“Then it may be I should say a prayer of thanksgiving.”

I sat straight up in bed to stare at him. “What?”

He tugged me back down beside him and tucked me in close against his side. “I mean only that I could not stand to lose you as I lost my sister.”

“Many women die in childbed, it is true.” My breath caught on a sob, thinking of Kathryn. “But others have large families with no ill effects—my mother; my grandmother, Jane Warwick. Even Anne Somerset.” She had seven more children living besides Lord Hertford, the Somerset heir, and the daughter she’d just married to Jack Dudley.

“We must leave it up to fate,” Will said in a soothing whisper. He kissed me gently on the cheek, the forehead, the lips. I cuddled close to him, secure in his love for me. I resolved to stop fretting about our lack of children. What we had already was unique and precious.

Out of respect for Will’s wishes, I did not mention Mary Seymour again for some time after that blissful night and, when the delegation from France arrived, I did my best to make them feel welcome. I must have succeeded. One wrote a poem to my beauty. Another gave me an enameled chain worth two hundred crowns as a parting gift.

36

By the time Yuletide came around again, celebrated with masques at Greenwich and Westminster, I was too busy to dwell on my continued barrenness. Besides, I believed Will when he insisted he was content to have a wife he loved and who loved him. I knew what a rare gift that was when so many of those around us existed in loveless arranged marriages. Some were happy enough. Other couples came to love each other in time, although not, I thought, with the passion Will and I shared. But far too many, like my brother William and my young uncle, Lord Bray, were shackled for life to women they could not abide.

Will and I were blessed. We certainly wanted for nothing except a child. We had wealth, honors, land, and no fewer than 154 domestic servants to look after us.

We spent Twelfth Night at Cowling Castle, finally reconciled with my father. Once our marriage had been declared legal, he’d been obliged to accept it, but it had taken some time for him to get over his annoyance with me for having defied his wishes.

In the spring, Will left England at the head of a delegation to the French court that numbered 251 men, including a personal entourage of 62. My brother William went with him. So did Jack Dudley, Lord Lisle, and John, Lord Bray, my mother’s brother. Their mission was to bestow the Order of the Garter on King Henri II and to negotiate for a bride for King Edward.

This embassy to France was a most prestigious one. It was a great honor for Will to lead it. But his departure meant we would be separated for months. I dreaded that, even more so when I realized that, with him gone, I would be in an ambiguous position at court. I could continue to live there without my husband, but so long as the young king did not have a wife, such an arrangement would be awkward. Instead, I decided to retire to Esher, a small manor near Hampton Court.

I planned to move there right after Will left for France. Our parting was as painful as I’d feared. We made love with near frantic intensity on the night prior to his departure. Then I went with him to the dock in the morning, demanding one last kiss before he climbed into the waiting rowing boat that would carry him out to his ship. I watched him clamber aboard and continued to stare at it as the fleet caught the tide and sailed away. I stood with my hand shading my eyes, my gaze intent, until Will’s flagship was nothing more than a speck in the distance. Only then did I mount my horse and ride hard for Esher. It was more than a day’s journey, but I did not stop to rest until I was too exhausted to do anything but fall into a bed at the nearest inn and sleep till sunrise.

My fine, large house overlooked the River Mole, and while Will was away, I redecorated every room to suit my fancy. That passed the time for a week or two, but I was already growing desperate for distraction when, to my delight, I discovered that one of my near neighbors was that same Lady Browne I had met at Chelsea. Her dower house at West Horsley was a mere eight miles distant, an easy ride for an accomplished horsewoman.

“We are both named Elizabeth,” she remarked the first time I paid her a visit.

“As are half the women in England,” I reminded her. “Those not named Catherine, Mary, or Jane. My friends call me Bess.”

Her lips quirked up in a rueful smile. “And I am known as Geraldine, thanks to that wretched sonnet the Earl of Surrey wrote to me when I was but a child. He meant well—he thought to praise my virtues so that I would attract a noble husband—but I would have been far happier to have remained unnoticed.”

“You did make an excellent match.”

“Sir Anthony was very good to me.”

Geraldine had something of Jane Warwick’s calm demeanor. I found her company soothing and we exchanged several more visits over the next few weeks, until an outbreak of the sweat put an end to such diversions, as well as to my plans to journey to Cowling Castle to see my family during Will’s absence.

The sweating sickness was no respecter of rank. The last time it had ravaged the land, hundreds had died, healthy one hour and ready for the winding sheet the next. As summer advanced, the death toll climbed.

Only England was afflicted, not France, for which I was thankful. But every day brought more letters from family and friends telling me of loved ones lost. A particularly terrible tragedy befell Catherine, dowager Duchess of Suffolk. Her sons, the young Duke of Suffolk and his brother, both King Edward’s longtime companions, died within a day of each other. I had barely absorbed the enormity of her loss when Will’s sister, Anne Herbert, sent word that the duchess had also lost the third child in her keeping.

Two-year-old Mary Seymour was dead.

I had no close friends among my ladies with whom I could share my grief, or the terrible guilt I felt. If I had insisted upon adopting the queen dowager’s child, she might still be alive.

But there were deaths everywhere. Even the Duke of Somerset’s household was afflicted, although none of his immediate family died. Then one of my own ladies succumbed, and I realized that no place was safe. If Will and I had taken Mary Seymour in, or if we had been blessed with babies of our own, we could have lost them to this terrible illness. A child could die as easily at Esher as anywhere else.

