The Queen's Mistake Read online

  “Your Grace?” The page bent down to the duke.

  “Take a message to Lady Rochford. Tell her we must speak privately. She is to come to my chamber alone the moment the banquet is over,” the duke said.

  Thomas kissed Catherine desperately and pulled her against the broad expanse of his youthful chest. They stood alone in the shadows and swiftly descending darkness of the private quarters above the rest of the court.

  “I know I should have told you before, but I was willful and stubborn, and for that I beg you to forgive me. I am in love with you, Catherine—hopelessly, eternally. My life begins now and ends only with you.”

  His declaration was a balm for her aching heart. Hope. Passion. She knew these things would be included in a future with Thomas. Yet it was too late. The king’s whims and desires had set her destiny in motion, and Catherine knew enough from her grandmother’s tales that once Henry desired something he could not be stopped. Still, when she and Thomas were alone like this, she could forget the obese, foul-smelling sovereign.

  Trying to escape the inevitable, Catherine sank into the protection of Thomas’s safe, warm chest as he kissed her. And she wanted nothing so much as to escape, as if she could, by coupling with his powerful body and melting into his very soul.

  As always, the passion came first, followed by exquisite tenderness as they lay entwined in the bedding, their damp bodies still joined.

  “I’ll not let him have you,” Thomas murmured defiantly into her unbound hair, which lay like a thick amber wave across his bare chest.

  “I believe it is already too late for that,” Catherine replied sadly.

  “It will not be too late until the day he marries you, which we can prevent if I claim you first,” Thomas said with determination.

  Catherine rolled onto her side, propped herself on her elbow, and gazed down at him. “You would take your life in your hands, and mine as well, if you defied a king like Henry.”

  “I am not so certain. He likes me. He thinks I understand him, and he me. Perhaps if he were made to see that we are in love . . .” Thomas trailed off.

  “You do not know my uncle very well. He would have us both killed before the king could send us to the Tower.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “This is serious business, my love. Thomas Howard has spent his entire life becoming one of the most powerful men in England, second only to Cromwell and Henry himself, and he has done so by using the women in his family. I am the next rung in his ladder to ultimate power.”

  Thomas arched a brow, seizing on Catherine’s use of the king’s name. “Henry, is it now?”

  Catherine smiled sheepishly, embarrassed that she had allowed that to slip. She knew he would not understand the enormous pressure being brought to bear upon her in this. “We both must do as our king bids. What other choice do we have? It makes no difference what we say or do, really. He is King of England, and we are all here for his pleasure.”

  “Well, you are mine, Catherine Howard. And I am yours. That is eternal.”

  “If only you had declared yourself a few days sooner. I would not have felt so free to accept his favor.” She sighed.

  “Well, what do you expect me to do, just give up without a fight? That, I’ll not do.” Thomas climbed out of bed and walked naked, with his elegant stride, to the window. Leaning on the wide wooden window frame, he gazed out into the vast darkness. Catherine could see the wheels of his mind turning, thinking of what to do next.

  “I can reason with him. I know I can. He may be king, but he is a man first, and he respects the connection between us. I have seen it myself a dozen times when he asked my opinion or told me tales from his heart. I knew all about his feelings for Jane Seymour before Anne Boleyn was even sent to the Tower. And later, after Jane had passed, I believe I was the only one to whom he admitted that he married Queen Jane too quickly after Anne’s death.”

  She went to him and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pulling his back tightly against her chest. She laid her head on his broad, bare back and closed her eyes. “He may have confided in you, my love, but think of it. It was always selfishly. The topic, the focus, was always him. You were only telling him what he wished to hear, as everyone else at court does.”

  He turned to her and took her into his arms again, and there was a sense of desperation between them. Outrunning fate was something neither of them could do, and despite their brave faces, they both knew it.

  “I have never been in love before, not truly,” Thomas whispered into her hair.

  “What about Arabella?”

  “I was infatuated, yes. I’ll not lie to you. But did you not ever play at love in your youth, only to realize, later, how it did not measure up to the real thing?”

  An image of Francis Dereham came to mind. Though she had once promised him her love, she knew now that her feelings had been naive and childish. She was relieved that he had gone to Ireland to seek his fortune, and that he was not even in England anymore, much less a part of her life.

  “I realize that now,” Catherine said softly.

  He looked down at her seriously. “He’s just a man, Catherine. He might want you now, but he shall not want someone whose heart already belongs to another after all he has endured in love.”

  “That is a huge gamble, and we have no guarantees that he will not punish us.” Catherine sighed. “Because he is not a man first, as you say. He was a prince all of his life, and then a powerful king accustomed to getting his way. My uncle says if Henry wants it, then it is his. After that, there is nothing.”

  Near dawn, Catherine slipped unseen and weary back into her own little room. She had taken her life in her hands with this dangerous game, and she knew it. But there was no choice. She was doing it for Thomas, because she loved him. If there was even a chance that he was right, if he could make the king see that this was a true love match, if he could appeal to Henry’s romantic heart and save her from a lifetime with a decaying old man, then she must let him try.

