“Ohh, Lady Rochford,” Kate said, “who among us has a lover, do you think? None, I fear!”
“Do not be so certain.” Lady Rochford chuckled. “It is always the one you least expect, sweet Kate. Perhaps it is you!”
“Nay! Nay! Though I wish it were so, madame,” the girl replied, laughing.
“Let me have a tad more of that cherry cordial,” Bessie said. “Neither Lady Browne, who has gone to spend the night with her husband, nor Mother Lowe, who stays with the queen, is here to catch us.”
Lady Rochford frowned. “Certainly not, Elizabeth FitzGerald,” she said sternly. “ ’Twas a treat, and you will be tipsy if you drink more. Now, be off with you, my maids.” Lady Rochford shooed them to their beds saying, “There is no need to double up tonight, is there, with four gone? How nice to have a bed to one’s self, even for a night.”
Nyssa, who thought the cordial too sweet, had surreptitiously pushed her glass over to Bessie, who grinned conspiratorially. Nyssa had to agree with Lady Rochford about the sleeping arrangements. She could not get used to having to share a bed with another girl. She had always had her own bed her entire life. The others did not seem to mind, or if they did, they said nothing. Cat Howard had been raised in a dormitory for young girls at her grandmother Howard’s house. Bessie had spent most of her life at court as the king’s ward, and Kate Carey had a sister. Nyssa yawned. She was suddenly very sleepy, and so, it appeared, were the others. She drew the coverlet up over herself, her eyes closing even as she did so.
Lady Jane Rochford settled herself into a chair by the fire and waited, growing a bit sleepy herself with the warmth from the fire toasting her toes. An hour passed, and the girls were sleeping soundly. She arose and checked each of them individually. It was time. Taking a taper, she went to the chamber window that faced the courtyard and slowly waved the candlestick back and forth several times. Then she sat back down again in her chair to wait. Several minutes later she heard a soft scratching at the chamber door. Moving quickly, she opened the door and led the two men who entered to where Nyssa lay.
“That is the girl,” she said softly. “Quickly now!”
One of the men picked up the slumbering girl, coverlet and all, and hurried from the Maidens’ Chamber, the other going swiftly before him to be certain that no one saw them. Behind them Lady Rochford quickly closed the door. The two men moved swiftly through the dimly lit palace corridors, taking a roundabout route that was less likely to be patrolled by the king’s guards, who would most certainly ask questions that they could not answer.
Nyssa’s abductors were two of the most trusted of the Duke of Norfolk’s men. They had been ordered to bring this girl to the Earl of March’s bedchamber in secret. They had no idea what was afoot, nor would they have ever considered asking. They were servants, and servants, even those of longstanding, did not question their masters. Upon reaching their destination, they entered and deposited the girl upon the bed, as they had been ordered. There appeared to be no one else in the room, but the two men had completed their assignment, and so they left.
When the door closed behind them, Varian de Winter stepped from the shadows and walked over to the bed to look down at Nyssa. She was going to hate him, and he did not want her to hate him. He had wanted to court her, and win her honestly. He had wanted her family to consider him worthy of their daughter, but it was not to be. They would accept him because they would have no other choice. He would have to win them over. If only he could convince Nyssa not to hate him. Perhaps she would never love him, but he desperately did not want her to despise him.
She was wrapped in the coverlet that had obviously been on her bed. Carefully he untangled it from around her, and folding it up, hid it in the carved cabinet on the wall to the left of his bed. Opposite the bed a small fire burned in a tiled fireplace. The earl laid another log upon the fire, then drew off his velvet robe, throwing it over a chair. The flames played upon his long, lean body. Several of the women who had been his lovers claimed that he was like a piece of beautiful sculpture come to life. It both flattered and amused him.
Walking back over to the bed, he did what had to be done to make this charade convincing to Henry Tudor. He pulled the pink silk ribbons of Nyssa’s chemise open, raised the girl halfway up and began to draw it off of her. She stirred restlessly. The flimsy little garment was soft. It slid easily down her delicate frame. He set her back to lie against the pillows. He struggled not to look too closely at her, but he had not the strength to resist. She was lovelier than any woman he had ever possessed. She had a long torso, and pretty, shapely legs. Her breasts were small but pert, and her skin looked as soft as the garment he had just divested her of a moment before. Her dark hair against her fair, fair skin made her look so vulnerable. If his conscience had plagued him before, it certainly ate at him now, but it was much too late to turn back. God help us all, he thought; me, and Nyssa Wyndham, and my poor cousin Catherine. No man is safe from the ambition of another man, and Thomas Howard is more ambitious than most.
