The Thornless Rose (20 page)

Chapter Twenty

At Whitehall, Anne and Jonathan were separated. He, whisked to parts unknown by a cadre of noblemen; she, hustled down a lengthy passageway by Lettice Knollys, to a crowded room where wedding preparations were under way. Despite the hurry, Anne noted everything. Serving girls dusted furniture, scrubbed floors, and polished tall windows overlooking the Thames. The queen’s ladies of the chamber whispered behind their gossamer fans.

With a smile, Lettice formally introduced them. Names whirled in Anne’s head, historical names—Catherine Grey, Blanche Parry, and Dorothy Stafford.

“Thou shalt be dressed here, and ’twill also be thy bedchamber tonight,” Lady Grey cooed, interrupting Anne’s thoughts. “’Tis large and can accommodate many witnesses.”

Witnesses? On my wedding night?
Horrified their customs would intrude on her privacy, Anne cringed at the mahogany bed dominating the room. No one would humiliate her that way, not in this lifetime.

Lady Grey clapped for a serving woman. “I’ve ordered up a bit of food whilst we prepare. ’Tis what my family eats by tradition on our wedding days, and it has always brought much good fortune, fertility, and strength in marriage.”

The servant presented a tray. “M’lady, for thy pleasure. Hardboiled eggs with apricot jam, pickled carp, salted eel.”

Anne wrinkled her nose.

“Eat something, please,” Lady Grey implored, “else thou shalt have a discontented stomach at ceremony.”

Obligingly, Anne nibbled an egg when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“My dear,” Lady Parry said, “there is a robe behind the screen. ’Tis time to remove thy garments.”

In moments, Anne had a green silk robe wrapped close about her body. As she waited, she tried to count the women in the room. Young and old, they moved in and out, twittering softly to one another in dark corners, bustling about her in a cloud of deftly perfumed elegance. The rich scents of musk, rose water, and citrus oils filled the air.

Three seamstresses entered the bedchamber, their arms loaded with satin, tulle, and sewing notions. Behind them came three coarse-looking serving girls carrying stools and large baskets of herbs and flowers. Then, in startling contrast to everyone else, an old woman hobbled in, her eyes rheumy, her hands gnarled.

Blossoms and spice piqued Anne’s senses. “Who is she?”

“That, my dear, is Madame Françoise, the queen’s herbalist.” Lettice spoke over Anne’s shoulder. “Her Majesty hath commanded the woman to attend only to you this day. ’Tis a great honor.”

The old woman curtsied, then ordered her servants to set up shop near an open window.

“Come, we have other things to do whilst they weave the flowers for our tussie-mussies,” Lettice said. “After your fitting, thy hair must be brushed to glowing, so ’twill hang loose upon thy shoulders, as befits a virgin.”

Anne’s eyebrows shot up.

Lettice beckoned the seamstresses, who pinched, prodded, and measured Anne. The women held pieces of a silk gown against her, determining hem and sleeve lengths, as well as bust and waist size.

While all this was going on, Anne watched the herbalists fashion small bouquets of white and yellow roses, rosemary, and lavender. They bound the stems with purple and ivory ribbons to form handles, the ends trailing off in different lengths as satin streamers.

“
Venez-ici, ma petite
,” the old herbalist croaked. She shoved a stool toward Anne. “
Asseyez-vous
.”

Anne sat as the seamstresses withdrew to complete their work. Madame Françoise shuffled forward to measure Anne’s head, then turned back without a word. The court ladies moved in a constant stream around Anne and Lettice.

Brushing Anne’s hair, Lettice said, “Thou hast a wondrous shine to thy tresses.”

The others joined in: “Lady Lettice doth outdo herself!” “A pity thou never shaved back thy hairline, Anne.” “Aye, ’tis such an elegant look, and men do so enjoy a fashionable lady.”

Anne frowned.
You’re not touching my hairline, ladies!

Lettice gently smoothed her hair one last time. “Thou art a beautiful bride,” she whispered. “I have seen how thee regards the good doctor, and I envy thee, marrying for love.”

