“I see.”
“I enjoy the King’s company,” she went on. “He is … different than his father was. Quieter. Thoughtful. I imagine I could learn to be fond of him.”
We were both quiet as we contemplated the notion that love between two of noble birth often follows long after the vows are spoken and the marriage consummated. Neither one of us voiced the obvious, that fondness might not bloom at all.
Again, she leaned down and kissed the babe’s tiny fingers. “Are you betrothed?”
I shook my head. “No, my lady.”
“Is there someone you wish to be betrothed to?”
Again, I shook my head. Marriage still seemed a long distance off for me, and that thought did not trouble me. There had been a young man in my village, during my growing-up years, who made my heart flutter whenever he was near. He married someone else the summer I turned thirteen. There had been no one since then who made my heart flutter. I did not wish to marry anyone who did not.
“Will your parents choose for you?” she asked.
I stumbled over my response. “I … Of course any young man who wishes to marry me will have to ask my father for permission.” This was not the same, and we both knew it.
But she simply nodded. Her eyes communicated a glimmer of envy, and it occurred to me there was a reason behind her asking.
“If I could choose for myself, do you know who I would pick?” Her cheeks grew crimson, and she smiled as she looked away from me.
My own cheeks warmed a bit as I considered the awkwardness of our conversation. “I am sure I do not, my lady.”
She peeked up at me and laughed lightly. “Guess.”
I fumbled for an answer. “Someone at court?”
Her grin widened, and I saw such hope and expectation there.
“Edward Seymour,” she whispered. “The Lord Protector’s son. The one who sent the letter.”
For a moment, neither one of us spoke. I could see she felt a kinship for me for other reasons besides my holding her the day before while she cried and the closeness in our age. I had seen Edward Seymour’s letter. I hadn’t read it, but I had seen it. I had seen the flowing script, the shape of his letters, the flourish of his pen as he wrote her a note of condolence.
The restlessness I had witnessed the night previous wasn’t because she feared the note’s contents but because the young man whose attention made her blush had sent her a note, and she had been denied the pleasure of reading it. And reading it again. And again.
“I did not think he even remembered me,” she said softly. “I’ve only met him once. But I remember him. I remember how he made me feel. You probably think I am too young to know that feeling.”
I shook my head. “No, my lady. I don’t think that.”
“Did you see him when he was at Bradgate?”
“Aye, my lady.”
“What do you think of him, Lucy?” Her voice was hopeful.
“He … he seems a kind soul. He was polite to your parents and kind to your sisters. He has a winsome smile.”
She grinned and her eyes spoke elation, and then, just as quickly, she turned apprehensive. “You mustn’t speak of this to the admiral, Lucy. It would vex him if he knew I had affection for his brother’s son. He and his brother, the Protector, they do not … they …” But she could say no more, for the door opened behind us, and Mrs. Ellen swept into the room.
“There you are!” Mrs. Ellen said cheerfully as she made her way to us.
And as she did, Jane and I returned to our normal places—she, the second cousin to the King of England, and I, the humble daughter of a gentleman tailor.
Ten
The Lord Admiral returned to Sudeley not long after Queen Katherine was laid to rest. He did not announce where he had been while away, but there were whispers among the house staff that he had spent time with Princess Elizabeth, and such whispers were always followed by tittering and smirking. He promptly pronounced to the household the evening of his return that we would be relocating to Hanworth. The reason was not given, but Mrs. Ellen told me the admiral was intent on convincing Jane’s parents to allow her to remain his ward and that his prospects to secure a marriage between my lady and His Majesty were still favorable. Hanworth was easier to reach by carriage. It would be that much easier to fetch Jane back from Bradgate.
Jane was melancholy as we prepared to leave and spoke little as I worked to gather her gowns, hoods, and capes. Later, when I asked Mrs. Ellen if my lady was ill, she said, “Lady Jane was happy here at Sudeley. ’Tis difficult to leave, even with the Queen in her grave. And the babe will not be joining us.”
This surprised me. “Why not?”
