The King's Grace (37 page)

Tom! He would be here any moment, she realized, and she felt perspiration slipping down her sides. She must have started because the comb slipped out of the attendant’s hand and clattered to the floor.

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” the older woman apologized, bending to retrieve the object. “So careless of me.”

“Nay, mistress, ’twas my fault,” Grace assured her. “I confess I am a little anxious.”

“If I may be so bold,” Mistress Bayley offered, “I believe any bridegroom would be overjoyed to have a lady of your beauty and temperament as his wife.” Bess had purposely chosen Joan Bayley for this task, and her instincts had not led her astray. “And if you would take advice from a wife of many years, a little dreaming of your own while your husband”—she searched for a phrase that was polite—“claims what is his right will make the act more bearable. Did your mother not advise you in these matters, my lady?”

Grace looked at the woman in surprise. It was unusual for someone of lower rank to thus address her superior, but she liked Joan’s honest face and sensible words and swallowed her pride.

“Nay, Mistress Joan, I lost my mother when I was five. I was raised in a convent, and”—she chuckled—“the nuns were loath to talk about matters of the flesh.”

“You poor little mite,” Joan said kindly. “Then why don’t you ask for guidance from our Lord’s dear mother?” Grace did not like to remind her that the Virgin Mary had not had to endure the carnal act, so merely smiled her thanks. “But,” Joan continued, leaning in and whispering, “if your husband does not please you, lady, then imagine someone else who might.”

Grace gasped, wondering if the woman could read her heart, but she had no more time to wonder because there was a knock at the door and she knew Tom had come. She thanked Joan for her kindness and called, “Come.” Was that thin, squeaky voice really mine? she asked herself. She
cleared her throat and, with more conviction, called again, “Come.” Joan curtsied as the door opened to admit Tom, and then she slipped out into the passage.

Tom had removed his parti-colored padded doublet and was now in his gipon—the high collar of his cambric undershirt showing under it—and his hose, their silver lacing points glinting in the flickering light.

“Grace?” he said softly, peering into the shadows. “Where are you?” Grace stepped into the light and Tom’s eyes drank in the sight. “God’s bones, but you are beautiful,” he whispered and took a step towards her.

When Grace saw the love on his face and heard the tenderness in his voice, she lost her fear. I cannot be cruel to him, she decided; he is too good a man. And so she glided towards him, careful not to trip on Cecily’s long robe.

“Let me help you, husband,” she said, reaching up to untie the neck of his gipon.

Her closeness was too much for Tom, and he pulled her into his arms and whispered, “Sweet Jesu, how I love you” into her curls and inhaled her lavender scent. With her cheek pressed against the soft jacket and her arms barely meeting around his waist, she felt dwarfed; but once again, it comforted her. He tipped her face up to his and bent low to kiss her on the lips. She recognized it as a respectful first kiss, and taking Mistress Bayley’s advice to heart, she pretended he was John. Her mouth opened under his and, without knowing how she knew to do this, invited in his tongue. As he slowly accepted her overture, she felt him harden against her and was surprised to feel her own mounting desire.

“I need to rid myself of my hose,” he whispered. “They are the very devil to remove alone. I have heard them called ‘passion killers,’ and for good reason.”

Grace giggled. “I have no experience, you understand, but let me try.” Between the two of them they unlaced the two leggings and lifted the tight jacket over his head. He stood there in his soft shirt, which fell to just above his knees. Gently, he slipped the yellow robe from Grace’s shoulders and ran his hands down her arms, feeling the warm skin under her flimsy chemise. Her full breasts with their brown-tinged nipples were just visible through it, and Tom could not keep his eyes from them. Grace timidly lifted one of his hands and placed it on her left breast.

“I can feel your heart, my love,” he said hoarsely and, sweeping her into his arms, he carried her to the bed. There he knelt beside her and slowly removed his shirt.

“Ah, Grace, if you only knew how long I have wanted you,” he said. “And now that you are mine, I am afraid of having you. You are a creature so fragile and precious that the thought of…of mounting you—”

“I will not break,” Grace interrupted, amused. “But I hope you will be mindful.”

He was darkly silhouetted against the firelight, but she could see how powerful his shoulders were after years of knightly training. She did not dare to look down past his flat belly, for she sensed he was fully aroused, and now she knew a moment of fear. Dear God, this will hurt, she told herself, but she put out her hand and stroked his chest. She knew that she, not he, would have to make the first move and, taking pity on him, she whispered, “Come to me, Tom. But be gentle with me.”