Love?
Anne stared at Lettice, her heart wild with the memory of Jonathan’s kiss at the Abbey, so much so she guessed everyone could hear the thudding inside her chest.

Was it possible? Could he fall for her?

A cough disrupted Anne’s unspoken hopes. Madame Françoise held out an exquisite circlet of yellow roses and baby’s breath for her inspection. Silk strands hung from it, with love knots tied here and there.

Anne took a deep breath. “
Merci
,” she thanked the woman, who smiled back. She wondered just how often courtiers took the old lady’s talents for granted. “
C’est
très
jolie,”
she added. It’s very pretty.

Madame Françoise placed her hand over her heart. “
Merci,
petite
.
Que Dieu vous bénît.
”
Thank you, little one. May God bless you.

The old woman gave the circlet to Lady Grey, gathered her tools and servants, and quietly withdrew.

“My dear, we are pressed for time.” Lettice pulled Anne to her feet. “Drop thy robe, please.”

Blushing, Anne complied.

“What is this bandage upon thine arm?”

“Oh, that. Just a scrape I got at the hospital.”

“I pray it heals well.” Lettice turned. “Stockings, please. Who hath the silk stockings?”

Standing naked, Anne reached out for Lady Grey’s steadying hand, then stepped into the hosiery, which were unrolled up her legs and banded above her knees.

Next came cherry-red pantalets. Anne smiled as Lady Grey tied them at her waist.

“Red silk?” Anne asked.

“Indeed, for silk warms the skin, so to speak,” Lady Grey assured.

“But red?”

“Oh, aye,” Lady Stafford interjected. “Red gets the bull’s blood up.”

The women giggled, and happy chatter ensued with only one topic—the marriage bed. Lady Stafford helped Anne with a lacy smock, its low-scooped neckline loose across her bosom.

Winking, Lady Stafford added, “He’s a fine looking man, thy doctor, well-thighed and handsome, though he be as smooth-faced as a stripling.”

“Oh, I think he looks great without a beard,” Anne offered.

Nodding, Lady Grey jumped in. “’Twould be pleasing that, not having a beard scraping about at mine own soft parts.”

“Like a boar a-hunting for truffles,” Lady Stafford said to uproarious laughter.

Grinning, Anne couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“One can tell the good doctor is the sort who will appreciate a woman in red
and
a woman in
bed
,” Lady Parry exclaimed.

Anne laughed as Lettice laced her into a burgundy corset, her breasts crushed flat and pushed high; the famed Elizabethan cleavage and conical waist.

“Ah, the bedding of man and wife! ’Tis always the best part of a wedding—don’t ye agree, ladies?” Lady Parry started up again.

“Indeed,” someone replied to giggles.

“Now, child, worry not about the rest of us at the bedding.” An elderly noblewoman, her breath smelling of anise, peeped around Anne. She tied off a farthingale and Anne’s first ever bumroll, then slipped volumes of petticoats over her head. “Try to make a bit of noise, child, as did I. One gasp of delight for the crowds, and thou shalt find a healthy lust building up within. It shalt rouse thy man to all heights and that will bind him to thee forever, like nothing else can.”

Anne closed her eyes against the vivid images.

“’Tis time for the gown,” Lettice announced.

As the seamstresses approached, Anne gazed in wonder at her wedding dress. The satin overskirt of palest daffodil shimmered with pearls. The bodice, sleeves, and underskirt were a lustrous yellow brocade, dotted with more seed pearls. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she exclaimed.

“’Twill be forgotten on the floor anon!” Lady Parry snorted, then guffawed.

Lady Stafford nodded. “Oh, yes, thy doctor has long limbs, big feet, and a prominent nose, though it be finely shaped. Knoweth what that doth portend?”

Anne felt her face flame.

“My dear, harken not to such nonsense,” Lady Parry clucked. “’Tis the staying power of thy bull, not the size of his horn, that counts!”

Lady Stafford wagged her finger. “But we might wish for her that the good doctor doth possess both!”

Gales of laughter now, and the women’s fans fluttered. Giggling through her embarrassment, Anne caught a twinkle in Lady Grey’s eyes.

