The Queen's Mistake Page 29

“Not any more spectacular for me,” he agreed.

  “If we both gain what we came here for, it will be worth it, though.”

  “Remind yourself of that,” Francis said dryly. “And try not to get either of us killed in the bargain, would you?”

  They lay together in the massive carved bed, the heavy curtains drawn around them. Henry seemed content just to lie still, propped on an elbow, watching her.

  “Are you not bored yet by the view?” she asked, as the candle burned low in a silver sconce on the table beside them.

  “Would that such a thing were possible.”

  “I think you are biased.” Catherine smiled.

  “No, just in love.” He ran his hand along the side of her face, a hand that, for once, was not moist and sweaty. There was a long silence before he said, “I will be even more in love when you can say it in return.”

  Henry looked at her squarely with an unblinking gaze. She knew what he wanted, but she had given him so much already: her body, her fidelity and her compassion. She simply could not surrender her heart to him as well.

  And yet, what was one small lie?

  More of a distortion, really, she thought. She cared for him, and if uttering three simple words would make him content, why would she deny her husband that illusion?

  As she looked at him, her sense of guilt began to grow.

  “I’ve finally chosen my motto,” Catherine said, changing the subject when she could not summon the words.

  “Oh?” Henry said, a look of interest in his eyes.

  “Do you want to hear it?”

  “Of course I do, if you chose it yourself.”

  “You told me I must, and I always honor my king,” she parried in a light tone.

  “I would rather have you honor your husband.”

  “I shall always do that, of course.”

  “A charming reply.” He smiled, pressing his mouth fully onto hers.

  “My motto is ‘No other will but His,’” she announced in a soft voice, pulling back to see his face as she told him.

  Henry was silent, and for a moment she was afraid he did not approve. She had chosen it herself, but she had asked Charles Brandon’s and her uncle’s opinions. Though she and Henry were closer than ever, she still could not afford to make a misstep with him.

  Suddenly, tears brightened Henry’s aging green eyes, and he pulled her on top of his muslin-covered chest, comfortable and relaxed beneath the bedcovers.

  “You are an unparalleled blessing to me, Cat. I see now that I was only a foolish boy playing at love before. I am almost ashamed at how I let them wound me and rule my heart, but I had no idea that you were out there, waiting.”

  He closed his eyes, and Catherine wondered if he was referring to a specific person, but she did not press him. Henry’s heart was a complex thing.

  “I did not know you were there either,” she said sincerely.

  He chuckled, breaking the emotional tension. “Truly? I thought all Howard and Seymour girls were raised to prepare for the possibility.”

  “Prepare for the attention of the king, perhaps, but never of Henry, the man.”

  She could see that her words struck him. He was gazing at her as if he were trying to see straight into her heart.

  “So, I am a surprise?” he asked with a slight smile.

  “An enigma, as well.”

  “Ah, but that is where you are wrong, my love. I have only ever been one man with you.”

  She considered his words. “It is how you are with the rest of the world that creates the mystery.”

  “So long as I am always the same in your arms, why should you concern yourself with anything else?”

  “Your point is well-taken,” she replied, unable to suppress the soft giggle that passed across her lips, or the words that flew suddenly from her mouth.

  “I love you, Hal,” Catherine said.

  Thomas walked heavy-footed into the king’s privy dressing chamber the next morning. Mercifully, all signs of Catherine were gone. The grand bed in the room beyond was covered neatly with a tapestry quilt. He could not deal with Catherine and Henry this morning with his head throbbing from too much wine and far too little sleep.

  As he suspected, the wine had not helped, and neither had the girl.

  Noble or not, wealthy or not, she simply was not Catherine.

  “Oh, Tom, there you are,” Henry called out. He caught Thomas’s reflection in the long mirror as dressers clothed him for matins. “My, you look a bit worse for wear this fine morning.”

  “My apologies.” Thomas bowed.

  “Hazard of our strong will toward passion, I suppose.” Henry laughed. “It is a blessing that I no longer need to hunt like a wolf in the forest for the sweet lamb, for she is already mine. You should take a hint from me and find a lamb of your own.”

  It was not only the words, but the cavalier laughter with which they were delivered that caused Thomas’s jaw to close like a vise. He suppressed the retort rising at the back of his throat: I found a lamb . . . and you took her.

  Instead, Thomas chose to bow again. He had been at court long enough to know how to play the game.

  Even against the master, who held all of the cards.

  Henry walked in an irritating strut away from the mirror in a gray velvet doublet and matching hat, which was jauntily tipped to an angle in the French style. A white plume bobbed on top. The ensemble was ornate enough to nearly hide the massive bulk of his body. He draped an arm over Thomas’s shoulder in the brotherly way he had done a dozen times before.

