I, Jane: In The Court of Henry VIII Read online

Jane could not help it. The image made her smile. She felt her cheeks warm as he looked at her, smiling, too. “If I did not find the humor in it, it would all be awfully intolerable. I have never found much humor here. Safety, yes, but not much to make me smile.”

  He tipped his head. “I made you smile.”

  “I suppose you did.”

  “Do you know what you told me the last time I saw you?”

  “Do you?” She was surprised. “That was an awfully long time ago.”

  “Three years, and every word of it, actually. You said you fancied village life, surrounded by your books, to the complications you saw at court. You said the world confounded you.”

  “Impressive. I had forgotten about that.”

  “Everything about you was memorable to a lonely boy of thirteen with no brothers or sisters.”

  “Now your recall has turned to flattery.”

  “’Tis only the truth, Jane. All I wanted back then was someone to talk with who actually listened to me. I remember the sensation quite vividly, in fact. You had this extraordinarily soothing way about you, even then, that made you seem safe and interesting as well.”

  “I was frightened of the world back then. Certainly I was frightened of Lucy and then afterward of the dark-haired Mistress Boleyn.”

  “I saw you as eminently dignified, not affected by whatever peril Lucy Hill or Mistress Boleyn had in mind for you.” He smiled encouragingly, remembering some of the cruel laughter of the other pages in France over the embarrassing blunder with Jane’s headdress. But to him she had never seemed to lose her pride. “Even as a forlorn little girl on that day in Savernake Forest, your dignity seemed to prevent you from capitulation. You appeared equally confident in France.”

  “Curious, how one is perceived,” she said with a sigh.

  “Do you suppose we might speak again sometime?” he asked her.

  Jane thought a moment. She was not certain what she would have to talk about with a handsome and worldly older boy, or why anyone who looked like William Dormer would want to hear it. But there was a powerful connection when their eyes met. A silent invitation to something more.

  It seemed dangerous, wildly spontaneous, certainly wrong, and thus, truly perfect.

  “Without a proper chaperone, I see not how we could meet.”

  “Perhaps,” he conceded, glancing around at the chattering guests. “I think your mother approves of me, though.”

  “She approves of Sir Anthony more.”

  “True,” William chuckled. “Perhaps if she knew not that we were meeting?”

  Jane felt herself smile in surprise. No one in the room even knew they were speaking to each other, nor did they care, for all of the attention focused on Elizabeth and Edward—the great hopes of the Seymour family. For the first time in her life, Jane was actually happy to feel invisible.

  “Yes, perhaps if she knew it not.”

  “Might she not know tomorrow, say, around noon?”

  Jane fought back a complicit smile, realizing more fully then how handsome he was in his walnut-colored satin doublet with shimmering gold braid.

  “At two o’clock she always lies down for a nap, and I always read.”

  “What do you always read?” She heard in his voice that he truly did want to know.

  “These days I mostly read from The Imitation of Christ. It has always made me feel hopeful.”

  “Verily, you have every reason to hope, Jane,” William said, and in spite of being young and knowing nothing of men or boys, she knew that he meant far more than he was saying.

  Across the room, with a full glass of wine in his hand, Francis Bryan took in the scene beside his cousin Edward Seymour.

  “My, my, has our young Jane hooked a fish, do you think?”

  Edward had not been watching his sister, a girl he had barely noticed when they were children. She had never been of any consequence to him, nor was she now. He was at Wolf Hall only because his mother had written to him several times over the past year, imploring him to look for an important match for his more comely sister, Elizabeth, and a means of introducing them. Tragic as death was, it had provided his mother with what she craved, so he had come home. Next, he would need to find a way to bring Thomas to court with him. They were his tasks as the eldest son. But all in good time, Edward reminded himself. Rome was not built in a day, nor would his own empire be.

  “Jane has not enough bait to catch that fish.” Edward chuckled. “The Dormers are very prosperous indeed, and he is the sole heir.”