In the lonely, lonesome days that followed, I grew introspective. I had never had occasion before to look so deeply into my own heart. What I discovered there were unsettling truths. I had concealed my true feelings even from myself.

I had the capacity to love deeply. That was to my credit. But I had long since given all that love, every bit of it, to my husband. I did not have any to spare for a child. That was the real reason I had not pursued the adoption of Will’s niece. And it was why, although I was saddened by the fact that I had not given my husband an heir, I now realized that I would not have been a good mother. I’d desired a child only because I’d known I should want children. That was expected of women, even though so many of the babies they bore would die young.

Had I truly possessed a maternal instinct, Will would never have been able to talk me out of raising his sister’s child. He had not had to work very hard to convince me to leave her with Lady Suffolk, because all I’d truly craved was for the two of us to be together. A child, even one of my own, was not necessary to my happiness.

I did not share this conclusion with anyone. Few would understand. Many would think me unnatural for holding such an opinion. Even Will, who swore he needed only me, might wonder at my sudden change of heart about the state of motherhood.

Hard on the heels of my epiphany, a messenger delivered an official-looking document to Esher. It was addressed to Will, but I did not hesitate to open it. He had empowered me to deal with all matters concerning his estate while he was out of the country. The contents left me speechless. Lady Anne Bourchier, the wife Will had cast off for adultery, had brought suit against him, claiming that since the commission had found that she and Will had never been married, she was therefore her father’s legal heir and entitled to the lands that had come to Will when he was created Earl of Essex.

My melancholy mood lifted. I had a purpose again—to fight for my absent husband’s rights. I sent for a lawyer and began to muster arguments as to why this faithless woman, who had deceived and betrayed the man I loved, should never be allowed to regain a single acre of Essex land.

37

The clatter of hooves on the cobblestones in the courtyard at Esher had me rushing to the window. My first reaction on hearing so many horses arrive at speed was apprehension, but it took me only a moment to recognize Will. At once, my heart beat faster. He swung off his horse, throwing the reins to a groom, and abandoned the riders who’d accompanied him to race toward the nearest entrance. Tears of joy flowed down my cheeks as I hoisted up my skirts, ignored the restrictiveness of my whalebone corset, and ran for the stairs.

Will met me before I was halfway down, catching me by the waist and lifting me into a smoldering kiss. He smelled of sweat and leather and horses, but I did not mind in the least. He was real. He had come back to me, safe and sound.

“I died a hundred deaths fearing for your safety,” he whispered. “You are well? You have not been ill?”

“There was sickness everywhere, but I was spared.” I ran my hands over his arms, his chest. “And you, Will?” I could scarcely believe he was really with me again. I’d known he was to return sometime in August, but sailing ships must wait upon wind and weather. And sometimes, they sank.

Will had left for France on the twenty-second of May. It was now mid-August. We had been apart for three long months. We barely stopped kissing long enough for me to direct him to the bedchamber I had chosen for us and furnished in his absence, but he needed no guidance to find the bed.

Hours later, we still could not stop touching. It was as if we both needed proof the other was really there.

“I had not thought the separation would be so difficult,” Will said as he tenderly stroked one finger down the side of my face. “We endured time apart before.”

I smiled, content just to look at him, now that our lustful longings had temporarily been satisfied. But one question nagged at me. “Have you already been to court?”

He chuckled. “Only because Hampton Court was on the way here. I left the rest of the embassy behind in Dover, all but a few outriders, and rode ahead. I made my report to Warwick in the briefest manner possible. It is as well he is an old friend. He knew how anxious I was to be reunited with you.”

Yes, I thought. Beneath the title, Warwick was still the man, John Dudley, who had married Jane Guildford, his childhood sweetheart. Will and I were fortunate in having their friendship.

“We must both return to court soon,” Will murmured, his lips close to my ear. His hands were busy elsewhere, making me shiver with longing even though a moment earlier I’d been sated.

“Must we?”

He laughed. “Never tell me you did not miss being at the center of things!”

“A little, perhaps. But I missed being with you more.”

We had exchanged frequent letters during our separation, but the written word was no substitute for speaking face-to-face. Our reunion was both tender and passionate, and for the best part of the next two days, when we were never apart, we shared our separate experiences. I found the courage to tell him of my new insight into myself and found him accepting. He swore once again that I was all he needed to be complete. I believed him. I believed him, too, when he promised to put a stop to Anne Bourchier’s scheme to take her father’s estate away from Will. In spite of my best efforts, her lawsuit had not been dismissed.

Once Will and I returned to court, life went on much as it had before—full of entertaining amusements, secret intrigues, alarming rumors, sudden betrayals, and new rewards. John Dudley, Earl of Warwick, was elevated in the peerage to Duke of Northumberland. Henry Grey, Marquess of Dorset, was created Duke of Suffolk, claiming that title in the right of his wife, Frances Brandon, since the deaths of both her half brothers of the sweat had left the title in abeyance. When the Earl of Warwick became Duke of Northumberland, his oldest son—Jack Dudley, Lord Lisle—was created Earl of Warwick in his own right. Will’s brother-in-law, Lord Herbert, became Earl of Pembroke. Other honors were granted, too, both titles and knighthoods. Will received no greater title, but he was granted a bishop’s palace, formerly the property of Stephen Gardiner, bishop of Winchester, the same prelate who had once tried to have Queen Kathryn arrested for heresy.