Laura Andersen - [Ann Boleyn 01]

by The Boleyn King

  Elizabeth stood perfectly still as Kat Ashley surveyed her from head to toe, then circled the wide-skirted cloth-of-silver gown that to Elizabeth felt almost like armour. Today was about acknowledging William without completely fading into the background. The silver shimmer of Elizabeth’s dress, complemented by the Tudor roses embroidered on her sleeves and kirtle, marked her as royal without staking the first claim to power. Though her women would cover their hair in snoods for church, Elizabeth merely had a length of gossamer silk attached to her small silver crown. It’s always my hair, she thought. The people want to be reminded that I got this red-gold hair from my father.

  After smoothing a nonexistent crease and tweaking a ribbon that edged one wide trumpet sleeve, Kat nodded once. “You’re ready.”

  For chapel? Yes. For Mary? Elizabeth sighed.

  “Mary will come,” Minuette said confidently from over Elizabeth’s shoulder.

  “Because you say so?”

  “Because I believe so. Didn’t you say that whatever I believe must be?”

  “You are terrifying in your certainty—you know that? You and William both.”

  “And that is why you love us. In any case, Mary would not have come all the way to Hampton Court only to balk at the last minute.”

  Don’t be so certain, Elizabeth thought. Mary is quite capable of doing what she wishes.

  The Chapel Royal was easily reached from the royal apartments—thanks to Cardinal Wolsey’s connecting gallery—and although they were entering the Royal Pew from above and behind the main floor, the crowds were still enormous. Elizabeth began to appreciate Rochford’s planned celebrations in London next week. Hampton Court had sentiment on its side, but it was not built for entertaining on quite this scale.

  The Royal Pew—divided into two chambers, for king and queen—was already nearly full, though naturally Elizabeth had a seat waiting in the arch of the bowed window that overlooked the main floor of the chapel. Despite its name, the queen’s box was empty today of her mother. “One submission at a time,” Anne had agreed with William. “First Mary attends church. My acknowledgment comes later.”

  Courtesy dictated that Elizabeth sit next to the Duchess of Suffolk, her most unpleasant cousin. Frances Brandon Grey had never liked Anne Boleyn’s children, her own mother having been a great partisan of Catherine of Aragon, and she generally kept her distance. But her ambition was greater than her sentiment, and so she was here with all three of her daughters, no doubt still angling to catch William for her oldest, Lady Jane Grey. Minuette squeezed onto the end of a bench nearest the door at the back, leaving the remaining empty seat in front for Mary.

  Elizabeth loved the Royal Pew, for it brought her closer to the exquisite blue of the ceiling, with the golden pendants and cornices commissioned by her father; the height of the box also allowed for the greatest musical appreciation. But its best quality was that it allowed her to look down on the mass of the court rather than being in the midst of it.

  From her position, Elizabeth could see a fair part of the chapel proper below. It seemed every eye was fixed on the empty seat next to her. Half have come to watch William, she thought, and half to watch Mary. And that divide is at the very heart of our troubles.

  A ripple of movement and then people were on their feet and bowing. Elizabeth stood with the others and turned to see her brother framed by the doorway into the queen’s box. As she breathed in, she almost thought she was back in Westminster Abbey nearly eight years ago, the day of William’s coronation.

  Ten years old he’d been, and the very model of a grave boy king. He had not fumbled once, in word or action, and when St. Edward’s crown was placed on his head, he did not stir in spite of its weight.

  She could remember the restraint of the audience and, beneath the pomp, the uneasiness. From a king who had dominated Europe for decades to an untried boy in the blink of an eye—no one had known what the future held for England.

  Elizabeth felt a rush of pride as she watched her brother today. Now, at last, England had an independent king—handsome and merry and well loved. With the eyes of his people and most of Europe upon him, he moved as though he had been born for it.

  As he had.

