The waiting resumed. It lasted until nearly two o’clock in the morning on the twelfth day of October, when Queen Jane at last gave birth to a healthy, fair-haired baby boy. Nan was ecstatic. All would be well now. Soon she would have the life she’d dreamed of.

King Henry rode in all haste from Esher to Hampton Court, arriving just at dawn. Nan was present in the royal bedchamber, now flooded with light, when the king lifted his new son from the cradle and held him in his arms for the first time. There were tears in His Grace’s eyes.

“His name shall be Edward,” Henry VIII proclaimed. “For my grandfather, and because he was born on the eve of St. Edward’s Day.”

The king lavished praise upon his exhausted wife, but as far as Nan could see, Queen Jane was far too tired to care what her husband thought. Nor did she react when he gave orders for every courtyard and hallway near the nursery to be washed down and swept daily.

“The king has a surprising passion for cleanliness,” Nan observed when His Grace had departed.

“He has good reason to fear contagion,” Anne Parr said. “He had another son once. Catherine of Aragon’s child. The boy lived only eleven days before he fell ill and died.”

Nan did not quite see what washing and sweeping had to do with keeping a baby healthy, but she knew already that the king was more fastidious than most people. She’d heard from the other maids of honor that he took regular baths, in spite of the risks associated with immersing one’s self in water. And he washed his hands far more often than was usual.

“Did you hear?” Anne asked, interrupting Nan’s musings. “The queen wants everyone in lion tawny velvet or black velvet turned up with yellow satin for the christening.”

Nan stared at her, appalled. “Do you mean to say that I will need another new gown?”

Anne nodded. “And in three days’ time, too.”

Nan groaned. If the queen commanded it, it would be done, but Master Husee was not going to be pleased.

ON THE EVENING of Monday, the fifteenth day of October, in the hours before the christening, nearly four hundred persons gathered outside the queen’s apartments. Presently, they would be allowed in to pay their respects. Then they would move on into the Chapel Royal for the actual ceremony.

Arranged in a half circle behind Queen Jane, who reclined on a daybed covered with crimson damask lined with cloth-of-gold, the maids of honor stilled, smiled, and held their poses. Nan wore a new gown of black velvet trimmed with yellow satin. She loved the feel of the soft fabric. For all that Master Husee had been obliged to rush the needlewomen who made it, the workmanship was as fine as that on any of her companions’ clothing.

Although she was otherwise motionless, her gaze roved. The same crimson that decorated the daybed was repeated in the mantle the queen wore around her shoulders. Nan envied her its ermine trim. Even at court, where servants dressed according to the rank of their masters, that particular fur was not for the likes of a mere gentlewoman.

When Nan’s gaze came to rest on Her Grace’s hair, she nearly sighed aloud. Queen Jane wore it uncovered and flowing free. In spite of her extreme paleness—or perhaps because of it—those long tresses, so light a brown as to be almost blond, gave her an ethereal beauty. In contrast, her maids of honor still wore their ugly, old-fashioned, unflattering gable headdresses.

A familiar scent tickled Nan’s nose. Belatedly, her attention shifted to the king as he took his seat on an ornately carved and elaborately upholstered chair at the queen’s side. He was so close to Nan that, had she dared, she could have reached out and touched him. Propping one foot on a stool, King Henry took his wife’s right hand in both of his, the picture of husbandly devotion.

Careful not to attract unwanted attention, Nan looked her fill. She found the king’s person just as appealing now as she had during their first encounter. Only with a supreme effort of will was she able to redirect her attention toward the door.

The first guests to enter were those of highest rank. Sequestered as she had been, Nan had not had many opportunities to match courtiers’ names to their faces. Now she struggled to commit features to memory as each person was announced.

The Lady Mary was there, resplendent in a richly embroidered cloth-of-silver kirtle. She was the newborn Prince Edward’s half sister and was to be his godmother. The Duke and Duchess of Suffolk and the Duke of Norfolk came in next. Aside from the prince, who would hold the titles Duke of Cornwall and Prince of Wales, the baby’s godfathers, Norfolk and Suffolk, were the only two dukes in England. Neither of them was royal.

Nan stared at the Duchess of Suffolk. Blue eyed, with fair coloring, she was only two years Nan’s senior, while the duke was in his fifties. It was not uncommon for an old man to take a young wife, especially if she had wealth as well as beauty, but it could not be pleasant for the bride. Nan shuddered delicately before she remembered that if she was successful here at court, she might well end up with a husband just as old and fat as Charles Brandon. But rich, she reminded herself. And titled. She suspected she could put up with a great deal to be a duchess.

She stole another glance at the Duke of Norfolk. His wife was not with him. Nan had heard that she was confined to a manor house in Hertfordshire because she’d dared object, loudly and in public, when the duke installed his mistress at the family seat of Kenninghall.

Norfolk had a stern and forbidding manner that went well with his hawk nose and tightly pursed lips. At present, his face wore a pained expression. That did not surprise Nan. Queen Anne Boleyn had been his niece. All her family had lost the king’s favor when she was arrested, charged with adultery, and executed. It must be a bitter honor to stand godfather to a prince born to Queen Anne’s successor, especially when the duke had thought to see his own kin poised to inherit the throne.

Having examined the three most important personages in the crowd, Nan shifted her attention to lesser noblemen. The Marquess of Exeter came next in precedence and entered the queen’s apartments right after the two dukes. England’s only other marquess, Dorset, was not in attendance. He, his mother, and his wife had been ordered to stay away because there was plague in the vicinity of the dowager Lady Dorset’s manor house at Croydon. The king refused to take any risks with the health of his son and heir.

