“Dangerous to whom?”

Her eyebrows shot up at my tone. “To you, my dear. You must not wander about the palace alone. It is neither wise nor safe.”

I blinked at her in genuine surprise, unable to imagine what danger could possibly escape the notice of the king’s guards.

Mother Guildford sighed and patted my arm. “You are young in many ways, Jane, and innocent, but you are old enough to marry. That you have no one to make arrangements for you to wed concerns me deeply.”

“I am one of the king’s wards.”

“You are His Grace’s dependent. His servant.” Voice even, words blunt, Mother Guildford gave no quarter. “You inherited nothing when your mother died, because she brought nothing of value with her when she left France. This places you in an awkward position, Jane. Gentlemen seek a rich dowry when they contemplate taking a wife, and you have none save what the king decides to give you.”

Already well aware of these hard facts, I resented her all the more for reminding me of them. I preferred to concentrate on the pleasures of life at court.

“If you are to remain in the princess’s household unwed, then you must have a care for your virtue. Any man, even the most honorable, will take advantage of a woman if he’s given half a chance.”

I made a small, involuntary movement before I managed to hold myself still again. What Mother Guildford said was true enough. Master Brandon’s kisses were proof of that, and he was not the first courtier to show an interest in me.

“I am always careful of my reputation,” I lied. “And no courtier would dare accost one of the princess’s ladies.”

“You were observed kissing Master Brandon.”

For a moment I thought someone had seen us together earlier that day. Then I realized that she meant the kiss Charles Brandon had given me when we’d encountered each other in the garden the week before. I had been with several of the princess’s ladies. Brandon had been accompanied by his constant companions, Tom Knyvett and Lord Edward Howard. He had not singled me out. He’d kissed all of us in greeting, as had the other two men.

“It is the custom to exchange kisses upon meeting,” I protested. It had taken me years to adjust to this peculiarly English habit. In France, etiquette forbids kissing on the lips in public, but in England these light touches of mouth to mouth are nothing more than a symbolic gesture of welcome, not unlike bowing before royalty.

“There are degrees of kisses.” Mother Guildford’s face was set in hard, uncompromising lines and her voice vibrated with disapproval.

I had begun to suspect that the kisses given to a woman by a man who desired her were quite different from those exchanged in casual greeting. In truth, that was why I’d been so willing to let Charles Brandon kiss me in the passageway beneath the king’s lodgings. In spite of Mother Guildford’s dire predictions, opportunities were few for the Lady Mary’s attendants to meet in private with handsome men.

“Drunkenness and lechery go hand in hand,” Mother Guildford continued, “and not all the king’s courtiers are temperate men. Many of them have sired bastards, both before and since coming to court. Others are simply uncouth louts. I cannot count the number of times I have come upon some gentleman relieving himself in a corner rather than bothering to walk to the nearest garderobe. And once I saw a maidservant emerge from behind an arras, her skirts rucked up and her bosom exposed.”

I had seen such sights myself. “I would never allow myself to be treated with such disrespect.”

“Not even if it were the Prince of Wales himself who showed an interest in you?”

Taken aback, I required a moment to adjust to this notion. “Prince Henry is not yet fifteen.”

“He takes after his grandfather, King Edward the Fourth, in appearance. I warrant he shares Edward’s appetites as well. Queen Elizabeth’s father had a great many mistresses and fathered a number of bastards, starting when he was just a boy. And at fourteen, even Prince Henry’s father had—”

She broke off, appalled that she’d very nearly criticized the present king’s behavior. It was never a good idea to do that, and most particularly unwise when that same king could send your husband back to prison on a whim.

“No matter,” she said brusquely, recovering. “What you need to remember, Jane, is that you must not encourage the prince or any of his friends.”

“Prince Henry behaves toward me as he does to his sisters. When we were younger, he regularly put frogs in my bed and pulled my hair, and he still trounces me soundly at chess.” The chubby little boy I’d first met at Eltham had grown into a big, golden-haired lad. He was already taller than his father. He drew every eye the moment he strode into a room. I suppressed a smile, thinking it likely he had already seduced a willing wench or two, but the idea that his amorous interest might fix on me seemed as remote as the possibility that Harry Guildford and I would fall into each other’s arms and tumble into bed.

Mother Guildford did not look convinced. “Henceforth when you leave the princess’s lodgings, take another female with you—a maidservant or one of the other gentlewomen. I will have your promise on this, Jane. You must not take foolish chances.”

I agreed, but grudgingly. It seemed to me most unfair that she should restrict my movements solely because I was female and of marriageable age. Satisfied at last, Mother Guildford released me to return to my duties.

I’d barely had time to warm my hands at the brazier before a messenger arrived to summon the Lady Mary and her women to the king’s presence chamber. An explosion of excited whispers and titters greeted this news. We’d been confined indoors by bad weather for days and the prospect of some new entertainment delighted everyone.

The king squinted in our direction when we entered his presence chamber but did not acknowledge his daughter in any way. I wondered if he recognized her. Although his eyesight had been failing for years, he refused to wear spectacles.

The rise and fall of voices filled the crowded room. Following close behind my mistress, I advanced toward the dais. On the far side of the presence chamber, I caught sight of Charles Brandon. He noticed me, too, and sent a smile my way that made me think I might let him kiss me again. Perhaps I would like it better the next time. As I felt heat creep into my cheeks, I quickly shifted my attention back to King Henry.