  Only when she heard a wordless pressure of pent-up sound around her did Elizabeth realize that William did not stand alone. With one hand resting lightly on his arm stood Mary, with her royal pedigree blazing from her figure. She did not look happy, but she did not falter as her brother—head of a Church she considered heretical—led her to her seat next to Elizabeth.

  As she swept up from her curtsy, Elizabeth caught Minuette grinning at her from the back of the room. She could almost hear her friend’s voice in her head: See? I’m always right.

  Throughout the celebration mass, Dominic did not hear a word of worship or a note of music, and he was only dimly aware of the press of people in the Chapel Royal. Even William was little more than a figure glimmering in gold and silver and jewels somewhere at the front. Dominic had never been so glad to be unimportant, for that meant he did not have to sit farther forward but could stand at the back of the king’s pew near the open doorway. By angling his body to an uncomfortable degree, he could catch glimpses of Minuette in the queen’s pew.

  He kept his gaze fixed on the front of the chapel as much as possible, for he did not wish to make her uncomfortable. But his eyes kept returning to what he could see of her—the straight back inside her ivory damask gown, the slender neck wrapped in the sapphire star pendant, the great mass of hair confined in a jeweled net attached to the rounded headdress in an ivory that matched her dress. Though he missed the sight of her honey-warm hair, it did have the effect of heightening the outlines of her profile, the straight lines of nose and chin softened by the curve of cheek and lips.

  Once, she turned her head to him, as if she could feel the weight of his stare, and Dominic looked hastily away. His heart skipped a few beats, and he almost shook his head at his own foolishness. From the moment Minuette had flung herself into his arms yesterday, Dominic hadn’t drawn a deep breath. He had hardly spoken to her as yet, for she had busied herself at last night’s banquet with the Spanish ambassador, making even that hardened cleric smile with the brightness of her personality.

  He had not slept last night, merely lain on his bed while inside him raged a debate of body and mind, desire and discretion. Even now, he could feel Minuette’s every curve imprinted against him, and he wondered fleetingly if this was how his father had felt when Philippa Boleyn claimed his heart without even wanting to.

  The prudent thing, the expected thing, would be to speak to William at once and ask formal permission to marry Minuette. But prudence warred with familial demons. He wanted her, but he would not take her by arrangement or without consulting her wishes. He wanted her to come to him willingly—joyfully, even—and that would take time. He would be patient and persuasive, and when her desire matched his, they would go to William together.

  He turned his head and, this time, caught Minuette’s eye. She smiled—an oddly tentative smile that made his breath catch. Today was for celebration. A perfect day to coax her into the glories of falling in love.

  As the Te Deum rose to its conclusion, William had to refrain from a sigh of relief. He was accustomed to working through church services, not sitting perfectly still while watched from all sides. After Archbishop Cranmer’s final prayer, William led the way out of the king’s pew and waited for both of his sisters. Offering an arm to each of them, William made the short progress to the great hall, where Mary had one final part to play.

  Beneath the soaring hammer-beam ceiling, the great hall was packed with people, the rich fabrics and bright colours of their clothing merely a continuation of the tapestried walls. He noted several in particular: Jane Grey looking fair and neat next to her formidable mother, Robert Dudley winking at Elizabeth, Northumberland standing at a slight remove from the rest of the council.

  Those in the room lowered as one into bows and
curtsies as William took his place on the dais. A gilded and cushioned throne waited for him beneath the canopy of state, the rich cloth hung above to signal his authority, and to one side of it stood his mother. William left his sisters flanking the opposite side of the throne and went to Anne. He took her by the hand and raised her up. He could have sworn that the great hall vanished for a moment and it was just he and his mother acknowledging what the two of them had wrought. He had meant only to kiss her hand, but on impulse he kissed her on both cheeks instead.

  “Rise,” he commanded the audience as he sat. For perhaps the first time in his life, not a soul was looking at William. Mary had all the attention she ever could have asked for. Will she balk? William wondered. Will she refuse to submit? Will she faint to avoid it? He hoped not. Fainting women were not his specialty.