  “So tell me about her, whoever she was,” Henry bade. “Was she grand?”

  “She was of no consequence,” he answered evasively.

  Henry caught his gaze. “I will not tell her mother you said that. She is a vindictive woman, but then, you are as familiar with Lady Lisle as I am,” he said with a wink.

  “Yes,” Thomas answered carefully.

  “In truth, I did not want the other daughter here at court. They are a strangely seductive family of women, and I have not been immune to their charms. Keeping Anne around out of guilt is bad enough. You, on the other hand, are free to experiment with all three of them, as it pleases you,” Henry said, as if granting Thomas permission.

  But it did not please him. Random sexual exploits had ceased to please him the day he had fallen in love with Catherine. He would play the part only because it was expected of him.

  They walked together a few paces toward the privacy of a window seat. “So, old friend . . .” Henry began.

  This was not going to be good. Thomas could tell that the king wanted to have one of their manly chats about women, and he simply was not in the mood.

  “With the young ones, is it your stamina that pleases them? Or can one hope to conquer with style over longevity?” Henry asked earnestly.

  The small amount of porridge that Thomas had eaten earlier threatened to reappear at the continual thought of the king with Catherine. “Respectfully, sire, I believe it is I who should be asking you.”

  “You know perfectly well I have tired of the chase, Tom. The young ones fancy you. The old ones as well, for that matter. But though I am settled, I have a startlingly young wife, and I am not quite as young or energetic as I once was. Do not misunderstand me. It is not that I do not desire her. She is an exciting, exhausting temptress, denying me nothing. I can scarcely get my mind or my prick, for that matter, to consider much else.”

  Thomas was overcome with anger and wild jealousy. My urge to crush your skull right now is stronger than any sense of loyalty I have left for you! I would die happily for my crime, knowing that you would not be able to lie with her again!

  “Not having had a wife, perhaps I am not the best judge.” Thomas struggled to sidestep his rage.

  “Nonsense. What I am speaking of has nothing to do with marriage, Tom.” He chuckled, and the sound was low and base, as if they were speaking of a Bankside whore.

  “I will advise Your Majesty any
way that I can,” he forced himself to say.

  “Very well. Do you find that intimate stroking and tenderness can be enough for the young ones?”

  Of course not. Especially not one so fiery as Catherine, Thomas thought. “Yes, of course,” he said instead. “Especially when the tenderness is schooled and elegant.”

  Henry smiled in relief. It seemed that the king believed him. Perhaps that would mark the end to this horrifying conversation.

  “Join me at prayer this morning. I shall be meeting the queen, whom you may observe in order to further advise me. Then you shall join us at dinner later so you may judge how schooled I am beyond the bed. You will be like a teacher watching his finest pupil.”

  Or a fool, powerlessly watching his greatest rival, Thomas silently amended.

  “It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty,” Thomas replied with a courtly nod, nearly choking on the lie.

  Chapter Sixteen

  September 1540

  Richmond Palace, Surrey

  The next day, the king’s court continued their royal progress, this time floating serenely toward Richmond. Catherine and Henry led the way on a huge, majestic barge strewn with scented rushes, followed by twenty-six others. September marked a need for a return to reality from the country idles of summer, but a prolonged drought and a plague continued to rage in England, and Henry feared being too near London.

  Between the distractions of banquets, hunting, dancing, singing, new gowns and jewels, the end of two months as queen had come quickly for Catherine. So had an unexpected sense of devotion, if not love, for the complex, generous and tender man she had married. She found herself truly enjoying his company.

  But the one thing she truly did love was being Queen of England. She was denied nothing. In fact, her life would have been quite perfect if she were not so irrevocably bound to another man.

  For the most part, Thomas kept his distance, which she knew was not difficult to do, as there were many others willing to edge their way forward to smile, nod and compliment the royal couple. Catherine was sure that onlookers were revolted by the shameless displays of flattery, but they were her security. She would never end up like Cromwell, the poor clerics or Anne Boleyn. She had made all of her foolish mistakes in her youth. The past was behind her. She would learn how to be a good wife and a good queen, and perhaps, over time, she would even learn how to love Henry VIII.

  Richmond Palace belonged to Anne of Cleves and was her permanent residence now. Henry was fully prepared to honor his “good sister” with kind affection during his visit. He felt compelled to maintain friendly relations with his former queen, of whom he had always thought kindly despite their unsuccessful marriage.

  Catherine’s heart skipped a beat as she walked with Henry and a small entourage up the wide stone steps to be received by the former queen.

  Catherine suddenly clung like a child to Henry’s arm. “I am so nervous.”

