The Boleyn King (3 page)

William locked eyes with Northumberland and went on quietly, “Are you saying you would rather ally with the emperor? Because it’s one or the other. And Elizabeth married to Philip of Spain would be far more dangerous.”

A man of both great temper and high humour, Northumberland was not easily cowed. He looked like what he was—a newcomer to noble ranks—and standing next to the sleek, elegant Rochford only highlighted his imposing figure. “I would rather that an English princess honour her father’s legacy and not tie herself to a Catholic prince.”

“My father’s—” William made himself stop until he was sure he could go on without anger leaking through. “My father’s legacy is practicality. When Elizabeth marries Charles, English Catholics are appeased and my choice of a bride widens.”

Though Northumberland was less subtle than Rochford, he was no less clever. More, possibly, except that he always let people see what he was calculating. “So Princess Elizabeth marries a Catholic and you marry …”

“Whomever I wish,” William said shortly. “Which is also my father’s legacy.”

He could practically hear the turning of Northumberland’s mind. If he could persuade the king to marry the partly royal and wholly Protestant Jane Grey … well, that would be worth sacrificing Elizabeth for.

Even if Northumberland’s son, Robert Dudley, objected.

The door to his privy chamber opened and William saw Dominic hesitating beyond the guards. “We’re finished,” William said. “The French treaty must be presented to the full council. But not today.”

He turned away as they bowed themselves out of the room. Dominic spoke behind him. “You really shouldn’t bait them.”

“Do you think my father would have put up with insolence?”

“Your father wasn’t ten years old when he became king. The regency council is to help you learn, Will, and to protect England while you do.”

William replaced his sword in the scabbard and tossed it on a table. “I’m not ten years old anymore.”

He stalked past Dominic, ignoring the pressing crowds in the presence chamber. His guards could read his moods and kept the people well back. William was aware of Dominic following him down the arched corridor, but his friend had the good sense to keep quiet. Even in his anger, William knew he was acting in precisely the childish manner that his councilors seemed to expect.

Dominic caught up to him and spoke carefully. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. Sometimes I forget which one of you I’m addressing. I speak to my friend when I should be speaking to my king.”

That brought William to a halt. Shaking off his injured pride, he turned back to Dominic, glad that the guards had closed off the ends of the corridor so that the two of them were briefly alone. “Don’t you know that’s why I value you? Because you I can always trust to speak honestly—even when you shouldn’t. That’s more than I can say for any of my councilors. They speak what they think I want to hear, or only as much as they want me to know.”

Pausing for breath, William grinned. “One year, Dom. Then I can dispose of the regency, if not of councils altogether. When I am eighteen, they’ll see I’ve been paying a good deal of attention. They think they are molding me to be biddable when older. They will learn better.”

Throwing an arm around his friend’s shoulders, he pulled him forward. “Let’s go see what the women are up to. You must have missed them this last year.”

As they reached the stairs that led down to Clock Court, they heard voices drifting up from below. Amongst the chatter of the court, two voices were nearer and damningly clear. “So the king’s agreed to your marriage with the Wyatt girl?”

William knew the voice that answered: Giles Howard, Norfolk’s son, the one Dominic had disarmed rather brutally this morning. “Father’s determined on it. She’s poor, but as the queen’s ward, she’s well connected. And now that she’ll be in the princess’s household, someone will use her. Might as well be the Howards.”

As though they were discussing a London doxy, the first voice said, “A bit skinny. Not much to sink into.”

Howard’s reply was even coarser. “Genevieve will breed well enough. And my uncle claims that her mother was less than a lady in bed. Besides, the girl is rather like a colt—all eyes and legs and spirit. It will be no hardship to break her in.”

“Genevieve? She’s called something else around court, I thought.”

“She’s got some pet name from the royals. Thinks it makes her important. She’ll learn humility quick enough when I get hold of her.”

William jerked his head at Dominic, who had gone utterly still, and they went noiselessly down the steps. They interrupted Howard and his friend in raucous laughter, which died instantly at the sight of the king.

Giles Howard managed an awkward bow. “Your Majesty.”

William could invest a great deal of contempt in a single word. “Minuette.”

Howard looked at his friend, who seemed determined to melt into the bricks behind him, then back to William. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty?”

“Her name is Minuette. You, of course, will refer to her as Mistress Wyatt on the very rare occasions when it is necessary for you to refer to her at all.”

Howard’s face flooded with colour until even the tips of his ears were red. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

William stepped back, satisfied with the effect of his words.

Dominic, apparently, was not satisfied. He stepped right up to Giles Howard and, in a voice William had never heard before, said, “If you refer to the lady in such terms again, I’ll take more off you than a strip of fabric.”

The two men stared at each other until William could almost feel the hatred pouring off Howard’s skin. But Howard was not fool enough to fight the king’s nearest friend in the king’s presence. Never mind that Dominic could probably beat him senseless without even breathing hard.

It was Dominic who broke the tension by turning his back and walking away. It wasn’t often that William had to scramble to catch up to someone.

Keeping his voice deliberately light, William said, “You surprise me, Dom. I thought you disapproved of impulsive violence.”

“And I rather thought you preferred it.”

“Howard’s easily managed with words, so why waste the effort? He’ll not insult Minuette again.”

Of that he was sure. He was not so sure that Howard wouldn’t come after Dominic. He had seen the quality of his stare at Dominic’s retreating back. It was the look of a man who has revenge on his mind—and revenge was something the Howards did impeccably.

CHAPTER TWO

ELIZABETH SPENT THE early part of the afternoon with her personal secretary, leaving Minuette to her own devices. She went straight out of doors, through the royal privy garden—to which William gave her unlimited access—and, after looking around to make certain she was unobserved, climbed nimbly up to sit on the low brick wall enclosing the knot garden. With her back to the river, she gave her full attention to the palace spread before her.

