Royal Mistress

by Anne Easter Smith

  Will Hastings barely smothered a laugh at the mercer’s delusions that the cloth and not the wearer had attracted his attention. Then he saw Jane bite her lip and lower her head to cover her embarrassment, and he knew the young woman had no such delusion. As William turned to lead the way, she looked up at the nobleman with a mixed expression of shy curiosity and frank appraisal. Bold wench, Hastings thought, loving the way one cheek dimpled when she eventually smiled. He was a man well acquainted with the art of seduction, and he only needed a few seconds with which to study her from the top of her elaborately rolled turban to the tips of her tiny crakows, peeking from under a suitably workaday gown. It would never do, Jane’s father had told her, to outdress the customers, although the cut and quality of the grosgrain spoke eloquently of the good taste of the merchant. She wished William might learn that lesson; her husband’s drab gowns often bore vestiges of what he had eaten, marring the cloth.

  Aye, thought her admirer, she is worth a second look. She was wed, ’twas true, but that had never stopped Will Hastings in his search for his next conquest. Why, she might even please Edward, he suddenly thought. But he would overcome that obstacle later.

  He would have been dismayed to know how Jane had assessed him in return. A handsome-enough man but, like William, past his prime, she thought, although she appreciated the look of admiration he had given her. Lord Hastings! she thought with a faint thrill. William, Baron Hastings was flirting with her, she was sure of it. He had purposely sought her out; that was as plain as a pikestaff. And then her agile mind grasped a titillating nugget: sweet Jesu, he was Tom’s father-in-law, she thought, astonished that she had managed to attract both men. So what if I do flirt with Hastings, she told herself; it would serve Tom right. Oh, how bored she was and how ripe for love. Then she saw William scowling at her, and she put on her most formal face.

  “Excuse me, my lord,” she said, curtseying once more, “but I must return to my customer. I pray your lady wife enjoys my husband’s silk as much as I do.”

  Before Will could stay her with a whispered wish for another meeting, Jane had walked off, leaving him wondering if she had surmised his interest in her or not. Reluctantly turning to follow the eager Master Shore, he did not see Jane’s surreptitious backward glance; it might have cheered him.

  “So fair and with a fine wit, your grace,” Will enthused upon returning to Westminster Palace and finding the king in his privy chamber, having his thigh-high boots removed by Sir Walter Hungerford, one of his many squires of the body, while another preened the feathers of Edward’s valuable falcon on its customary perch near the high tester bed. After receiving soft, pointed shoes in exchange for the boots, Edward dismissed both men and selecting a plump capon leg from a platter, he stuffed it into his mouth.

  “Her name is Jane Shore, the daughter of a mercer, John Lambert, and wedded to a dullard of another,” Will continued, describing Jane in detail. “She is as dainty as a woodland flower and yet I sense a stalwart strength in her that will not wilt unless sorely pressed. I like a woman with a will of her own, and I doubt her whippet of a husband is man enough for her.”

  “And you are ready to step in and supply her need,” Edward teased, laughing and wiping his greasy chin. “Christ’s nails, Will, you sound besotted already. I would meet this paragon.”

  Will chuckled. “I think not, Ned,” he answered softly, using Edward’s family nickname only when they were alone. “You will snatch her from me before I can properly woo and lie with her.”

  Edward raised an eyebrow. “That fair, eh, Will? Now my curiosity is indeed piqued. Where is this Shore’s shop? Maybe I shall have to see her for myself.”

  “All I will tell you is that it is not in the Mercery.”

  Will grinned at his master’s indignation. A dozen years separated them and yet they had become fast friends during Edward’s nine months of exile in Flanders six years before. He had first served Edward’s father, Richard of York, as a squire and had transferred his Yorkist loyalty easily to the magnificent young earl of March when Richard had been killed at Wakefield and Edward had won the day for the Yorkists at Towton. After Edward was crowned in June 1461, Will was one of the first recipients of the Order of the Garter, and from that time on, he had served Edward as chamberlain and confidant. Ten years later, Edward had honored Hastings with the command of the left flank at Barnet and of the right flank at Tewkesbury, when the Lancastrian army was finally routed. It was with Will that Edward shared thoughts politic and acts pleasurable. Will had brought to Edward’s attention more than a few ladies with whom the king had enjoyed a roll in the sheets. When Edward had tired of one, he passed her on to Hastings or, of late, his stepson Dorset. It was Will who had found lovely Elizabeth Wayte, mother of two of Edward’s bastards, a worthy husband, who had quietly removed the lady from court after Edward tired of her.

