had become frail and unable to look after herself properly. My mind tore back to Massachusetts, where Susanna—as Jane Stuart—had lived in a state of helpless confusion. Alice trembled a little as she asked if her sister Violet could stay in Northamptonshire and care for her mother. Her smile returned when she said there was also a man of three-and-forty years, a Mister William Cornwallis, who had proposed to marry Violet.
“Of course—if Lottie is happy with that, then so am I,” I said, licking cream off my spoon. “I’ll miss having her around, though. She’s a sweetheart.”
Alice’s knee bounced nervously. “I may also wish to return to Northamptonshire to find a husband so I may be of more help to my household.”
I nearly coughed up a coral-colored rose petal. The Alice I knew had mostly shunned the idea of her own marriage. Plus, how would I pull off my new job of Queen of England without her?
She couldn’t look at me. “I wish not to leave your household, my lady. However, I remain but a maiden, and if I find not a husband, I fear that I may end up forever dependent on my sister. If any ill should befall her, I could become destitute and as frantic as my mother has become.”
“I would never let that happen,” I said, sensing the blue diamonds weighing down my earlobes that could probably buy Alice her own house and then some. She had helped me so much already; I would gladly share everything I had with her.
Francis had turned silent beside the king, and I could tell that he was listening. Now if he would just do something about it.
A glittering water pageant abruptly commenced in front of our barge, shutting down the conversation. An artificial island that was tied to the wharf erupted in a shower of fireworks, before entertainers dressed as mermaids dived off the island to perform a synchronized swimming dance with coordinated tails flapping. Before they could catch hypothermia, the swimmers returned to shore, and dancers in glittering unicorn costumes began prancing across the island. A breathtaking performance of sung verses followed, before a ‘wild man’ actor draped with moss and ivy dramatically professed his love to a nymph played by a young man, who suggestively unwrapped his greenery to reveal a suave knight. It was hard to believe that, only a few short hours earlier, a hysterical mob had nearly ripped me to pieces. Now, beneath a blanket of stars and surrounded by people I loved, I was having the best night of my life.
When the pageant ended in a second spray of fireworks, Nick rose to his feet, cueing the courtiers to follow. “Let us dance!” he said. “May I present your queen, Emmeline of England!”
Cheers resounded as Nick took my hand, leading me to a small space in the heart of the barge. Thank goodness for the bit of wine I’d had because he launched me into the volta without a heads-up, stepping and hopping to the lively music. He gripped my waist and lifted me over his hip, and a thrill shook through me that rippled through the audience.
When the song ended, Lord and Lady Ascot were the next couple to dance, followed by Lord and Lady Snell, who were clearly keen to upstage them before the king. Nick and I stood aside with his arm curled around me, politely watching the dances unfold. I glanced over at Alice and Francis. They both sat at the head table like statues, neither looking at the other.
Oh, FFS.
“The Earl of Warwick and Mistress Alice Grey!” I cried out, enlivened by the wine I’d had. Alice’s mouth dropped open, and Francis shot to his feet, his olive skin turning pink.
“Naughty girl,” Nick chuckled in my ear as Francis led Alice off the dais and into the dance zone. She shot me a ‘you’re in trouble’ look as they passed by, but she couldn’t hide her smile. Francis and Alice laced their fingers and hopped together before he grasped her waist and spun her high in the air. Each time they repeated the move, their bodies pressed closer together, their dark eyes fusing. I leaned closer into Nick, and he rubbed his jaw against my hair. Love was blooming, and it wasn’t just ours.
The song ended too soon, and Francis folded into an elegant bow like Alice was the new queen. I adored every second of it. Nick announced a change to a more subdued tune, and the harpist took over. The metallic glitter was the perfect backdrop to gentle chatter as Nick pulled out his pocket watch. I could tell he was getting tired.
When we all returned to our seats to formally conclude the night, Francis leaned close to Nick. “Majesty, may I share a short speech?” he said softly. Nick frowned, and Francis dropped his voice to a level I couldn’t hear.
