“You have no business in there, mistress.”

I did not know the young man assigned to keep intruders out of the king’s inner rooms. Frustration had my fingers curling into fists and my lips thinning into a flat, tight line. Nothing I could say would persuade him to let me in. It was his duty to regulate access to King Henry.

Forcing myself to smile, I removed the little dragon pendant my mother had given me so long ago and handed it him. “Give this to Sir William Compton and bid him come to me as soon as he may.”

He held the small piece of jewelry up to examine it. “This is one of the king’s emblems,” he said. “A Welsh dragon.”

That was exactly why I offered it. Outside of the royal family, few people had pieces of jewelry like it. Only my old friends from Eltham would know at once that a message sent with this little dragon had come from me and no other.

“What it is does not concern you, sirrah. Only that you deliver it to Sir William.”

“I cannot leave my post, mistress.” He returned the bauble to me.

I stamped my foot. He lifted an eyebrow, but did not relent.

I turned and surveyed the presence chamber, searching for any familiar face. There must be someone who could fetch Will out to me. I caught sight of Charles Brandon, recently elevated in the peerage to Duke of Suffolk, but doubted he would help. He was too full of himself.

During the campaign in France, the king and Brandon had become even closer than they had been before. Back in England again, King Henry had rewarded his boon companion with a title. The other gentlemen—Harry, Will, Ned, and the rest—were still high in the king’s favor, but none of them had received any honors beyond a knighthood. There was now understandable tension between Brandon and the rest.

I considered asking Ned Neville or Nick Carew for help. Then my gaze settled on Harry Guildford. Although we had not spoken in weeks, I did not hesitate to approach him. I waited until he finished speaking with a gentleman in lawyer’s robes before I tapped him on the shoulder.

“Jane!” Pleasure lit his face…until he remembered. His expression closed and he took a step back instead of greeting me with the customary kiss. “What do you want?”

Schooling my features to conceal how much his disdain wounded me, I asked if he would take a message to Will.

“Looking to couple with him now? I admit he’s a well-set-up fellow, but I’d have thought you’d prefer Brandon. After all, he’s a duke, too.”

Harry’s comment could not have been more hurtful. It was as if he had slapped me. I bit back a cry of pain and simply stared at him, eyes swimming with unshed tears.

“You brought ill feeling on yourself, Jane! How do you expect people to react when you fraternize with the enemy?” He glared at me, but our gazes locked for only a few seconds before he looked away. Ashamed of himself? I hoped so, but I did not count on it.

I longed to tell Harry the truth, but I did not dare. Bad enough he thought me a whore without adding spy to the list of my sins. Besides, I was sworn to secrecy. No one but Will and the king were supposed to know what I was about.

“I must talk to Will, Harry. It is important. Please. Tell him to come to my lodgings as soon as he can.”

I’d thought he could hold himself no more stiffly, but I’d been wrong. He stared down his nose at me, aloof and condescending, but he agreed to deliver the message.

On my way out of the presence chamber I felt as if every eye was fixed upon me, censorious or, worse, speculative. I returned to my rooms, sent Nan away, and felt my lower lip start to quiver. Before I knew it, I was sobbing as if my heart had broken.

Guy found me like that, sitting on the floor, tears streaming down my cheeks, almost incoherent. He fell to his knees beside me and gathered me into his arms. I do not know what he said to me. His voice was simply a comforting murmur that slowly brought me back to myself.

“You are the only old friend I have left,” I wailed, burying my face against his shoulder. I would have to go to France with Longueville. There was nothing for me here anymore.

“Shhh, Jeanne. It is not so bad as all that.”

“It is. Everyone h-hates me for being with the duke. Even you do not approve.”

“I do not hate you. I cannot.” Very gently, he pressed his lips to mine.

It started out as a comforting kiss, but the moment he slid his arms around my waist and tugged me against him it became something quite different, something…magical.

My entire body tingled as I arched toward him, seeking to press closer. I returned his kiss, enraptured by the way his lips moved on mine. Longueville had never made me feel like this.

Abruptly, we both went still. He pulled back, slowly releasing me and helping me to my feet. “That should not have happened.”

“No.”

“I cannot regret that it did. I have dreamed of kissing you.”

“Oh.” I pressed my hands to my burning cheeks. “You should not be saying this to me.”

He heaved a gusty sigh. “We will not speak of it again. My brother has the prior claim. Neither one of us wishes to betray him.”

If only he knew! “We must pretend this never happened. Guy, I do not want to lose your friendship.” I would be left with none save a half-wit maid and a self-absorbed princess if that happened.

“Friend is perhaps not the best word for what we have between us,” Guy said, “but I do not want to lose you either. We will pretend.” His mouth twisted into a wry grimace. “We are both good at that.”

I took a step toward him, then stopped, shaking my head. “You should go now.”

“I should.”

Only moments after he’d left, Will Compton arrived. “This had better be important,” he said by way of greeting. “King Louis’ ransom envoy has arrived in England and talks have commenced to negotiate Longueville’s release.”

“Do you think I do not know that? Sit down. I will tell you what I have learned.”

Will gave a low whistle when I’d completed my report. “The French want a marriage between the Lady Mary and King Louis? Impossible! She is already married to Charles of Castile and will be sent to his court as soon as the final details are worked out.”

