Then her thoughts stopped with a jolt. She had been most unwise in confiding her true feelings about the King to the Comte. How did she know he might not, to curry favour with King Henry, repeat what she had said? She'd been wickedly incautious to trust him. Just because he appeared sympathetic did not mean he merited such trust.
He'd sought her out, eavesdropped on her conversation with her brother, and made himself pleasant. Was it all some devious plan? Perhaps the eavesdropping had been deliberate, not accidental after all. If so, he was despicable. It was not honourable conduct. If he could do this, what else might he do in furthering his master's plans?
He asked many questions about Lady Mary's health. He'd been more concerned than a stranger should have been. He was part of the embassy which had come from the French Court to negotiate a marriage. Of course the French would wish to discover as much as they could about the prospective bride, but they did it by underhand means.
When the Comte, after supper that day, came to speak with her, she was cold and distant.
'Are you ill, my dear Bella?' he asked in concern when she responded to all his remarks with brief, cold replies.
'You should be an apothecary, you have so much interest in our health,' she snapped, and turned away abruptly.
After a long and thoughtful look, he turned away, and soon afterwards she saw him talking animatedly with another girl. Instead she was wretched. So distracted was she that when the King commanded her to come and sit beside him she scarcely listened to him.
'My dear little Isabella,' Henry said, squeezing her hand so hard she gasped and dragged her attention back. 'You like my plan?'
'Plan? Sire, I beg pardon, I did not hear. What plan?' she stammered, and was aware of her brother glowering at her from the other side of the King.
'Aren't you listening?' Henry demanded, and Bella winced at the loud tones.
'I – my head pains me. I feel hot, feverish,' she murmured slowly. 'I beg pardon. What plan is this?'
She had forgotten Henry was intolerant of all bodily ills apart from his own. He frowned, and Bella suddenly thought how much his small eyes, surrounded by ponderous folds of flesh, were like those of a pig.
'No matter. It can wait until you are restored to health, my dear. I was suggesting we crept away from all these bothersome courtiers for a few quiet days at Oatlands, but you must remain in your own apartments until you are quite well again. Then we will speak of it again. You may retire now.'
Thankfully Bella crept away, suppressing her shudders until she was safely inside the Lady Mary's suite of rooms. She sat beside the window, which overlooked the river, and wondered desperately what to do. It was serious if Henry was proposing to single her out and take her to Oatlands. Did he imagine that in the simpler environment, surrounded by just a few servants, she would prove willing to receive his love-making?
The thought made her shiver uncontrollably, and she was determined her fever or the pretence of it would be maintained for as long as possible. But would marriage to Pedro be a way out of her dilemma?
Amy looked at her in concern when she herself came to bed.
'Bella, you're so pale! Are you ill?'
'I think I must be.'
'Then get straight into bed. You can surely be excused attending the Lady Mary tonight. I'll bring you a tisane of borage and purslane. My mother always swore it was the best cure for a fever.'
'Thank you, Amy,' she murmured, and later obediently sipped the soothing drink.
But she knew her fever was not an ordinary one. It was caused by the knowledge of Charles de Nerac's perfidy, his deception in making her the object of his flattery when all he wanted was information about her mistress. Even more, she admitted much later in that sleepless night, was it caused by her own folly in liking him so much.
***
Chapter 3
Bella was still pale the next morning when her brother sought her out. She had crept as late as she dared into the back of the chapel at Mass, hoping to avoid the King in his private pew in the gallery. Sir Thomas was waiting when she emerged.
'Come with me. I have something to say,' he growled.
Grasping her arm to ensure she didn't escape him, he led her through the Cloister Court and across the bridge over the moat. Only when they were a safe distance away from the palace buildings did he speak again.
'The King does not have endless patience,' he said curtly. 'If you continue to behave as you did last night he'll grow tired of you.'
'I wish he would!'