“Quickly, ladies. We have little time left,” Lettice warned, tapping her foot and gauging the slant of sunlight.

The women ran embroidered sleeves up Anne’s arms, tying them just above the elbow. Then Anne stepped into a pair of satin slippers, and Lady Grey placed the floral circlet on her head.

A soft knock on the door. “Look alive! Her Majesty approaches,” a muffled voice announced.

“Ladies!” Lettice cried.

Suddenly, everyone backed away, leaving Anne in the center of the room, just as the doors burst open.

The noblewomen dropped into deep curtsies, but Anne stared at the resplendent queen, dressed in a gown of peach brocade, laced with diamonds and pearls.

Anne suddenly remembered herself and sank to the floor.

Elizabeth bid her rise. “I did charge my ladies with the high goal of earthly perfection. I see they have outdone themselves.”

“Thank you, Majesty,” Anne replied. “You’re... Thou art so generous. It’s all so wonderful!”

“Pretty words from a pretty bride. Kat?” Smiling, Elizabeth beckoned to Lady Katherine Ashley, who opened a flat, rosewood box. “I have one thing more to add.”

Looking inside, Anne gasped.

“Lettice, Kat, affix these baubles to our bride.”

Soon, diamonds and pearls graced her ears and wrists, then, as a final touch, Lettice draped a huge emerald pendant around her neck. Anne took a deep breath, surprised by its weight.

“The emerald matches her eyes perfectly, ma’am, just as you predicted,” Lettice said. “And the yellow chosen for her gown sets her hair off to perfection.”

“Indeed.” The queen turned to Anne. “Regrettably, I must add a slight caveat to the day. The garments are for thee to keep forever, yet the jewels belong to the Crown. Alas, I am sorry. I cannot be
that
generous.”

“I understand, Majesty.”

“Come, the men await us in chapel,” Elizabeth said. “I do not wish to keep the archbishop grumbling a moment longer than need be, else he’ll launch into a sermon during the ceremony, just to spite us.”

“Please, ladies,” someone said, “gather the tussie-mussies. Give Anne her pomander.”

Lettice frowned. “Majesty, Anne hath not yet looked in the glass.”

“God’s death! Quickly, then, quickly.”

The women rushed Anne to a mirror, and her breath caught in amazement. A beautiful stranger stared back in a dazzling gown worthy of a Tudor princess.

I look like one of them now.
Anne’s thoughts veered to that far off day in time when she’d stood in the portrait gallery at Hampton Court. Tears blurred her sight, and she suddenly felt so alone. She yearned for her grandmother’s presence, her wit, insight, and the sound of her voice.

Vague phrases, gentle words teased Anne’s mind.
Watch over her... I love her more than anything in the world... I place my darling granddaughter, Anne, in your care, Jonnie
.

A vision of Jonathan’s smile replaced her poignant thoughts.
But I’m not alone, am I? He’s here, waiting for me.

She turned to the queen. “I’m ready.”

Chapter Twenty-One

As Anne and the ladies approached the Chapel Royal, they stopped, allowing Elizabeth to step through the double doors alone.

The queen called out, “My lords and ladies, invited guests, I bid you welcome to the marriage of Anne Howard and Dr. Jonathan Brandon, both of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, Smithfield, and my healers.” She opened her arms wide and presented Anne. “Doctor, thy bride.”

Anne searched the crowd. Bowing, the courtiers parted, and Jonathan stood there, smiling. He was impeccably dressed in a doublet of blue watered silk and gray satin breeches.
Check him out!
Her heart pounded.

He offered his arm to her, and they followed the queen down the aisle. “You are beautiful, Annie.”

“So are you. They captured just the right shade of blue to match your eyes!”

Jonathan grinned, covering her hand with his, and she thrilled at his touch.

As they stepped up to the altar, Dudley bowed gracefully and assisted Elizabeth into her seat. A bishop, Holy Book in hand, entered the chapel and joined them. His lips were thin and so tightly pressed together Anne wondered if his sour demeanor had ever been lightened by a warm expression.

