Betrayed, Betrothed and Bedded

by Juliet Landon

  ‘No...no, I don’t mean curiosity. Oh, dear, I don’t know the word for it.’

  ‘Then until we can be more sure of each other, I think it’s best to take things one step at a time. Be satisfied that you have done your wifely duty in comforting your husband when he needs it. I shall not demand more than you feel able to give.’

  Wifely duty? Is that what he believes I’ve been doing while his hands tormented me? ‘I did not see it as a duty, Jon,’ she whispered, chastened by this unexpected turn of events. It served her right, of course, and there was no use now in regretting it, for she had made it clear from the start that she intended to withhold herself, and now she must accept the same from him, for whatever reason he gave. She had not thought he would be able to stop once they had reached that point, but he was disciplined and well in control of the hardness she had felt pressing against her and, after all her strident protests of the past few days, she now realised that it was he who would decide, not her. The unsettling ache within her body kept her awake for hours while the arms that held her gradually slackened and slipped away, and the slow rise and fall of his great chest indicated that sleep had come to him easily.

  * * *

  After days of brilliant sun and frost, the next day was noticeably warm enough to have begun melting the white crystals that covered every surface, dripping them with diamonds. Ginny rose late and missed Sir Jon’s silent exit from their room and his absence from their breakfast, such as it was, though Molly made no comment on her mistress’s thoughtful expression. Their visit to Etta’s nursery was conspiratorial, however, for Ginny was aware that the child’s father had not so far approved of any venture into the winter landscape. It was, she was sure, simply a sign of his ignorance where infants were concerned, and although she’d had more experience of them than he, she had no wish to make her own views too much at odds with his. Wherever he was, he was not likely to see them out there until it was too late. Then he would relent, of course.

  Dressed in warm clothes and swathed in blankets, the bright-eyed child was accompanied by her nurse, by Mistress Molly and by Ginny, who took it in turns to hold her tiny hands along the pathways and through the gardens, stopping frequently to look at lace-like trees and hedges, at the pattern of thawing puddles, inquisitive blackbirds and perky robins. Staggering along the gravel pathways with hands in theirs, everything she saw seemed to entrance her, for it was clear this was the adventure of her short life so far. The distant figure of her father talking to his horse master was not as visible to her as a new snowdrop pushing through the soil, so when he walked towards them, the only greeting was from Ginny herself.

  Sir Jon looked anything but pleased. Frowning his displeasure at the nurse, he said, ‘I thought I’d made my wishes clear about this kind of thing, mistress? Did you not convey them to Lady Raemon? The child could take cold out here.’

  The nurse, happy to be outside, too, had a quick reply that she supposed would make him smile indulgently, as new husbands often did. ‘Oh, yes, Sir Jon. Last evening. But Lady Raemon assured me she could find a way to make you change your mind. It’s such a beautiful...’

  ‘Did she, indeed?’ he replied in a dangerously low voice. ‘Well, then, I’d better try to look as if I’ve had my mind changed, hadn’t I? Clever of you, my lady. Why didn’t that occur to me, I wonder?’ His meaning was clear to Ginny, but not to the others, and before she could find anything to remedy his misconception about her apparent change of heart, he had turned on his heel and walked away back to his horse master, his boots crunching heavily on the gravel. A hard lump rose in Ginny’s throat, preventing her from calling after him, to come back, to allow her to explain and not to think what he was so obviously thinking. It had not been like that at all. She had wanted to comfort him, not to wrangle for favours.