  “Besides, Ned, did you not promise your queen you would desist from philandering while she awaits the next child?”

  Edward pouted. “I thank you for reminding me. Bessie has been in a black humor of late, and I suppose I should not cause her any distress.” However, the ever-watchful Will saw a gleam in his sovereign’s blue eyes that told him Edward was not averse to breaking his promise. “But she will be confined soon, and while the cat’s away . . .” He took another bite of meat, smacking his lips.

  “You are insatiable, my liege,” Will protested, but he laughed. “By my troth, if Jane Shore likes me not, I swear I will bring her to you, if I can pluck her from her husband’s clutches. He seems quite proud of her.”

  Edward ran his fingers through his red-gold hair, still thick and glossy after thirty-three hard-lived years. Will envied the king’s good looks every time he caught sight of his own reflection and noticed the sagging cheeks, flecks of gray in his hair, and middle-aged spread. Aye, he doubted Hans Memling would choose him for a model these days, but in his prime his looks had been admired, he knew, and even still, he had no trouble attracting women. He refused to believe it was his status.

  “Then I wish you God speed with the lady,” Edward drawled, sprawled out on the chair; his six-foot-three-inch frame was never comfortable in any seat, as he would often complain. “You had best move swiftly with your conquest, my friend, for are you not due to return to Calais in the New Year? It would not do to have the town’s captain away for too long, or Anthony Rivers will be breathing down your neck and wresting the port back for himself.”

  Will had been eyeing a flea hopping erratically across the cloth on the table, and he now slammed his hand down and extinguished its pesky existence. “That popinjay!” he cried at the mention of his nemesis’s name. “Is he not content to have the governorship of his nephew, your heir? The man is insufferable in his ambitions. I understand he is undertaking a pilgrimage to Italy as we speak to seek holy intervention in his wife’s sickness. He has already been to Compostella. If the rumors are true and he is your sister’s lover, then he should go with all speed to confess his adultery to the Holy Father. It might help him with the Almighty. He pretends piety in public but in private he plays his wife false. I for one shall be glad to see him gone for a while.”

  “Have a care, my friend. You are speaking of my family. Anthony is the queen’s favorite brother, and it would not do to annoy Elizabeth more than you do now.” Edward laughed. “You are jealous, admit it. Rivers is a better jouster, better poet, and better-looking than you, my lord, and, more than mere rumor, he is Margaret’s lover. Besides, we have all gone on pilgrimages—albeit not so far. I do not grudge him that.”

  Seeing Hastings glower, Edward bit his tongue, regretting he had stirred up the bitterness that had surfaced between his trusty councilor and Anthony Rivers upon the transfer of the captaincy of Calais four years before. Perhaps he had been hasty at the time in taking the honor from Anthony to give to Hastings, he mused, but Edward considered Hastings the more capable of keeping the garrison readied and loyal. Why could everyone in his immediate circle not ge
t along, he often wondered. He was tired of playing mediator. Elizabeth disliked Will, Will disliked Tom Grey, who returned the favor, and even his brothers George and Richard were constantly quarreling. It really was very tiresome, but he was too lazy to do anything about it, if the truth be told.

  Edward decided to bring the subject back to Mistress Shore. “Lambert? Was he not one of the miserly mercers who reluctantly loosed his purse strings for the French expedition? Mayhap I should pay Master Lambert a royal visit to thank him personally for his pennies and enquire after his daughter at the same time.” Edward tossed back a cup of wine, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and watched his friend’s face fall. “Nay, I am jesting, Sir Lovelorn. She is all yours. I warrant she will not do for me. I like not poppets for partners in bed.” He suddenly sat up and slapped his forehead. “Christ’s nails, this lady sounds like the one Tom waxed poetic about before we went to France, do you not remember? Golden hair, green eyes, and standing less than five feet. Aye, I am certain she, too, was a mercer’s daughter.”

