Betrayed, Betrothed and Bedded

by Juliet Landon

  * * *

  After an overnight stay at Elvetham Hall, where Sir Edward Seymour and his lady lived, Ginny and her escorts reached home just as her father had predicted, even to the weather. His estimates were never far out, for the snow had been no more than a warning flurry that covered the rolling fields like a dusting of flour. The gardens of D’Arvall Hall looked like an embellished chessboard, and fine wreaths of smoke from the tall redbrick chimneys showed her that the servants had been up and about for half a day, and the distant clack of an axe on wood called up the image of wide stone fireplaces with blazing logs, warmed ale and her mother’s welcoming arms. Riding into the courtyard through the wide arch of the gatehouse, they were met by running grooms, shouts of surprised greeting and the sudden bustle of skirts at the porch as Lady Agnes D’Arvall and her ladies emerged with faces both happy and curious, their breath like clouds in the freezing air, puffing with laughter.

  Always content to stay at home rather than at court, Lady Agnes D’Arvall was nevertheless eager to hear from her daughter every detail of the life there, unbiased by the accounts of husband and sons. Politics, rivalries and appointments were far less interesting to her than what the ladies were wearing, doing and saying, information that Ginny was soon happy to supply across a white cloth spread with trenchers of warm bread, cheeses, roast pigeon and wild duck, apple-and-plum pie, spiced wine, nuts, and honeyed pears. Good homely fare, Ginny told her mother, that she’d missed at court.

  ‘What, with all that variety and every day different?’ said Lady Agnes. ‘I doubt your father and brothers miss it so much. I think that’s one of the things that keeps them there.’

  From what Ginny had seen and heard in her month of the queen’s service, the main attraction of the court for her older brothers had less to do with food than with women—more varied, more attractive and easily obtained. ‘You know full well what keeps them there,’ Ginny said, closing a hand over her mother’s wrist. ‘Father believes that, with enough of the D’Arvalls in the king’s service, he’ll be in line for promotion. Heaven knows, the king puts people down and sets others up so fast these days, I dare say Father could find himself Lord Steward one day.’

  Lady Agnes leaned forwards so that one of the long black-velvet lappets of her headdress flapped onto her bosom. ‘No, I really don’t see that happening. Yes, Sir Walter is ambitious, and I believe the king regards him well, but commoners don’t make leaps of that kind, my dear. Well, apart from Thomas Cromwell, of course. Tell me about the king’s new wife, Queen Anna. Does he like her any better now?’

  ‘No, Mother. I fear not. He rarely comes near her except at night.’

  ‘After only a month? Poor lady. Then what? Has he taken a mistress?’

  Delivered lightly, the question held more interest than Lady Agnes had intended and her daughter’s ears were quick to detect it. Since King Henry had first noticed Ginny during his brief stay at D’Arvall Hall late last year, Lady Agnes, as ambitious as her husband, had recognised what might result from his mild flirtation, for that was how he had wooed and won his second and third wives, Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymour. His summons to her daughter, just after the New Year wedding to the Lady Anna of Cleves, had been no great surprise to Sir Walter and Lady Agnes, or indeed their sons, even disguised as a temporary position in his bride’s new household. Now the seemingly innocent question about mistresses demanded more than a simple denial when the king’s amorous intentions were rarely simple.

  ‘Flirtations, Mother,’ Ginny said. ‘That’s all he can do, I think. Several of Queen Anna’s ladies were with Queen Jane before her death, and some go even further back than that. He flirts with most of them. It’s almost expected of him. All the men do it.’ It was a fact of court life. It meant nothing.

  But if Sir Walter was ambitious for his sons, his wife was equally ambitious for her daughters, and any suggestion of interest from Henry would raise her expectations sky-high. ‘And you?’ said Lady Agnes gently. ‘He still flirts with you, does he?’