  What lay between them was so delicate and difficult to explain that neither of them dared take the metaphorical bull by the horns and wrestle it to the ground for fear of wreaking more damage. With so many potential misunderstandings and impediments to clear away and no means of doing this as long as Ginny’s fears remained, what chance was there of ever finding harmony and trust and the love they both desperately longed for? That one night of passion had been for both of them a step in the right direction, but that alone was not enough to clear the way for a better understanding. Not while she was still so uncertain and angry about her future and about her husband’s complicity in it. It was true that there had been more to her capitulation last night than compassion for his grief, if that was what it was. Her own body’s rampant desires had had a lot to do with it, too, and her curiosity and her need for a child of her own. But if she had been uncertain whether he would understand her reasons, she had not expected him to get them so terribly wrong, either. Now they were back where they’d begun, suspecting every word and look, and wondering how, if ever, they would break the deadlock of antagonism. Their night spent in each other’s arms seemed now like a stupid mistake they had wandered into like a couple of dreamy adolescents, to be put behind them, not referred to, not thought about. Except that they did think. How could they not?

  That night, their last at Lea Magna, Sir Jon did not come to her bed, though they had eaten a subdued supper together in the hall, the local musicians filling the void where conversation might have been. Ginny slept with Molly to keep them both warm, and it was the maid who comforted her without asking any questions. Perhaps, she thought, even magic needed nurturing sometimes.

  * * *

  They and their party were away at dawn next day, Ginny on a new mare introduced to her by Sir Jon’s horse master instead of him, an event she interpreted as a continuation of his extreme displeasure. Which she thought was a great pity, for the horse was a very beautiful creature with a creamy mane and a coat the colour of combed flax, a tall, elegant mount with a new saddle of golden tan over a rich saddlecloth of quilted velvet. When Ginny tried to thank her husband, his reply was sour. ‘Think nothing of it,’ he said. ‘I shall expect something in return, of course. That’s what we seem to be doing these days, isn’t it? Rewarding each other.’

  ‘How can you think that?’ she said.

  ‘Because, my lady, I don’t yet know you well enough to think otherwise.’

  ‘And at this rate, you never will, sir,’ she said, allowing him to lift her into the saddle. ‘Nor will you know your child unless you spend more time with her.’

  ‘An occupational hazard. She doesn’t appear to be harmed by it.’

  Ginny’s heart was too full to make a sensible reply, having only half an hour before said a tearful farewell to the little mite who had clung to her like a limpet and wanted to know, in her broken lisping words, when Ginny would came back. Would it be that day? she wanted to know, having no conception of longer periods.

  ‘Soon,’ Ginny had lied. ‘Soon, little one.’ Already the bond was there between them, though she knew Sir Jon had not said goodbye to his daughter. The distress stayed with her for the rest of the journey, which Sir Jon took for the same resentment because he had no way of knowing about the pangs of emptiness vibrating within Ginny’s heart. The days—weeks—ahead would be stark indeed while they were at Whitehall, he with the king and his friends and she with the queen, both of them pretending that all was well.

  This time, leaving his little daughter had touched Jon more than usual and more than he cared to admit. The instant bond between her and her new stepmother had surprised him and tweaked at his conscience after his long and frequent absences; the child’s loneliness was something he’d thought little about, so occupied had he been with his own bitterness. Now, for the first time, he saw how she was the innocent by-product of his own past and that she could no longer be ignored as a person. That was regrettable, but how much more so was it to visit his own problems upon Etta, whose life was only just forming. How might it have been, he wondered, if Etta had been Ginny’s, and how easy would
he find it to allow that bond to grow naturally and flourish? He thought of that night when she had gone to him, and of the family she was prepared to make with him. Had he gotten it wrong? Were his own conflicts clouding his perception of her motives?

  * * *

  Keeping up a relentless pace throughout the day, they managed to arrive at the palace of Whitehall just as darkness fell on that chill February afternoon, the torches already lit round every corner of the vast complex of buildings, more like a village than the other royal palaces. It often took weeks for newcomers to find their way round the warren of corridors and courtyards, the galleries, anterooms, offices and staterooms, those for the queen, those for the king, those for receiving guests and eating. Mistress Molly had not been there before either, but had the good sense to look as if she had and to attend to her mistress’s needs promptly. Discreetly, she moved aside as Sir Jon came to lift Ginny down from her saddle.