  Will grimaced at the mention of the marquess of Dorset, another burr under his saddle. The inclusion of Edward’s young stepson—and his own stepson-in-law—in their entertainment was an embarrassing aspect of his and Ned’s friendship. The boy could be his grandson, he thought angrily. And such an arrogant and unintelligent courtier, he had long ago concluded. Could Mistress Shore be the same woman? Tom must have confided in Edward, which further irritated Will, but it was the thought that Tom might have already enjoyed Jane that really infuriated him.

  “I believe the lady to have better judgment than to have dallied even a moment with a libertine like Dorset,” Will declared. “It cannot be the same woman.”

  Edward laughed again, relishing his friend’s discomfort. “And you, I suppose, my dear Will, are pure as the driven snow? I am afraid that description belongs solely to my brother Richard. What is it about Tom you dislike so? Are you angry that Bess insisted I give him to your wealthy stepdaughter? Come now, admit it.”

  “Aye, I admit it,” Will snapped back. “I am fond of my stepdaughter and to see her wastrel husband seducing others in my sight sickens me.”

  “William, William,” Edward purred. “Cast not out the mote from thine own eye . . . or however the scripture reads. And do not tell me you think about your poor wife when you are in bed with a trollop?”

  And I suppose you do, Will wanted to retort, but he knew how far he could push Edward before the king became the king and no longer his adventurous companion.

  “Speaking of wives, I had best go and visit mine,” Edward grumbled as he rose and called for a page. “I have promised Richard a game of chess after supper this evening, so no lusty sport for us. I love that brother of mine dearly, but he is not one to make merry.” He smiled as he checked his appearance in the polished silver mirror. “Did you ever meet his first love, Kate Haute? Now, there was a woman who might have brightened Richard’s sober-sided aspect. Bold and beautiful—like my Bessie—but sadly an unsuitable bride for a prince.”

  Hastings nodded, but he was thinking: also like your Bess.

  “Certes, you met her,” Edward said. “Richard’s Neville wife is all gentleness, but lacks the spirit of her predecessor.” As he strode from the room, he called back, “Shall I see you at the council meeting on the morrow?”

  Will confirmed that he would be there, but his mind was on more interesting matters as he planned his strategy for the wooing of Jane Shore.

  “We have been summoned to Lord Hastings’s house, wife,” William almost shouted, bursting into Jane’s chamber with barely a knock. At the interruption, Jane’s maidservant, Ankarette Tyler, dropped the gold necklace she was removing from her mistress’s neck. Impatient to be alone with his wife, William spoke sharply to the trembling woman before shooing her from the room. Jane picked up the jewelry and shot him a disapproving look.

  “Sweet Jesu, William, you have the manners of a peasant.”

  His cold, hard look made her cower, and for a moment she believed that William would hit her, as her father would have done, but the news her husband wanted to convey overcame any desire to chastise her, and he disregarded her retort.

  “The baron wishes to see both of us upon the morrow, Jane. And he wishes you to wear the green-and-golden gown. I should not be surprised if his lady wife is present, and she is a Neville! Can you not rejoice? This could be the making of my fortune.” Then William astonished Jane by capering—aye, she thought, capering was the word—about the room. She had not seen him so excited before, and as it seemed to her that for once his levity was not wine-induced, she had an idea.

  She rose and took off her bedrobe, going to him with a smile and acknowledgment of the wonderful news. She ran her hands up his arms and ended with his face between her fingers as she stood on tiptoe, hoping to arouse him at last. “Certes, I am happy for you—happy for us both, husband.” She stroked his cheek and let her breasts press up against him. Surely she would feel his passion rise and manifest itself between them. “And, my dear husband, I would be happy for our child,” she hinted.