  She sank onto the edge of her bed, crumpling like a rag doll. She was exhausted and confused by her choices. It was too much for a girl who had never had to make a single serious decision in her life before she came to court.

  Suddenly Jane appeared in the doorway, with Mary Lassells standing behind her like a shadow. They had risen early to wait for her. “Where the devil have you been? The poor thing has been crying like a baby all night.” Jane gestured toward the foot of Catherine’s bed.

  Catherine glanced down to find a box decorated in crimson velvet sitting on the floor. Inside was a white, mewling kitten with a sparkling collar of bright green emeralds around its neck. The poor little thing was terrified and lonely, its wide eyes dark as opals.

  A cat for Cat, she thought.

  This must be Henry’s promised gift. Suddenly she began to weep as she never had before. Tears of frustration and sorrow streamed down her cheeks, and she could do nothing to stop them.

  This tiny kitten was a symbol that Henry wanted to be vulnerable with her and give her the deepest part of himself. In the seasons to come, Catherine Howard would remember this as the exact moment when all hope for her future with Thomas was lost.

  In a show of friendship and gentle concern, Jane brought her a lace-edged handkerchief and a cup of Malmsey and waited for Catherine’s tears to subside. When Catherine had collected herself, Jane sank onto the edge of the bed beside her. “We need to speak of something.”

  Catherine looked up, her nose pink and running. She wiped the last of her tears away as Mary lingered silently beside the door. “About what?”

  “A threat to you, and what you must do about it.”

  “To me?”

  “The greatest threat: the Lord High Chancellor.”

  Catherine sniffled, not understanding. “He has done nothing but be cordial and kind to me. I do not dislike Master Cromwell at all.”

  “Catherine, do you really see nothing? Think of it!” Jane whispered urgently so that no one would hear
them. “Do you honestly suppose an ardent Protestant like Cromwell would allow you, a Catholic and the niece of his greatest rival, to move nearer to the king without a vicious fight? Just think of it. He set the wheels in motion for His Majesty to marry Anne of Cleves, which turned out to be a disaster of epic proportions. He is desperate to maintain what he can of his position and dignity while clinging to it all like a drowning rat to a sinking ship as your uncle works against him. Do you not suppose he would do everything in his power to sabotage his rivals?”

  “I am not his rival. I am just a girl,” Catherine said in disbelief.

  “You are far more than that, Catherine. Everyone at court knows it but you, apparently.”

  “What is it you are asking me to do? I don’t understand.”

  “I am asking you to be careful. Forgive me for saying so, but I am your friend, so I must. Your nightly activities are no longer a secret. There are rumors circulating about you and Master Culpeper, rumors not of a flirtation but of a passionate love affair. The rumors would be harmless if you were just two courtiers, but you are the love of the king, and Thomas is his favorite servant.”

  Catherine heard the words but could not make sense of them. She had been discreet. They both had. “Rumors are just that,” she said stubbornly.

  “Perhaps,” Jane replied, “until they reach the king’s ear. He is not a man who tolerates disloyalty. Trust me. I saw Henry’s love for Anne turn to bitter hatred. He went riding with Jane Seymour, as if he had not a care in the world, the day she died on the block on Tower Green.”

  Catherine’s heart began to pound. She knew the story, but it was another thing to hear it when she was so near the throne. “What does Cromwell have to do with Thomas and me?”

  “He is a master, like the Duke of Norfolk, but more fearsome in his desperation. Mark my words: You are not safe at this court while Cromwell draws breath. There is nothing as important to him as the Reformation. When he hears of the situation with Master Culpeper, he will use it against you. He will do everything he can to prevent another Catholic from becoming queen.”

  Catherine tried to push back the rising tide of panic. “But what do you want me to do?”

  “Protect yourself and Master Culpeper, if it is not already too late,” Jane said ominously.

  “But how? I have no power here!”

  “You have the ingenuity of a woman and skills that you developed at Horsham. You told me so yourself.”

  “But that was with silly things! Silly men! They were games!” Catherine cried, refusing to believe that her feminine wiles would be an effective weapon in a possible battle for her life.

  Jane was calm and firm. “The Lord’s training ground, believe me.”

  “I do not wish any harm to come to Thomas in this.”

  “And I do not wish any harm to come to you. So will you listen to my suggestion?”

  Catherine considered that, knowing she had no other friend at court she could trust besides Thomas. The story of how Jane had betrayed her own husband and allowed him to go to the block on the rumor that he had bedded his own sister had always sent a shiver of fear through Catherine. But she had no other choice. She must rely on someone here at court, and Jane had proved trustworthy so far.

  “Yes, please, Jane. Tell me what to do.”

  “Use well with the king what you learned of men. And realize you cannot risk your life for Thomas. After all, beneath the jewels and velvet, the king is just a man who wants to love and protect a woman. He must now become the only man in your life.”

  The round of summer banquets, masques, endless games of shuttlecock, hunts, and forest rides was exhausting, especially since Thomas had slept so little for the past few nights. Today was particularly bad, since his body ached from constantly besting all the others, but he was thankful the king’s entertainments were mainly sedentary. Thomas still needed to be attentive and witty when spoken to, especially if he wanted to keep his standing with the increasingly moody and temperamental sovereign. He could not afford to anger or disappoint Henry until he gained his approval of the marriage between himself and Catherine Howard.