The smooth green of turf, the jewel-bright colours of primrose and clematis, the scent of roses heavy in the air—and beyond, the unshakable permanence of redbrick walls, turrets, and chimneys. Hampton Court was Minuette’s favorite palace. She and Elizabeth would be leaving next week to accompany William on his summer progress, and after that they might go on to any of the half-dozen manors owned by Elizabeth herself. Though Minuette knew she would return here often in the coming years, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it would never be the same.

It seemed likely that Elizabeth’s betrothal to the French king’s brother would take place before the end of the year. The princess could not be delighted at wedding a man more than ten years her senior and twice a widower. Still, married or not, odds were she would remain in England for some time. Until William had a queen and children, Elizabeth was his successor and the council would want her near. But the thought of her friend’s marriage made Minuette wonder what her own future would be. Would she stay in Elizabeth’s service, forever single and devoted? Or would she marry away from court and leave the closest thing to a sister she’d ever had? Perhaps she would follow her mother’s example and marry a man also tied to royal service, giving her the best of all worlds.

Marie Hilaire, French from the top of her blonde head to the tips of her petite fingers, had befriended Anne Boleyn more than thirty-five years ago when both had been in service at the French court. As different in temperament as in looks, Anne had nonetheless come to trust “my Marie” as she had trusted very few in her life. When Anne had found herself embroiled in the most tangled love affair in history, she had sent for Marie, and the Frenchwoman had left her home without a moment’s complaint. Even marriage did not separate them, for shortly after Anne was crowned queen, Marie married Jonathan Wyatt, a gentleman lawyer who served in the Exchequer. The old king had been effusive in his thanks, rather less so in material goods, and when Jonathan Wyatt died of the sweating sickness in 1541, all that had been left was a modest manor house and farm. It was then that Minuette—at five years of age—had been introduced to Elizabeth’s household, and within a year her mother had married again. But this time the marriage meant leaving court and Anne, for her second husband was brother to the Duke of Norfolk and he took his wife to the country. Minuette had often wondered if her mother’s spirit had been broken by being removed from the royal circle she had always known.

Minuette was shaken from reverie by the sight of several yeomen of the guard approaching. She stood upon the wall and shaded her eyes. She recognized William’s customary springing step—and there was Dominic, half a pace behind and exuding watchfulness. She always thought of the two of them as looking alike until she saw them together. Though both had dark hair, only Dominic’s was truly black. William’s had more red to it, and his eyes were the clear sea blue of King Henry’s. Also, though nearly of a height, William was like a greyhound, where Dominic had broad shoulders and the build of a soldier. Picking up her heavy skirts, she walked lightly along the top of the wall feeling so perfectly happy to see them both that she wondered how she had ever endured the separation.

“Seventeen years old and you haven’t outgrown climbing walls?” Dominic called as they neared. She had never been more happy to be reproved, so familiar was the tone of weary patience behind which laughter lurked.

“I haven’t climbed a single wall while you were away. Who would catch me when I jumped?”

Suiting the action to the words, she jumped into Dominic’s arms. He caught her automatically, as he had a hundred times before. Minuette lifted her head, pleased by the fact that she didn’t have to look up nearly so far as she used to.

“Happy birthday, Minuette.” William’s voice seemed to shake Dominic out of himself, and he released his hold on her.

She smiled at William. “And to you.” Of Dominic, she demanded, “What did you bring me?”

He laughed. “You two could not be more alike—‘Where is it? What did you bring me?’ What makes you think I brought you anything?”

Undaunted, she held out her hands. Dominic shook his head. “I sent it to your room. Your new one, near Elizabeth’s.”

“It had better be worth the wait.”

William grabbed her hand. “You don’t have to wait for my gift. Come see it now.”

The king’s gift turned out to be in the stables—a beautiful snow-white palfrey that surprised Minuette into silence. She had never owned a horse before, let alone one as elegant as this.

As the silence lengthened, William chanced a question. “Don’t you like her?”

Hearing the hurt in his voice, Minuette said, “I love her. I’m just … I never expected something so grand.”

It was the right note to strike, for William loved to be generous—and to be seen to be generous. His satisfaction was evident through the next quarter hour in the stables. Minuette stroked the velvety nose of the horse, which she promptly named Winterfall, while William chattered on about her breeding and gentleness.

Dominic said only one thing: “A very grand gift indeed.”

Minuette fretted about that remark afterward as she returned to her room. Dominic had sounded almost disapproving. Minuette was not naive, however open her face and manners. She knew what might be said of a woman to whom a king gave such a costly gift. But no one would say such things about her. Everyone knew she and William were nearly siblings.

So why did Dominic not approve?

When she reached her new chamber, she found Dominic’s promised gift lying atop the carved chest at the end of her bed—a small linen square tied with ribbon, and a sealed letter beside it. Not fabric, she thought, disappointed. But not a book, either.

When she untied the ribbon, the linen unfolded to reveal a pearl and sapphire necklace. It was so lovely—and so completely unexpected—that it took her a few minutes of admiration before she realized that the filigree pendant that hung from the jewels was in the shape of a star. When the realization came, she broke the seal of the letter with sudden eagerness.

There, in Dominic’s bold handwriting, was the story. The one he had imagined for her sake, on a particularly lonely birthday nine years ago. Her mother had died in childbirth some months previously, but Minuette had felt only a distant sort of grief at the time, for her mother had been living in the country with her new husband for two years, and Minuette had seen her only a few times since then. It wasn’t until her birthday that Minuette had felt the force of the loss.