  He stared down at her sensual smile and smelled the lavender water in her hair. He did indeed feel her full bosom warming his torso, with her hand perilously near his codpiece. She was waiting to be kissed, and for the first time since wedding her, he thought to his own surprise he might bed her. He had not forgotten her taunts of annulment, and in truth he wanted no part of a separation. He feared for his growing reputation. He had ambitions to rise in the guild and become a warden, like John Lambert, and even, God willing, an alderman of the city. Nay, he could not risk a scandal at this point in his promising career.

  As always, once thoughts about business again crowded his head, they drew the blood from his loins back into his brain, and he pushed Jane aside. “We cannot dally in bed when we need every second of this night to prepare. I must choose my finest wares to take with us to Lord Hastings’s house. You must look your best, and so I shall leave you to sleep alone.”

  “Then you have forfeited your chance of keeping me as your wife, William,” Jane wanted to shout. Surely the dean of Arches would grant her an annulment after she told this familiar story. She turned from him, her eyes hard, and coldly wished him a good night.

  William grasped her arm and swung her back to him. “Why the disdain, mistress high and mighty? Do I not afford you all the advantages of a wealthy merchant’s wife? Do you not hold the keys to the household? Have you not spent my hard-earned money on your wardrobe and jewels? Have I begrudged you your craving for luxury? How dare you turn from your husband and dismiss him with a rude ‘good night.’ What more do you want, mistress?”

  Jane shook off his hand, her eyes now the color of an angry sea. “What I want is beyond your understanding, William. To begin with, you have no capacity to love, and even that I could forgo if you could give me the real treasure that I seek. ’Tis not the fabulous gowns nor sparkling sapphires that you bribe me with. Oh, do not take me for a fool, sir; I know full well they are bribes. Nay, what I yearn for is a babe whom I can love and who will love me. My own child is what I want.” She scoffed at his astonishment. “Aye, even your child, husband, although I would pray he would not take after his father.” She knew she had provoked him too far and as he lifted his hand to hit her, she raised her own to prevent him. “Do you wish me to have the marks of your fingers on my face when you meet with Lord Hastings, Master Shore?”

  William had gone white and now a faint flush colored his cheeks as he pulled his hand from her grip. He turned on his heel, exited the room, and slammed the door behind him. Jane threw herself down on the bed, unable to stem the uncharacteristic tears that had threatened during her defiant speech. It was one she had often dreamed about making during her waking hours while carrying out her duties as mistress of the household. She never thought she would ever have the courage to speak her mind in such a blunt manner. She was at once proud of herself and yet chastised. Had she not promi
sed at the church door to obey her husband in all things?

  Her tears were quickly spent as her practical self took over. She offered a quick prayer to the Virgin’s mother, St. Anne, who was known to comfort childless women and who had become Jane’s favorite intercedent with God over the past few months. “I pray you let William be well received by Lord Hastings so that he may celebrate by getting me with child. I fear greatly that if he is unable to then, I shall succumb to temptation with another.” She closed her eyes tightly and hoped neither St. Anne nor God could read her mind. She did not think that either deity would approve of her committing adultery with Tom Grey. But the idea excited her, and, after crossing herself for her sinful thoughts, she got up off the bed and stood in front of the polished copper mirror. She lifted her shift to reveal her ankles and then a little more of her legs and, closing her eyes, imagined her lover removing the garment completely and taking her naked body in his arms.

  Aching with unfulfilled passion, she let the skirt fall, blew out the candles, and crawled alone between the sheets.

  Will Hastings’s residence lay a stone’s throw from Paul’s Wharf to the south and Baynard’s Castle to the west, and once inside the small courtyard Jane admired the warm, ivy-covered brick facade with its several large leaded windows, which she would discover illuminated the solar on the second floor to great effect. From them, one could just see the river and Southwark’s growing skyline of lime-washed houses standing out against a leaden sky.

  The baron’s steward met their small cart at the side entrance. It was a singular honor to be met by the steward himself, William explained to Jane as he began supervising his apprentices and a household page in transporting the many bolts of damasks and velvets up the stairs to the main floor. On top of the pile was the green-and-gold satin.