“Matthew Parker, Archbishop of Canterbury, was good enough to officiate,” Elizabeth said. “Let us begin––”

“Nooo!” a young voice whined from the corridor. Everyone turned. A flustered noblewoman, drowning in sapphires, pulled an angry boy by the hand.

“Forgive our late arrival.” The woman’s violet eyes flickered to Anne, just before she sank into a deep curtsey. “Majesty, we didst come as soon as we got thy kind invitation.”

“Duchess, did thy husband not receive same?” the queen inquired.

“He is abed, ma’am, with evil humors.” The woman nudged the child forward. “My lord husband bid me bring his beloved son, to stand in his place. Bless the dear lad, he hath missed his nap.”

The queen sat silent for a moment, considering, as the boy whimpered.

“Majesty,” Anne quickly said, “perhaps he would like to stand with Jonathan during the ceremony?”

The boy perked up and smiled.

Elizabeth nodded.

Grinning, Jonathan knelt. “Hello, lad. What is thy name?”

“Philip Howard, sir,” he answered in a clear, high-pitched voice. “Only son and heir to my lord father, His Grace, the fourth duke of Norfolk.”

Anne could not control her shock. “Norfolk?” she asked, a bit too loudly.

“Aye, m’lady. My father couldn’t come.” The boy nervously glanced about, the duchess suddenly gone in the crowd.

Jonathan looked at Anne, his gaze level, signaling her to let it go, then reached inside his doublet. “Here, Philip,” he said kindly, “keep this safe until I ask for it.”

The boy nodded eagerly, and Anne’s thoughts turned to Jonathan’s little mystery, but the archbishop cleared his throat, demanding her attention.

“Majesty,” he intoned, “lords and ladies of the court, dearly beloved friends.”

Her knees trembled.

“We are gathered this day in the sight of God to join Jonathan Edward Brandon and Anne Marie Howard...”

Anne was surprised at how little the ceremony had changed over time.

“
Caritas patiens est, benigna est caritas, non aemulatur...
” Love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous...

Trying to ease her nerves, she took several deep breaths. The archbishop went on at length before switching to French, “
Monsieur, prennez-vous cette femme...?
” Sir, do you take this woman...?

“I do,” Jonathan said, looking directly into her eyes, willing her to hold his gaze.

“Wonderful! Perfect!” the queen burst out, startling Anne.

The corners of the archbishop’s mouth twitched downward, almost imperceptibly. “
Mademoiselle,
prennez-vous cet homme...
?
” Miss, do you take this man...?

Eyes wide, throat dry, Anne whispered, “I do.”

“And now, thou art man and wife.” Queen and crowd answered the archbishop’s pronouncement with clapping and cheers.

Jonathan smiled as he turned to Philip. “Now, lad. It’s time.”

“Aye, sir! Here ’tis, sir!”

Taking the object from him, Jonathan reached for Anne’s hand, delighting her as he placed a gold band with a square-cut emerald upon her finger. She held her hand out, admiring the deep green gemstone as the archbishop made the sign of the cross over them.

“
Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto...
” Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit...

It was done. They were married. Anne’s whole body shook. What would happen now?

Trying to tame her excitement, she bit her lip and looked into her husband’s deep-blue eyes.

“Kiss her, man! The woman is thine. Kiss her!” Elizabeth ordered exuberantly.

Jonathan kissed Anne, the touch of him gentle, fleeting, nothing like the heat she remembered so vividly from the Abbey.

“God’s blood, man!” the queen admonished. “I want to see thy promise of passion! Take her in thine own arms, and let her know how thy blood runs hot for her!”

“Passion! Show us passion!” the crowd echoed.

Jonathan hesitated, and Anne looked into his eyes. His gaze held an irresistible gleam. It was time to win this guy.

Anne grabbed his doublet, pulled him close, and kissed him—hard.

His lips parted slightly, his kiss firm, warm, soft, beguiling. Recollections of having kissed him like this once before surfaced, and she closed her eyes, her body melting.

Elizabeth cried out, “The bold miss! Wonderful! That is what we want! Look at them!”