She shrugged. “The admiral has no need of the child.”
“Need?”
Mrs. Ellen tipped her head and leaned in toward me. “If you are to be staying with us, the sooner you know this, the better, though if you repeat this to anyone, especially to the Lady Jane, I shall deny I said it.”
She waited for me to acknowledge her and I nodded. But the nod was not enough.
“You are to say nothing of this to Jane,” Mrs. Ellen went on. “She dotes on the admiral. And I’ll not have you spoiling that for her. Do I have your word?”
“Yes, madam.”
She leaned closer. “The admiral only troubles himself with that which will advance his own prospects. Do you hear what I am saying, lass? He is kind to her for a reason. She does not need to know what it is. She deserves such kindness.”
I nodded. Jane’s being here in the admiral’s household was a scheme to secure himself an admirable future, not just her. “What will happen to the babe?” I asked.
Mrs. Ellen pulled back from me. “I hear she’s being sent away to family in the north.”
“Whose family?”
She huffed and crooked her hands on her hips. “You ask the same questions as the Lady Jane. I do not know. And it is of no concern to us.”
She stepped away. The conversation was over. I finished packing the Lady Jane’s wardrobe and saw to its loading on one of the many carriages we were taking to Hanworth. I was not called for again that day.
The next morning we were on our way.
As soon as we were situated at Hanworth, the admiral dispatched a messenger with a letter to Jane’s parents, advising them of our new location and appealing to them to allow Jane to stay on as his ward. He invited the marquess and the marchioness to join him at Hanworth, instead of Sudeley, to secure Jane’s situation.
To Jane’s relief, they agreed to come and discuss the matter.
A fortnight later, on the morning they arrived, Jane paced the rugs in her rooms, reciting Latin verses to keep herself calm. She waited to dress until she was summoned, so as not to wrinkle her skirt. I thought perhaps she would choose the tawny gown she had worn the afternoon of the Queen’s funeral, but she told me to bring the crimson one with the black trim. I found the gown quickly in the wardrobe room. The gown was deep red velvet with false sleeves of gold damask, turned back with miniver. The skirt boasted a long oval train and a pomander for the waist of gold filigree with a dense perfumed ball inside. The matching gabled headdress looked too big for Jane’s head.
When I brought her the gown and headdress, Jane stood, saying not a word. She did not appear to be fond of the dress I had brought her.
“This is the right dress, my lady?” I asked, suddenly unsure.
Mrs. Ellen had followed me in with a necklace of rubies in her hand. “’Tis the right dress,” she mumbled.
I looked to Jane and smiled. “I thought perhaps you might wear the dress with the gold butterflies.”
“My mother prefers this dress,” Jane said simply, and she held out her arms for the bodice.
I was not called for until late in the afternoon, but I was certain Jane had been allowed to stay with the Lord Admiral. No one summoned me to pack Lady Jane’s wardrobe. From my garret window in the wardrobe room, I saw the marquess and marchioness step into their
carriage as the sun began to dip. Jane was not with them. The marchioness was speaking to the marquess as they climbed inside, and her face was pinched with anger. I could not hear what she was saying, but she did not appear to be content. I was surprised they were not at least staying the night.
They sped away, and I listened for voices on the stairs—any kind of voices—that would let me know what had been decided. Finally, I was called for. I found Jane in her sitting room looking happy but weary. Mrs. Ellen was helping her remove the headdress.
“I should like to get out of this dress, Lucy,” she said to me as I entered the room and curtsied.
“Certainly, my lady.” I went to her. “It went well with your parents?” I ventured.
“They have decided I shall stay.”
From behind her, Mrs. Ellen undid the clasp on her heavy necklace. She was frowning.
I began to detach the sleeves. “You are happy, then?”
“Yes. I miss Bradgate, but I … I should like to be near the Lord Admiral just now. He still grieves for the Queen. And Mama and Papa would have me near London. To be at court.”
Mrs. Ellen caught my eye and gave her head a tiny shake, as one does when one is exasperated.