He looked down on us from a raised dais, a morose expression on his face. As was his custom, since he set great store by appearances, he sat beneath a cloth-of-gold canopy and upon a braided and tasseled cushion. Both were symbols of his authority. The ceiler and tester were trimmed and tasseled with Venice gold, and the section hanging down the wall behind him was embroidered with the royal arms.

Whatever chair the king’s cushion was placed upon became the chair of estate, even though the principal chair of estate was the one he now occupied in his presence chamber. No one but the king of England could sit on that one. Courtiers newly arrived in the royal household were taught that even if they entered this room when His Grace was not present, they must still doff their caps and bow as they passed the chair.

It was impressive to look at, upholstered in cloth-of-gold studded with gilt nails. It was also the only chair in the chamber. No one was allowed to sit unless His Grace gave permission. He did not ordinarily do so, but for those rare occasions when he did, the room was furnished with settles for those of the highest rank and stools for men and women of lesser importance.

A duke outranked all other noblemen. Then came marquess, earl, viscount, and baron. Most courtiers, however, were only knights, or gentlemen like Master Brandon.

When the Lady Mary reached the dais, the king spoke quietly to his daughter, then acknowledged my presence with a nod. “Bring the messenger in,” he ordered.

The room abruptly fell silent. All eyes shifted toward the door through which we had just entered.

A man stepped through from the great watching chamber. He was clad entirely in black. He twisted his cap in his hands, and the smell of wet wool emanated from his clothing. Narrowing my eyes, I studied him. This appeared to be the same fellow I’d seen earlier, taken into custody during the storm by the king’s guards near the submerged water stairs.

After much hesitation and throat clearing, he addressed the king in French, the language common to every royal court. He introduced himself as a secretary to the king of Castile, which explained his odd accent and provoked a stir of interest in the crowd. There were exclamations of surprise and excitement when he announced that King Philip, driven ashore by the storm, had taken refuge in England and begged King Henry’s leave to remain.

The babble of voices almost drowned out the messenger’s next words. I moved nearer in time to hear him say that he had brought a letter from his master. King Henry accepted it and in the hush that descended, he perused its contents.

A loud chattering sound broke the silence. The Lady Mary and I shared an amused glance. Jot, the king’s pet monkey, was loose…again. A stir in the crowd of courtiers marked his progress from the door of the privy chamber to the dais. Still reading, King Henry absently held out one arm. A streak of brown fur flashed along it to settle on His Grace’s shoulder and sit up.

The little spider monkey, a mischievous creature whom the late queen had named Jot, wore a decorative collar of velvet and kid adorned with the king’s arms. Still chattering softly, he reached out one small paw and tugged on a lock of white and thinning royal hair. King Henry reached up to stroke the creature’s small head.

Anticipation bubbled in the presence chamber with palpable force. Thoughts were plain to read on every courtier’s face. Visiting royalty was no common occurrence. Such events ordinarily required months of preparation. Even at short notice, however, a display of hospitality must be made. That meant tournaments and disguisings, hunting and hawking, and games of all sorts.

My heart beat a little faster at the prospect. There had been few celebrations at court after the festivities surrounding Princess Margaret’s departure for Scotland, and even those had been steeped in sadness because of Queen Elizabeth’s death.

I thought of Margaret sometimes. It was unlikely I would ever see her again. Princesses who married foreign princes rarely returned to the land of their birth. Catherine of Aragon, who had so briefly been married to Arthur, Prince of Wales, remained in England. She was styled the princess dowager, but she was rarely at court.

When King Henry looked up from the letter, his deep-set blue eyes were alive with an enthusiasm I hadn’t seen in them for a long while. “King Philip and Queen Juana, on their way from Flanders to Castile by sea, encountered the same storm that has wreaked such havoc here in England. It scattered their fleet. The ship carrying the royal couple and their courtiers made landfall at Melcombe Regis, in Dorset. King Philip begs our hospitality until he can make such repairs to his ships as are necessary to continue the journey.”

The king gently lifted the monkey down from his shoulder and placed him on the arm of his chair. Only then did he address the messenger directly.

“Our fellow monarchs are most welcome in England. They will be entertained during their stay as befits their station. Return to your master and invite him to meet us at Windsor Castle in two weeks’ time.”

“Will the entire court go to Windsor, Father?” Princess Mary placed one hand on her father’s arm and extended the other to Jot.

She and her brother were the only people at court permitted to show such boldness before the king. I edged closer to the dais, but was careful not to place myself beneath the royal canopy.

His Grace’s rare, slow smile appeared, somewhat brackish and gap toothed. “We will stage amusements fit for a princess.”

“Will there be dancing, Father?” His ten-year-old daughter all but bounced up and down with excitement at the prospect, every movement accompanied by the tinkling of dozens of tiny bells that had been sewn onto her sleeves. “Please say there will be dancing.”

“Just to please you, Mary,” the king promised, “there will be dancing.”











3

In a generous and expansive mood, King Henry sent gift after gift to the travelers stranded in Dorset at Wolverton Manor—clothing suitable to their station first of all, then horses and litters. Closer to home, he also spent with a liberal hand, determined to impress his royal visitors. Carts full of tapestry, plate, and furniture were sent ahead to Windsor to decorate the castle in the grandest style possible. More was purchased new, to add to the display of England’s wealth and prosperity. Then the king proclaimed that everyone at court should have new clothes at his expense.