The Boleyn Reckoning: A Novel (The Boleyn Trilogy)

by Laura Andersen

  “How? If she is too ill for a trial—”

  “Don’t fret about it, Minuette.”

  “But—”

  “I have everything in hand.”

  “William, surely—”

  “Enough!” Why was she pressing him when all he’d wanted was the joy of her presence? She should be as anxious as he to enjoy their last hour alone. Why did she have to drag politics into it?

  She had whitened at his snarl, but met his gaze steadily. “If you do not wish to discuss Lady Rochford, perhaps we should touch upon Eleanor Percy. I know she has been released from the Tower.”

  Not the change of topic he’d hoped for. “She remains under guard in London. You cannot imagine I would let her anywhere near you—”

  “I think you were quite right to release her.”

  William stopped with his mouth open, dizzy at Minuette’s unexpected calm. “You do?” He cleared his throat, and tried to sound more authoritative. “My aunt’s guilt does not necessarily equate to Eleanor’s innocence. She must answer for herself and her actions.”

  “I have no doubt that Eleanor will be able to account for herself very well. Though I doubt we shall ever be friendly, I am not afraid of Eleanor Percy, nor am I jealous of her. You must do what you think is best for the mother of your first child.”

  Once more Minuette had caught him off guard, and it made him unreasonably irritated. “Since when are you concerned with Eleanor’s welfare?”

  With a cool lift of her curved brows, Minuette said, “I thought my concern for others was one of the things you liked about me.”

  “Minuette, sweetling, come here.” William pushed his chair back from the table and waited until Minuette had hesitantly sat on his lap. He twisted a lock of her hair around his hand and held her face still. “I love everything about you. You are as necessary to me as breath. But I have voices all day and all night telling me what to pay attention to, what is right, what they want and how they want it. I need you to be my sanctuary. No talk of prisons or trials, of governments or armies.”

  He kissed her lingeringly on the lips. “Be my rest,” he murmured, moving his mouth along the curve of her neck. “My heart, my peace, my love.” With each endearment he left a kiss in its wake. Only Minuette had the effect of both rousing and relaxing him. His body might strum with the pleasant tension of unmet desire, but his mind was gentled into a quiet only she could offer.

  “I hate that you’re going to Hatfield,” he said softly. “Every time you leave me I fear you will not return.”

  “I will return, William.”

  There were unshed tears in her voice and William knew she found it as difficult to part as he did.

  CHAPTER TEN

  WHEN MINUETTE ANNOUNCED to Elizabeth that she would be paying a visit to Lord Rochford at Blickling Hall before traveling on to Hatfield, the redheaded princess reacted with a temper that had only rarely been turned on Minuette. It flared quickly into a full-scale argument that left Minuette ruffled and unhappy as she approached the home where George Boleyn had been born and where he now spent his days in haughty solitude while waiting to see what further penalties the king might impose.

  When Elizabeth attempted to forbid her going, Minuette had summoned all the authority of the position she did not want and replied, “I am no longer part of your household, Your Highness. The king has ordered you to treat me as a guest at Hatfield. And as your guest, I am telling you when I will arrive, not asking.”

  Only the tiniest part of her would admit the satisfaction of standing her ground and, for once, not worrying about leaving someone else out of temper. Why was it her responsibility to make everyone happy?

  Dominic did not argue with her plans to see Rochford, but that was simply because he was not at court and thus had no idea. He had returned to the coastal defenses, although France had made no moves across the Channel as yet. Barring battle, Dominic would be charged with overseeing King Philip’s arrival and royal reception at Dover Castle. Minuette told herself that she was willing to stand her ground with her husband as well, but why make her life more difficult than it need be? She knew how deeply unhappy he was about her involvement with Lord Rochford. She didn’t think he would forbid her visit, but why risk it?

  As she approached Blickling Hall, Minuette briefly wished that she had told Dominic so that he might have forbidden her. Or that Elizabeth had gone to William in order to stop her—what on earth was she thinking, taking on Rochford at a game he’d been playing since before she was born? But she steeled herself for the encounter, and by straightening her back and pretending absolute confidence she found enough to go forward.

  Rochford met her in his study, an old-fashioned chamber heavily paneled in dark wood that showed its age in the deep-set windows that offered only dim light. The furnishings were also from a previous era, though rather pleasing in their simplicity and lack of ornamentation. The duke offered her the courtesy of rising briefly from his chair. “My lady marquess,” he said. Was it possible for him to speak without irony? “I regret not having been at court for the patent of your nobility.”

  “You regret not being able to prevent the king from bestowing it, you mean.”

  He waited until Minuette had seated herself to continue. “I may think you all kinds of wrong for my nephew, but I submit when I must. One can only win if one lives to fight another day.”

  “And so you sit here while your wife marches toward a trial. Have you corresponded with her?”

  Rochford’s lips tightened. “You may walk in and out of the king’s mind at will, but I do not concede you that right. Although speaking of the king, I do wonder—does William know you are here?”

  “Have I come to Blickling because he cannot openly do so without angering others, do you mean? No. I am here on my own account, not at the king’s bidding.”