They parted, their gazes locked, while around them erupted exuberant applause, hooting, and shouts of approval. Anne was barely conscious of the uproar, her thoughts flitting back to the Abbey, to his fervor when he’d first kissed her, his anguished passion.

“Anne,” he whispered, and his mouth found hers again. His muscles flexed as he held her, his power unmistakable, a hint of possibilities, of what might come.

…

The entire court retired to the privy garden, where fountains splashed and servants hovered. The air was bathed in a soft, green hue, and the peppery scent of lavender mingled with the sweet smell of roses.

Anne stood beside Jonathan, trying to appear calm as he chatted with friends and courtiers. Her body tingled with the memory of his kiss, his touch.

Lettice appeared at her side and whispered, “How goes thy heart? Thou hast clearly found a sense of peace thou did not afore possess.”

Peace? Anne wanted to laugh. All she felt was a fire raging deep inside. “Oh, yes,” she lied as she stole a look at Jonathan.

He was watching her, which unsettled her even more. He smiled, then set off with Dudley and several noblemen toward a table laden with sweetmeats and canapés. Her eyes closed—the power of that smile thrilled her.

“I do hope,” Lettice said, “that I too will find my heart’s desire one day.”

Glad for the distraction, Anne let her gaze travel over the crowd, listening to Lettice’s running commentary on courtiers’ clothing, jewels, and romantic status.

“Yes, thank you, my lord. Jolly well done.”

The sound of Jonathan’s voice drew Anne’s attention. He was still engrossed in conversation with the courtiers, minus Robert Dudley, who now approached the queen. Anne watched as Dudley spoke intimately with Elizabeth for several moments, before backing away. The queen smiled playfully, her eyes following his every move.

As the crowd shifted, Anne suddenly noticed a frail, blond woman in a simple, gray, satin gown. Sitting alone, she seemed riveted by something nearby. What was she looking at? Anne turned. Dudley?

“Who is that woman, Lettice? She keeps staring at Lord Dudley.”

“Her? Oh, she’s a very jealous woman and protective of her claim.”

“Really? What claim?”

“She,” Lettice smiled, her eyebrow cocked, “is Lady Amy Dudley, my lord’s beloved wife.”

…

Anne entered the great hall on Jonathan’s arm. Set for a grand banquet, the tables overflowed with roses and gleaming silver. Hundreds of candles blazed, making the air hot and heightening the floral scents.

“Wow, Jonathan! Look at all this.”

“Wow is right.” He laughed.

Servants moved through the crowd, handing out goblets of chilled claret as the queen took her place at the great banquet table, Anne and Jonathan on either side. In the background, a small orchestra played, the strains of their melodies overformal, yet surprisingly familiar to Anne’s ears: the beautiful “Greensleeves,” and “The Battle Pavane,” the modern version a favorite of high school bands everywhere. She smiled at the connection of past to future, feeling comforted by it.

And the food! Dozens of liveried servants hustled between the guests and a trestle table heaped with lavish dishes laden with filet of salmon, venison, roast beef, and stuffed grouse, blue-veined Wensleydale cheese, grapes, apples, and sweetmeats to nibble and enjoy.

Sipping her dessert wine, Anne noticed the duchess of Norfolk approach the queen.

The duchess curtseyed. “Majesty,
mille pardons
,” she said, pointing to little Phillip, asleep in his nursemaid’s arms. “I wouldst ask permission to withdraw, for the boy is beyond exhaustion.”

“I happily grant it, Margaret.”

“Dr. and Mistress Brandon,” the duchess added, “I will tell my lord husband he hath missed a most wondrous affair.”

Anne exchanged a quick glance with Jonathan, then managed a smile as the duchess backed away. “Thank you, er, I thank thee,” Anne said.

Elizabeth sighed. “The lad sleeps easily, for he knoweth well his stepmother cares for him. I too had wonderful stepmothers.” She abruptly drained her goblet.

Anne watched Dudley as he hurried over to the queen’s side. How could he be so careful of this woman’s feelings, yet so blind to his own wife’s needs?

