Much cheered by her plan, she called out to Ankarette to ready her for bed, and slipping the necklace under her pillow, she began to pull off her stockings and roll them into a ball.
It had taken her the best part of twelve hours of her allotted twenty-four to decide what to do. She had another twelve ahead of her to while away in worrying.
It peeved Jane that Edward had been so sure of himself that he had sent a litter with one of his squires of the body at the appointed hour. But as it was raining—again—she was glad not to have to ruin the hem of her carefully chosen gown in the soggy debris that littered Coleman Street that morning. Damn, she thought, she had meant to send for the gong farmer to clear out the latrine. The rats had sorted through much of the kitchen leavings in the alley, and she saw one scuttle away as she bade farewell to the apprentice Wat, giving him charge of the shop in her absence.
“I shall not be long,” she told him as he stood forlornly watching her in the doorway.
“What shall I tell Master Shore when he returns?” He was half in love with his master’s wife, and so Jane took advantage of his weakness to embroil the poor man in a ruse.
“That I was called to my father’s house. No need to tell him about the litter and the escort, in truth.” Seeing his confusion, she took pity on him and pressed his hand. “Besides, he will not be back until after I return, so do your work and stop worrying.”
“As you say, mistress,” he assented, looking in wonder at her hand on his. Then he turned and disappeared through the kitchen to the shop. Relieved, Jane was about to shut the sturdy oak door, when she heard Sophie’s voice calling from across the street.
“God’s teeth!” Jane swore under her breath, wishing to avoid her friend at this moment. John Norrys, one of Edward’s squires and her escort, was becoming impatient, and Jane decided to shut the front door and stand in the rain to shorten the conversation with Sophie.
“Jane, lieveling,” Sophie greeted her, worry creasing her wet forehead as she eyed with suspicion the vehicle and its badgeless yet imperious escort. “Vhere do you go today? Are you not to manage the shop in Villiam’s absence?”
Jane could not meet her friend’s honest eyes. “ ’Tis my father’s business I am on, Sophie,” she lied, hating herself. “Forgive me, but I cannot stay.”
She moved toward the litter, but Sophie put out her hand to stay her and inadvertently moved Jane’s heavy cloak to one side, revealing a far more elegant gown than would be necessary to visit the Mercery. “You do not tell me the truth,” Sophie lamented. “Is it Master Grey?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “Ah, Jane, I beg of you, do not go.”
“Nay, certes it is not,” Jane retorted with a falsely high titter. Extending her hand to the escort, she stepped into the litter. “I regret I cannot stay longer, Sophie.”
As the squire mounted his horse, Sophie peered into the opening of the vehicle. “Jane Shore, you vill please tell me vhere you are going.”
Jane took a deep breath and demurred. “You will not approve, dearest Sophie, but I will satisfy your curiosity as long as you do not preach morality to me. I have been summoned by the king.”
Sophie gasped, stepped back, and crossed herself as the litter carriers moved off toward Lothbury Street. “In Godsnaam,” she said to herself. “She has gone mad.”
Jane leaned back against the cushions, careful not to shift her weight too abruptly and upset the balance of the unstable vehicle. Sophie’s visit had unsettled Jane. Would her friend believe it was her duty to tell William? She shook off the fear, knowing that Sophie would never betray her, as she would never betray Sophie. Ah, but Sophie would never do anything to warrant betrayal, Jane admitted; she was too good. She put her friend from her thoughts, glad of the litter’s seclusion from prying eyes that might recognize her in the Chepe. Edward must be well practiced in the art of clandestine dealings, she told herself, commending his planning.
Even so, yesterday’s conviction was giving way to misgivings, which Sophie’s dismay had intensified, and soon the necklace felt as though it was burning a hole in her throat. She swallowed and concentrated on the activities in the street. They were passing under the Ludgate, and the escort tossed a coin to the gatekeeper, who bowed low and tested the coin between his teeth. In the Old Bailey and under the city wall, young boys were kicking around a football made from a straw-stuffed pig’s bladder, and one of her porters had to avoid tripping over a wiry towhead intent on scoring a goal. “By St. Jude!” the man swore as the litter lurched and Jane clutched the handrail. “Out of my way, you clodpole.”
