Love, Remember Me

by Bertrice Small

  “I pray you are right, sweeting,” he told her, and pulling her into his arms, he kissed her deeply.

  To the queen’s delight, Nyssa began to spend more time with her. She had also, to everyone’s relief, ceased talking constantly about her twins. Other people’s children were always so boring.

  The progress moved on to the port of Boston so the king might indulge his naval fantasies. The queen and her court, however, boated on the waters of the river Witham past the elegant tower that soared above the church of St. Botolph. The boaters pelted each other with flowers, until the waters about them looked more like a field than a river. Then laughing and singing, they picnicked along the riverbanks.

  The progress moved into Yorkshire and Northumberland, heading for Newcastle, the farthest north Henry Tudor had ever been in his kingdom. Varian de Winter left his wife to her own devices, attaching himself to the king’s group of gentlemen in order to learn any gossip that might filter in from their wives or ladyloves. It was better that he and Nyssa not seem too close if they were to learn the truth.

  Tom Culpeper, although a gentleman of the king’s privy, was spending more time with the queen these days. One of his closest friends, Sir Cynric Vaughn, had singled out Nyssa and was pursuing her shamelessly.

  “Now that you have stopped being an old goodwife,” Cat said, “the gentlemen can see what a charmer you really are.”

  The two women were together in the queen’s privy chamber of her pavilion. Kate Carey and Bessie FitzGerald had joined the progress, at the queen’s invitation. But for their change in status, it was like old times, Nyssa thought.

  “I do not think the gentleman should be so obvious in his attentions toward me,” Nyssa said, almost primly. “After all, I am a married woman, Your Grace. Besides, I suspect he has earned his nickname, and not in a way any respectable woman would approve of,” she noted. “A gentleman named ‘Sin’? It sounds quite wicked.”

  Cat giggled. “He is wicked,” she said, and she lowered her voice. “I hear he makes it a habit to seduce married women, and get them to fall in love with him. You had best beware, Nyssa, for Tom says Sin is madly in love with you, and means to have you!”

  “How do you do it?” Kate Carey asked. “It seems every time you come to court, some gentleman desires you. I have not been so fortunate. I shall be married off to some dull fellow in due time without ever having known passion and mad abandon.”

  “Maybe when you are wed, the gentlemen of the court will feel free to indulge their passions for you,” Bessie said mischievously. “They said it is dangerous for them to tamper with virgins unless they plan to wed them.”

  “True,” the queen agreed wryly. “After all, if the road to paradise is already an open road, who is to know who has traveled it before? Still, the truth of the matter is that men are usually in such a hurry to couch their lances that they quite often do not even know if a maid is pure or not.” She laughed. “Men can be managed, my dears.”

  Nyssa was shocked. This was a side of Cat Howard she had not seen before. It was cynical, and perhaps even a trifle dishonest. She had never before considered her friend in these terms. Wisely, she held her tongue, for they would just tease her about being a backward country lass even if she was a married woman.

  “But if a girl is not a virgin, can a man not tell?” Kate Carey asked curiously. “When Nyssa married Lord de Winter, my uncle, the king, insisted that proof of the consummation be brought to him the following morning. That proof was a bedsheet with the stains of Nyssa’s virginity upon it. If there is no blood, what can a man think but that his bride was not pure? I would be very afraid of such a thing.”

  “Do not be such a goose, Kate,” the queen said. “Many a girl has gone to her marriage bed with a chicken’s bladder of blood secreted beneath the sheets to give evidence of her purity.”

  “But a girl could become enceinte playing the wanton,” Bessie FitzGerald replied nervously.

  The queen motioned them closer and said, “A girl can meddle with a man and not become enceinte if she knows what to do.” She smiled knowingly, showing her small white teeth.

  Her words disturbed Nyssa further. Why was the queen suddenly so knowledgeable? Was it because she was a married woman, or did her enlightenment stem from another time, a time prior to her marriage? It was a frightening thought.

  “I want to dance!” the queen said, jumping up. “Kate, go and call the musicians. See if there are any gentlemen in the outer chamber, and tell them that we shall join them immediately.”

