by Alison Weir
* * *
—
She could not sleep. Having crept into bed and squeezed herself into the narrow space left by Dorothy, she lay there going over and over what had happened in the garden. It had been innocent, on the face of it; anyone overhearing the conversation would not have detected any amorous interest on the King’s part. And yet for all her inexperience, she had recognized the desire she had seen in his eyes for what it was.
Of course, she would never permit him any liberties. It was notorious that he tired of his mistresses all too quickly, and no decent man wanted another’s leavings, even the King’s. No, she would not let him spoil her for marriage. Besides, he was married himself. Not that she would have any qualms about betraying Anne, for Anne was not, and never could be, his lawful wife. But Katherine, his true Queen, lived, and Jane would never be disloyal to her. Her dearest wish was that the King would return to her.
She could not deny that he had a certain physical attraction. But she must not forget that he stood perilously close to eternal damnation, and that he had the blood of good men on his hands. Look how cruelly he had treated his adoring wife and child! No sane woman would want to entangle herself with such a man.
But she, Jane, had seen the vulnerable soul beneath the kingly magnificence, had perceived the doubts and fears behind the air of assurance. He did have a conscience; he was not beyond redemption. Suppose—she was really running away with herself here, for after all, it had but been one meaningful look—suppose God intended for her, someone quiet, humble and insignificant, to bring the King back into the fold and set him on the road to salvation? “The meek shall inherit the earth,” Christ had said.
Nonsense! she told herself. And yet the King, the Lord’s Anointed, who had been invested at his coronation with a wisdom denied to ordinary mortals, had unburdened himself to her, a simple woman. He had spoken of great matters, trusting in her understanding. And if he ever did so again, she might have an opportunity to do some good on behalf of those she loved—although he might expect more than gratitude in return! And how could she refuse him?
By the time the sky began to lighten, she was resolved, strengthened. She would warn Father and Mother that she would be in moral danger if she returned to court. Then they would surely back her decision to stay at Wulfhall.
* * *
—
The next morning, the King gave no indication that Jane meant any more to him than any other person under Wulfhall’s roof, and she was glad. She had inferred too much from what she thought she had seen the night before.
They rode out to the forest for a day of excellent hunting, leaving the Queen behind. It was her time of the month, and she was in a foul mood because her hopes of a pregnancy had been dashed. Complaining of cramps, she stayed in bed, with Mother torn between fussing over her and giving orders for the loading of the vast repast that was to be eaten in the open air.
Three hinds had been downed by the time they gathered in a clearing to enjoy it. The King ate heartily, wolfing down the game pasties that Mother had heard he loved, and entertaining the company with tales of previous hunts.
“You mean the Abbess actually warned your Grace off her land?” Bryan asked, gaping.
“The good woman did not know who I was,” Henry chuckled. “You should have seen her face when I told her!”
“He’s enjoying himself,” Edward murmured in Jane’s ear.
“So are they,” Nan said, nodding in the direction of Sir Henry Norris, who was stealing a kiss from Madge Shelton. She leaned across and took a slice of venison pie. “The word is that he wants to wed her.”
“He’s unhappy,” Jane said.
“Who, Norris?” Nan asked.
“No, the King.” Jane kept her voice low.
“He has much to be unhappy about,” Edward said. “There is talk that the Emperor may invade England to secure the rights of the Lady Mary.”
“No!” Jane cried. War, with all its horrors, was not the right way forward.
“At present he is fighting the Turks on his eastern border, but he seems set for a victory. The King is looking to his coastal defenses. They were discussing it at Bromham.”
“Do you think the Emperor really will come?”
Edward shrugged. He did not look too alarmed.
“He won’t come on the Princess Dowager’s account,” Nan said. “She is too old and ill. He’ll not fight for her now.”
“But he will for the Lady Mary!”