I removed the second sleeve and began to unhook the bodice. “And shall I be staying with you, my lady?”
Jane turned slightly to look at me. “Mama wanted to send you back, but I asked her if you could stay. Since I will be at court.” She smiled slightly at me.
“I am most happy to stay with my lady,” I said.
She turned back around. “I think she was vexed that I saw the wisdom in your staying before she did.”
I could sense that Jane’s satisfaction in my staying had more to do with what lay in her heart than what hung in her wardrobe. She had found a friend in me, and that both unnerved and warmed me. I had only worked for one other nobleman before and had not found friendship in that household. I had not expected to. “Would you like me to make a new gown for you, my lady?” I said. “Something for the holidays, perhaps?”
Jane half turned again. “That would be lovely.” Her voice was light and happy.
Mrs. Ellen had the necklace and the pomander in her hands and seemed pleased that I had moved the conversation away from what had transpired during Jane’s meeting with her parents. She beamed at me. “I’ll just put these away.”
“And how are your parents, my lady?” I asked as I loosened the skirt from around her waist.
“They are well. They … they couldn’t stay.”
I pretended I did not already know this. “Oh. A pity.”
“They had to get back. Edward Seymour and his mother are again at Bradgate.” Jane stepped out of the skirt.
“Did … did you wish to go back with them, my lady?” The moment I said it, I wished I had not. It was far too personal a question. But Jane answered me before I could ask her forgiveness.
“I did. I should like to have seen Edward again. To see if he is as I remember him. I even asked if they would like me to come home with them for a visit, but Mama asked what purpose there would be in that.”
Jane looked small and young standing there in her undergarments. The headdress had pulled at the plaits in her hair, giving her a lost look.
“It doesn’t matter,” she continued, in a voice that sounded much older than she looked. “The Lord Admiral thinks he can have me betrothed to the King by this time next year. Hand me that gown.”
I lifted a pale pink gown of soft silk off the foot of her bed and helped her slip inside it. She tied the satin bow and sighed quietly.
Mrs. Ellen came back into the room, and Lady Jane announced that she would like to lie down and rest before supper. Mrs. Ellen helped her climb atop her bed, and I made sure I had all the sections of her gown in my arms.
“Rest well, my lady,” Mrs. Ellen said, and we both turned to go.
Outside her room, Mrs. Ellen told me to ask one of the maids for a tisane for Jane. I said I would be happy to.
“Is she pleased she’s staying with the admiral?” I asked.
Mrs. Ellen nodded. “’Tis what she wanted. But I wish she had not been privy to all the details. She does not need to know how much the Lord Admiral is being paid.”
I did not know what she meant. “Pardon?”
“The marquess is paying the Lord Admiral to keep Jane on as his ward.”
“Paying him?”
Mrs. Ellen frowned. “Two thousand pounds.”
The autumn months brought us to London, to Seymour Place. We saw little of the admiral. Lady Jane’s tutor kept her busy in lessons, far busier than I would’ve guessed a young woman of her station would be. I spent the weeks mending tears, letting down hems, reattaching buttons and hooks, and in my spare time, I worked on a Christmas dress for Jane, a creamy white gown embroidered with swans and lilies and lined with ermine. I was alone in the wardrobe room most days.
I wrote to my parents that I did not think I would be home for the holidays, that it appeared Jane and I were to stay at Seymour Place in London for the festivities. It would be the second year that I would be away from home at Christmas. My mother had sensed my melancholy, and in her return letter, told me perhaps ’twas the Lord’s design that I spend Christmas with the young Lady Jane, who clearly was fond of me and no doubt needed my friendship. My mother enclosed a kerchief that my father had stitched as he sat in his chair by the fire. I tucked it into my sleeve at once to have it with me always. It smelled of him. Of home.
I endeavored to pay no mind to the below-stairs gossip, but it proved difficult, since so much of it had to do with the Lord Admiral.
There was talk that he had poisoned the Queen, which I refused to believe; there would have been no point in that whatsoever. I was relieved that Jane was spared hearing this outlandish rumor. But there were others that were harder to discount or prevent her from hearing.