  ‘I may not have time to see you again today,’ he told her. ‘I shall be on duty with Henry until late, then I’ll probably have to sleep in his chamber. Will you be all right? The queen will be glad to see you again?’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘I suppose so.’ She had not expected anything more.

  He began to turn away, but evidently thought better of it, and, instead of leaving her to accompany Molly across the courtyard, he pulled her roughly into his arms for a kiss as fierce as some they’d shared in their bed. Off balance and taken completely by surprise, she trembled with fatigue in his arms, wondering what it meant to him, but also taking what she could from the moment, knowing that it would not be repeated until he felt the need, perhaps to remind himself again of his first wife. His skin tasted of the cold ride along the Thames, of a hidden warmth beneath and of thwarted desire, despite himself. And when he released her, he had to hold her arms until she could find her balance again. ‘Just to remind you, lady,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘Of course,’ she said, fighting the pain in her throat. ‘Or I might easily have forgot.’ His gaze stayed upon her upturned face long enough to show her that her remark had hit home. But she was unable to hide the wealth of unspoken desires that flooded her eyes, and he found it equally difficult to believe what he saw, having gazed at similar messages in other women’s eyes, particularly one.

  A sudden wave of regret softened his scarred heart as he drunk deeply of her beauty. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. What’s done is done. Go in now, out of the cold. Give my regards to Queen Anna. I dare say Henry will visit tomorrow and I shall come with him whenever I can.’

  Wordlessly, she nodded and left him without a backward glance, thinking how much pleasanter it would have been if he’d escorted her to her new quarters to see that she had all she needed. Of course, he had his duties to perform, too, but although she was now Lady Raemon, she had no intention of chasing after him or even making herself more available than she had before. The queen would keep her equally busy, she was sure, and there was nothing like work for taking one’s mind off unpleasant matters.

  ‘I thought you’d left the queen at Hampton Court,’ Molly said as they tripped up the stone staircase to the hall. She saw men’s heads turn to look at her mistress in open admiration, even some of the older ones.

  ‘Yes, I did. But she must be where the king is most of the time, and he does most of his business here nowadays. Now he’ll have diplomats to see and councils to attend. Where he goes, she will go, too, except for the odd occasion.’

  ‘He still goes to her bed, then? Even though he doesn’t care for her?’

  ‘Shh! Not so loud, Molly. Of course. It’s expected.’

  ‘Poor woman,’ Molly muttered. ‘Is she as plain as they say?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ said Ginny, following the page along yet another corridor. ‘I don’t think she’s at all plain. I think you’ll like her as much as I do. This way.’

  Molly hoped she would not be asked to find her way out of here alone, as they passed through room after room hung with brightly coloured tapestries and painted woodwork, past solid furniture and carved doors, under plasterwork ceilings flickering in the torchlight, and beneath gilded arches where renovations were still only partly complete. Like worker bees, liveried pages and gold-badged guards marched past them on errands, groups of whispering ladies and dark-gowned men with rolls of parchment under their arms, their servants carrying boxes of writing equipment. Finally, Ginny slowed down as they came to a door outside of which a guard stood holding a long halberd at an angle. ‘Mistress D’Arvall!’ he said in surprise.

  ‘Lady Raemon now, if you please,’ said Molly importantly.

  Ginny smiled at him. ‘Is Her Grace within?’ she said. ‘May we...?’

  ‘Of course, m’lady,’ he said, and opened the door into a brightly lit room where the soft strains of music and chatter washed over them like a welcome cloak after the dark and cold of the evening. The music stopped and cries of delight drew Ginny forwards into smiling embraces, and it was all she could do to hold back the prickling tears behind her eyes as she was engulfed in the genuine affection of friends.