  The queen’s musicians were summoned and began to play. The young men and women danced the spritely country dances. Wine was being served with small sugar wafers.

  Sin Vaughn stood watching them for a time, contemplating his attack. The Countess of March was without a doubt the most exciting woman he had ever met. Her very coolness to him, her air of respectability, enticed him greatly. Very tall, and slender, he stood head and shoulders above most of the court. The ladies adored him, and his charm was legendary. His oval-shaped gray eyes had the habit of narrowing almost to slits when he was considering some matter he deemed to be of importance. He had thick, wavy, ash-brown hair that was filled with golden highlights, and he was clean-shaven, unlike many at court. His chin was squared, and there was a deep cleft in it that set maidens to swooning when they looked upon him. His mouth was big, in keeping with the rest of him.

  Snapping up a goblet of chilled wine, he was at her side as the dance came to an end. Her partner, seeing his rival, slipped into the background. “Madame,” he said, handing her the goblet. She looked absolutely delicious, all flushed and breathless.

  “My thanks, my lord,” she said with a small smile. She was going to have to encourage him, she knew. He would be privy to all of Tom Culpeper’s secrets, and Tom Culpeper was paying marked attention to the queen at all these little gatherings when the king was not present. Both he and Cat were quite proper in their behavior, but there was a tension between them that to Nyssa was almost palpable. Did no one else see it, or sense it? Was she imagining things? “You do not dance, my lord,” she said to him.

  “I have not the knack for it,” he replied, smiling into her eyes and taking her free hand in his. “I have other talents, madame.”

  “Are you flirting with me, my lord?” she asked him.

  He was amused. Usually women simpered at his attentions. “I believe I am, madame. Do you mind?”

  “I am a married woman, sir,” she said with an answering smile.

  “Then perhaps I should ask if your husband minds?” he responded.

  Nyssa laughed. He was witty, she had to admit. “Since the ladies all flirt with Varian,” she told him, “I hardly think he can object if the gentlemen admire me. What do you think, my lord?”

  “I think you are extravagantly beautiful,” he told her.

  “I think you, sir, are possibly very dangerous,” Nyssa said, freeing her hand from his, handing him her goblet, and moving away from where they had been standing.

  Cynric Vaughn burst out laughing. The quarry had been engaged, and the hunt was about to begin. She was the most intoxicating woman he had ever met. She was direct, and there was no artifice about her. He meant to have her, and he would.

  “You stare at Lady de Winter too hard, I think, Sin,” Tom Culpeper said. “You waste your time. Her Grace says she is virtuous to a fault. Set your sights on an easier prey.”

  “No,” came the reply. “She will be mine, Tom. I am not certain yet how, but she will. I want her as I have never wanted a woman.”

  “Beware, my friend,” Culpeper warned him, “the king is fond of her. Lady de Winter’s mother was once his mistress. How do you think she came to be wed to the Earl of March? He seduced the girl, and the king would not be satisfied until she was wed to him. He saw to it himself, and insisted upon proof that the marriage had been consummated so that de Winter could not legally repudiate the girl and keep her wealth. She is the daughter of the Earl of Langford.”


  “So it was no love match?” Cynric Vaughn said.

  “There is not enmity between them that I know of, and they have children in common,” Culpeper informed his friend.

  “How fare you in your own hunt?” Sir Cynric wondered softly.

  “You mistake my intentions,” Tom Culpeper said. “I simply wish to climb high, as Charles Brandon did, but alas, that was thirty years ago. In those days one became the king’s friend to advance a career, but the king is old now. One must become the queen’s friend today in order to reach one’s goals.”

  Cynric Vaughn laughed. “I do not believe that I have ever heard a better excuse for seduction, Tom,” he told Culpeper. “But if you get caught, she will cry rape. The king will not let you off as easily as he did with that gamekeeper’s wife. Besmirch his rose without a thorn, and you will find yourself without a head. Is it worth it?”

  “My cousin the queen and I are just friends,” Culpeper replied.

