Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her (11 page)

with her stepmother.

The moment Henry had breathed his last, Hertford had taken

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command. The King’s will had dictated a Council of Regency during

the minority of his son; Hertford kept Henry’s death a secret for three

days while he manipulated the legal details, emerging at the end of it

as Lord Protector of the Realm and Sole Governor of the little King’s

royal person. By February he was Duke of Somerset and the whole of

the Council was beneath his heel. Somewhere in the course of usurping

power for himself, he remembered his younger brother Tom, and tossed

him the post of Lord High Admiral to keep him quiet.

When the news was announced, John Dudley leaned back in his chair

at the council table and picked his teeth delicately with an ivory tooth-

pick to conceal a smile of satisfaction. He had seen the murderous look on

Tom’s face and he was well pleased. He knew resentment when he saw

it and what it heralded in an ambitious, headstrong man. The Seymours

would drive each other along the inevitable path of self-destruction

without any helping hand. And when the power feud between the

King’s uncles was over there would be rich pickings for anyone with the

stomach and intelligence to take them.

The new Earl of Warwick knew he could afford to wait a little longer

for the lion’s share.

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Chapter 4

T
om seymour had spent the last five years waiting for the

King to die. Now that moment had come only to see him

cheated of his rights by a smug, posturing elder brother who skulked

self-righteously beneath the mantle of Lord Protector. When he heard

that news Tom could have slit the throat of every creeping, lackspittle

on the Council, and he moved swiftly to consolidate what was left

of his own influence. Casually, as though it were a matter of small

importance, he broached the subject of his marriage to the Princess

Elizabeth with the Council. It was turned down so flatly and furiously

that even Tom saw it would be certain death to proceed with the

matter any further.

He asked her all the same though, just for the amusement of watching

her reaction; and was rudely disappointed. She was as prim and wooden

as a doll beneath his caressing hand and told him she had neither the years

nor the inclination for marriage. He could not begin to imagine why the

idea threw her into such a rage, when every time he caught her sidelong

glance upon him he could feel it heavy with silent worship. Vexed and

curiously hurt, he rode back from Chelsea in a grey mood to drown his

irritation in malmsey.

She refused me! That little chit had the damned effrontery to refuse me!

He went to bed that night, more drunk than he had ever been in his

life; but by morning he had almost forgotten it. Reality had him in a

painful grip that left little time to spare for the nursing of injured pride.

Every day that he wasted saw Ned a little firmer on his stolen pedestal.

Susan Kay

Maybe he could not have a princess—but he could have a Dowager

Queen and that was no little prise.

So, night after night, he rode in secret assignation to Chelsea Palace,

but now it was not Elizabeth he met in the windswept darkness at the

postern gate. He took Katherine with pleasure and a clear conscience;

a few weeks later they were married in secret, without the Council’s

consent. And as soon as the ceremony was over, he persuaded his wife to

let him break the news to Elizabeth alone.

“But, Tom, don’t you think perhaps it would be better—”

“Was I not a highly successful diplomat?”

“Of course you were, but—”

“Then you may safely leave this delicate little matter in my capable

hands.”

An hour later, Elizabeth curtsied dutifully to her new stepfather,

her eyes downcast, her face wooden, her whole body stiff with furious

grief held barely in restraint. She looked suddenly so young that the

old tenderness almost checked him—almost, but not quite. He had

dwelt unscathed behind the mighty fortress of his charm for more than

thirty-five years. Her rejection had undermined the foundations of his

confidence, shown him an unfamiliar reflection of himself—the tarnished

hero, past the first virile flush of youth, who no longer conquered all. He

intended to enjoy this.

“You have been avoiding me,” he observed smugly, looking down

on her bent head.

“My lord flatters himself,” she said between clenched teeth. “Why

should I take the trouble to do that?”

“Why indeed?” he mocked. “Unless, of course, you’re jealous of my

marriage. Though why you should be, when I offered you first refusal, I

really couldn’t say.”

She lifted her shoulders with a show of indifference.

“Had I known the Lord Admiral was merchandise for auction I might

have been persuaded to bid for him.”

He smiled slowly. He liked a sharp answer when it cost him nothing

to hear it.

“What a nasty cruel little tongue it has to be sure—and a temper

to match it! Take a lesson from your mother, my little coquette, and

learn to say No with less conviction if you want your suitors to knock

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Legacy

again at your door. I’m not the only man who won’t ask you the same

question twice.”

She twisted free of his hand, and ran out of the room, leaving him in

a state of rueful amusement.

Five minutes later Katherine swept through the door, saying with gay

agitation, “I knew it, I knew it—I should have told her myself—oh,

Tom, what have you done to her?”

“Nothing,” he said hastily. “Why, what did she say I’d done?”

“She didn’t say anything,” cried Katherine. “She walked past me as

though I wasn’t there. I knew she’d take offence. It’s so soon after her

father—think how it must look in a child’s eyes. We should have waited

longer for decency’s sake—a year at least. Oh dear, I did so want her to

be happy here with us—such a sad, sad little life, pushed from one to the

other, never belonging—Tom, you must win her over. Why, I thought

she liked you!”

“I thought so too,” he said, a trifle grimly. “Perhaps my famous charm

is beginning to desert me.”

“What an idea!” Katherine laughed. “She’s just a strange, difficult

child who needs a lot of understanding. Be kind to her, Tom, for my

sake, and you’ll come to love her as I do.”