  “Perhaps the bait tastes sweeter than it looks.” Francis Bryan snickered unkindly.

  “Do be realistic, cousin. There is no honey on those lips, only prayer.”

  “Still.” Francis shrugged. “The boy seems rather drawn to her. ’Tis often the quiet ones who surprise the most. Untouched virtue doesn’t hurt.”

  “Not at King Henry’s court. Predictability seems to win the day there.”

  “Perhaps. I only mean you must keep an open mind and show a bit of creativity. You must be more like your brother, Thomas, in that regard.”

  “Little Tom?” Edward sniffed uncharitably.

  “I have been at court a long time, my boy, and I have learned what to look for. I can spot cunning at a mile’s distance, which I see every time I am here in the way he deals with your mother and father, getting what he pleases from both. Remember, I learned at the hand of our noble king himself. Do not be so drawn in by the head of the serpent that you forget the power of the tail, Edward.”

  Edward did not understand at all. And he was more than a little irritated that he was suddenly being condescended to. He saw little potential in his younger brother, albeit his very handsome younger brother, and even less in a sister whose best feature was her hands. But he must not let that show for all his father’s cousin had so generously provided for him. Edward was not certain why he should bother with pretending that Jane had a future with anyone. She certainly was not going to make an important match, or probably ever leave Wolf Hall. That a neighbor boy was chatting with her to pass the time meant absolutely nothing at all. Edward was most certain of that.

  The next morning Jane woke before dawn. She lit a candle and held her book up to the light until she could read the words. She had been too nervous to sleep much at all, scenes playing over and over in her head. She had been plagued all night by what she might say later to make herself sound even remotely interesting to a boy like William Dormer. He was probably just being charitable in asking her to meet him. That, and nostalgic for the voyage they had once shared together. Yes, of course that was all it was.

  When Lucy came to help her dress, as she always did now, styling herself as something of a lady’s maid to the two Seymour daughters, Jane longed to tell her for what occasion she was dressing. How wonderful it might be to have a true friend! She could not quite imagine it. Nor did she entirely trust Lucy just yet.

  As Lucy carefully brushed out Jane’s long, flax-colored hair and captured it in a delicate mesh caul, Jane wondered if Lucy could sense her secret plan. She felt her own pale face flush with guilty pleasure at the mere thought of William; how handsome he was, how tall, with a dazzling smile that held so much behind it. And yet her thoughts were her own, a treasure to be guarded when everyone around her assumed there was nothing behind her eyes or her compliant smile. That smile was her mother’s legacy to her. She knew what people thought of her, and she had no intention of changing their impressions. Not just yet.

  There was too much freedom for her in their misperceptions.

  At the appointed time, she tried to walk calmly downstairs, to escape through the front door. That was a daunting goal when so many things might stop her. Her ruse prepared, she clutched a small, tooled, red leather prayer book in one hand and alabaster rosary beads in the other, gripping both tightly so she would not lose her courage. She had never done anything intentionally daring in her life, and this was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. She had meticulously thoug
ht through the plan in her sleepless hours the night before. Jane would not have long, she told herself, but in truth, beyond the explanation of a garden walk, no one would care.

  Besides, everyone in the house was consumed with the presence of two such noble and important guests as Sir Anthony and Sir Francis. They were to remain at Wolf Hall for one more day. What key connections Lady Seymour could make before they left was her all-consuming and sole occupation.

  Jane moved down the stairs onto the landing, pausing when she realized she had only a few minutes to make her way to the edge of the broad meadow and the stand of mulberry trees where they were to meet, or William would think she was not coming. If there never came another such time in her life, at least she would have today to do something dangerous. She reached the end of the steps, moved across the plank floor of the entrance hall, drew in a breath, turned the door handle, and…

  “And where might you be off to, young miss?”

  Her mother’s strident voice resonated like a bell in the vast, cool hollow of the pitched ceiling in the entrance hall. Jane cautiously exhaled.

