Falling For Henry

by Beverley Brenna

  “I will,” he promised, stepping forward and taking her hands in his. His fingers were smooth, warm. Kate felt her heart beating wildly.

  “The problem is,” Kate began, improvising as she went along, “the problem is that I did have a slight illness while at Fulham Palace.” She sensed him pulling away and quickly amended, “But, of course, I’m well again now. It’s just that my memory is a bit flawed. I can remember many things quite well while other things seem to escape me. In time, I believe, all will be well.” She took a deep breath. He had dropped her hands and on his face was an expression she could not read.

  “I knew it!” he said finally. “But, of course, I’ll do anything I can to help!”

  “How did you guess my secret?” asked Kate, trying to flatter him.

  “Well, by the astrolabe, of course,” he said a bit modestly. “It was just a little trick I played to gather some clues.”

  “The astrolabe?” said Kate. “I suppose I should have known more about it—”

  “One would think,” said Henry, “since you gave my father that astrolabe upon your arrival from Spain, you would have some recollection of it.”

  “That was my own astrolabe?” Kate blurted. “For shame! What a dirty trick!”

  “I wouldn’t be speaking so freely about tricks,” said Henry stiffly.

  He looked so like a cross little boy all of a sudden that Kate couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “There’s no need to look so mad!” she admonished.

  For a second, Kate thought she might have stepped over the line, but then he broke into laughter.

  “Well, no harm done,” he said when he had recovered his composure. “And I do believe that you are returned to health or you would not be so hardy at the tennis.” He looked at her so admiringly that Kate began to soften. She supposed she could tell him the real story and see what he made of it. While she was deliberating, he came closer and spoke in a smooth, warm voice.

  “There is something I have been considering for some time,” he said. “And truly, I like you better than ever, for I can see the feelings you have for me. My father, the King, wanted us to proceed with caution, as he is still making decisions about a second dowry that is being offered from Spain. But marrying for love has always been part of my plan, and I fully intend to temper Father’s considerations.”

  He leaned forward, took her chin in his hands, and kissed her. His lips tasted of mint and sage and Kate felt herself giving in to the warmth of his hands.

  “Tomorrow we will play again,” he said. “And I shall be a better partner.”

  They walked slowly back toward the palace proper, stopping every now and then to watch the sparrows that were diving down for seeds that one of the gardeners had sprinkled on the grass.

  A line from a children’s song kept running through Kate’s head, at first comforting and then a little irritating. His eye is on the sparrow but I know he watches me. It was, she remembered, about God. But now it felt as if it were about her and Henry. Of course Henry would be watching her. He had to make sure that no illness could pass between them; she understood that. She tried hard to be attentive and seem well.

  “And Mary, your little sister,” she asked, not truly knowing whom she was talking about but relying on Katherine’s intelligence. “Has she been in good spirits?”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Henry. “But who could not be in good spirits here at Placentia?”

  Kate nodded.

  “Mary reminds me of a finch,” he said. “Always flitting here and there, always chirping about something.”

  He spoke of her so tenderly that Kate guessed he had a soft spot for his little sister. She thought back to the incident with the page and realized she must have been mistaken. This guy would never hit a kid.

  “And she loves to sing,” Henry continued. “Have you ever heard her?”

  Kate thought for a moment but Katherine’s memories came up blank.

  “I don’t believe I have,” she said. “Does she sing well?”

  “Like an angel,” said Henry. “Like … like our mother.” He went quiet. Then he spoke slowly, the words pulled out one by one. “She was so young when … when Mother died that I think she managed to remain untouched by it. A blessing, really.”

  Kate felt a pang, comparisons with her own mother filling her mind. She’d been only five when Isobel had vanished. And now, could she really disappear the way her mother had, without leaving a trace?

  Henry went on. “Life is a pageant of loss. So one should reach for joy, I think. Reach for joy in all things.”

  Kate thought about this. She knew that her natural tendency was to retreat. Retreat before anything hurt you.

  “How …” she began, then stopped. He looked at her expectantly. “How does one reach for joy?” she asked, the words coming out all in a rush.

  He contemplated her for a moment. “Come on, I’ll show you something,” he said, catching up her hand and pulling her away from the path they were taking. They walked along the Thames, and then veered off toward a pond where Henry told Kate to stand quietly and watch. He pulled some crumbs from his pocket and tossed them on top of the water. Suddenly the surface of the pond seemed to be boiling, and Kate could see large fish making their way through the crumbs until all the bread had disappeared into hungry mouths.

  “That is how to do it,” he said. “These fish are wise, even in late fall when they should be slowing down. They know a good thing when they see it.”

  “So that’s your secret to happiness,” said Kate. “Eating!”

  Henry laughed.

  “Knowing a good thing when it comes along,” he said, and took up her hand again. “Come with me!” he continued. “There is more to see!” They walked for a few minutes until they stood before a large stone tower, one open side leading into a wall of nesting boxes. Birds darted in and out, the air filled with their purring.

  “Pigeons?” said Kate.

  Henry gave her a surprised glance. “Doves. Columbia livia. Look!” He pointed up where the clouds had suddenly parted and a flock of white birds wheeled against the blue sky. “Does that not take your breath away?”