'You may have foolish notions, Bella, but have you no commonsense? You could do a great deal for the family if you responded to the King's advances.'
'Would you have me the King's mistress?' she demanded hotly.
'Don't be childish! That would be a waste of effort when the King is free and looking for a wife. Of course he may wish for proof first that you are not barren, but I've no fear of that. Our family has never lacked for sons – look at my three young boys – and Jane is with child once more,' he added complacently. 'He'll marry you soon enough the moment you are known to be with child.'
'I will never be either the King's wife or his harlot!' Bella declared furiously.
Thomas sighed in exasperation. 'Do you not realise, you fool, that he needs sons? Prince Edward is four years old and sickly, and Henry cannot leave the throne to Mary. And Elizabeth's a child, still out of favour. Besides, how could a woman rule England?'
'Even if the King is capable of getting more sons, he is old. He is sick. He would most likely die before they were old enough to take his place. And remember little Prince Edward is sickly, but he's still alive.'
'Hush!' Sir Thomas glanced uneasily about, but no one was in earshot. 'You must not speak of the King's death. It is treason!'
'It is going to happen one day.'
'Well of course, though you must never say so to anyone who wishes you ill. But, just think, Edward cannot live long. If Henry married you, and you bore him sons, and the eldest were still a child when the King died, there would have to be a Regency or Protectorate. And who better to look after the child's interests than his uncle!'
Bella stared at him in amazement. When Pedro had suggested the same thing she had dismissed it as fantasy, but it was true. Thomas did believe it was possible he might one day rule England. Was he mad, to imagine the great nobles would permit him, an insignificant country squire, to be elevated above them? She laughed.
'I can see the Norfolks and the Seymours giving way to the upstart Davenports,' she scoffed.
'Why not? They were lowly squires once. As the young King's uncle I would have the best right.'
'Better even than this imaginary child's mother?' Bella demanded. 'Tell me, Thomas, would you enjoy living when every waking minute you feared banishment to the Tower and the threat of the sword just because you once had an innocent childhood sweetheart?'
'You never had lovers like Catherine Howard was accused of!'
'Anyone wishing to gain advancement could claim I did, and how could I, any more than Queen Catherine or Queen Anne, prove otherwise?'
'It would not come to that, Bella,' he said.
'It need not be that excuse. Our aunt was a nun, now living in our home, and Henry would find that an offence easily enough if he wished. Or he might object to our Spanish mother. He has only to quarrel with the Emperor Charles again and I could be accused of treason just because of my birth!'
'Bella, you talk nonsense!' he began, but she swept on, disregarding him.
'No, Thomas, I am not going to put my head on the block for your possible advancement.'
Bella turned and stormed away towards a clump of trees. She couldn't endure to be with her brother a moment longer. It was perfectly clear Thomas had no concern for aught but himself. Even if she were forced to marry the King she would be of no more account than a brood mare, and having served her purpose would be pushed aside. If the King, that is, could do his part, and she didn't end up in the Tower after some
jealous charge or convenient pretext.
If she did survive she'd never be permitted to marry again. The thought crossed her mind fleetingly, and she saw a bleak future stretching before her.
It would never come to that, she vowed. She could marry Pedro and escape to Spain. But even if that did not serve she'd rather tramp the country begging for bread, as so many of the dispossessed nuns without families to turn to had been doing since Henry had thrown them out of their convents.
She was walking across the grass so rapidly, her eyes dim with angry tears, she neither knew nor cared whether Thomas followed her. When she heard someone call her name, she picked up her skirts and ran for the shelter of the trees. She reached them and dodged behind a clump of bushes. Her foot caught in a rabbit hole and she fell heavily to the ground.
Strong arms enfolded her and she was pulled against a warm, hard body. Through the satin doublet she could feel the steady beat of a heart, and gentle fingers smoothed her hair away from her face.
'Are you hurt, Bella?'
She struggled into a sitting position as he sat down beside her, keeping one arm about her shoulders.