  “I was on my way to the garden to read, Mother,” she answered so sweetly that she surprised even herself.

  “Well, I would like you to come brush out my hair first before I lie down.”

  She had never once asked such a task of Jane. Lady Seymour had her own lady’s maid for such things. Jane looked up at her mother’s preoccupied expression, seeing there would be no dissuading her. Her heart sank.

  “Might I beg my lady’s kind indulgence and offer up Mistress Hill to the task instead?”

  To Jane’s surprise, it was Francis Bryan who suddenly stood in the open doorway at that moment, wearing a pleasant, unassuming smile, his elbow propped nonchalantly on the doorjamb. “I leave, as you know, on the morrow, and I had earlier bid my young kinswoman here to read to me and offer her thoughts on The Imitation of Christ so that I might share them at court. I am, you see, rather dismally lacking in scholarly knowledge, and the king would surely be impressed if I could converse about something for which his own grandmother felt a true passion.”

  Margery studied him for a mark of sincerity. Jane knew the look well, and her heart began to race. She knew nothing about any such request, nor could she fathom why he was interceding on her behalf now.

  “Truly, ’twould not be a kindness I would easily forget,” he casually pressed.

  Jane waited silently, afraid to move or speak for fear of swaying her mother against the idea.

  “Then by all means, good cousin, take her,” Margery finally said with a smile, “but do not think I shall forget the kindness you owe me in return.”

  Francis smiled slyly. “I would never underestimate your memory, my lady.”

  While well-placed and favored at court, Francis was something of a scoundrel, a man who favored personal enjoyment above all else, and he knew that the Seymours knew it. He had already been ejected from court once by the devious and jealous Cardinal Wolsey several years earlier for untoward behavior. Yet he had won his way back to his post as Chief Gentleman of the Chamber by knowing how to play the game better than the calculating cardinal. Jane had heard her noble cousin never did anything without motive.

  She wondered what his motive was now.

  They walked together out into the warm summer sun then, and Jane squinted in the glare of the harsh, full daylight. But the warmth on her face and neck was soothing as she heard the soft trill of birds in the trees beside the stable and the hum of a circle of bees.

  “Are you actually interested in my opinions on The Imitation of Christ?” she asked him when they were safely away from earshot.

  “Not at all. But how else could you meet with young Master Dormer unless I pretended to be?” he asked with a wry smile.

  Jane felt a burst of panic mixed with surprise. “How did you know?”

  “Deductive reasoning, naturally. In all my years at court, I have become a student of human nature, observation being the most keen teacher. I am twenty-seven now, so I have had a bit of practice. You might say there are few subtleties lost upon me.”

  “We only wanted to talk. He leaves for his estate in Buckinghamshire on the morrow.”

  “So he does.” Francis was smiling more good-naturedly now, looking straight ahead, hands linked behind his back as they walked steadily from Wolf Hall.

  “No one suspects I would ever do something daring.”

  “And yet your dear mother seems always nearby enough so that you won’t.”

  “She wanted only to disrupt me, not detain me. ’Tis a little game of hers. Out here, there is little else to entertain her. My sister tolerates her not at all and has the beauty to win her way as well as her little freedoms.”

  “I cannot give you much time, but I confess I have a devilishly strong fondness for a good game of deception. Besides, you have fire behind those deep blue eyes of yours that cannot go entirely unaided. Doubtless it is what captivates young Dormer.”

  Jane pressed down the swelling excitement she felt, not wanting to look too anxious or to rush headlong into something that was foolhardy with someone older and beyond her station. “I’ll not disappoint your trust in me, Sir Francis,” she said anyway.

  “Oh, I know you’ll not. I am counting on an ample return on my investment one day. Fortunately for you, I have always been something of a gambler.”

  In addition to a libertine? She longed to parry, but she chose to hug him very quickly instead and then dash across the field spotted with wild poppies toward the trees, where William was waiting.