  It was the slightest movement that could almost have been imagined, but everyone was so intent there was no chance of missing it. Her expression like stone, her eyes looking far beyond this room, Mary turned just enough so that she might be said to have been facing in the general direction of Anne and lowered her chin.

  The crowd let out its collective breath. It was done. William smiled warmly at Mary in thanks. She looked tired and perhaps legitimately ill. He would make this next part quick so that she might retire with dignity.

  In the arched imperial crown of the King of England, Ireland, and France, with the jeweled collar over the crimson velvet and ermine state robe he had worn to the church service—with Henry’s queen on one side and his two daughters on the other—William had never felt more ready to take his father’s place.

  He began with the announcement of what had been already widely rumoured. “Lord Rochford.”

  William counted it to his uncle’s credit that he managed not to look complacent as he stepped before William and bowed low.

  “My lord Rochford, we are grateful for thy service to our crown and kingdom. Thou hast kept our realm safe and prosperous through our tender years.” At the edge of the dais, he saw Minuette’s lips quirk.

  Repressing the urge to wink at her, he continued. “We appoint thee Lord Chancellor of England. Long may your wisdom aid us.”

  As William presented his uncle with the Great Seal of England, the mark of his new office, there was a slight murmur from the crowd, though no great surprise.

  “Master Dominic Courtenay.”

  Unlike Rochford, Dominic did look surprised, and the interest of those watching sharpened. He stepped forward and bowed graciously enough, but William did not miss the question in his eyes.

  “Thou hast long served us well. Thou are first amongst the knights of England, rightly renowned for both prowess in arms and honest diplomacy. Thou hast earned what we freely give.”

  William extended his hand, and his steward was ready, laying in it the sword Dominic had given him last year. “Kneel.”

  William touched him lightly on each shoulder. “Dominic Courtenay, Marquis of Exeter.”

  Whatever the crowd had predicted, it had not been this. That title had belonged not to Dominic’s father but to his traitorous uncle. For fifteen years the crown had held Exeter’s land, though his wife and son had been released from the Tower four years ago. William knew that some had expected him to return the title to Exeter’s son, who, at twenty-seven, had shown none of his father’s inclinations to rebellion.

  But he had determined some time ago to pass the title and estates to Dominic. Not quite all of the estates—he had left the dispossessed Edward Courtenay several lesser manors—but the bulk of the wealth, along with the hereditary rights, was now Dominic’s.

  In the surprised silence of the great hall, Dominic proclaimed his fealty to William and England. When he stood, there was just time for William to clasp his hand warmly before Dominic was surrounded by a surge of well-wishers and power seekers. William’s lips twitched again at the look on Dominic’s face as men and women alike sought to speak to him at once. With the official ceremonies ended, everyone was anxious to assert his or her own position.

  A soft hand slipped into his, and Minuette’s voice was in his ear. “That was generous.”

  He grinned at her. “What is the point of being king if one cannot be generous to one’s friends?”

  Eleanor had wound her way through the press of people and now took possession of William’s free arm while speaking to Minuette. “Wasn’t it a wonderful surprise? I always think these gestures are best when only a few people know beforehand.”

  William wondered why she made it sound as though she were one of those who had known before. Removing his arm from Eleanor’s grasp, he said, “Minuette, I haven’t forgotten it is your birthday as well as mine. I thought I would let you name your gift from me.” He leaned forward and pitched his voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “Perhaps, once you have spoken to Jonathan, you will have a better idea what you might desire.”

  She blushed prettily, and William knew he’d been understood. Minuette could have the grandest wedding in the kingdom at his expense—she need only name when and where.

  Refusing to be snubbed, Eleanor thrust herself into the conversation once more. “A Christmas wedding, perhaps? Although you may not wish to wait that long. I’m certain my brother would name the earliest possible day.”

  Minuette freed her hand from William’s, looking unnaturally flustered. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere.”