“Says who? The king?” the boy retorted, cocking a snoot while his fellows cheered him on.
“Aye,” replied the mounted escort, maneuvering his horse between the litter and the players, “in fact he does. Now hop it.”
Jane smiled as the boys stood agape, and they stared curiously at the litter, trying to see who was inside. Soon she was recognizing the magnificent row of inns on her left belonging to their graces the bishops of Exeter, Bath and Wells, Chester, and Worcester along the Strand or high street of Westminster. The porters huffed over the Strand Bridge, from where she could see the spire of St. Martin’s set among the fields to her right, then the vineyard and gardens of the great abbey church of St. Peter in front of them, and she knew they were at Westminster.
The little group passed through a privy gate near the river into the king’s courtyard, and Jane was ushered quickly up an outside staircase to a door on the third floor of the royal lodgings and told to wait in a richly furnished chamber that had as its focus a huge tester bed, its curtains shot with threads of silvers. She stared long and hard at it. Alone, she stood in front of the cheerful fire, warming her hands and lifting the hem of her gown to dry her stockings and little leather shoes.
“I am pleased you have come, Mistress Shore.” Edward’s greeting startled her, and she reddened, stepping away from the hearth and sinking into a deep curtsey. “I had almost convinced myself that you would not.”
Jane looked up at the magnificent figure towering over her, conceding that her earlier vision of this encounter had not been so far-fetched. He was smiling, a smile that reached his eyes. She lowered her gaze and murmured, “God’s grace with you, my lord.”
“Let me take your cloak, mistress. I regret I chose such a miserable day to renew our acquaintance.”
Jane untied the neck cord and let Edward slip the damp, heavy mantle from her shoulders. His eyes lingered for a moment on the necklace. “I hope the gift pleases you, Jane? I had it made especially for you, and I knew pearls would become you.”
Jane was now visibly shaking. Dear God, what had possessed her to come here today? She clutched the folds of her gown to steady herself and hoped her voice would not give away her trepidation. Then a snippet from Roman de la Rose eased her mind:
Who wishes to be loved must not too dear
Hold his own treasure, but good will acquire
By generous gifts.
Certes, Edward understood about courtly love; she had only to play the game. Her trembling ceased.
“ ’Tis a beautiful necklace, your grace,” she said, fingering the precious pearl, “but why do I deserve it?” She hoped she sounded like the ladies in the poem.
“Beauty always deserves the beautiful, Jane,” Edward purred, drawing her onto a small settle and holding her hand. She looked down and might have laughed: it looked like a bird’s foot in a bear’s paw. Indeed, she felt like the poppet her brother had given her to play with when she was six. She could smell orrisroot on the king’s clothes, masking the usual manly scent of horses and sweat. His touch was as light as a feather as he explored her fingers.
“Your grace, I almost did not come today,” Jane said in a rush, firmly pulling away her hand. “You are aware that I am a married woman, are you not? I do not know how to behave here and”—she rose and, stepping lightly to the fireplace, tried to bluff—“and I am unsure of what you expect of me.”
Edw
ard could not be certain at that moment if he were addressing an innocent girl or a practiced paramour. He was intrigued, but Jane was disconcerted by his amused chortle; she did not think she deserved his mockery. “I see no reason for laughter, my lord,” she said, sounding hurt, and unhooking the necklace, she placed it on the table. Then she stared into the king’s face with bravado, although her hands were clasped as if in prayer. Again, intrigued by this innocent display, Edward patted the seat next to him. For a moment, as she lowered her eyes, he thought she would submit, but then she raised her head, and striking a courageous pose, she blustered: “If I return your gift, will you allow me to return home, or will you have me thrown in gaol for disobedience—or whatever my crime is.” She stood facing him, feet planted wide apart, arms akimbo, and chin thrust forward.