And he was. The initial sharp pain was bearable, and now that the long wait for her was over, he took only a moment to climax, surprising Grace with his cry of pleasure. She had not even had time to think of John, and now there was no need. Tom’s fingers found their target and soon she was moaning in her own astonished ecstasy.

“I fear I was a Johnny-come-early,” he murmured, lying on his side with her nestling into him. “Tomorrow I will do better.”

“’Tis no matter, Tom, as long as I pleased you,” Grace said sleepily. “May God watch over us tonight.”

“
Amen
, my sweet wife,” Tom said. “I swear I am the happiest person on earth.”

Grace wanted to say she was, too, but she could not bring herself to lie.

B
UT THERE WAS
no tomorrow for Tom. The very next day, when Grace quietly joined Elizabeth, Cecily and their ladies in Elizabeth’s apartments, Grace learned that Viscount Welles and his entourage would be leaving that morning for Lincolnshire in the company of Archbishop Morton. The cleric was Henry’s chancellor and considered by many to be the most learned man in the kingdom. Under Edward, despite his solid Lancastrian leanings, he had risen to bishop of Ely and master of the rolls.

Cecily was standing by the window, staring out at the gray day, sulking.

“Ah, there you are, Lady Grace,” Elizabeth called and, raising one elegant eyebrow, she added: “I trust you had a good if not entirely restful night?”

Grace blushed, curtsied low and stammered a noncommittal reply.

“Be a good girl,” the dowager said, turning her gaze on Cecily. “Go and cheer up your sister. Sweet Jesu, I had forgotten how she can pout. Her husband and the archbishop will confer with the king at Lady Margaret Beaufort’s house in Collyweston. Henry has need of his chancellor, it seems.” She laughed. “That wily priest has managed to jump into every king’s pocket since Edward forgave him for being a Lancastrian, God help him. I would not trust the man as far as I could throw him.”

Grace was amused. She recalled Duchess Margaret speaking of Morton in exactly the same terms. “’Twas he and Henry’s sour-faced mother who fuelled the rebellion against Richard by fooling Harry of Buckingham,” Margaret had told Grace and John. “Why Richard did not execute the turncoat Lancastrian on the same block as Buckingham, I shall never understand. When Morton fled to Tudor’s side in Brittany, he showed his true red-rose colors and plotted to put Henry on the throne—with his witch of a mother. And now he lauds it at Henry’s court as chancellor and archbishop of Canterbury. What a reward for treachery!” she had cried, and Grace had never seen such fury in a face. “If it were not for my two foolish brothers’ favor and leniency, he would be dead, and Richard might be on the throne still.”

Grace hurried to Cecily’s side and drew her down into the window seat. “Is it true, Cis? Are you to leave today?”

“Aye,” Cecily grumbled. “Jack cannot bear to be left out of any of Henry’s plans. The truce with France over the Brittany succession ends this month, and ’tis feared that without England’s mediation, the French king will conquer not only the duchy but its duchess as well. It appears this will infuriate Maximilian of Burgundy and, under the terms of our agreement with him, England will have to go to war. War! Why must men settle everything by fighting?”

Grace’s eyes glazed over; she was not interested in France and Brittany, Charles and Maximilian. She had her own conflicted emotions to contend
with. Besides, she despaired of Cecily when she was in one of her moods. She sighed at the same time she realized, with a jolt, that Tom must also be leaving. Was it a sigh of relief or of disappointment?

A sour expression marred Cecily’s lovely face as she exclaimed: “Cock’s bones! We shall not even be here for Twelfth Night!”

Lost in her own thoughts, Grace sighed again.

“Aye, ’tis a matter for sighing, Grace, or even weeping over,” Cecily said, cheered that her sister was sympathetic. “Hell’s bells!” Cecily exclaimed and then clapped her hand over her mouth in case her mother had heard. But Elizabeth was too busy with a mirror and instructing Katherine where to pin a brooch to her gown to pay attention to the young women on the window seat. “I forgot all about you and Tom in my misery. Forgive me. How did you fare last night, little sister? Do tell all, I beg of you. Dear God, you do not have to blush.”

“I don’t blush,” Grace said indignantly. “My skin is too sallow.”

Cecily laughed, and Elizabeth looked over at her and smiled. “You see how Grace can always coax one out of an ill humor,” she said to Katherine, who pursed her lips into what some might have mistaken for a smile.