  With a warmth that William did not believe for an instant, Eleanor said, “Take care how you treat my brother’s heart. It’s quite fragile.”

  “Is it?” Minuette said. “Not at all a family trait.”

  Before William had absorbed her rudeness, she was gone. With the merest nod of his head, he made to leave as well, but Eleanor caught him by the arm once more. He could feel the points of her fingernails even through several layers of fabric.

  With a seductiveness that had never failed to stir him before, she said, “I do hope your entire week won’t be taken up with public ceremonies.”

  Allowing his eyes to wander the length of her body, William said, “No, I don’t imagine it will.” He let complacency settle in her expression before adding, “As a matter of fact, I’m going to dine in private later with my closest companions.”

  Already gleaming with gratification, Eleanor looked ready to purr.

  William leaned closer and said, “With your husband at court, I wouldn’t dream of keeping you away from him. Perhaps I’ll see you at the dancing tonight.”

  He could feel her fury burning into his back as he walked away, and for a moment he was disconcerted. He didn’t like the way she had talked to Minuette, but was that reason enough to dismiss her out of hand? She was the mother of his child, after all.

  He would think about it later. Perhaps after a glass or two of wine.

  It took nearly an hour to be released from the crowds, but finally William retreated to his privy chamber with Dominic in tow. Elizabeth and Minuette were there waiting for them. With a wave of his hand, William dismissed the attendants. “Leave us. We will serve ourselves.”

  A table had been laid with smoked salmon, artichoke pie, glistening pomegranates, and gingerbread stamped with the lion of England. And wine, both red and white. William was very glad of that wine—he had the beginnings of a headache.

  When the door shut, he was suddenly aware that he was standing alone, with the other three grouped together. The weight of his state robes and crown seemed to emphasize the heavy silence that settled into awkwardness.

  Is this what being king means? he thought desperately. Always standing alone?

  But then Minuette did precisely the right thing. She curtsied deeply, raised her head to him from her lowered position, and winked.

  In a moment, the four of them were laughing together and all was once again simple. Minuette approached William and began to untie the thick cord holding the state robes in place across his shoulders. “Now that we have done our duty to our king, we can dispose of this at lea
st.”

  “Let me,” Dominic said, as Minuette pulled the robe free and nearly collapsed from the staggering weight of it.

  “Good heavens,” she said. “However can you stand it?”

  “I’m trained for it. Like riding—begin small and work your way up. I suppose the robe I’ll wear in twenty years will be twice that weight.” William poured himself wine and drank.

  Dominic stood still in the doorway to William’s bedchamber, frozen in place with the robe still in his arms.

  “Dom? What’s wrong?”

  He said nothing. Elizabeth moved first, William and Minuette together behind her. As they moved, Dominic continued into the bedchamber and laid the robe on William’s bed. He still did not speak. He did not have to.

  Scrawled in paint on a linen sheet was a vicious message: The Penitent’s Confession is true—Long live Queen Mary! It was pinned to the bed by a knife.

  Heedless of the women, William breathed out an oath. “Where will this end?”

  Dominic answered, “I think our own counsel is no longer sufficient. Rochford must be told.”

  “I quite agree,” drawled Rochford’s familiar voice from behind William. He turned slowly and found his uncle watching them from the doorway. “I wondered when the four of you would come to that conclusion.”

  “You knew?” Elizabeth asked bluntly.

  “I know everything that goes on at court, and most everything that goes on outside of it. Did you never consider that these kinds of attacks would not be confined to you alone?”

  William was getting good at reading his uncle. “You have been targeted as well?”

  “I have.”

  “And you did not tell me?” He felt his anger growing and reminded himself to use it rather than be swept away by it.

  Rochford raised one insolent eyebrow. “You did not tell me, either.”

  “I am king!”

  William thought someone jumped—probably Minuette—when he shouted, but Rochford seemed almost pleased. “So you are, Your Majesty. What do you command?”

  “That you tell me everything. Now.”