One of the kitchen maids told me it was at Hanworth the past spring that the admiral would sneak before sunrise into Princess Elizabeth’s bedroom to tickle her while she still lay abed. All while being newly wed to the Queen Dowager.
Then, when the admiral declined to attend Parliament in November, there was talk that he was spending too much time up north, apparently amassing a small army for a reason no one knew, and that he was consorting with pirates, also for reasons unknown.
He was with us at Christmas, but his thoughts were elsewhere. I saw less of him than Lady Jane did, yet she asked me—of all people—what the admiral could be occupied with that demanded so much of his time.
I did not know, of course, but I did overhear a conversation he had with his mother, Lady Margery, who was Jane’s chaperone whenever the admiral was away. I heard only a snippet of the conversation as I sat beneath a window in the library, writing to my parents, two days before Christmas.
Lady Margery and the admiral were in hushed conversation as they walked past the open doors of the library and then stopped just past them. They had not seen me.
Lady Margery said, “But he’s your brother!”
The admiral replied with something I could not hear.
“What you are doing is treasonous, Thomas! I beg you to reconsider! You cannot do this without the sanction of the Privy Council. You know this!”
“And you should know that I have friends on the Council. Alliances. Mother, you worry too much.”
They began to walk away, but not before I heard Lady Margery again remind the admiral, in an agonized voice, that the Protector was his brother.
January arrived with a vengeful chill, and the household seemed to be holding its breath as we waited for warmth to return to us. Jane immersed herself in her studies to pass the hours, and I offered to make Lady Margery a new dress so that I, too, would have something to take my mind off the tension in the household.
On a stormy day that flung ice on every window, a messenger came to Seymour Place and asked to speak to Lady Margery. She met with the messenger inside the drawing roo
m, and we heard her cry out within seconds of meeting with him. Those of us on the stairs who heard her, rushed to the room.
Lady Margery’s face was ashen, and she clutched a missive to her throat as if it were a dagger. Unable to speak, she thrust the letter toward the lot of us. I was the closest, and I took it from her, glad my father had seen to it that Cecily and I both knew our letters. I read aloud.
The admiral had been arrested for plotting to depose his brother the Protector, and for planning to abduct his nephew the King, and for planning to marry the Princess Elizabeth without the approval of the Privy Council, which alone was considered an act of treason.
Gasps of shock filled the room. As I recited the impossible charges, Lady Margery sank down onto a couch and began to weep.
Convicted traitors had but one sentence in England, and we all knew it. If the admiral was found guilty, he would lose his head. It was that simple.
The thought repulsed me, and I immediately thought of Jane upstairs in her classroom, studying Cicero; unaware that at that moment her guardian sat in the Tower, that the father of the young man she fancied would have to pass sentence on him, and that everything was about to change for her.
Everything.
Eleven
As my train rumbled toward Massapequa, sunlight filtered through the window and glinted off the ring’s ancient stones as I toyed with it on my pinkie. It didn’t quite fit my ring finger—too tight—and spun easily on my littlest finger. My practical side reminded me I should’ve been carrying the ring to Long Island in the velvet-lined case Stacy found for me at the shop. Wilson had been insistent I transport the ring in the box. But as I’d settled into my seat on the train that morning, the ring seemed to call to me from inside my purse. I had slipped it on before even leaving Grand Central.
It’d been a while since I’d taken the train to my parents’. Brad had kept a Jeep garaged with some New Jersey friends for the last four years. We let them use it, and they housed it for us. On the rare weekend when Brad wasn’t on call, he liked to take his canoe out to Harriman State Park or the Tivoli Marshes. It was the only reason, really, that he bought the Jeep. When we made the trip out to my parents’ or when I made it alone, I usually took it. But I didn’t have the Jeep; Brad did. Molly and Jeff would’ve let me use their car to go to my sister’s birthday party, but they needed it to attend their niece’s wedding in Danbury.
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