  The king’s progress moved across the soft rolling hills and moors of Yorkshire and Northumberland. Where the hunting was good, they would remain for a few days, and then travel onward. Nyssa did enjoy hunting, but more for the thrill of the chase than for the kill. Country-bred girls were usually good horsewomen, and she was no exception.

  One afternoon her horse began limping even as a rainstorm caught her falling behind the main party. Looking for shelter, she espied the ruins of an ancient abbey and rode into the refuge of its walls. Dismounting, she took her mare’s leg up and saw a stone lodged in its shoe.

  “God’s foot!” Nyssa muttered irritably, and then jumped at the sound of a male voice. Whirling about, she came face-to-face with Sir Cynric Vaughn.

  “I saw you leave the hunt,” he said. “Are you all right, madame?”

  “My mare has caught a stone, and I’ve no knife with which to pry it loose,” Nyssa told him.

  “Which foot?” he asked, and when she showed him, he took the mare’s hoof in one hand, removing the stone from it with his knife in the other hand. “There, madame. She will be fine now, but we, I fear, must wait for the rain to let up.”

  Looking past him, Nyssa saw what had begun as a shower was now a downpour. It was as good an opportunity as she would ever get to make friends with Sin Vaughn and draw him out. “Have you been at court long, my lord? I do not seem to remember you from my last visit,” she began conversationally.

  “I am here most of the time,” he told her.

  “You are Master Culpeper’s friend,” she noted innocently.

  He laughed. “Aye, Tom and I are old friends, madame, but if you have set your sights in that direction, turn away. Culpeper has a most jealous mistress, I fear.”

  “Thomas Culpeper is of no interest to me,” Nyssa told him. “I am a married woman, sir.”

  “So you have said, madame, on a previous occasion. Is it truly so, or do you say it to convince yourself?” He grinned mockingly at her. Reaching out, he entwined an errant lock of her hair about his finger.

  “You are a wicked man, I am told,” Nyssa said softly, looking seductively up at him. She was rather enjoying her little flirtation with him. He was outrageously handsome and he was going to kiss her. Oddly, she was not afraid. She was frankly curious, having never been kissed by any man but Varian. She should feel guilty, she knew, for such naughty thoughts, but it would only be a little kiss.

  With his hand, he cupped her face, and lowering his own, he brushed his lips lightly across hers. “You are delicious,” he said low. “I want to make love to you, madame. Here and now upon the grass beneath these walls. Think of the ghosts of the long dead monks observing us in our passion, and unable to fulfill their own.” Releasing her head, he clasped his arm about her supple waist, his other hand fumbling at her breasts.

  Nyssa pulled quickly away. “Fie, sir! You move too quickly to take liberties. I am not some shepherdess to be tumbled in the open. Look, the rain has stopped. We must get back lest we are missed.” Without even asking for his assistance, she pulled herself into her saddle. “Are you coming, my lord?” she asked him, and then without waiting for an answer, kicked her mare into a trot.

  Watching her hurry off, he smiled to himself. For all her protests of a husband, she was hot for loving. There would be time.

  The progress moved on to Newcastle, visited the town officially, and turned south again for Pontefract Castle, reaching it toward the end of August. They would remain at Pontefract for a week.

  On a rainy afternoon, as the queen and her women sat playing cards in her apartments, Lady Rochford came to tell Cat that there was a gentleman seeking an audience with her. He waited just outside the queen’s anteroom.

  “Who is he?” the queen asked Lady Rochford.

  “He says his name is Francis Dereham, Your Grace. The dowager duchess, your grandmother, has sent him to you, and requests that you offer him a place as secretary in your household.”

  Catherine grew pale, and for a moment it appeared as if she would swoon, but then she said, “I will see Master Dereham in my privy chamber, Rochford. If my grandmother has sent him, then I must be kind.” She arose and went into her private rooms. Her heart was hammering violently. What did he want? Was this to be another incident like those with Joan Bulmer and the others who had come to her requesting positions in her household, wondering if the queen remembered them and the dear old days they had all spent together at Lambeth Palace? Catherine had made them chamberwomen, and their service was faultless, but she resented the way in which she had been coerced, for their reminders of their time together at Lambeth had just stopped short of blackmail. Now he had come to request her favor.