“Possibly.” Edward refilled their goblets with the good wine Mother had provided. “Remember, not once in all those years of the Great Matter did he bestir himself. Why should he do so now? Don’t worry, sister. Look, the King is rising. We should attend him.”
They all got to their feet and went to fetch their horses. The sun was high in the sky. There would be good sport this afternoon, but Jane was aware that the clouds of war were threatening, and felt afraid.
* * *
—
That evening there was another feast for the King and Queen and the family in the Broad Chamber. Everyone else was enjoying roasted meats and ale in the great barn. Jane was surprised when, after a roasted swan redressed in its plumage had been presented and duly admired, Father turned to the King.
“Your Grace, Clement Smith, a gentleman of Essex, has asked for the hand of my daughter Dorothy,” he revealed. “His brother is employed in the office of the Lord Treasurer’s Remembrancer. He himself is a widower. He is a friend of my son Harry, who suggested the match.”
Dorothy was listening wide-eyed, but Jane nearly choked on her meat. Was another younger sister to be married ahead of her? What must it be like to be married at sixteen and have your whole future settled? Lizzie had been only thirteen…Again Jane wondered why there had been offers for her sisters but not for her. It must be obvious to the King that no man had asked for her. Her cheeks burned with the shame of it.
The King beamed at Harry. “It will be a good match for her. I approve.” He smiled down at Dorothy. “But Sir John, why is it that your eldest daughter, the fair Jane here, is not yet betrothed? It seems strange that her younger sisters have been married first.” His gaze rested on Jane, who was wishing that a hole would open up in the floor and swallow her.
“It does seem strange,” Queen Anne echoed, her tone suggesting that it was anything but.
Sir John frowned. “When Jane was young, Sir, she wanted to be a nun. A foolish girlish fancy, you understand. But we let her test her vocation, and she decided that the religious life was not for her. Thus for some time I was not seeking a husband for her. Then Sir Francis Bryan tried to arrange a match with Sir Robert Dormer’s son, but for reasons of her own, Lady Dormer was against it. Since then…May I speak freely?”
It was infuriating being discussed like this, as if she were not present. I’m here! Jane wanted to say. I can speak for myself. But she remained dutifully mute, wondering what Father was going to say.
The King, helping himself to another plateful of meat, signaled for Sir John to go on.
“Sir, I have been led to believe by Sir Francis Bryan that he might offer for Jane’s hand.”
Jane could keep silent no longer. “Father, you have been led astray. He has made it quite plain to me that he does not intend to wed. He is a friend, nothing more. And I would not have him, for I believe he can make no woman happy.”
They were all staring at her—Father and Edward in dismay, Mother as if a mouse had roared, Thomas with a grin, Anne with astonishment and the King with blank admiration. “Well said, Mistress Jane,” he complimented her. “Exactly my own view of Sir Francis. Likable he may be, but he is a rogue. Well, we shall see if we can find a good match for you. I am sure there is some fine fellow who will appreciate so fair and spirited a wife.” His eyes rested upon her for a second longer than was comfortable.
* * *
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On the third and last day of the visit, when the King was receiving local petitioners in the Broad Chamber and the Queen, making no secret of her boredom, was resting with a book, Jane escaped to My Young Lady’s Garden to weed the herb bed she had herself planted some years before. She was kneeling there, wearing her everyday dress of dove-gray worsted, her long hair rippling around her shoulders, and her task was nearly completed, when she became aware of a pair of feet in white hose and splayed velvet shoes standing next to her. Only one person she knew wore such shoes. It was the King.
She jumped up, smoothing her skirts, and curtseyed.
“Good morning, Mistress Jane,” Henry said, breathing in the sharp, heady scent of the garden. “It’s good to be out of doors enjoying this fine weather. I doubt it will last much longer.”
“It is unseasonably warm, Sir,” she agreed.
“You do your own weeding?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir. I made this bed myself. It contains herbs my mother needs for her still room.”