  Ginny turned a shelled walnut over and over in her fingers, studying its contours. ‘That’s why I’m glad to get away,’ she replied, aware that her mother’s two ladies were listening to her reply. They had known her since she was a babe. They were also aware of the king’s methods in pursuing women he wanted. ‘I’ve grown to admire Queen Anna,’ said Ginny after a pause. ‘She’s a lovely lady.’

  ‘Lovely, dear?’ said Lady Agnes. ‘I thought they said she was not.’

  The elder of the two ladies interrupted. ‘Men,’ she whispered, angrily. ‘They’ll say black is white if it suits them. Our Good King Henry will do whatever he pleases to get himself out of a situation he doesn’t much like, even slandering a good woman.’

  Again, Ginny’s hand came to rest and comfort her mother, understanding that this particular reference was not to the king’s present dilemma, but to his first wife, whose life was made a misery after his affections had changed. She had been much beloved by everyone, unlike his second. Ginny continued, ‘Queen Anna’s only fault is that she didn’t fit in with Henry’s expectations. She’s taller than he thought, for one thing, and Master Holbein’s painting made her look sweet and demure, which she is. But Master Holbein and she could converse in their native German so he was able to see much more of her inner loveliness, and that was what he portrayed. And then there was that awful fiasco at Rochester when she landed and Henry rushed down to surprise her without any warning. That really was the stupidest thing to do. What woman likes to be seen when she’s not looking her best, I ask you?’

  ‘Well,’ said her mother, ‘I’m pleased to know you like her. So what does Sir Walter think about all this? Is he—?’

  ‘Oh! I almost forgot. I have a letter for you. Wait, Mother, I’ll go up and get it from my pouch. He’ll tell you what’s happening, I expect.’

  With a space cleared on the table before her, Lady Agnes smoothed the parchment out, adjusted a pair of fragile spectacles on her nose and frowned at the words underlined by her moving finger, words she had clearly not expected. In summer, perhaps, but not in February. ‘He’s bringing the king,’ she murmured. ‘Again. Oh, my lord!’

  ‘Where? Here? Why could he not have told me himself?’

  ‘For two nights, for some hawking. With a few friends, before the court moves to Whitehall.’

  ‘With the queen? Does Queen Anna come, too?’

  ‘Er...no, dear. Not the queen.’

  ‘Hah!’ said the lady who’d spoken before. ‘What’s that all about, then? Not hawking, you can be sure of that.’

  ‘Hush, Joan,’ said Lady Agnes. ‘You’ve said enough already to land you in the Tower. He’s bringing with him...a husband...for our daughter Virginia.’ Her finger moved on, then reversed its direction, Lady Agnes repeating, ‘...a husband...for...Virginia.’

  ‘I don’t want a husband, thank you, Mother,’ Ginny said firmly, ‘and I certainly don’t want one of the king’s choosing. Send a message back. Thank you, but no.’

  Lady Agnes pushed the finger farther along while her two ladies, one useful for her wisdom, the other for her energy, leaned in to read the astonishing words in silence. ‘One of his gentlemen of the bedchamber, no less. Oh, Ginny! That’s a great honour. One of his own personal friends.’

  ‘Oh, good gracious, Mother! One of that crowd. I’d rather...’ The words of denial froze on her lips as the picture formed in her mind of yesterday’s little scene in the stable yard at Hampton Court Palace when a certain gentleman of the king’s bedchamber had appeared at her father’s side for no very good reason. At least, that was how it had seemed. What had he been doing there? ‘Who, Mother? Does Father say who it is? And does he say why the king is involving himself in my future?’ Unconsciously, a hand crept up to rest over her heart, pulsing to the heavy thud beneath her stiffly boned bodice.

  ‘Yes. He says the king regards
you highly for your comeliness and charm, and for your assistance to Her Grace the queen, and...’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mean all that flummery, Mother. I’ve done no more than anyone else would have. Who does he propose as a husband and what’s the deal? I’ve learned enough in my short time at court to know he doesn’t give something for nothing and certainly not to a woman. Who is it?’