When Nick whispered his response, the earl rose and stood before Alice, speaking quietly. “Mistress Grey, may I inquire whether you are in need of the privy at present?”
Privy was the Tudor word for bathroom, and the question was weird. Why would he ask her that in public?
“I beg your pardon?” she said, her voice taking on an edge.
“The privy…a lesson on how to hunt without every error under the sun…another sudden departure to God-knows-where…I mean to know if I may have your full attention for a moment?”
Alice glanced at me, jaw open. “Lord Warwick, does taking no heed of your tedious questions pass as an activity?”
Francis just laughed, looking more than handsome as he strutted to the center of the barge, rubbing the heels of his palms together.
“Gentlemen and ladies of the court, the King’s Majesty has agreed that I may have your attention on a matter of great importance!”
Nick snorted lightly beside me.
“Good God, what is he doing?” said Alice.
Francis wavered on his feet, tipsy but coherent. “This night, I wish to honor a lady of true eminence.” Every guest on the barge glanced over at me. “I believe it makes me more of a man, and not less, to say that there are certain ladies I cannot bear to live without. This day, we celebrate the Queens of England!” The guests cheered and raised their glasses. I could feel Alice beaming at me. Nick placed a hand over mine and squeezed my fingers.
Francis kept going, his natural charisma holding the barge’s attention. “For me, the queen of my person—and my heart—may be slow to believe, but I beseech her to understand why my mouth can be so shy to speak when my heart is in such a roar. Our gracious Majesty has awarded me his blessing to speak it now, so I may show mercy on my soul and share what I can no longer burden with the weight of silence.”
When Francis approached Alice and dropped to one knee, we all gasped, Alice loudest of all.
He gazed up at her, his pitch-black eyes soft at the edges. “Mistress Alice Grey, I cannot pleasure in anything anymore without the hope of your love. For you have mine—above all things—you have my love. Dearest lady, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? I beseech you, for my heart can hide no longer from what is plainly true.”
A rush of whispers broke out; it was unthinkable to steal the king’s glory at such an event. But Nick looked anything but bent out of shape and threw his best mate a supportive smirk. I wasn’t sure I was breathing.
Time slowed as Alice Grey stared down at Francis Beaumont, his eye
s blinking up into hers. The electricity between them could’ve powered a kingdom.
In one swift step she stood up and came to my side, crouching to whisper in my ear. “Emmie, may I have your permission to accept? It would mean I could remain in your service, which would greatly please me.”
I wanted to shake her but in a good way. Silence swept the barge as I replied under my breath. “First of all—hell yes! Secondly, you’ll never have to ask my permission for anything that makes you happy…ever. Got it?”
Her moist eyes gleamed at mine before she hitched her skirts so she could descend the dais to the trembling Francis. Alice pressed a petite hand to the cherry-colored lining of his gray coat—a scandalous but exhilarating move in Tudor England—and slid her palm up to his ruffled collar, sinking her fingers into the black curls of his hair to cup the back of his neck. Francis sighed as Alice pulled him close and kissed him with a conservative sweetness before the king, but one fueled by visible longing.
When their lips separated, Alice whispered in Francis’s ear. His smile was teary.
“The lady agrees!” he cried, and the barge roared with cheers. The love scene before me blurred through the tears that skimmed my cheeks. Nick flicked a hand to cue the harpist again, and a hum of contented chatter fell over the barge. The boats behind us glittered with lit candles, none of them able to return to shore before the king.
Nick let Francis and Alice share some time alone in the secluded cabin before he commanded to have us returned to the palace. We climbed aboard the royal barge, which made a sluggish turn toward shore, commencing its glide. I hugged Alice with a squeal. Francis stood back with the Lord Chancellor, still on duty as the king’s right hand, but he couldn’t stop smiling despite the chancellor’s dull tone. I hoped that maybe the genuine love between Nick and I had inspired Francis in some way, despite his early reservations about us.
Emmie and the Tudor Queen Page 20