“Before King Henry fell ill, it was his sister Margaret’s name the duc de Longueville meant to propose as King Louis’ bride, but now Louis wants Mary. She is younger. Prettier.” I shrugged. “And perhaps he has heard of Margaret’s temper.”

“No one can deny that Mary is beautiful.” Will helped himself to wine from my supply and filled two goblets, handing one to me. “But why would the French king think such a marriage might be possible?”

I hesitated, sipped the wine—a fine Canary—choosing my words with care. Longueville had given me a reason. “King Ferdinand of Spain is about to make a separate peace with France.”

Will’s breath hissed out on a curse. King Henry had gone to war against France with King Ferdinand, Queen Catherine’s father and Charles of Castile’s grandfather, as his ally. The negotiations for peace were supposed to be conducted jointly.

When Will began to pace, I understood his agitation. What I had just told him was not news anyone would wish to deliver to the king of England. Word that King Ferdinand had secretly changed sides would be a severe blow to King Henry’s consequence. It would also affect his ability to secure favorable terms in his own peace with France. I did not need to say that it was the duc de Longueville’s hope that King Henry would be so enraged by King Ferdinand’s duplicity that he would rush into an agreement to marry his sister to King Louis. To jilt Ferdinand’s grandson would be certain to strike Henry as the perfect revenge.

That the Lady Mary would be bartered to someone, no different from the king’s goods or chattels, was not something I could stop, no matter how much I cared for her. There was little to choose, to my mind, between marriage to young Charles and old Louis…except that if my mistress was sent to France. I could accompany her there. While Will continued to pace and sputter in indignation, I let my mind drift. When all was said and done, perhaps a French marriage would suit me very well indeed.











10

King Henry did not want to believe me on the French reports of the new alliance between King Ferdinand and King Louis, but his own sources soon confirmed it. Once he was convinced that his father-in-law had betrayed him, he was eager to fall in with the duc de Longueville’s suggestion. I accompanied the Lady Mary on the day she was taken into her brother’s confidence. I watched her face as he told her she would one day be queen of France.

“I had not heard that Charles of Castile had conquered the French,” she remarked, fiddling coyly with her pomander ball.

King Henry laughed. “Saucy wench! You know perfectly well that he has done no such thing.”

“How else can I become queen of France?”

“By repudiating your marriage to Charles and entering into a betrothal with King Louis.”

Mary toyed with one of the many rings she wore, a small one with a blue stone. “King Louis is quite old, is he not?”

“Fifty-two, I believe.”

“The same age at which Father died.”

“What are you thinking, Mary?” the king asked his sister.

“That I may not be queen of France very long if I marry an old man like that.”

“Perhaps not, but you can do your country good service while he lives. You do not intend to be troublesome over this, do you?”

“I am yours to command,” she assured him, but there was a look in her eyes that worried me.

“Good,” said King Henry. “Now, for the present, you must tell no one about this change in plans. Your entanglement with Charles of Castile cannot be broken off just yet, not until the new alliance between France and England has been negotiated. To that end, you must behave in public as if you desire nothing more than to be queen of Castile.”

He presented Mary with a portrait in miniature of King Charles and suggested that she carry it about with her wherever she went. She hugged it to her bosom all the way back to her own apartments. The way her face was working, I expected tears, but as soon as we were alone in her bedchamber, she burst into gales of laughter.

“Oh, this will be fun, Jane! I will fool them all.”

“You seem remarkably calm at the thought of taking an old man into your bed.”

“His age means that he is not likely to live long after the wedding. When he’s dead, I will choose a man more to my liking for a second husband.”

I eyed her warily. “What man?”

But she only shook her head and smiled mysteriously, refusing to give me a name. She did not need to. I was certain she was thinking of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk.

“It is likely your brother will have his own ideas about your remarriage,” I warned her. “If King Louis is considerate enough to make you a widow, what is to stop your brother from using you to seal some other alliance?”

“I will think of a way to prevent him,” she assured me. “Now help me change my clothing. Tonight is St. Valentine’s Eve and I must look my best for the lottery.”

The church considered St. Valentine’s Day only a minor holiday, but at court it was an excuse for a great deal of revelry. The names of every gentleman at court—and most of the noblemen, too—were written down on bits of paper. Then each lady and gentlewoman drew a name and that man became her companion all the next day. He was required to buy her a gift and behave toward her as did a knight to his lady. In the best tradition of courtly love, he would put her on a pedestal and worship her from afar—at least as far away as the lady wished to keep him!

We gathered for the drawing in the queen’s presence chamber.

“I cannot wait to see what courtier will be my valentine,” Bessie Blount whispered in my ear. “I hope he is well favored. And rich,” she added as an afterthought.

“What man courts you will depend upon the luck of the draw.” Hiding a smile, I turned to examine my embroidery by the light of the nearest candelabra.

“Do you think so?” Bessie worried her lower lip and her big blue eyes filled with concern. “I have heard that some ladies find a way to cheat.”

“If those ladies are your betters, best make no mention of it.”

“But it is not…” She struggled to find the right word: “Sporting.”

“Ah, Bessie. If you value fairness, you are in the wrong place.”

“And if I value love? True love? Is that not what St. Valentine’s Day celebrates?”

“True love, too, is in short supply at court.”