“I shall be much disquieted, Majesty,” Dudley said in a light-hearted tone that belied his eyes, “if you do not call for a dance.”

Elizabeth gave him a half-smile. “Robin, thou art a rogue, but dancing must wait.”

“Please forgive me for interrupting, Majesty,” Anne said.

“Aye?”

“I, well, I could never have dreamed of such a day. You, er, thou art very kind to have given us such a wonderful gift.”

Elizabeth looked straight at Anne. “’Tis good to show one’s appreciation, Mistress Brandon, when guardian angels are made known to us. This day would see a funeral feast and a country in chaos were it not for thine intervention at the fair. I would be most unwise not to recognize God’s hand, when He so soundly buffets me with it. Even if that hand be a physician’s apprentice with bright green eyes.”

“It was pure instinct, that.”

“Ha!” Elizabeth set her goblet down. “’Twas purely God’s will that brought thee to me when I had most need. Think not otherwise just because thou deemeth thyself not deserving of merit and consideration. The Lord makes good use of us all.” With that, the queen turned away and started chatting with Jonathan.

“Mistress Brandon,” Dudley broke into her thoughts, “did the ring surprise?”

“The ring, my lord?”

He nodded. “Aye. First, given that ’tis not so very common among the lumpen—er, lesser—uh, to give a ring,” he sputtered, then changed tack. “In any case, I have had thee much on my mind, of late. Since our first encounter, in fact, in the garden at Hampton Court.”

“But, my lord––”

“Nay, nay. Protest not. I know not how thou got past the queen’s guards that day, nor why thou dressed as a rat catcher. And when thou vanished, I must have been a bit overtaxed by too much iced wine on a hot day. I now believe thou merely slipped away, and mine own drunken state caused a wondrous confusion of thought.”

Anne nodded, uncomfortable. “Must’ve been the wine.”

“However, I have seen that thee and the good doctor care for the queen every bit as much as I. When her sister Mary ascended the throne, Elizabeth gave me this ring as a bond-token of unwavering loyalty. I spoke of it with her, and we are happy to see it upon thy hand now.”

Anne gazed down at the emerald ring. “I had no idea. Thank you, my lord.”

Dudley smiled and shifted his conversation to hunting, while in the background, music played over the din of happy gabbling.

At last, the queen stood and raised her hand. Trumpets blared and then she addressed the guests. “I wish to dance, but our wedding couple surely has other activities in mind, and so, lest they sulk in glorious agony, to the chamber we must away!”

Laughter and applause scattered across the hall. Flushing, Anne stole a glance at Jonathan as he gulped his wine.

The queen swished her hands. “Go and be prepared, young lovers, and we shalt see you anon.”

Lettice took Anne by the arm, and Dudley approached Jonathan. As she was led away, Anne made eye contact with her husband.

He smiled at her, his eyes blazing, a crack in his cool British reserve.

…

The duchess of Norfolk hurried up her front steps. Pausing, she looked at the winking stars. The warm night air held a palpable tinge, a trace of romance. She visualized the wedding kiss of Dr. Brandon and his bride, when all the world seemed to stop, when she saw their gazes—and their lips—meet with such aching desire!

With a sigh, she entered her home and ordered the nursemaid to put the sleeping Philip to bed. As the woman carried the boy upstairs, Percy appeared in the doorway of the main salon, looking uncombed and disheveled.

“M’lady, I fear I nodded off.” The steward attempted to straighten his doublet.

“’Tis late, Percy,” she said softly. “We should all be abed by now.” She glanced expectantly at the top of the stairs. “Is my husband about?”

Percy shook his head. “His Grace waited for thee ’til past nine o’ the clock, but then left the house.”

Margaret warily glanced at the front door. “What was his mood?” she asked, guessing the answer.

Percy looked down at his feet. “Wondrous foul, m’lady. He took Geoffrey Bly with him.”

Bly? That animal?
A shiver raced down her spine at the thought of the duke and his horrid lout of a bodyguard combing the streets of London. What punishment had she avoided, coming in as late as she had?