Lifting her again, he slid her beneath the down coverlet and climbed into the bed next to her. She stirred once more, this time murmuring restlessly. The Duke of Norfolk would certainly be here at any moment with the king to discover Nyssa Wyndham lost in a moment of unbridled passion with the Earl of March. He raised himself on one elbow and gazed down upon his innocent victim. To his great surprise, Nyssa opened her violet-blue eyes. Her look was one of total confusion as she looked up at the velvet bed hangings and then at him.
“Am I dreaming?” she whispered, her heart beginning to hammer with fright.
“I wish I could say you were, sweetheart,” he answered low.
Her eyes widened. Gasping, she clutched at the coverlet, peeping quickly beneath it. “Ohhhh!” Her shock was obvious as her cheeks reddened.
At that moment he heard movement outside the bedchamber door. Reaching out, he tangled his hand roughly in her hair and said, “Forgive me, Nyssa Wyndham!” Then his mouth came bruisingly down upon hers, even as the door to the room burst open and he heard his grandfather’s voice say, “You see, Your Grace! I was not misinformed.”
Henry Tudor could not believe his eyes. They bugged from his head. There she lay, a startled look upon her beautiful face, one perfect little breast exposed to his view, her ripe little mouth absolutely bruised with kisses. Nyssa Wyndham! His little country girl’s daughter, as wanton a wench as her mother had been good and decent. It was patently obvious to him what was going on. It would have been obvious to anyone. “Madame!” he roared. “I would have an explanation for your disgraceful behavior, although I can think of no explanation that would excuse your lewdness!”
“Your Grace,” Nyssa began, half sobbing. Where in God’s name was she? How had she gotten here? The sensation of the Earl of March’s leg against hers was exciting, but it shouldn’t be.
“Silence, girl!” the Duke of Norfolk said. Then he turned his gaze to his grandson. “Varian, I am outraged that you would debauch an innocent maid of good reputation and family. You have gone too far this time, I fear. There is but one solution open to us to prevent a scandal and save this lady’s heretofore good name.”
“They’re to go to the Tower! Both of them!” the king snarled.
“Wait, Your Grace,” Bishop Gardiner said in conciliatory tones. He had been standing behind the duke, but now he moved forward with the Archbishop of Canterbury at his side. “There can be no scandal at this particular time in your court—particularly as it has been whispered that you favor this young woman.”
“Favor Nyssa?” the king said. “Of course I favor her. She is the daughter of my friend, Blaze Wyndham. I promised Nyssa’s parents that I would look after her as if she were one of my own daughters. God’s blood, Gardiner! Certainly you did not think that I looked upon her with romantic intentions? If you did, you are a fool!” he shouted.
“No, no, Your Grace,” the bishop said, nonplussed. The king had once again surprised him. Why was
it he was always able to do that?
“I do not know how I came to be here,” Nyssa cried out, but no one except the Archbishop of Canterbury heard her.
Thomas Cranmer saw the honest confusion on the girl’s face. He noted the barely masked worry on the earl’s handsome visage and knew instantly that there was some plot afoot. Since he could not imagine what it was, he kept his suspicions to himself. Lady Nyssa Wyndham’s reputation must be protected. The girl was obviously innocent of any wrongdoing, although he would be hard-pressed to convince the king of it. Henry Tudor would only believe what he considered the evidence of his own eyes.
“Your Grace, there is but one remedy to this situation,” the archbishop said in his soft, soothing voice.
The king looked questioningly at him.
“Lady Wyndham and Lord de Winter must be joined in matrimony this very night, before any word of this incident gets out. I am certain that Bishop Gardiner and the duke will agree with me, will you not, my lords?” The archbishop smiled gently, encouragingly, at them.
“Of course, of course, my lord,” the bishop said.