“It is very neat. I imagine your mother makes physick as well as she cooks.” He crouched down on his haunches, examining the plants and pulling off a leaf here and there. “Marjoram—good for headaches. I make it up myself with sage and lavender,” he murmured. “And chamomile is efficacious for the stomach. And feverfew is essential.” As he worked his way around the plot, Jane was surprised at the extent of his knowledge.
At length, he stood up. “I’ve always had an interest in medicine,” he told her. “I like to make my own remedies. My physicians don’t always approve, but they dare not say so!”
Jane showed him the other beds of herbs, and then she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that they were being watched. It was the Queen, standing at the window above. She could not make out Anne’s face, as the sun was on the panes, but she worried what her mistress was making of her being all alone here with the King. Not that they were doing anything amiss, but Anne was always suspicious of Henry paying any attention to other ladies. God knew, she had cause!
Jane was saved by the dinner bell. The King gave her his arm, and they strolled into the house as his attendants came running. At table, he was full of the garden and the herbs he had seen, and Anne seemed slowly to relax.
* * *
—
That evening, after a delicious supper, the King and Queen remained at the high table, playing cards with Jane’s parents. Jane and Dorothy fetched their tambours, and sat sewing as they chatted with Lady Worcester and Lady Zouche by the fireside. The game ended, and the King strode across. He leaned over Jane’s chair.
“That’s beautiful embroidery,” he said. “I like the way you have rendered the unicorn. What is it for?”
Jane looked up. She saw the Queen watching them. “A pillow cover, Sir,” she said, and smiled. “It was meant to be a secret. I am making it for you, Sir. I have the other one, with the lion, here.”
He smiled down at her. “A pretty conceit, and a fine gift.” He bent low by her ear. “When I rest my head on these at night, I will think of you, sweet Jane.”
Oh, no! Just because she was plain and no man had wanted her, he must not think that she was fair game. “Sir, you might think on my mother too, for she made the one with the lion.”
He stood up. “I will thank her,” he said, a touch stiffly.
* * *
—
Jane was relieved when he had gone to bed. This was the last opportunity she would have to speak to her family about her future, for the King was to depart in the morning. They would all see him again when he visited Edward and Nan at Elvetham. It was another great honor, and her parents and brothers were bursting with pride, for everyone would see, if they had not realized it before, that the Seymours were a family of standing, and upcoming in the world. But the visit was only to be a short one, and there probably would be no opportunities for serious conversations.
Father and Mother were about to retire, but she stayed them. “Please sit down. There is something I must tell you,” she said. “When the court goes tomorrow, I am remaining here. I have had my fill of it.”
They all stared at her as if she were mad.
“No,” Father said. “To leave your post, which was bought dearly for you, and which many would covet, is utter folly. It would give great offense and lose us the King’s favor, for which we have all worked so hard, especially these three days.”
“You’re a fool,” Edward snapped. “The very idea! It would rebound on me and Thomas too.”
“She has taken leave of her senses,” Nan sniffed.
“Why on earth would you want to rusticate down here when you could be at court?” Thomas asked, incredulous.
“Don’t even think of it!” Mother ordered.
“Jane, why have you had your fill of the court?” Harry asked gently. “Is it because of Sir Francis Bryan?”
Jane turned gratefully to him, thinking that he was the kindest and most understanding of her brothers. She was near to tears. “Partly,” she said. “But the life there is so superficial, there is much envy and viciousness, and I am endlessly having to compromise my principles. These changes we are seeing now”—she lowered her voice—“I cannot countenance them. I serve a woman who pretends to be queen. It goes against everything I believe in to call her such.”
“Enough!” Father growled. “That is treason, and I’ll not have it uttered under my roof, especially with the King sleeping upstairs. If you were overheard, they would hang you! Keep your scruples to yourself.”
Jane was in despair. “There is something else,” she whispered. “The King has been showing an interest in me. I do not—”
“The King is interested in you?” Edward’s face lit up. Father’s eyes gleamed and Thomas cried, “By God, Jane, you’re a clever girl! That is the most marvelous news.”