  One voice in particular called out to her. ‘Mistress D’Arvall! Is back with us, yes? Come!’ The accent was unmistakably Germanic and Molly had no need to ask if this was the Queen Anna she’d heard so much about, for there was something in her manner quite different from anything she’d heard or seen of the king’s previous three wives. Molly could tell at once why Ginny enjoyed this queen’s company, even if she was less than enthusiastic about life at court. She saw a tall, elegant woman of some twenty-four years, not exactly petite, but well shaped, narrow waisted and graceful. Her becoming French hood framed a sweet face that tapered to a neatly pointed chin, and smooth cheeks that bunched into a charming smile for Molly and her mistress. The fair brows, recently reshaped into a fine line, arched over rather drooping lids that half-concealed intelligent brown eyes, which might otherwise have been unremarkable except for the steady regard and honesty of her gaze.

  The queen had known nothing about Ginny’s recent marriage, for Henry had not discussed these matters with her before he left for Hampshire, and she was as astonished as the queen’s ladies and giggling young maids to hear that it had happened with such speed. They begged her to tell them the reason for this remarkable development in the light of Ginny’s well-known antipathy towards one of the king’s most eligible gentlemen. Why the hurry? Had Sir Jon developed a secret passion for her? Was it her father’s doing? Why had the king himself interfered? Had it been, after all, what Ginny herself wanted?

  Both Ginny and Molly were hungry. While they waited for dishes to arrive, there was time to offer the explanation she’d formulated on the way here. To Ginny’s relief, the queen accepted this, for she, too, had been a victim of the king’s impatience, though it had not turned out quite so happily for her, being unused to his ways. Whether she suspected the king’s interest in Ginny as his mistress there was no way of telling, though Ginny thought it unlikely when Anna was as innocent in such matters as she herself had been, until this. If her Henry found pleasure in the company of the young ladies around her, she was either far too intelligent and diplomatic to complain, or she cared little one way or the other. Anna could not have been unaware of the fate of one of her predecessors who had complained too stridently and too long about Henry’s amours.

  The possibility of hurting Anna by diverting her new husband’s affections was one of the worst parts of Ginny’s involvement in a marriage she had never wanted. Anna, too, had not been given any choice in the matter of her marriage to Henry, but now she saw it as her duty to do everything possible to please him. She would not have expected that the one to help her in this would also be the one to wreck her chances.

  The welcome food had arrived, yet to Ginny it tasted of nothing more than old parchment. She made her excuses to retire to her rooms with Molly before returning t
o dress Anna for the king’s evening visit. Then the game of evasion and capture would begin again.

  Chapter Five

  Whitehall was now the centre of the king’s government offices, as close to the bustle of the city as it was possible to be, yet surrounded by courtyards, gardens, and orchards and within walking distance of the great abbey of Westminster, the towers of which were visible from Ginny’s windows. Dressing quickly with Molly’s help, Ginny left her to unpack and went along to the queen’s sumptuous apartments to help her in her choice of gown and accessories, determined more than ever to present Anna at her most attractive. Laying a gown of silk grosgrain over the oak chest, she smoothed it lovingly. ‘This one, Your Grace?’ she said. ‘The aquamarine is perfect for your colouring. The gold damask oversleeves and forepart are the colour of your hair.’

  Mistress Katherine Howard, one of the queen’s youngest maids of honour, had scarcely noticed that her foreign royal mistress understood more of the language than she could speak, so felt it necessary to say what many of them were thinking. ‘You think the king will visit, now you’re here?’ she said pertly to Ginny. ‘He hasn’t been near Her Grace since his return from Hampshire. Except at bedtime, of course. When he has to.’

  Mistress Anne Basset, a well connected and pretty seventeen-year-old, did not care for the Howard girl’s impudence. ‘He’s been busy with state affairs, Kat. You know he has, or he’d have been here before. Mistress...oh, no, I mean Lady Raemon is correct. The golden forepart is exactly Her Grace’s colouring. Would you put the aquamarine headdress with it, too, my lady?’

  ‘And the ruby biliment?’ said the queen, removing the headpiece from Kat Howard’s pudgy hands, leaving the girl open-mouthed at her perfect pronunciation.

  ‘I think Mistress Basset is right not to introduce another colour, Your Grace,’ Ginny said. ‘The aquamarines and pearls are perhaps the soft pale effect we should strive for.’