The Boleyn King (16 page)

Parrying Renaud’s strike, Dominic twisted neatly away. “I’m a pretty poor spy if everyone knows me as such.”

Renaud advanced in a series of quick blows. “Your honesty will drive the negotiators wild. Perhaps that is Rochford’s intent.”

Allowing himself to be driven back, Dominic dropped his sword at the last second, causing Renaud to falter slightly, just long enough for Dominic to plant his feet firmly beneath him and kick upward with his left foot. But Renaud was a better fighter than anyone else Dominic had tried that trick on—he managed to hold on to his sword. He stumbled backward, though, and by the time he recovered his balance, Dominic had his own sword pointed straight at Renaud’s chest.

Renaud’s smile was genuine, but so was the hint of calculation in his eyes. “English tricks.”

Dominic lowered his sword. “Welsh, actually.”

The resentment vanished in a burst of laughter and the appreciation of any soldier for a well-executed maneuver. “Bravo, Dominic. You’ve surprised me once. No man surprises me twice.”

“No
man
?” Dominic teased.

With a look that only a Frenchman could give, Renaud said, “Women are meant for surprise.”

“I’ll remember that.”

When a messenger pulled Renaud away, Dominic left the yard and went to his room—a small, high-ceilinged chamber that, in spite of its meager size, was more richly decorated than any room he’d ever had in his life. The French liked their comforts, and Henri, whatever his opinion of England, had been faultlessly polite to Dominic. It would need more than politeness to write a treaty, though. As he sat on his bed so that Harrington might pull off his boots, he wondered how much longer they’d be here.

Harrington asked that very question. “Any word on our return?”

Dominic shook his head, surprised as always by the sound of Harrington’s deep bass. Even after their months together, Harrington spoke sparely, though he had turned out to be every bit the useful man Rochford had promised. Perhaps his best quality was that he never gave any appearance of being intimidated by vicomtes and Catholic dignitaries. Dominic had learnt to appreciate the man’s quiet service and wondered what he would do without him when they returned to England.

Once again Harrington read his mind. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to remain your man when we do return. It’s more to my liking than the Lord Protector’s household.”

He did not wait for an answer, as though he trusted in his own view of Dominic sufficiently to know what the answer would be.

Spring had never seemed lovelier—or longer. With every day that brought him nearer to his majority, William felt perversely that time was lengthening. It might have had something to do with Eleanor’s absence, he admitted. Not that he had lacked for companionship, but she really was … gifted.

Only two more months
, he reminded himself, humming under his breath. He had retreated to Hever Castle this last week of April for a week’s respite from the hectic period ahead and to visit his mother. She had spent the entire winter here and he had missed her. Usually she spent the winter in London, sometimes in residence with the court but more often in her own comfortable house at York Place. On the south bank of the Thames, just across from Whitehall, York Place had always been a symbol of her power. But as her eyesight worsened, she preferred the seclusion of private residences, none more so than her childhood home.

When she had requested a visit, William had agreed instantly. There was nothing he would not grant her—especially now, when ancient rumours swirled below the surface and Mary’s illnesses continued to give the Catholics a point of attack. Rochford had not wanted him to come to Hever, but William had assured him that he was not ignoring threats, nor was he hiding from them. Hever was a chance to plan while reminding the court that to attack his mother was to attack the king himself.

Minuette studied the chessboard intently, the tip of her tongue protruding slightly from her lips. He hummed louder.

“That’s not fair,” she said, still staring at the board. “I did nothing to distract you while you were thinking.”

“Your beauty is distraction enough.”

She raised startled eyes to him and, realizing what he’d said, William laughed. “Sorry, I spoke out of habit.”

“It is your habit to speak flattery you don’t mean?” She looked back to the chessboard, her hand hovering over a knight.

“I can’t be the first man to have said such a thing to you.”

She moved her knight and sat back in her chair. “And no doubt they mean it as little as you do.”

“So you don’t deny you have been flattered. Am I to know by whom, or have you decided to take matters entirely into your own hands and inform me only after the marriage vows have been spoken?”

“My beauty may move men to flattery, but not to self-destruction. No one would marry the queen’s ward without royal permission.” She lifted her chin dismissively. “And what of you? You have only to point a finger to claim whomever you wish. Will it be a Protestant princess from the Low Countries? A French Catholic? Or perhaps you wish to consolidate power at home. Jane Grey is being pushed on you quite shamelessly.”

With rueful acknowledgment, William said, “Poor Jane. She’s pleasant enough if one can talk to her away from her family, but she has no personality to speak of. And too devout for my tastes.”

“So you will choose a wife based on your own preferences?”

Something in her cool questioning shook William’s temper. “I don’t think England could endure another royal love match. We’re still feeling the effects of the last one.”

Minuette let that hang in the air before saying lightheartedly, “Well, then, I shall continue to back Jane. I quite think she has the best chance, seeing as she’s already here. What is it they say about possession?”

She was teasing him now, as shamelessly as she had when they were children. William let it soothe the edges of his irritation and turned his attention back to the chessboard.

“How are your inquiries coming along?” he asked. “You haven’t given them up simply because my uncle was asking about it, have you?”

“Of course not.” As he moved a rook out of harm’s way, Minuette sighed and went on, “It’s tedious. There were more than fifty names on that list. Even eliminating those least likely—I honestly don’t believe that Alyce was besotted with the Bishop of Winchester; not only is he sixty years old, but he weighs more than two men put together—that still left nearly three dozen to track down. It has taken time to write letters and approach the matter discreetly.”

Though her words were nonchalant, William knew every expression in her store. She had something—she just wanted it teased out of her. “So how many of these men did you have to allow to proposition you before you had your name? And how many deserve my wrath for that, if not for Alyce?”