“What? It’s marvelous that he wants to seduce me?”
“It is! But you won’t let him, of course.”
“Of course I won’t!” Jane’s blood was up. “What do you take me for?”
“Where are your brains, sister?” Edward retorted. “Our sovereign lord wanted to seduce Anne Boleyn, and now she is Queen. Even before that, there was nothing he would not do for her. Think about it.”
“Edward, you are being ridiculous!” Jane snapped. “The King has seduced many young ladies in his time, and all but one have been discarded.”
“And that one said no to him,” Nan put in.
“I will say no to him, if it comes to it,” Jane declared, “but that he might make me Queen is stretching the imagination much too far.”
Sir John banged the table.
“Hush,” Mother hissed. “You’ll waken everyone!”
“Jane, heed me,” Father said. “Our family has striven for preferment for a long time. Little by little, we have gained an office here, a privilege there. It took long enough for your brothers to get places in the Privy Chamber. Now we have a golden opportunity to make our way in the world, and you can help us to do it. While the King is interested in you—and I am not suggesting that he might make you Queen, or that you should compromise your virtue—we can all prosper and gain influence. Do you understand me?”
Jane nodded reluctantly. She did not like the idea of being used, but was that not what fathers normally did? They used their children for their profit and advantage. The chances of the King wanting her, plain Jane Seymour, as his queen were as remote as the likelihood of her marrying the Pope! And while he was courting her—if, indeed, he really was—she might do some good, to her family and to others.
Edward, however, was on a mission, speaking urgently in low tones. She had always known that he was ambitious. “Anne Boleyn got a crown because the old Queen failed to bear the King a son,” he said. “Now she herself has failed in the same respect. Think about it. When you go again on progress
tomorrow, Jane—as you will do, and we’ll have no arguments about it—you will encourage the King’s advances, but keep your distance. It is your privilege.”
“Aye,” said Thomas. “His Grace well knows the rules of courtly love; he has played the game often enough. Treat him as your servant, and remain tantalizingly out of his reach. He does not value what he obtains easily.”
“Above all, preserve your virtue,” Mother enjoined. “He cannot but admire that in you. Tell him you are saving yourself for when the right husband comes along. See if he takes the hint.”
Jane rounded on them. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You are all running away with yourselves. A light flirtation and you have a crown on my head. He will probably forget all about it, for I have already put him off.”
“That’s a good start,” Edward said, smiling.
Chapter 15
1535
Why, she asked herself, should she feel so unsettled, nay, excited, by the King’s attentions? She had seen and spoken with him many times before this visit. It was being singled out for special attention, she supposed. It had not been what he said so much as the look in his eyes when he said it, a look that had conveyed unmistakable interest.
It had meant nothing, she told herself firmly, as she rode away with the court the next morning. It had been a passing interest, born of the moment. He had been toying with her, to see if she was willing, and she had made it clear that she was not. Probably he was offended. He had not spoken to her since, or given any sign that he was aware of her presence in the crowded courtyard. But Queen Anne had been cool to her.
It had been a wrench to leave Wulfhall, and she wished desperately that she could have stayed, but that had been impossible in the face of her family’s protests. Even Mother, who should have understood why Jane wanted to be at home, had been dazzled by the ludicrous suggestion that her daughter might wear a crown. No one had even thought to ask Jane if she actually wanted the King’s attentions. They had simply taken it for granted, and assumed she had it in her to win his love. Heavens, she would hardly know where to start, even if she had the opportunity! She was so distracted by her family’s reactions that she had found it hard to focus on how she herself felt about the King. He was undeniably attractive, and in his overpowering presence she had seen how easy it would be to succumb to his charm. It was the gentlemanly courtesy that drew you in, and his extraordinary condescension, that innate common touch that put people at their ease.