This time Edward, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, threw back his head and guffawed. “How could I even think of imprisoning such a beauty? Certes, that would be a crime, although if the court could see you now, Jane,” he teased, wiping his eyes, “they might wonder at your lack of respect for your king. Look at yourself, my dear, you have to admit you make quite a picture. Look!” He pointed to the silver mirror framed in ebony upon the wall.
His unthreatening posture and infectious laughter made Jane obey, and she smiled sheepishly back at him in the polished surface, returning her arms to her sides. She saw his face soften as their eyes met, and she remained still as he rose and walked toward her. His mouth was on hers before she could resist, and its warmth surprised her. Even more surprising was how readily she opened hers to invite his hungry tongue.
She was on her tiptoes, her neck awkwardly crooked, and so Edward lifted her up to him with one practiced motion as though she weighed nothing. His desire was rising hard and high, and he sensed that she must be feeling it, too. Not a man who enjoyed taking a woman by force, however, he pulled away slightly. “Are you ready for me, Mistress Shore?” he asked.
Jane stiffened at the use of her formal married name, but there was no doubt she was aroused. She felt his hand reach into her gown, and a exquisite sensation swept through her as his expert fingers fondled her breast. A sudden panic overcame her as she remembered her plan, her foolproof plan. She was supposed to be dully dutiful and disappoint him to save herself for Tom.
“Well, Jane, are you?” Edward breathed in her ear.
“Aye, your grace, I . . .” She faltered for a second, trying to gain control of her surrendering body and feeling helpless so far off the ground. “I think I am. But, I pray you, if you would put me down, I would say something.”
Edward reluctantly did as she asked, but his fingers began unlacing the interminable ties on the back of her dress. “Whatever you have to say, Jane, I pray you be quick, for I cannot wait very long to have you.”
He was only half listening, expecting a few words about adultery and morals, but he was arrested midlace by Jane’s announcement. “I am not what you think. I am a virgin.”
“Nonsense!” was all he could think to say, his expression incredulous, his hands stilled. He was disappointed she affected such a lie; he had expected her to bypass the tedious court game of pretense and dissembling. Aye, he had taken her for an innocent, but in courtly wiles, not sexual ones.
He stepped back, his desire obviously dampened. “You are married to William Shore, are you not? And you were old enough to have consummated that marriage, I can see,” he said, more kindly now at the sight of genuine fear in her face. “Come, come, mistress, I will not harm you. But what is this falsehood about virginity? I find it impossible to believe.”
Jane turned away from him, chagrined. “I swear by all that is holy, I am a virgin, your grace. I thought you should know.” This was not how she had imagined the scene would unfold, but if it worked and he rejected her, then it fit her plan just as well. She was as puzzled by her own embarrassing admission as he was. “If you were expecting an experienced bedmate, I fear I will greatly disappoint you, ’tis all. I beg of you, my lord, do not be angry with me. I have told the truth. Pray, just let me go home.”
His silence made her turn around to him, and far from ire, she saw genuine compassion in his eyes. “I am sorry for you, Jane, truly I am.” Then he grinned. “But in truth I am sorrier for William Shore. What a fool!” This made Jane smile, and the king chuckled. “Forgive me, Jane, I am not laughing at you nor, God in his mercy, am I angry with you. Far from it; I am delighted by you. I pray you, sit here beside me and tell me how you could still be a maid.” He patted the foot of the bed, and timidly Jane perched on the edge. “I promise to just listen.”
She kneaded her hands in her lap until Edward covered them with one of his. Could she really talk to him about William’s failing? She had only ever told Sophie, oh, and the dean of Arches, to be sure. She thought for a moment and then, inspired, she began to recite:
“A cock without a crow, like a soldier without a foe,” wishing she could have found a more dignified comparison. “Or like a farmer without a hoe, or . . .”
“Yeast without the dough,” Edward joined in. “My poor Jane. How, of all women, could he have resisted you?” Then he grinned again. “Perhaps William cannot be cuckolded if he is not a true husband. Does that cheer you?”
Jane did not feel at all cheered by her predicament. “I suppose, your grace.” How foolish she felt. Now Edward would not want her at all, and, what was worse, would probably run to Hastings and Tom with her humiliating story. Damn her runaway tongue!