He coughed. That was fine irony, if she only knew it. He knew a

fleeting moment of shame and dismissed it; what she didn’t know would

do her no harm—and it was true he ought to show an interest. He put his

arm around Katherine good-humouredly and half listened to her voice

as it went on, soaring in little leaps and bounds of happy concern saying,

“So reckless and impulsive,” saying, “With so many enemies,” saying,

“You must take care”—

But he never took care, he despised caution and everything associated

with its pursuit, a miserly attitude to life. Caution was his brother Ned

personified, afraid to enjoy today for fear he might not enjoy tomorrow

so well. Part of him acknowledged that Katherine was right, their hasty

marriage had offended those in high places and they would do well to

watch their step for a while. He kissed her with hearty affection; he

promised to mend his careless ways and went straight out into the garden

in pursuit of his stepdaughter.

t t t

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The young King approved of his stepmother’s new marriage; he was

arguably the only person at the court to do so and his approval was an

effective shield against the Admiral’s critics, the most vociferous being the

Protector’s wife.

A heated exchange of words took place in the Duke’s private quar-

ters—not in itself a remarkable event; marital harmony had always eluded

Edward Seymour. His first union had ended in divorce and his present

wife was a notoriously rapacious woman, insatiably ambitious and insuf-

ferably haughty. Whatever enemies the Duke failed to make for himself,

his Duchess made for him; and her hostility to Tom had long amounted

to an obsession. Once again, against his better judgement, the Protector

found himself driven to intercede on his brother’s behalf.

“Anne, it’s hardly a crime to marry a rich widow.”

“The King’s widow!” she insisted stonily. “What if there should be

a child?”

“No one could seriously believe it to be the King’s after this length

of time.”

“People believe what it pays them to believe,” sniffed his wife. “I’ve

told you before—Tom’s a trouble-maker.”

The Duke laid a hand on her arm in what was intended to be a

conciliatory gesture.

“And when he makes real trouble, my love, I swear I’ll deal with him,

but in the meantime you must be patient. I can’t over-rule the King in

this and brand myself a petty tyrant—you must see that!”

The Duchess subsided, like a crocodile sinking beneath the surface of a

muddy lake. It was true that she could safely wait. She was confident the

Admiral would hang himself one day without her aid—she had merely to

play him sufficient rope for the purpose.

Disapproval of the Admiral’s match came from many quarters. From

Beaulieu, where the Princess Mary was in residence, it came in the form

of a stilted letter offering to take charge of Elizabeth.

“If you want to go, my dear,” said Katherine sadly, “I shall understand

your position. I’m afraid we’ve made things very difficult for you.”

She went softly out of the room and left Elizabeth sitting at her

writing desk with pen and ink. Her first impulse was to go—anything,

oh, anything to get away from here. The effort of concealing her misery

beneath a brittle cloak of gaiety was becoming insufferable. She must

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be pleasant to her stepmother, nonchalant with Tom, and charming to

her cousin Jane Grey, who had recently joined the household, following

some shady deal between the Admiral and her parents. She had Jane to

be jealous of now, in addition to Katherine, and she was so taut with

pent-up, socially unacceptable emotion that she felt ready to burst. Oh

yes, she would go, and the sooner the better.

Halfway through the letter of acceptance she paused and imagined

the deadly, nun-like regime at Beaulieu. She had stayed with Mary too

often during her childhood not to realise that she would be utterly bored

within a week, supervised and corrected from morning till night. And if

she left the easy-going hilarity of Chelsea where everyone now practised

the fashionable Reformed faith, she would be under intolerable pressure

to go to Mass. She could twist Katherine around her little finger, but

she would never get her own way with Mary no matter how much she

sulked or wheedled. At least at Chelsea she was with people she loved,

however hopeless and painful that love might be. Katherine, who had

been so good to her—and Tom. What torture could compare with that

of not seeing him every day?

She screwed up the letter and began again, this time on a formal note

of refusal. Outside her window she could hear the Admiral’s voice and

her pen began to fly across the page. She wrote politely but rather care-

lessly, declining Mary’s kind offer, and at the time never gave a thought

to the offence her sister must automatically take from such a refusal. But

years later she looked back on that letter, written in such ill-considered

haste, and saw it as the pivot on which her whole existence had turned;

for if she had gone to Mary then, the rest of her life would have been

entirely different.

But she did not go. She remained at riotous, sociable Chelsea, and

was more riotous and sociable than anyone else among the gay company

that enjoyed the Lord Admiral’s ample hospitality. She was a little older

now, a little more mature and worldly wise, learning to hide her undesir-

able feelings and display an amusing front to the world. People turned

automatically when she entered the room and gathered around her from

choice, rather than courtesy. She began to enjoy the attention she excited

among young men, and the Admiral, watching her enjoy it, struggled

with his own angry emotions. So the little chit thought she was a woman

of the world, did she, just because she had a wicked wit that sent her

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companions into convulsions of laughter. He’d seen her mother do just

that, hold a little court at any gathering and the memory, for no account-

able reason, angered him beyond endurance. He’d pull her down a step

or two, by God he would—he’d treat her exactly as he used to do when

she was four years old—and that would teach her to flaunt her charms at

vacant boys and indulgent old men!

Part of this policy was to appear unannounced in her bedroom and