  Thomas was encouraged by the story of Henry’s sister, Mary Tudor, who had married Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, without the king’s approval. At first Henry had exiled them in France, but after time had healed his wounds, they were welcomed back to England with open arms. Brandon had said that he was fortunate to have kept his head during the bitter affair, which Henry called the worst betrayal of his life. Thomas could only hope for the same outcome.

  Tonight there was another masque, and the king and his closest friends and aides would play parts. Everyone would be disguised but the king, whose steadily growing girth and hobbling gait made it impossible to conceal his identity.

  Thomas wore a black strip across his eyes, and brightly colored beads were sewn onto the full sleeves of his doublet. Looking for Catherine, he feared he would not find her amid the courtiers and the distracting crowd of cheering townspeople who were invited to view the entertainment from the gallery above. He could make out the king, of course by his girth, and Lady Lisle’s long copper hair, which was turning slightly gray, under a French hood. But the identity of nearly every other person around him was a mystery.

  That was what usually made this event so interesting.

  Thomas slipped easily through the crowd of masked courtiers and the magnificent display of colors and fabrics, glowing torches and glittering jewels. Perhaps tonight, after the masque, if all went according to plan and the king were in a jovial mood, Thomas would speak to him of the girl he loved, man to man, friend to friend, as he had done half a dozen times before. Only this time, once he had gained Henry’s sympathy, he would identify the girl as Norfolk’s niece. His heart raced at the thought of the gamble he was taking. Thomas knew he owed the king everything. But those who risked the most gained the greatest reward, and Catherine Howard was worth everything.

  As Thomas Culpeper contemplated his next move, Catherine walked toward the king and the group of important advisers and ladies who surrounded him. She had been well instructed that one of Henry’s favorite games was to pretend he was anonymous, so she must play along until he chose to reveal himself. She could smell his sour breath as he turned to her, and she fought the reaction from her stomach.

  The mask across her eyes was white, bordered in gold and studded with tiny diamonds. Since she wore the only white mask and a new silk gown in a distinctive shade of pale rose, given to her by Henry, she was certain he knew who she was. Catherine saw him smile beneath his intricately detailed mask and bow to her.

  “My lady,” he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his wet lips, as he liked to do.

  “My lord.” She dipped into a curtsy, making certain not to call him “Your Majesty,” as part of their game.

  She knew that the duke would be watching to make sure she played along. She looked around and recognized Lady Lisle, as well as Thomas Cromwell by the shape of his nose just beneath his mask. This man who had first been kind to her at court had come from his duties in London just for the event.

  “My lady of the white mask,” Cromwell said evenly, extending his hand to her. “I imagine we must remain ignorant of each other’s true identities. What a delightful mystery our good king has created for us, wherever he may be.”

  It was now or never. Catherine knew what she must do.

  After she made certain that the king was watching her, she gave a little shudder and withdrew her hand from Cromwell’s. She looked away and rubbed her hands together, grimacing slightly, as though something had stung her. She saw the king look at her, then shift his gaze to Cromwell. Others had noticed her reaction as well, and they shot one another curious glances.

  The king, who had been taken up temporarily with his other guests, approached her again. Even from behind a mask she could see his concern. “Would my lady grant your humble servant a walk?” he asked, remaining in character but letting a bit of his usual
gruff, commanding tone come through.

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  They moved together through the crowd to the other side of the room, where giant torches cast shadows on the plaster walls. “You know who I am, do you not?”

  “Am I supposed to?” Catherine asked, not sure if they were still playing the game.

  “I am the one who will give you the world if you shall allow it.”

  Catherine smiled at the king’s boyish delivery. “Sire, I would not have known you.”

  “And yet you came away with me anyway.”

  “I was drawn to your spirit, of course. No mask can hide that.”

  Pleased with the innocent flattery she had cleverly woven into her reply, he held her hand down by his side, where her dress and his wide velvet coat met, so no one could see. They stopped near an open door, the cool summer night air pouring into the stifling room.

  “I must ask you something,” the king said in a grave tone.

  “Ask anything, Your Majesty.”

  “Hal,” he insisted. “I could not help but see your face when Cromwell spoke to you. You knew it was him, did you not?”

  “I did,” Catherine replied. She had successfully baited Henry with her bit of acting, but she had to remind herself what it was really for. She thought back to Jane’s advice. Use well with the king what you have learned of men. Eliminating Cromwell as her adversary and gaining the king’s sympathy were steps toward her ultimate goal of being with Thomas.

  “And so?” he asked, trying to make sense of Catherine’s reaction to Cromwell.

  “You shall think me foolish,” she demurred.

  “Never.”

  “I had a dream.”

  “You dreamed of Cromwell?”

  “Not of him. But of what his father might do to me, to all Catholics, if I remain at court.” She lowered her head, as if she were troubled by her religious loyalty.

  The king was taken aback. “If either of them ever harmed a hair on your head, I swear, by all that is holy—”