“He’s right, though ’tis not often I agree with the archbishop,” the duke said. “We can silence the gossip by saying my grandson fell in love with the chit, that the king gave his permission for them to marry, and that because of Your Grace’s own marital difficulty, they chose to be married by the archbishop quickly and quietly so they might continue to serve you and the queen during this difficult time for you both.”
“If you were an animal, Tom, you would be a fox,” Henry Tudor said grimly. He turned to the couple abed and said to the earl, “How long has this been going on beneath my very nose, my lord?”
“Lady Wyndham only came to my bed this night, Your Grace,” Varian de Winter answered truthfully.
“And have you breached her defenses yet, or did we arrive in time, sirrah?” The king was very angry, but he was not certain which of them angered him more. He had certainly thought better of Nyssa Wyndham, but then these young women today were not like their mothers.
“I am a virgin!” Nyssa said furiously, glaring at them all. “I do not know how I came to be here, Your Grace, but I did not come to his bed! I do not know how I got here!”
“Madame,” the king said coldly, “your mother never lied to me. I am sorry that you see fit to do so.”
“I am not lying!” Nyssa almost wept.
“Madame, am I a fool?” the king roared angrily. “Is that what you think of your sovereign? I find you naked as the day your sweet mother bore you, in the bed of an equally naked man. Am I to believe that you came here by magic? If you indeed did not come here willingly, or under your own power, then how did you come here, Nyssa Wyndham? Answer me that? How came you to the Earl of March’s bed?”
“I do not know!” she sobbed.
“Your Grace,” the archbishop said quietly, “I think perhaps it would be wise to send for Lady Wyndham’s aunt. Her guilt has obviously overcome her, and she is in need of female comfort. In the meantime, Bishop Gardiner and I will repair to the Chapel Royal to make our preparations for the wedding of these two young people. I know that they are both distressed to have caused Your Grace such acute suffering.”
“Aye, go along, both of you. I want them married within the hour,” the king said, glaring at the couple. “I will witness their nuptials myself, as will the duke. In the morning, Lord de Winter, I shall expect to see proof of Lady Wyndham’s defloration. You will marry her, and you will remain married to her. There will be no excuse for an annulment. Do you understand me, my lord?”
“Aye, Your Grace, completely, but I assure you that I am eager to marry Lady Wyndham, and will endeavor to be a good husband to her in all ways. We will name our first son after you, will we not, sweetheart?”
“I will not marry this man!” Nyssa shouted. “I do not love him! I do not even know him! I will only marry for love!”
“You knew him well enough to creep into his bed!” snapped the king. “God’s blood, wench! Who the hell do you think will marry you if not de Winter once this scandal is out, and it will get out, I assure you. The walls have ears, you may be certain. You are ruined, girl. I gave your mother my solemn word that I would care for you and keep you safe. You have made your bed, by God, and now you will lie in it. You will accept the consequences of your actions! There is no other choice, Lady Wyndham. You will marry Varian de Winter because I, your king, order you to marry him. To disobey my order is treason. Your mother has always been my most loyal servant, and I expect no less of you, Nyssa Wyndham.” He sighed. “At least the man is of equal birth to you. I can but hope you are satisfied with your choice, girl, for you have no option in this matter now. You will be married to this man within the hour.” So saying, Henry Tudor departed the earl’s bedchamber in the company of the Duke of Norfolk.
For several long moments the silence within the room was thick. Then Nyssa said to the man by her side, “How came I here, my lord?”
“Not now, Nyssa,” he said grimly.
“I have a right to know!” She did not look at him, and her voice was ragged with her emotion. “I went to sleep in the Maidens’ Chamber. I awoke here to find myself in the center of a maelstrom.”
“I promise that I will tell you, but not now,” he said. “I know that under the circumstances I have not the right to ask it of you, but please, Nyssa, trust me. You will not come to any harm.”
Now she turned to look directly at him. “Trust you, my lord? Why should I trust you? Your reputation is foul, and whatever has happened here tonight has done little to reassure me otherwise. No! I do not trust you. Indeed I think I could hate you for your part in this charade. My parents always promised me that I should choose my own husband. Now it seems that decision has been taken from me by strangers, and I would know why. I think you owe me that.”
“And more,” he agreed, “but I cannot tell you now. You will have to accept that, and be patient.”
“Patience is not one of my long suits, my lord,” she warned him. “You have much to learn about me.”