He loved her laughter—it was summer and childhood and freedom in one. “I’ll never tell. However, my stepfather sent me a letter this week, a most intriguing one. Not only was a certain kinsman of his not at the family seat, as he claimed to be, the first time Alyce was away from court … but said kinsman also stayed in a remote country manor the entire month of March a year ago.”

“The month when Alyce was got with child.”

“Quite.”

William allowed Minuette her moment of triumph as she studied the board and moved her king to box in one of his bishops. Finally he was forced to say, “Do tell, Minuette.”

“Can you not guess?” She sounded truly surprised. “You know my stepfather.”

He did, but only after making himself remember. After her father’s death, her mother had married a younger brother of the Duke of Norfolk.

And a Norfolk kinsman meant … “Giles Howard.”

“Yes.”

William wasn’t quite sure what he felt. On one hand, he didn’t like Giles Howard. On the other hand, he was Eleanor’s husband.

“What’s your next move?” Minuette asked, and he knew she did not mean chess.

He had an answer she would not expect. He had only been waiting for the right time to tell her. “My next move is—you.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“I have decided that the quickest way to mend matters with Mary is to require her attendance at mass on my birthday. An English mass.”

“To mend matters—or bring them to a head?”

“Mary’s feelings have been indulged too long. I intend to begin as I will go on—and that means that she and her supporters will recognize that I am king. She will make me her submission, and she will recognize my mother.”

“And how do I come into it?” Minuette asked skeptically.

“I am sending you to Mary’s household within the week.”

Minuette studied him with the same care she had given the chessboard. “She will not like it.”

“She will not.”

“She will think I am sent to spy on her.”

“And so you are.”

With exasperation, Minuette said, “William, what exactly am I meant to discover?”

“Whatever you can—I trust your intelligence to alert you to oddities. But that is not your most important task.”

With dawning comprehension, she shook her head. “I am not a messenger, I am the message. ‘Don’t trifle with me,’ you’re telling her. ‘I control even the details of your own household. And if you don’t like it …’ ” Her face darkened. “If she doesn’t like it, then what?” she asked.
How far will you go?
she meant.

“I will not let my kingdom be divided. If the Catholics force my hand, they will regret it.”

“And what of Giles Howard and his involvement with Alyce?”

“I’ll put Elizabeth to work on that. The Duke of Norfolk has always liked her. She’ll know how to play that.”

Before she could say anything more, a page crossed the room and presented William with a letter sealed with Eleanor’s initials. He read it conscious of Minuette’s assessing gaze.

“All is well?” she asked neutrally.

William tossed her the letter. “Eleanor delivered safely three days ago. A girl.”

He felt a twinge of disappointment that it was not a son, swallowed up in a larger relief. A boy would have been trickier to deal with in the future. A girl, though, could be safely left in the Howard household.
Providing her father of record is not a traitor
, he thought.
Better get Elizabeth to work on Norfolk without delay
.

With the clarity and edge of glass, Minuette said, “Congratulations … to Eleanor. I’m sure she’s delighted that her child is safely delivered almost two months early.”

William met her eyes. “I’m sure she’ll welcome your congratulations when she returns.”

Her gaze flickered as she hovered on the edge of speech, and he wondered if she would forget discretion long enough to tell him that she despised Eleanor Howard and always had.

But she merely laid aside the letter and smiled sweetly. “Your move.”

Elizabeth sat in the solarium at Hever Castle, reading aloud in the unseasonably warm May Day afternoon. She read Latin as fluently as she spoke English, and the mellifluous syllables spilled from her tongue to her mother’s ears. Anne sat with eyes closed in concentration—and also, perhaps, as a defense against the many things that she could no longer see even when her eyes were open.

A slight nod from her mother stopped Elizabeth at the end of the essay. “A pity more women do not trouble to learn Latin.”

Elizabeth darted a quick glance at the gaggle of waiting women embroidering near the window and stifled a smile. “A great pity.”

“It is good of you to spend this month with me. A pleasant pause before the ceremonies of this summer.”

Why
, Elizabeth wondered,
are the two of us incapable of making any but trite conversation?
As she felt the beginnings of a headache, which always signaled frustration, she could only say lamely, “I doubt we’ll see anything this fine again, not until a queen’s coronation.”

Her mother’s smile was wistful, and Elizabeth thought she must be remembering her own coronation. “And have you any idea when that might be?”

“William does not seem anxious to make a decision. Marriage, after all, has so many unforeseen consequences.”

Perhaps it was that last barb, veiled though it was, that moved her mother to ask smoothly, “And you, Elizabeth? Shall you ever be wed?”

Elizabeth stiffened into formality. “That is a matter for the council or the king, my brother.”

Her mother’s glance was quite penetrating for a woman who could see only outlines and shadows. “Indeed it is.”

She rose, and instantly two attendants were at her side to guide her unobtrusively across the room. But her mother had one last caution to deliver, in an offhand, even slightly amused, manner. “Robert Dudley, charming though he is, can never be anything but a diversion. I trust to your intelligence, Elizabeth, to remember who you are.”

The room emptied in the wake of her mother’s departure, while Elizabeth sat with lips pressed tightly together, restraining the retorts that had risen so easily to her tongue.
And you, Mother, how well did you remember yourself when a married man threw himself at your feet? When all of London called you whore and witch? Tell me, Mother, what is the difference between a diversion and a crown?

She curled up in the chair and laid her aching head in her arms. Before she knew it, Minuette’s soft voice pulled her out of the dreamlike state she’d slipped into. “Elizabeth? Can I do anything for you?”