'You! What are you doing here?'
'I was coming to join you when you suddenly ran away from your brother,' the Comte de Nerac said calmly. 'Have you hurt your foot?'
Cautiously Bella flexed her ankle. She hadn't done any damage, but she was breathless, and her heart was hammering so hard she thought she could hear it.
'No. Thank you. Please, let me go! We must look so foolish sitting here on the grass!'
'No one can see us. We are hidden from view.'
'Where is Thomas?'
'When you ran off, he went towards the palace.'
'I hope he falls into the moat! Better still into the midden!'
Bella looked up at the Comte as he chuckled, and found his face much nearer to her own than she had expected. His dark eyes looked down into hers, and she caught her breath. She could almost feel the hairs of his neat beard against her cheek. She had the oddest longing to relax, to sink back against his chest and let him deal with the problems suddenly besetting her.
Then, a cold feeling spreading rapidly through her body, she recalled he was one of those problems. He was spying on Lady Mary. He'd made himself pleasant solely in order to wheedle information from her.
She tried to struggle to her feet.
'Please let me go!'
'Am I not to have the pleasure of carrying an injured damsel back to the palace?' he asked with a laugh.
'Of course not. We would both look ridiculous. And I am not injured.'
He sighed. 'It would have been a delight to me, but I can see an injured ankle would have deprived me of the pleasure of dancing with you, so perhaps it's as well. Besides, if you could not dance, the King would have more reason to command you entertained him with conversation.'
Bella could not control the shudder which wracked her body, and the Comte tightened his grip on her.
'My dear, what is it?'
'Let me go!' she cried, a note of panic in her voice. 'You are as bad as he! All you want is information! Thomas wants his own advancement. None of you cares about me! I wish I were back at home!'
The Comte looked at her, his eyebrows raised, but when Bella struggled to her feet he made no move to prevent her. She was able to walk back towards the palace alone, trying to calm her tumultuous emotions as she brushed off the traces of grass and leaves which clung to her skirts.
She had been intending to claim her fever had returned, but now pride came to her aid, and she dressed with especial care for supper. She chose a gown of rose-coloured damask, the bodice tight fitting with a square yoke of deeper rose, and a small ruff. The bodice dipped into a deep point, the skirt was wide, as were the sleeves, which fastened tightly at the wrists and were edged with lace. She brushed back her hair and pinned on a jaunty cap of lace, heart-shaped and set with pearls.
'Charming, as usual, Mistress Isabella. A very appropriate name,' King Henry said when he summoned her to sit beside him after supper. 'I hope your fever has gone.'
'Completely, Your Grace.'
She willed herself not to shiver as the King's small, mean eyes glimmered with anticipation and his gaze roved over her body.
The Comte was present, but to Bella's relief the King did not order him to dance with her. Instead he kept her by his side until he retired into his private Withdrawing Room.
'I have letters to deal with, my dear,' he said regretfully. 'Always the cares of state, and no one to soothe me in moments of relaxation, but who knows how things may change? You will ride with me tomorrow morning?'
Bella could only smile and try to look gratified. It was a command, though couched as a question. Courtiers did not refuse any royal suggestion.
Once the King retired, the revels became more free. Bella saw the Comte approaching down one side of the Great Hall to where she still sat on the slight dais where the King and his favoured friends were placed. She did not want to meet him, to have to talk to him. The very thought of how closely he had held her that morning made shafts of fire course through her body.
She was too embarrassed to meet his gaze with composure, and this had puzzled her. She did not feel the same about Pedro's kisses, which were much more passionate than the chaste embrace of Charles de Nerac.
Then she recalled the Comte's true intentions, and grew hot all over as she thought of his treachery in seeking her out and uttering soft words to lull the suspicions. All he wanted was information, knowledge that could harm her mistress. He would be prepared to make love to her if it suited his purpose.
Fortunately salvation was at hand.