Earls came next. Nan already knew Sussex and Rutland on sight. Robert Radcliffe, Earl of Sussex, was a homely man past his prime, with deep-set eyes, a prominent nose, and a gray beard trimmed to a point. His oldest son and heir, Lord Fitzwalter, was a widower, but he was twice Nan’s age and looked a good deal like his father. She hoped to do better.

The Earl of Rutland, Thomas Manners by name, was younger than Sussex, but not by much. His beard, square cut, was going gray. Lady Rutland had been married to him for nearly fifteen years and had presented him with numerous children. The two oldest had recently been married off, despite their young ages, to other young people of noble birth.

Seeking better prospects, Nan shifted her focus to three other earls—Arundel, Oxford, and Wiltshire—but none of them were prospective husbands either. They already had wives and the latter had another count against him. He was Anne Boleyn’s father.

Also married were the next two noblemen to be announced, Lord William Howard, a younger son of the Duke of Norfolk, and Edward, Lord Beauchamp, Queen Jane’s oldest brother. The queen’s younger brother, Thomas Seymour, was a different kettle of fish. Not only was he still single, but he was a fine-looking man. Nan’s gaze lingered on his muscular physique. A pity that, so far, he was not even a knight. She moved on to the next group of courtiers.

Nan skipped over Thomas Cranmer, archbishop of Canterbury—no marriage prospect there! In England, clergymen were not allowed to marry, although some secretly had wives. Next to Cranmer was Thomas, Lord Cromwell, the king’s Lord Privy Seal and most trusted advisor. Cromwell’s son had recently married Queen Jane’s widowed sister. Cromwell was himself a widower, Nan recalled, but she did not for one moment consider him as a prospective husband. Like the Earl of Sussex, he had seen more than fifty summers. Besides, he was at odds with her stepfather.

Nan looked quickly away when Cromwell noticed her staring at him. Even with her eyes modestly downcast, she knew she was being watched. But when she peeked at Cromwell again, he had lost interest in her. Through lowered lashes, she searched the crowd. With a sense of pleasure, she identified several courtiers of lesser rank, both knights and plain gentlemen, who were looking her way. Nan wished they could see her in her French wardrobe, instead of the dull styles Queen Jane had mandated. Then she reminded herself that a mere gentleman or knight would not do. She wanted a man with a title.

Nan’s gaze fell next on Lord Montagu, grandson of that infamous Duke of Clarence who had been the brother of Edward IV and Richard III and had been—so it was said—drowned in a butt of Malmsey wine while a prisoner in the Tower of London. She stifled a smile at the thought.

Nan glanced at Lord Cromwell again, but this time the Lord Privy Seal was too absorbed in his conversation with the archbishop to notice her interest. Someone else did, though. A boy in Cromwell’s livery stood next to him, watching Nan intently. She stared back. She had no idea who he was, although it seemed likely that he was some gentleman’s son sent to finish his education in Cromwell’s service. He looked to be twelve or thirteen, a gangly lad with little to recommend him beyond a head of thick and wavy dark brown hair.

When Peter Mewtas was announced, Nan lost interest in the boy. She studied Mewtas with considerable interest. What was it about him, she wondered, that had prompted Jane to give up her post as a maid of honor and marry him? He was nothing remarkable to look at. Tall, yes, and athletic. So were most courtiers. Mewtas had yellow hair and a long, yellow beard. He was a gentleman of the privy chamber, but as yet he had not been knighted and he had no particular prospects. His grandfather, so Nan had been told, had been a native of Picardy and had been employed as French secretary by King Henry’s father.

Nan was still contemplating Peter Mewtas when a slight movement at her elbow distracted her. Anne Parr leaned forward, her gaze fixed upon a man wearing the livery of the King’s Spears, Henry VIII’s elite bodyguard. A rather ordinary-looking fellow of thirty or so, he was tall and lanky and had a shock of red hair.

Nan was about to ask Anne who he was—she had not been paying attention when he was announced—when she caught a glimpse of the man next in line to enter the chamber. The sight drove every other thought out of her head. It was Ned Corbett.

In honor of the occasion, Ned wore his finest doublet and hose. A brilliant jewel sparkled on the hat he swept from his tousled hair to make his bow to the king and queen. He offered felicitations to the royal couple on behalf of Lord and Lady Lisle. Then, to Nan’s horror, he asked to speak with her, saying he had messages for her from her family in Calais. Nan felt her cheeks flame as Ned looked her way and winked.

The queen graciously granted permission. She had been in a mellow mood ever since she’d fulfilled her duty and produced an heir. She’d also been indulging herself by eating her favorite foods, including an enormous quantity of sweets.

As deftly as any accomplished courtier, Ned whisked Nan away from the other maids of honor, threading his way through the crowd until he reached a secluded corner where they would have a modicum of privacy. Keeping one hand on her elbow, as if he were afraid she might bolt, he grinned down at her.

Nan glowered back. “Did you just lie to the king and queen of England?”

“I did,” he said. And if Ned felt any guilt in the matter, it did not show. The mischievous glint in his eyes was impossible to resist. “I confess. I wanted an excuse to speak with you, Mistress Nan Bassett.”

“Why?”

His gaze slid downward. “To praise your new attire? Master Husee outdid himself in procuring so many garments in so little time. I cannot repeat the language he used when word came that you must have yet another new gown.”

In spite of her irritation with him, Nan smiled back. “Then he will be wroth indeed when he learns that I must have two more, one of them in time for the queen’s churching and the other by Christmas.”