  “I thought you might have given up on me,” Jane said, sinking into the tall grass and the pretty red flowers that swallowed them up and hid them both from view as the breeze blew the greenery and the blossoms back and forth in a gentle rhythm like the waves of the ocean.

  “No such luck, I’m afraid,” he said with half a laugh. His long, wheat blond lashes fluttered over eyes that mesmerized her. “I know you are younger than I, but I am quite fond of you, Jane.”

  “Are you?” She looked at him lying there, gazing up at her, hidden from the world by the grass, the wildflowers, and the fullness of her own gown. She almost thought this was some ghastly joke Lucy had put him up to when they had ridden back together on his horse yesterday, for why else would a boy, nearly a man now, look at her with such interest?

  She saw that Lucy liked him. But Jane couldn’t blame her at all for that. If anything, she understood it completely.

  “You’re just easy to be with, to talk to. I’ve told you that.” He reached up to touch her cheek very gently. The connection was magnetic, as his eyes glittered in the sunlight. “You don’t look at me with ambition, just simple sincerity, Jane. You did when we were children, and you do now.”

  Bees droned in the poppies nearby as she tried very hard not to look too deeply into his gaze. She tried to ignore the growing allure of the forbidden delights she found there. “That certainly describes me, plain and simple Jane.”

  “’Tis not at all what I meant.” William propped himself on his elbows and was quiet for a moment, but the connection—a kind of kinship between them—lingered as he refused to draw his eyes from hers. Jane felt herself growing very warm beneath his steady gaze.

  “Read to me,” he bid her suddenly, breaking the intensity of the moment. He looked then at the volume still in her hand that she had used as a prop to escape her house.

  “’Tis not poetry. If it’s beauty you’re after, you had better look elsewhere.”

  “From your lips, it shall surely sound like it.”

  Jane bit back a smile, then nudged his knee playfully with her own over the clumsy compliment. It was subtle, but the connection between them flared hotly. Jane watched the rise and fall of his chest as he lay back in the grass looking up at her with an expression that said she was lovely in his eyes. For a moment, she could not read the words on the open page before her.

  “My mother is bound to be impressed that o
ne of the king’s own gentlemen came here for the Mass,” he said, feeding the windswept silence and the stirring between them.

  Hearing his hopeful tone, Jane looked up at him. “Your mother?”

  “I hope this will not startle you, Jane, but I am going to speak to my parents about you. You must know that I should like you to be my wife one day when you are a bit older. At least I hope that it is obvious. I shall never be a man from King Henry’s court like the one intent on courting your sister, but I can give you a tolerably comfortable life.” William sat up now, his cheeks flushed, his eyes wide with the kind of devotion she had not known existed. “… And, of course, my love.”

  Although William spoke it as an afterthought, Jane felt the power of it down to her soul. “You love me? But you barely know me.”

  Her words were a whisper made shallow by disbelief.

  “Do you not care for me even a little, then? I have known you for years, and I have thought about you constantly in all that time.”

  “You speak brazenly, sir,” Jane countered, feeling an odd stirring between her legs, as though he were touching her there with his gaze, and with the slightly suggestive tone in his voice.

  To break the power of it, she lay back in the tall grass beside him and looked up into the broad crystalline sky, feeling as though someone had just struck her. She was unable to catch her breath, but she was not entirely certain she wanted to. “You know this is absolute folly,” she warned him. “I’ll not be able to marry for two years more.”

  In response, William reached over, then tenderly kissed her cheek, very near her lips. He hovered there for a moment, looking into her eyes, capturing her gaze, and her heart, a little more with each breath. “You are young, surely, but I am old enough to know that I want to be betrothed to you, Jane. I crave nothing else so much in this world.”

  It was a declaration with such simple purpose that she knew, strangely, that it would happen. William gave her a level look again then. It seemed to Jane that he was staring right through to her soul.

  “I do feel affection for you. I suppose I have since you saved me from Lucy,” she finally admitted, still forcing herself to hold back because the expression of desire was so bright in his eyes.