  Lady Agnes sat back, clearly taken by surprise, her pale eyes staring about her in bewilderment. ‘He’s bringing our neighbour, Sir Jon Raemon,’ she said. ‘He thinks the match would be to both your advantages and Sir Jon has already expressed a willingness for it. Well, what d’ye think of that?’

  What did she think? Disbelief. Shock. Rebellion. Elation. Numbness.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I think of that, Mother,’ Ginny said. ‘I think the king has perhaps not been made aware of Sir Jon’s rejection of the very same proposal that Father made to him only a few years ago. So to say that Sir Jon is willing must be utter nonsense when he’s barely looked my way in four weeks of living under the same roofs. And anyway, I’m not willing. Can’t stand the man.’

  ‘Because of what happened when you were still a lass?’ Lady Agnes said, placing a dish of nuts on one corner of the letter. ‘Oh, come now, Ginny. That’s all water under the bridge. It was politics. Nothing personal. Your father and he did not fall out about it, so why should you? You know how these things go. A man has to choose carefully who he marries and for what purpose, and the first Lady Raemon brought him far more wealth than you could ever have done, even though Sir Walter’s offer was very generous.’

  ‘Which suggests,’ said Mistress Joan, ‘that the king has made him an even more generous offer that he cannot refuse and that there might also be something in it for Sir Walter. Sir Jon is now a widower and he needs an heir. Sir Walter is ready for a step up in the world and Virginia deserves a reward for her duty to the queen.’

  Ginny’s tone was bitingly sarcastic. ‘Thank you for putting it so simply, Mistress Joan. That seems to be the situation in a nutshell. If ever a woman felt more like a pawn on a chessboard, then I cannot imagine her humiliation. She’s supposed to be grateful for the reward of a husband she doesn’t want, just for doing her duty. The men, however, get their rewards, whatever they are, for falling in with the king’s wishes. There must be something here I’ve missed, but for the life of me I cannot see it, Mother.’ With a scrape of her stool through the rushes, Ginny stood up to go. ‘I’ll go up and change, if you’ll excuse me.’

  ‘Ginny, dear, I wish you’d see this differently. It’s an honour we cannot afford to refuse. You must know that.’

  ‘It’s an honour I can refuse quite easily,’ Ginny said. ‘There are plenty of marriageable women swarming around the court, waiting for Sir Jon to glance their way, and I’m not one of them.’

  ‘He’s so handsome,’ said the other lady coyly, thinking it might help.

  ‘Mistress Molly,’ said Ginny, scathingly, ‘they all are. The king surrounds himself with tall, good-looking, virile bucks who dance well, joust and hunt well, gamble more than they can afford, make conversation and music to keep him entertained. That’s what he pays them for. Even the new queen thinks them foolish beyond words.’

  ‘Does she have any English words yet?’ said Mistress Joan.

  ‘Indeed she does. She learns quickly. She’s a darling.’

  Summoning the servants to clear away the dishes, Lady Agnes rose to her feet and folded the letter into her pouch. ‘Such short notice,’ she said. ‘I wish he’d have given me a week instead of two days. Joan, I want you to go and make a check on the best linen and order the fires to be lit in all the chambers. Molly, your duties will be in the stillroom today. We shall need a mountain of marchpane. Ginny, you come with me.’

  Clenching her teeth against a retort that would do nothing to soften her mother’s determination, Ginny followed her up the wide oak staircase and along a panelled passageway where carved door frames displayed the very best workmanship and, by association, the money that had been poured into this building by Sir Walter. His efforts had been well worthwhile, for now the king himself felt it was good enough for a stay of two nights, to avail himself of the excellent hawking on the estate. Lady Agnes might have been uncomfortable with the short notice, but nothing could have given her greater satisfaction than to know that King Henry was to visit them twice in the same season and to favour the family with a connection Sir Walter had always been keen on. And it had been worth those years Ginny had spent away from home, not to mention the expense, while she had absorbed the attributes needed for a nobleman’s wife and the company of young aristocrats. Things were certainly looking up.

