“That is unfortunate.”

“Is . . . does the queen think . . . I mean . . .” I stammered to a halt, reluctant to put my worst fears into words.

The Countess of Hertford had to look up to meet my eyes, but my greater height did not give me any advantage. She might be small of stature, but she had a forceful personality. “I know what you would ask: Does His Grace mean to cast off yet another wife?” She released me and turned to stare out at the orchard and the great garden beyond. “Shall I tell you what I think? I believe the king is dying and that he knows it. He has left Her Grace behind because he does not want to risk having her meddle in his plans for the succession.”

Shocked, I could only stare at her.

Ever since the day I’d found the warrant for the queen’s arrest and warned Her Grace of her danger, she and the ladies who knew of it had been friendlier toward me. I was not in their confidence, but they seemed to trust me. Now Anne, Countess of Hertford, notorious for treating underlings with disdain, had taken it upon herself to speak to me of the most forbidden topic in the realm—the king’s death. I was honored. I was also very afraid.

“Things are changing at great speed, Bess. Those of us who are forward thinking must look ahead.”

“I do not understand what you mean.” But I was beginning to have an inkling.

“My husband is Prince Edward’s uncle on his mother’s side,” Lady Hertford said. “Although the queen believes she will be named regent during his minority, it is clear that King Henry has his doubts about her ability to rule for the boy. The lords on the Privy Council have been meeting at my husband’s London house rather than at court. I take that as a sign of what is to come.”

So, I thought, Lady Hertford had been in contact with her husband the earl. I wondered if the other ladies in the queen’s inner circle knew.

“I sympathize with your . . . situation with the queen’s brother, Bess. There is no question in my mind that his first marriage is invalid and, since it never existed, there is no barrier to a wedding between the two of you.”

When I said nothing, Lady Hertford’s expression turned grim.

“My husband is prepared to help you, for a price. Everything you desire can be yours, Bess. All you need do is set pen to paper as I dictate.”

What she proposed was simple. As Lord Parr and Earl of Essex, Will would throw his support to Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, urging the dying king to name Hertford as regent during Edward’s minority. Once King Henry was dead and Hertford had control of the government, he would reward Will by elevating him in the peerage, granting him land and houses, and giving him permission to marry me.

“The queen would do the same,” I said.

“The king left her behind,” Anne Hertford reminded me. “Kathryn Parr will not be made regent.”

“And can a mere regent issue a royal decree?” This seemed to me to be a flaw in the plan. Besides, King Henry was the only one who had the right to decide how England should be governed after his death. I found Lady Hertford’s scheming distasteful.

“A regent acts in the place of a king.” The countess sounded impatient. If she’d been tall enough, she’d have been looking down her nose at me. “Must I sweeten the pot, Bess? Very well. Think on this: when the king dies, the queen will become queen dowager only and must leave the court. You will lose your post and be sent home to your family. If you wish to stay close to your lover, you must join the household of someone certain to remain, such as the regent’s wife. If you do as I say now, I will appoint you as one of my waiting gentlewomen until such time as you marry.”

I had a sudden vision of Lady Hertford taking over the queen’s apartments, even sitting in the chair of estate under its canopy to receive foreign dignitaries. What arrogance! But if the Earl of Hertford’s regency came to pass, far better for me to be on his wife’s good side than to make an enemy of her.

“Will may not pay any attention to my wishes,” I warned her. But I went with her to find pen and paper and wrote the letter she dictated.

26

King Henry died in the early hours of Friday, the twenty-eighth day of January. Change came rapidly. Suddenly we had a king who was not yet ten years old. His coronation took place on the nineteenth day of February, but even before King Henry had been buried at Windsor, next to Queen Jane, Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, had been created Duke of Somerset and appointed lord protector, a fancy name for regent. His first act was to dissolve Parliament. Shortly thereafter, Lord Lisle became Earl of Warwick, Sir Thomas Seymour was created Baron Seymour of Sudeley and appointed lord admiral, replacing Lord Lisle. And Sir William Parr, Lord Parr of Kendal and Earl of Essex, was elevated in the peerage to Marquess of Northampton.

As Lady Hertford, now Duchess of Somerset, had predicted, Will’s sister, as the queen dowager, had no role in the new government. Queen Kathryn retired to Chelsea Manor, her dower house. Princess Elizabeth was to live with her there. Mary Woodhull and Lady Tyrwhitt accompanied them to Chelsea, but for the most part, the queen’s household was dissolved. With some trepidation, I took up my new post as one of the Duchess of Somerset’s ladies-in-waiting.

Although the duchess had promised to help Will obtain a royal decree, it was April before he was able to petition the king. Even then, it was not for His Grace’s approval of our marriage, but rather to request that King Edward establish a commission to determine whether or not Will would be allowed to remarry.

“We are already married,” I reminded Will.

“But that is not known to anyone but the two of us.”

“We could tell them.”

We were in the tiny room I’d been assigned at court. It was barely big enough to turn around in, but it was private. I had furnished it with pieces Will had given me—rich tapestries and a soft feather bed. My wardrobe trunk occupied the rest of the space, leaving only a small rectangle of open floor beside the bed. There we stood facing each other, almost touching. I had not intended to spend this precious time alone with Will in arguing.

“Patience, Bess.”