“How old are you?” he asked her.
“Seventeen, the last day of December past,” she answered. “How old are you, my lord? Are you very old?”
“I will be thirty the last day of the month,” he replied, smiling at her. There was so much he needed to learn about Nyssa Wyndham.
He has a nice smile, she thought; neither too broad nor too thin. I could almost like him. Almost.
“Where do you live when you do not live at court?” she asked.
“My estates are across the river Wye from your house at Riverside,” he said. “Until recently I did not possess the river frontage, but now I do. My house is on a hill a mile from the water. My estate is called Winterhaven. Your uncle, Lord Kingsley’s lands, partly border it.”
“Why have we never met before I came to court?” she asked him. She was surprised, nay amazed, at her calm.
“Because I have lived with the Duke of Norfolk’s household since I was six years old. My father, Henry de Winter, the previous earl, died when you were just a very little girl. I come to Winterhaven only for a few weeks each summer to escape the court, and to be private. I have never entertained, or socialized with my neighbors there. Had I, we might have met before you came here. I hope you will not be disappointed, but I should very much like to leave the court and live in the country, Nyssa. I know this must be exciting for a young girl, but I am weary of it all.”
“I had planned to go home once this business with the king’s marriage was settled. My mistress will not need me when she is no longer Queen of England,” Nyssa said. “I will not be unhappy to leave court.” It was not calm she felt. It was cold. She suddenly realized she felt cold. Was she in shock? Or was she simply stunned with outrage?
There was a knock upon the chamber door, but before the earl might say “Enter,” Bliss FitzHugh rushed in, her beautiful blue eyes wide at the sight of her naked niece in bed with the Ea
rl of March.
“Ohh, Nyssa,” she said, nearly weeping. “What have you done, my child? I have just received the most dreadful scolding from the king himself. He says you must marry immediately.” She turned her gaze on Varian de Winter. “You are a scoundrel, my lord, to have seduced an innocent maid! At least this time you will not be able to leave her with child, to kill herself over the shame of your betrayal!”
“As we are to be related, madame,” Varian de Winter said with as much dignity as an unclothed man might muster, “I will overlook your thoughtless remarks. You have been misinformed by that great gossip, Adela Marlowe, I am most certain. When we know each other better, I shall enlighten you with the truth. I assume you can recognize the truth, Lady FitzHugh.”
Bliss gasped, and Nyssa could not help the little giggle that escaped her. It was not often that someone could set her aunt back on her heels so firmly and neatly.
“You dare to laugh, mistress?” Bliss said, outraged. “Your parents will be heartbroken when they learn of your behavior. Get out of that bed, Nyssa Wyndham! You are to be married at once, and I do not know what you can wear under such circumstances as these!” She snatched up Nyssa’s little silk shift and threw it at her. “As for you, sirrah, get some clothing on this instant unless you intend to be wed to my niece in the altogether!” She glared fiercely at them both.
The Earl of March, sheepishly pulling the coverlet about his loins, climbed gingerly from his bed and slowly backed into the dressing room where his clothing was hanging. Nyssa pulled her shift over her head and climbed from the bed.
“Well,” Bliss said, “he’s handsome, I’ll give him that. At least his blood is noble. A Howard! You’ve caught a big fish in your net, my child!”
“I did not catch him at all,” Nyssa said irritably.
Bliss paid absolutely no attention to her niece. “What can you wear? Oh, lord! The king said you were to come immediately to the chapel. What are we to do? You cannot stand before the archbishop in your shift!” Her blue eyes suddenly lit up. “Of course! You can wear my cloak over your chemise. It’s trimmed in fur, and the rose velvet is very flattering to you. Your hair needs brushing, Nyssa. My lord,” she called out. “I shall need a brush to neaten Nyssa’s hair.” She fussed about her niece, settling her ermine-trimmed cape over Nyssa’s shoulders, fastening it shut with the small gold frog closures. Bliss snatched up the brush that Varian de Winter handed her and vigorously removed the tangles from the girl’s lovely dark hair. Then suddenly she began to weep. “Ohhh, your mother will never forgive me for letting this happen to you! And to not be at your wedding! Tony will be simply furious, my child. You know how he dotes upon you. He did not want you to come to court.”
Love, Remember Me Page 15