  Ginny knew her own feelings on the matter to be irrelevant, however strongly she might try to present her case. Her mother’s subservience to her husband’s will was absolute. Whatever opinions she had about anything except the day-to-day running of the house, she had been well trained to bend and mould them to her husband’s, though even the housekeeping was not secure from his occasional criticism. So however clear-cut Ginny’s objections, she knew in her heart that her mother would say nothing to countermand her father’s wishes, nor could she expect either sympathy or tolerance from them in a matter that affected them so deeply. For any woman to harbour a preference about her future husband was laughable. Men could choose, women did not, unless they were the flighty kind who fluttered too near the flame of love and burnt their wings in the process, their reputations ruined. And worse.

  ‘Now, Ginny, dear,’ said Lady Agnes, imagining her daughter dressed for the great occasion, ‘let’s just take a look at the rose velvet and see if we can dress it up with my squirrel fur round the sleeves. Is that what the court is wearing nowadays? You of all people should know.’

  Ginny went to sit in the large window recess overlooking the squared herb garden where a fine layer of snow etched the scene into tones of grey. Beyond the low hedge stood gnarled apple and pear trees in the orchard, the rose-covered bowers of summer now drooping and dormant, the stream frozen along its banks. In the cosy room behind her, her mother was trying to urge her into the next phase of her life by throwing gowns onto the silk counterpane to make a heap of colour as if there was nothing else more important to discuss. ‘Mother...wait,’ she said. ‘Can we not talk about this? Surely you cannot have forgotten the answer Sir Jon gave to Father when he offered him my hand? How he told Father he would give it his consideration and the next thing we knew he’d married that heiress? Did you not see how hurtful it was to me? Did you not think he could have been truthful from the beginning and said that his future was already decided? How can you agree to it so readily now, after that rebuff?’

  Laying down an armful of green brocade, Lady Agnes shook her head at it, then came to sit beside Ginny on the cushioned window seat. Taking the folded letter from her pouch, she passed it to Ginny with the words, ‘Perhaps you’d better read it yourself. It won’t make any difference in the long run, but you have a right to know, I suppose.’

  Ginny unfolded it and read her father’s efficient handwriting with sentences as free from sentiment as one might expect. ‘“The king has noticed our daughter...and feels a need of her company at this troubled time...wants her to be at court...but only within the safety of marriage, not as a maid...to preserve her good name...and to have a trustworthy mate already in the king’s employ so that he and she might serve the king as one...”’ Raising her head, she tried to read her mother’s eyes instead. ‘Serve the king as one?’ she said. ‘What on earth does he mean by that?’

  Lady Agnes’s reply came rather hurriedly. ‘He means you to serve Queen Anna, too, dear, the way you have begun to do with her clothes and...well...whatever else it is that you do. So that you can be at court as a respectable married woman rather than a maid, which might set tongues wagging. And Sir Jon will continue to serve the king as he does now, so you need
not be separated as husbands and wives often are when one is at court. A most convenient arrangement.’

  ‘Convenient for the king. Nothing to do with Sir Jon’s preferences, then? So he’s been commanded, has he? Just like me. To suit the king. To pander to his sudden need for my company at “this difficult time” and for that, I have to be married, do I? As if not being married would set tongues wagging, for some reason?’

  ‘It’s not a sudden need, is it, Ginny? You know it isn’t. The king saw you here late last year and spent quite some time with you. He made his liking for you quite obvious.’

  ‘Flirting, Mother. As I told you, he flirts with every maid who catches his eye. There’s Anne Basset and Kat Howard, the queen’s maids, and plenty of others who enjoy his attentions. It’s not just me. Really, it isn’t. So it’s no use you thinking I’m anything more to him than the others.’

  ‘He’s particularly asked for you. And he doesn’t arrange marriages to his special friends to every maid who catches his eye. This is a great honour.’

  ‘So you keep saying. Marriages are for families, are they not, rather than for individuals? So any woman who thinks it’s for her had better think again.’