“Certes, you do not want me to rattle on about war when ’tis plain you are not listening, Grace,” Cecily said, chuckling. “How was it last night? Aha, I see the way of it,” she whispered, and when Grace said nothing but lowered her eyes and smiled, she could not resist crowing. “You did not find Tom as unacceptable as you thought. Is it not wonderful? Is it not close to Heaven when you feel his skin on yours? His hand caressing your thigh? His lips seeking your breast?”

Grace could only open her mouth in amazement. Surely Cecily could not enjoy the act that much with her bag of bones of a husband? Curiosity got the better of her, and she had to ask: “Jack pleasures you thus, Cis?”

It was Cecily’s turn to lower her eyes and smile secretly. “Nay, Grace, I never said anything about Jack.”

“Why, Cecily Welles, you have a lover!”

“Soft, you ninny,” Cecily hissed. “Certes I do. But promise me to never breathe a word. I have not told a soul of your love for John, nor of your adventure to Aunt Margaret. I pray you will do the same for me.”

Grace nodded and crossed her heart. “’Tis Thomas Kyme, is it not?” she asked. “Certes, I will not tell. I knew it that night when you danced.”

Cecily went pale. “Was it so plain to see?” she breathed. “We have loved
each other since the moment we met. I do my duty to Jack, but once in a blue moon Thomas and I meet alone. Are you shocked, Grace?”

Grace’s face acknowledged that she was, but she drew Cecily to her and murmured: “You secret is safe with me. Pray have a care you do not get with child by him instead.”

“Pish, I am not such a ninny as that. I would never
lie
with Thomas. And now, back to you. Was Tom kind?”

Grace nodded. “Aye, ’twas easier than I had thought,” she confessed and leaned forward to whisper, “but I had to help him, in truth, for he was more frightened than I.”

Cecily chuckled. “Well, dear Grace, you will not have to suffer through any more nights for a while. Oh, I am so glad you will be coming to Hellowe, and I pray Mother lets you go soon.” More seriously, she added, “I am hoping that being a wife will put John from your mind. Nay, do not deny it, you still hold out hope for our cousin of Gloucester, do you not?”

Grace did not have a chance to answer because there was a knock at the door and Tom was ushered into the queen dowager’s presence. Bowing low, his beaver hat to his heart, he caught Grace’s eye across the room and a tiny smile flitted across his face. Then he was all business.

“Your pardon, your grace, but I am sent to fetch her ladyship the viscountess. The archbishop’s party is boarding the barges, and Lord Welles is ready to leave.” Indeed, they could hear the sounds of pibcorns and shawms announcing Morton’s departure.

“Cecily, dear, come and receive my blessing,” Elizabeth called to her daughter. “And you, sir,” she leaned forward and said softly, “go and bid farewell to your bride. I will send her to you anon, have no fear. But she is dear to me, and I am not prepared to let her go to you yet awhile. You must be patient.”

Tom grinned. “She is dear to me, too, your grace. And I can be patient. Know that I will be as good a husband as I can to her, for your sake as well as hers.” He bowed again and walked towards Grace, passing Cecily, who winked at him broadly.

“I am sorry we must part so soon, Grace,” he whispered as he kissed her hand. “But I will carry the memory of last night until we can be together in Lincolnshire. Lady Cecily is making arrangements for us at Hellowe, and it may be we will have our own rooms in the manor.”

“I know not when I shall come, Tom. Her grace must decide my fate,
not us. But I am content that we are friends again and you go away with pleasant memories of our”—she paused and, stroking his soft beard, gave him a mischievous smile—“our virgin night together. ’Twas the first time for you, was it not?”

Tom’s face gave him away, and she laughed. “Farewell and God speed. You will write to me, won’t you?”

“Every day, sweetheart,” Tom promised and then chuckled. “And this time I pray my letters find you.” He turned his back on the room, hiding her from view, and kissed her waiting lips. “Farewell, my love.”

“Farewell, dear Grace,” Cecily cried, running to embrace her. “I shall count the days until you come to Hellowe in the spring. Your grace, you must not keep Tom and his wife apart for too long, promise?”

“Away with you, my lady,” Elizabeth admonished her. “I’ll have no more of your impudence.” But Grace saw the smile in her eyes as Cecily swept out of the room, followed by Tom, who had to duck to avoid hitting his head.