  The door opened and Lady Rochford escorted a man into the room. “Master Dereham, Your Grace,” she said.

  He doffed his cap to her, bowing elegantly as only he knew how. “I am honored, Your Grace, and bring greetings from the lady Agnes.”

  “You may leave us,” Catherine told Lady Rochford, who withdrew. The queen glared at the man before her. She had remembered him as being more handsome. He was swarthy, with an elegant, tailored black beard, black hair, and black eyes that were dancing devilishly. There was a gold earring in his ear. “What do you want of me?” she demanded coldly. There was no welcome in her voice.

  “What, little wife? No words of joy upon my return from Ireland?” he said, smiling toothily at her. His even white teeth had always been among his best features.

  “Are you mad?” Catherine said angrily. “How dare you address me in such a manner, Master Dereham! What do you want?”

  “Why, merely to share in your good fortune, Cat,” he told her. “Should not a husband share in his wife’s good fortune?”

  “We are not man and wife,” she said tightly.

  “What, Catherine, have you so easily forgotten that we pledged our troth to one another at Lambeth just three years back? I have not forgotten,” Francis Dereham told her.

  “I was fourteen then,” Catherine responded, “and nothing was formally settled. It was the silliness of an innocent girl. You can prove nothing, and should you attempt to cause a scandal, you will find yourself facing the headsman’s ax, Master Dereham. The king dotes upon me, and will not be interfered with.”

  “Our troth was no secret, Cat,” he replied. “Everyone at Lambeth then knew of it. I understand that Joan Bulmer and the other girls are now in your service. It was kind of you to find a place for them. I am certain that you can find a place for me as well. The dowager duchess, dear lady she is, thought I might suit you as a secretary.”

  “My household is full,” she said stubbornly.

  “Make a place then,” he answered her threateningly.

  “I must ask the king,” she said. “Without his approval, I cannot appoint you. He is not an easy master.”

  “But he dotes upon you, my beauty. You have said so yourself,” Francis Dereham said.

  She hated him now with the same dark passion that she had once loved him. She was beaten, and he knew
it. “You may lodge with the gentlemen ushers of my household temporarily until I have spoken with His Grace,” she said coldly. “You may go now, Dereham.” She turned her back on him and waited tensely until she heard the door close behind him. Then Catherine Howard’s fingers closed upon the nearest item she could find, and with a shriek she flung it against the stone wall. “Nyssa!” she shouted. “Come to me at once!”

  The ladies in the queen’s outer rooms heard her shout, and startled, looked at one another. The queen had never before shouted. Nyssa arose quickly and hurried to answer her friend’s call.

  “What is it, Cat?” she asked as she closed the door behind her.

  The queen began to sob hysterically. Nyssa quickly poured her a goblet of strong red wine from the tray on the sideboard. She forced her friend to drink. When Catherine Howard had calmed a bit, Nyssa repeated her question.

  “Oh, Nyssa,” the queen said, “I am forced to take that rude fellow into my household. I hate him!”

  “Why?” Nyssa demanded. “The truth, Cat! Perhaps I can help.”

  “His name is Francis Dereham. He was at Lambeth when I was there. He … he took liberties with me that he should not have. Now he is threatening to tell the king unless I take him into my household. My grandmother knows nothing of this, or she would not have sent him. Indeed she would have seen he met with some unfortunate accident,” the queen concluded.

  “Did you not speak to me once about being courted by this Dereham, Cat?” Nyssa looked directly at the queen, who flushed.

  “I was but bragging,” she said sullenly.

  “I warned you to tell the king,” Nyssa said. “If you had done it then, before you were married, no one could blackmail you like this. He would have forgiven you, Cat. Now you are caught like an animal in a trap. You cannot tell him now. So you must suffer to have this Francis Dereham in your household.”

  “I know,” Cat said despondently, and she drained the goblet.

  “Dry your eyes, Your Grace,” Nyssa said, handing her friend a handkerchief. “No one must see you like this lest questions be asked.”