  “It does!” sighed Kate, enraptured at the sight of the birds.

  Without really meaning to, she leaned toward Henry and found that he was leaning her way as well. In his arms, she felt warm and safe. And when he kissed her, her knees went weak. This guy was amazing.

  On the way back, Henry asked a servant to fetch him his lute, and he played for her, the notes ringing sure and true.

  “When did you learn to play?” she asked.

  “I don’t actually remember,” he confessed. “It was so long ago. I suppose I’ve always loved music. It offers a voice for the heart, I think.”

  Kate smiled. That was a wonderful way of putting it. A voice for the heart. She tried to remember if her heart had ever really had a voice, and could not. The song he was singing to accompany the strings was captivating, and for a long time after he left her with Doña Elvira, the words ran over and over through her head:

  Green groweth the holly, so doth the ivy.

  Though winter blasts blow never so high,

  Green groweth the holly.

  As the holly groweth green

  And never changeth hue,

  So I am, and ever hath been,

  Unto my lady true.

  Green groweth the holly, so doth the ivy.

  Though winter blasts blow never so high,

  Green groweth the holly.

  18

  The promise

  THE NEXT DAY, Henry arrived early for tennis. Kate ran to meet him, catching Doña Elvira’s eye. It was not so hard, after all, to win her nurse’s approval. As before, they played two games and Kate won them both.

  “I do not know how you do it,” laughed Henry. “But I can see that I have more practicing to do. You must have found a worthy partner at Fulham Palace.”

&n
bsp; “None as worthy as you,” teased Kate. “It’s just my natural talent.”

  “I like your strength,” said Henry. “But we will play again another day and then see who is the better tennis player. Today there is another matter I …” and here his voice faltered, “… I wish to discuss. A matter most delicate between England and Spain.” He pulled a silver box from his pocket.

  “I see that you are trying to hide from me your past illness because you don’t wish any worries to cloud my time in your presence,” he began. “It is true that sickness sometimes shadows memory, and I have seen your memory at its worst.” He smiled. “But, in truth, what you remember is more important than what you have lost, and the two of us can make more memories from this moment onward. Memories, along with fine sons!” He looked at her tenderly and, when she did not reply, he continued.

  “You have won more than the tennis today,” he said a bit gruffly, handing her the box. Kate blinked and fumbled at the catch. When she opened the box, she caught her breath. There, inside, was a gold ring, set with a large, lustrous pearl. Henry lifted out the ring and slipped it onto her finger.

  “A pearl for a promise,” he said, looking at her with a man’s steady gaze. “I have spoken to Father and all is well. You may give us the date. Springtime would be most suitable, two years hence.”

  “I … I …” she stuttered, feeling her face burn, “but of course I can’t marry you. I might have to go back …”

  “I must confess I wasn’t so sure about my brother’s widow,” Henry went on, ignoring her response. “I chose, along with my father, the King, that you should retire to Fulham Palace. I needed time to think. But I have made my decision. When I am King, you will be Queen.”

  “But I can’t …” Kate stammered. “I … I—”

  It was as if a thread were drawing Kate toward him. She couldn’t say yes but she couldn’t say no, either. Their hands touched again and then their lips. She felt her heart beating wildly, and then she saw his eyes glitter, just as they had when he had killed the deer, holding a look of exultation, of triumph, of finishing the hunt. She pulled back and spoke quickly.

  “I can’t stay!” she cried. She tried to pull off the ring but it was tight and wouldn’t budge.

  “Ah, but I think you can,” said Henry lightly.

  Kate looked at him.

  “There is nothing in Spain for you now,” he said. “I imagine you miss your country, but you have spent enough time here to consider this your home. Truly, your happiness means everything to me. I will do all in my power to smooth your path.”

  She faltered. Reach for joy, she thought.

  “Perhaps you are right,” she said. “I just … maybe I just need a little more time.”

  “Time waits for no man,” Henry said. “But perhaps it does wait a little for women.” He grinned. “We will speak of this again. In the meantime, please wear the ring.” He looked so hopeful, how could she refuse?

  “I will,” she said, but whether she meant wear the ring or marry him, she wasn’t really sure.

  There were others nearby and, rather than have their affairs out in public, Kate took his hand and they walked toward the fishpond.

  “I have many people here at my bidding,” Henry went on absently, as if reading her mind. “They are a necessary support for us. At times, they also make me somewhat weary. You are fortunate that Doña Elvira came with you from Spain, as childhood companions are the most trustworthy, are they not?”

  Kate nodded, gratitude welling up for all the nurse had done for her.

  “And we are lucky here that in our power our servants fare very well,” Henry went on lightly. “They shall never come to any harm as long as they remain loyal.”

  Kate thought of William’s father and wondered what his fate would be.

  “Here, good fellow, get me a drink,” Henry called out to one of the gardeners, who quickly brought him a metal cup filled with water. Henry drank it down and then held out some coins to the chap.

  “Six ducats to you, then,” he said to the gardener, and the man, bowing in gratitude, retreated back to his orchard.