I seized a crewelwork pillow off the bed and hit him with it. He tugged it out of my hand and tossed it carelessly atop the trunk, then took me in his arms.

“Talk to the king,” I pleaded, avoiding his lips. “Young Edward is a studious, sweet-tempered boy and he is fond of you. As you are his stepmother’s brother, he considers you another uncle.”

“But it is his real uncle, the Duke of Somerset, who is in charge, and he does not want to set a bad example for the general populace by making it too easy to discard one wife and take another.”

“Hypocrite! He did the same.” And Lady Hertford, his current spouse and the newly made Duchess of Somerset, had promised me her husband’s support.

“His first wife conveniently died before his second marriage.” Will sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me down beside him.

I sprang right back up again and glared down at him. “There are times when I wonder if you no longer want to be married to me.”

“How can you say such a thing?”

His dismay seemed genuine, but I hardened my heart. I was wont to give in too easily, seduced by Will’s easy charm and skillful kisses. Too many times to count, we had both forgotten to be careful and had gone beyond pleasuring each other to couple fully. So far I had not caught a child, but I did not think my luck would hold forever.

“You must insist. Remind Somerset of his promise.”

“His wife’s promise, you mean.”

“She rules him.”

“Then you must plead our case to her.”

I blanched.

Will sighed. “The real problem is that Somerset is an evangelical. He intends to continue reforming the church. To do so, he cannot be seen to support divorce. What if anyone could cast off a spouse? There would be chaos.”

“I am not learned enough for theological debate, but how can I accept this reasoning?”

“We will not have to wait forever. It is true that, for the moment, we cannot live as man and wife, but once the commission the king has sanctioned decides in our favor, no one will ever again be able to question our right to be together.” He reached for me. “In the meantime, let us not waste the afternoon.”

I swallowed bitter disappointment and schooled myself to be patient. But oh how I resented the necessity.

In the following week, my father returned to England, escorting a French envoy who had been sent to bring King Edward word of the death of King Francis of France. Father sought me out in my lodgings, regarding the furnishings with a jaundiced eye.

“I have a husband in mind for you, Bess,” he announced. “It is past time you were married.”

“I thank you for your kindness, Father, but I have made my own choice.”

He ignored that. “I am your father, Bess. You will marry where I say. You will find him agreeable, I think. Sir Edward Warner. You know him from Queen Kathryn’s household.”

“You cannot force me into marriage. I am above the age of sixteen, old enough to make my own decision in this matter.”

“That is questionable. You will not be of full age until you enter your twenty-first year.”

“A matter of a few months only,” I reminded him. “And you cannot coerce me into marriage no matter what my age.” I took a deep breath. “Not only have I the right to refuse, but Will and I have already exchanged wedding vows per verba de presenti.” Let him make what he would of that!

A vein in Father’s forehead bulged. “So that is what is behind this commission he’s asked for.”

“As soon as it is formed, the members will declare Will’s earlier marriage invalid, thus removing all barriers to ours.”

“I would not be so certain of success. The commissioners will no doubt be churchmen and conservative in their thinking, at least in matters such as this. If they forbid remarriage, what will you do then, eh?”

“I will live with Will as his mistress!”

The words burst out of me before I considered how Father would react. I quailed before his fulminating glare. I had never seen him so angry. For a moment I thought he might strike me. Or worse, take me forcibly back to Cowling Castle and lock me in the highest tower. Instead he took several deep breaths as he backed away from me.

“I have raised a fool,” he said when he reached the door. “I pray you will come to your senses soon, before a respectable marriage is no longer possible.”

“I have a good marriage already, Father,” I whispered when he had gone. I wished I dared shout that truth to the world, but Will was right. We needed to be cautious until the commission gave its ruling.

Caution. Patience. I came to hate both those words, especially when the eight men chosen to decide our fate were, as Father had predicted, conservative and mostly churchmen. One was Archbishop Cranmer. It was May before they even took up Will’s petition. There seemed little hope of a prompt decision.

“Is there no way to hurry things along?” I asked the Duchess of Somerset, who still claimed to be sympathetic to our plight.

“Patience, Bess,” Anne Somerset advised.

That was what everyone said, unless they were telling me how foolish I was to pine for a married man. It did not help that so many of my friends were gone from court.

Jack Dudley was one of the few who remained. With his father’s elevation in the peerage to Earl of Warwick, Jack had acquired the courtesy title of Lord Lisle. He had grown into his feet, as they say, and now bore a strong resemblance to both his father and his late brother, Harry Dudley. Jack had retained, however, his admiration for me.

“You could still change your mind and marry me,” he said as we stood together to watch the gentlemen pensioners muster in Hyde Park. Will’s standard, yellow and black with a maiden’s head, his sister’s emblem, flew above them.

“I scarce think that would please your father.” Jack made the same suggestion every time we met, even though there had been talk for some time of a match for him with the Duke of Somerset’s eldest daughter, a girl named Anne, after her mother.

Jack was silent for a time, watching the well-trained, beautifully caparisoned horses go through their paces. Their riders, dressed in yellow velvet, paraded with the levies of other nobles, each dressed in distinctive livery.

“Do you truly love Will Parr, Bess?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Love has no reason, Jack. Or perhaps it has too many to name. I cannot explain it. I only know what exists between us.”