'Mistress Davenport, I have despaired of ever finding you alone!'
'Sir John! I thought you were in Oxfordshire?'
'I arrived earlier today. You have missed me, I dare to hope?'
She smiled brilliantly at him. Sir John Talbot was an old friend of her family,and her brother had once contemplated the possibility of a marriage. His estates were not far from their own, close to the county border with Gloucestershire, and he had acquired several new manors in the years since the monasteries had been closed. He was, as Thomas had often said before he began to imagine even higher things for his sister, a very acceptable match for the Davenports.
When he asked her to dance Bella rose quickly. She made no objection when he remained with her, and permitted him to escort her out into the garden.
'It is a warm night,' he said softly. 'Let us steal away for a few minutes.'
'I must return soon, Lady Mary will be needing me.'
'She is still talking to Eustace Chapuys. God preserve us, if she ever came to the throne that minion of the Emperor would be the real ruler of England!'
'He is just the Emperor's representative, and the Emperor is her cousin,' Bella protested as he led her from the hall and along the galleries towards the quiet, walled gardens. 'It is natural she should have much to say to him.'
'Do not let us argue about matters of state, my dear Bella. We cannot influence them.'
As they passed through the door into the gardens, a man stepped back to permit them pass. It was Pedro, and he narrowed his eyes as he recognised Bella, peering closely at her companion.
'Pedro! Do you not remember Sir John Talbot?'
'John Talbot? From Oxfordshire? But of course! I would have known if the moon was brighter. We used to get up to all sorts of pranks, you and I and Thomas. How are you, my friend?'
They talked briefly, and promised to meet again the following day to renew their acquaintance. Then Pedro said he had to go in.
'Don't steal my Bella away from me, John, if you wish for a long life!' he remarked as he left them.
'Are you and Pedro betrothed?' Sir John asked as they wandered through the garden, their eyes becoming used to the darkness.
'No, he is just my cousin,' Bella replied quickly.
'The man is clearly attracted to you. It would be a good match. I r
ecall your mother's family was wealthy and close to the Emperor?'
'Yes, but Pedro is a younger son, and has to make his own way. He is on some mission at present, something to do with gaining the King's support for Spanish policies regarding Turkey, I believe.'
'I wanted to tell you, Bella, I am now betrothed myself. A lady from Oxford. I hope you will wish me well.'
'Indeed I do! When do you plan to marry?'
'Quite soon, I trust. You will like Elizabeth, I am sure. She is quiet and shuns too much company, but is looking forward to living in the country and meeting my friends. If you are back at home, I hope you will meet her soon.'
Talking of his plans, they reached the end of the path and turned to walk back. At the same moment a sound from behind them made them pause.
'Someone is crying!' Bella said softly.
'Behind that tree, I think. I can see the faint gleam of some light material. Could she be hurt?'
As they moved towards the tree, the figure which had been partly concealed by it rose, and with a muffled sob fled towards the palace.
'Poor woman! Not hurt, clearly, but in great distress. Did you recognise her?' Sir John asked.
'No, it is too dark. There's nothing we can do.'
'Most likely a lover's tiff. We had best go back. But I have been talking all about myself. How is your grandmother? Have you been home recently?'
'Not for some months. She is well, despite her great age. She was seventy last month, and she still rides round the estate putting the fear of God into everyone!'
He laughed. 'I recall her anger when Thomas and I stole some marchpane from the kitchens. I think even the King might hesitate before crossing swords with her.'
A few minutes later, after more reminiscences, she said, 'I must go in.'
As they re-entered the palace and began to climb the wide, shallow stairs, the Comte de Nerac was coming down. He bowed coldly to Bella, looked closely at Sir John, and without a word passed them.
'Who was that? I have not seen him before.'
'Oh, some Frenchman. He belongs to the embassy here to discuss Lady Mary's marriage,' Bella replied.
Royal Courtship Page 3