But Edward had no such thoughts. She was now even more of a treasure in his eyes than she had been when she had walked through his door. He gently took her chin between his fingers. “It seems my necklace is a paltry gift compared with the one you are about to give me, my dear. It becomes my very pleasant duty to teach you the art of lovemaking,” he said, and he pushed her gently onto her back.
Jane’s headdress had fallen off and now her hair spilled around her on the tapestried coverlet in a river of gold. Edward grasped a fistful of its thick softness and bent to kiss her waiting mouth. He was gentle with her, guiding her in undressing him slowly to reveal his nakedness first. He led her fingers to his erection and urged her to stroke it lightly, easing her fear of it. “All it wants is to pleasure you, sweet Jane, but only when you, too, are good and ready,” he said, delighted at how quickly she was gaining confidence.
Jane was fascinated by the velvet skin she felt between her fingers and yet how hard the member had become. Whatever she was doing obviously pleased Edward. He moaned softly, then abruptly moved away.
“You are learning too fast, Jane,” he told her, not wanting to frighten her with his urgency. He flipped her over on her stomach, untied the rest of her many ribbons and laces and removed her clothes with practiced ease, congratulating himself on his own sumptuary laws, which forbade the wearing of corsets by any lower than a knight’s wife. Jane shivered with excitement when Edward ran his hand over her bare buttocks, and she felt the dampness between her legs with which she had only been familiar when she had pleasured herself.
“Now let us see what my necklace has purchased,” Edward teased. Turning her over again, he marveled at her perfect breasts, tipped with pink and more than even his hand could hold. Jane closed her eyes as he began to play with her nipples, putting his lips to her flat belly and slowly kissing her all the way up to her waiting mouth. All her plans for lying there limp were forgotten as she moaned, “I cannot resist, my lord. I do believe I am ready.”
Wincing for only a second or two, Jane finally knew why she had saved her maidenhead for this moment. What pleasure a man and a woman could give one another, she realized as Edward moved inside her and soon climaxed with a short shout of ecstasy.
Sweet Mother of God, I have pleasured the king, she thought triumphantly, feeling assured she was indeed a desirable woman, and she delighted that it had not been the chore Sophie had described. Then she felt Edward’s fingers arousing her nipples again while he slipped down between her
thighs. Suddenly the world exploded as if in flashes of bright light, and her hands reached for Edward’s head, tousling his hair and pushing him to pleasure her again. The waves of hitherto unknown and untold bliss washed over her, and she cried out without inhibition.
“Shall I stop, Jane?” Edward lifted his head and grinned. “You were indeed ready.” He rolled off her and pulled the sheet up around them both.
“For three and twenty years I have waited for this, my lord,” Jane managed to utter. “Dear God, but I must be a wanton. My friend Sophie told me the act was a duty, and thus I never imagined such transports.”
Edward stroked her belly. “Madam, you are no wanton, but I must tell you that you are made to be loved.” He propped himself up on his elbow and was at once serious. “From the moment I first saw you, I knew I wanted you, and as I am used to having my own way, you were not to know you could not escape me. My instincts about women are rarely wrong, but I have to admit I was wrong about you. I had imagined you more willing that you were.” He grinned. “However, I was right about your being a wanton, was I not?”
Jane flushed, nodding. She timidly put out her hand to touch his face and caressed his mouth with her thumb. Dear God, she thought, here she was lying and talking with the king, King Edward the Fourth of England. Surely, she must be dreaming. A guilty thought about Bella seeing her thus flitted through her mind. This was an event she would not share with her sister.
“What gave me away, your grace?”
Edward took her hand and kissed the palm. “You stared at me boldly when you were presented, as though you were taunting me, flirting with me.” Jane was astonished; she had no idea her stare that day was anything but curious. “And your body offered all I could desire,” Edward was saying. “I confess I had heard of you through my chamberlain, and I was curious. He was quite smitten with you from the little he told me.” He did not mention he knew of her rejection of Hastings.
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