  At the gatehouse, Henry stopped and reached inside his purse, taking out a few more coins to fling at the beggars. “There,” he said. “That’s all I have, but come back tomorrow and I might have more.”

  In the courtyard, a young girl of about eleven or twelve, dressed in a bright yellow gown that looked to be made of silk, was calling in a sharp voice to a group of servants who were bustling around her.

  “I said I wanted the yellow sleeves, not these white ones,” she was saying. “Can’t anyone find the yellow sleeves?”

  “Princess Mary,” began one of the ladies in waiting. “Remember, the yellow ones were left back at Norwich castle. But these white ones do look fine with your comely dress!”

  “I said I wanted the yellow ones and I shall have them, one way or another!” cried the girl, and for punctuation, she sharply kicked the lady in the knee. “You must send Jane Popincourt to me—for I want to play with her—and go yourself back to the other palace for my things that were left behind.”

  “Here, here!” said Henry, interrupting the little scene. “What’s all this over a pair of sleeves?”

  “I marvel much at my brother, who doesn’t keep his word about playing games, yet dares to interrupt when I am in a matter needing most serious attention!” said the child, drawing herself up to full height and looking most imperiously at Henry. He simply laughed, let go of Kate’s hand, and swung the child up in his arms.

  “Come for a carry, pretty Mary,” he said, “and your worries will be forgotten.”

  Kate followed a laughing brother and sister up the stairs to one of Henry’s sitting rooms, where he deposited the little girl onto a pile of cushions and resorted to tickling her mercilessly. Kate smiled as she remembered other tickling matches that she and Willow had undertaken when they were younger, and then felt suddenly melancholy.

  “Truce. Truce!” Mary laughed, and finally the siblings sat side by side, contemplating Kate. “Why do you look so sad?” asked Mary. “You look as if your mother died.”

  Taken aback, Kate could only look at the child.

  “Hush,” said Henry. “You shouldn’t mention that. Princess Katherine’s mother died a long time ago; you’ve just forgotten.”

  “People are always dying,” said Mary. “It’s hard to keep track. Anyway, the others mention Mother’s death to me all the time. They say, ‘If only her mother hadn’t died she wouldn’t be so peevish.’ But I’m not peevish. Can’t you see, I just like my nice things all around me. Like my good yellow sleeves!” Her mouth twisted petulantly.

  Kate remembered, with that uncanny store of knowledge that came from Katherine, that Mary and Henry’s mother had died when Mary was not quite seven. Her heart warmed to the little girl and she looked admiringly at the golden hair.

  “You have the most beautiful hair,” she said honestly. “How would you like me to put it up in a French braid?”

  “What’s that?” asked Mary.

  “Well, it’s a braid that … I learned from my … uh … mother, who learned it from someone else,” Kate lied.

  “Someone from France!”

  “Yes!” agreed Kate.

  “Well, all right,” said Mary, tilting her head on one side to consider. “If you don’t pull. I hate people who pull.”

  “I’ll try not to,” said Kate.

  Henry picked up the astrolabe that the page had left on a desk, and Kate noticed how he very gently folded it in a silken cloth and then put it away in a wooden box. He saw her watching him and nodded.

  “I am fond of it,” he said. “I admit. At night when I feel lost, I take it out and mark our place in the universe. The stars never lie and, certainly, the sky isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Do you often feel lost?” Kate asked quietly, brushing Mary’s bright tresses with a tortoiseshell brush the child had prod
uced from another room.

  “I think of all the funerals,” said Henry, an odd, tight look on his flushed face. “Sometimes I have a difficult time getting my bearings, and the astrolabe makes me feel … makes me feel as if I could always find my way home, if I needed to. If I really were lost.” Henry’s voice was low and controlled but Kate could hear the emotion under his words. After a brief silence, he went on.

  “Arthur’s coffin, even though it was mounted on a carriage drawn by twelve horses and covered in black velvet, would, inside it, be the same as other coffins. A small dark prison, of sorts. Rather like life, at times, if you aren’t careful. If you don’t have … if you don’t have a way of finding your direction.”

  Kate watched her hands as they plaited Mary’s hair. She knew exactly what Henry meant.

  “Out of death, however, comes life,” Henry mused. “The civil wars, for example.”

  That battle had lasted for over thirty years, Kate thought, surprising herself. Katherine’s memories were becoming so entwined with her own that it was hard to tell which ideas were original, although if it had to do with history, Kate knew she could not take credit. In The Wars of the Roses, she mused, Henry’s father had led the Lancastrian army to triumph. King Richard, the grand old Duke of York, marched his army up to the stronghold at the top of the hill and then, in a moment of madness, marched them down again to where the enemy was waiting.

  The grand old Duke of York, thought Kate, the ancient nursery rhyme ringing in her ears, he had ten thousand men. He marched them up to the top of the hill and he marched them down again.

  “When Father’s army won,” the Prince mused, “the house of Lancaster and the house of York were united. Just as England and Spain will be reunited.”

  And when they were up they were up, Kate chanted inside her head, and when they were down they were down, and when they were only halfway up they were neither up nor down. She felt hysterical laughter bubbling to her lips as she realized the history behind the words.

  “So your mother was from the York family?” she mumbled quickly.