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” Rochford murmured. “If not for William’s sake, perhaps for the Duke of Exeter? Dominic Courtenay might have things he’d prefer to say to me behind William’s back.”

  “Lord Exeter does not say anything behind the king’s back that he would not say to his face.” She managed to make the lie believable. “Lord Rochford, I told you before that a time might come when I would need all the friends I could get. That time is growing nearer.”

  “If you are so in need of my aid, perhaps you might have ensured that I was not banished from court. What is it you expect me to do from here?”

  Minuette drew a steadying breath. She was about to leap into the void, entrust her deepest secret to a man she had never trusted. But time was growing short, especially if her suspicions were correct.

  It had been ten weeks since that night in May when Dominic spent two hours in her bed. Ten weeks and no sign of her normal courses. Carrie was watching her closely, perhaps as terrified as Minuette of what it might mean.

  But Minuette wasn’t just terrified. She was also emboldened. And focused.

  “Lord Rochford, I know how deeply you disapprove of William’s desire to marry me. What if I told you that I have no intention of becoming the king’s wife?”

  “I would say that you are either remarkably wise or remarkably foolhardy. Are you saying you would prefer to be his mistress?”

  “I would prefer to be his friend, as I have ever been. I love William, but not as he wants. I would do almost anything to ensure his happiness. But I will not marry him.”

  For the first time ever, Rochford looked at her with something like appreciation. “Dare I hope your decision is for wisdom’s sake alone, or do I detect another man in the picture?”

  Minuette would never speak openly of her husband, but she had guessed she would not have to. Rochford was perhaps the cleverest man she’d ever known.

  “I did think you were looking rather … what’s the politest word?” Rochford queried. “Satisfied? Well used?”

  “That is not polite at all,” she answered sharply.

  He went on as if she had not spoken. “And if
there is another man, no prizes for guessing who. I would have said Dominic Courtenay was the least likely man in the world to go behind Will’s back. But when there’s a woman in it …” Rochford shrugged. “I suppose I, of all people, should not be surprised at what a man will do for a woman he has convinced himself he is in love with.”

  Minuette swallowed her temper and her distaste. “Will you help us?”

  “How?”

  “We need to leave England.” How it grieved her to say so, and how exceedingly difficult it would be to make Dominic agree, but she could see no other course. She had hoped for months that she would be able to mitigate William’s anger when he learned of their marriage, but if she were indeed with child …

  She could not risk being confined to the Tower. They must leave England.

  Rochford considered her thoughtfully. “You do not trust to my nephew’s mercy? Then you are not the simple girl I took you for. Yes, you will need to be well out of his reach. But your choices for exile are rather thin on the ground just now. Spain will not risk angering William while Philip angles to marry Elizabeth. And even you might have a hard time persuading Courtenay to take refuge in France. That would smack rather strongly of state treason.”

  “That leaves the Low Countries,” Minuette agreed, for she had already thought through the options. “Can you arrange it? It will need to be for four.” Because they could not leave Carrie and Harrington behind.

  “It’s possible. Letters to prepare your way, contacts to get you out of England secretly. But what is in it for me?”

  “I’ve given you your life. How certain are you that, if you had not confessed preemptively to William, he would not have charged you with treason and sent you to the block? You may be banished, but I doubt you’ll remain that way. You are too canny at politics.”

  “While there’s life there’s hope?” Wonder of wonders, Rochford smiled at her. “I suppose so. But still, if William ever discovered that I helped his beloved flee from him—”

  “You can pin it on someone else. The Howard family, perhaps? What with my stepfather being a Howard.” It made her stomach knot to say it, but she would warn Stephen Howard as best she could to ensure he would not be caught in Rochford’s trap. And if he was—well, she would sacrifice anyone for Dominic and their child.

  He laughed. “How I have underestimated you. Almost I want to persuade you that marrying William would be in our best interests after all.”

  “Almost?”

  “No, you are right. If I can get you away from my nephew, then I win and so does England. No offense, Lady Somerset, but England needs a stronger alliance for all our sakes.”

  “So you will help?”

  He steepled his fingers. “I will put certain things in motion. Do you have an idea of when you would like to vanish?”

  She could not afford to leave it too late. “When Philip arrives in August and everyone is busy thinking of the Spanish.”

  “I will get word to you.”

  Minuette offered her hand to Rochford, feeling exactly like Judas as she said, “Thank you.”

  She didn’t know which man she had just betrayed more thoroughly: her king or her husband.

  Dominic was in conference at the Round Tower, the structure raised during the days of Henry V to guard Portsmouth Harbor, when Harrington brought him news of a visitor. He might have expected a member of the privy council, or one of the town wardens, or an emissary from one of the Cinque Port towns, or even William (Dominic tried to ignore the leap in his heart that always and ever hoped for it to be Minuette), but his expectations were wildly wrong.

  “Lord Stephen Howard,” Harrington told him. “Seeking to discuss a personal matter with you.”

  Which could mean something touching upon Minuette, as Stephen Howard had been her mother’s second husband. But Howard was also the uncle of the young Duke of Norfolk, and seeing that the Howards breathed politics as easily as air, who could guess what he had come for? Stephen Howard had helped the Crown before, most notably in the matter of the Penitent’s Confession in 1554, warning the king through Minuette of his brother’s search for that inflammatory document that threatened to bring down William. But his loyalties were so mixed as to be nearly indecipherable: blood ties warring with what had been, by all accounts, a deep and genuine love for Minuette’s mother. Dominic would always be wary of a man he couldn’t predict.

  Dominic returned to Henry VIII’s Southsea Castle where he found Stephen Howard on his feet looking out at the view of the harbor. “Thank you for seeing me at such a busy time,” Howard said smoothly. He did everything smoothly. He was several inches shorter than Dominic, and both broader and softer than he had likely been as a young man, but there was still something in his bearing that made Dominic think of Robert Dudley. Cleverness? Confidence verging on arrogance? An ironic view of the world that always seemed to find humour?

  “What do you want?” Dominic treated him the way he treated Robert, with a brusqueness to conceal his uneasiness. He didn’t ask Howard to sit. The man did not seem to take it amiss.

  With an amused tilt of his silver-tipped head, Howard said, “Always straight to the point, Lord Exeter. Very well. I have some information about the recent uprisings in Norfolk.”

  “You are Catholic, Lord Stephen. Why would you give me information about Catholic rebels?”

  “As I have pointed out to my stepdaughter before, I am English before I am Catholic. I am also pragmatic and I do not see how ill-considered violence solves anything.”

  “Why come to me?”

  “Because you will see me, where the king likely would not. I need someone who has the ear of the king and no one in this kingdom has it like you do.”

  “Your stepdaughter does.”

  Stephen Howard raised an eyebrow. “Would you prefer I involve Genevieve in this matter?”

  “No.” Dominic bit off the word. “Tell me.”

  “The rebels were well-funded. You must have seen that. The weapons in store, the organization—that was not a peasant mob. And where there is funding, there will be a source.”

  “You are not telling me anything the king has not already considered. Unless you can offer information as to the source of that funding?”

  “I have intelligence that says the money came from overseas.”

  “France?” Never fond of Mary Tudor, but with their current discontent with England and William and the threat of invasion, it was possible. Dominic was already figuring out how to use this information against the French when Howard shattered that thought.

  “Spain.”

  Dominic stared. “King Philip is due to arrive in England within a fortnight.”

  Howard simply nodded once.

  “Damn it,” Dominic said under his breath. “How reliable is your intelligence?”

  “Reliable enough that I would take it seriously. If Spain is involved, I presume you know in whose household to look for evidence?”

  Of course he knew. Mary Tudor—daughter of a Spanish princess. If Spain were truly funding English rebels, the chances that Mary was involved were very high.

  Along with the current Duke of Norfolk, Stephen Howard’s own nephew.

  “Thank you for your information,” Dominic said curtly. “I assure you I will take it under consideration, including the implications you so carefully avoided.”

  “Thomas?” Howard nodded. “My nephew does not confide in me, but I know he’s recently seen Lady Mary and I suspect they correspond. No doubt the king—or at least, Burghley—is aware of that.”

  “No doubt. It does make me wonder why you bothered to come to me at all.”

  “Because you will not hoard this information, calculating how best to use it to your own advantage. According to Genevieve, you are the most conscientious man in England, ever eager to serve your king to the best of your ability.”

  Dominic was beginning to choke on that vaunted sense of loyalty. But however deeply he was betraying William personally, he would
work that much harder to preserve his public integrity. Within an hour of Howard’s departure, Dominic had a courier on the way to William and Burghley detailing the man’s allegations.

  But if he thought his involvement ended with that duty done, he was mistaken. The very day after Stephen Howard’s visit, Robert Dudley appeared at Southsea Castle with a message from Francis Walsingham. Dominic was beginning to grow weary of the constant stream of visitors from court. Couldn’t he be left alone to do his job as Warden of the Cinque Ports and leave politics to those better suited to subtlety and deceit?

  “Unless you’ve come with troops to add to our defensive preparations,” Dominic told Robert as he strode into the same chamber where he’d met Howard, “then I’ve neither use nor time for you.”

  Turning from the view of Portsmouth Harbor—with its impressive collection of English ships and the long horizon where sea met sky in a mingled sweep of blues and grays—Robert offered up his smile of old: ironic, detached, and amused all at once. Dominic had not seen him since the day of Northumberland’s execution. Robert looked to have regained his usual sleekness, with his carefully groomed dark hair and impeccably trimmed beard.

  But there was an aloofness to his eyes, and a chill edge to his voice that was new. “Do you have time for the Princess of Wales?”

  “You’re not here at Elizabeth’s command.”

  “I serve with Walsingham at her command, and the princess places a great deal of confidence in the man.”

  Dominic threw his hands in the air, defeated. “Curse it, Robert, just tell me what you’ve come to say, plainly and without games.”

  “Walsingham suspects Lady Mary of intriguing with the Spanish.”

  That was very plain indeed. “Fine, embroider that a little to enlighten me.” But the warning from Stephen Howard was still ringing in Dominic’s ears and he knew he didn’t want to go down this path. He had enough to worry about without another Tudor royal complicating his life.