  “You need not be.” He smiled indulgently and kissed the top of her head.

  “Are you certain she’ll not be angry that I took you away from her?”

  “I never believed she wanted me anyway.”

  “Foolish woman.” Catherine giggled, nestling her head against his velvet-clad shoulder because she knew it would flatter him. He smiled more broadly and bent down to kiss her cheek.

  “Just follow my lead. It shall be awkward for only a moment or two.”

  “All right, I trust you, Hal.”

  “And I trust you.” He winked as he said it, but she knew it was true. She suppressed a little spark of guilt when she thought of her past indiscretions and the white lies she had told him from time to time.

  Anne stood at the open double doors inside the foyer with a group of dignified Germans. She greeted the king and his new wife with the most genuine smile Catherine had ever seen, and she shocked everyone when she, the woman who had worn England’s crown less than three months ago, fell into a deep and reverent curtsy before the new queen. Anne lowered her head, which was covered in a traditional gabled hood, to her successor for what felt like an awkwardly long time. When Catherine glanced over, she saw Henry smiling.

  After Anne rose, he embraced her warmly.

  “It is so good to see you, Anna,” he said sincerely, using the name she preferred, though he had never used it during their marriage.

  “And you as well, sire,” Anne said humbly.

  “Your English is improving,” he said, pleased to hear her speak with more ease.

  “Thank you. I work on it with my tutor every day.” She smiled. “Please do come in.”

  They advanced into the grand foyer, from which a traditional wooden staircase, lit by stained-glass windows imprinted with shields and stars, led to the other floors.

  “You are comfortable here?” he asked as he took Catherine’s hand, limping noticeably as they walked.

  “Very comfortable. I wish never to leave England,” Anne replied.

  “Richmond is yours, so that is one wish I can grant.”

  “Your Majesty has granted me many.”

  They went into a small paneled dining hall, where a table had been laid with food and wine. Anne’s liveried servants stood like stone statues at the ready to tend to their royal guests.

  “I thought you might be hungry after your journey. Or would you rather rest first?” she asked in her thickly accented yet clear English.

  “Are you all right?” Catherine quietly asked Henry.

  He grimaced a little, his leg obviously paining him. “Just rather warm. It was a long ride. Perhaps I will rest for a while. But you two stay here and reacquaint yourselves. I am sure you have much to speak about.”

  Catherine chose not to argue, uncertain whether he needed the rest or if he was unselfishly allowing her to spend time alone in Anne’s company, which she had always enjoyed. Catherine kissed his cheek and smiled as he left them.

  “His Majesty looks well,” Anne said as they sat at the table beside a lovely, polished buffet gleaming with costly pewter pieces. “Marriage to you agrees with him far more than when he was married to me,” she said kindly.

  Catherine felt a little twinge of guilt. There was not a single note of envy in the former queen’s voice.

  “He is a surprisingly wonderful husband, more misunderstood than I ever guessed.”

  “And yet Cromwell and the others are dead by his command.” She said it so softly that Catherine almost did not hear it.

  “Others?” Catherine asked.

  “The king has been incredibly good to me. I should say no more.”

  “I know you refute the papacy and my family’s beliefs,” Catherine gently reminded her. “So it is fine if you speak your mind with me.”

  Anne paused for a moment, as if she were considering. “I love Henry like a brother. But there is another side to him than the one he shows you.”

  Catherine felt herself bristle in defense, though she did not want to offend Anne when she desperately needed allies. The religious question in England was a big and volatile one, and she would have to tread lightly.

  “If there were other traitors who lost their lives, I can say only that they must have deserved their fate,” Catherine replied, repeating the official stance of the court.

  “Do you not think there might have been recourse other than death?” Anne asked.

  It was not a question Catherine could answer without defying the king, and her entire life thus coming unraveled. She knew that well enough.

  They spoke of many other things after that and the time passed quickly. Henry joined them just as the sun was setting, and the evening became a blur of laughter, singing and far more Gascony wine than any of them required. As the evening progressed and Henry and Anne conversed easily, Catherine felt free to glance around the room, hoping to see Thomas. He had joined their entourage, along with Brandon and Jane, but she knew he was doing his best to remain in the shadows. Still, just to catch a glimpse of him now and then would bring her more pleasure th
an any of the riches Henry could ever give her.

  Predictably, Henry ran a hand along her leg beneath the tablecloth and nuzzled her neck as they ate, drank, talked and laughed about light, harmless things. Even with this annoying distraction, Catherine relished the conversation between herself and Anne, particularly about how frightening and overwhelming it was to be Queen of England. After all, there was no one else in the world who had been admitted to their small, exclusive group.

  It was an odd yet wonderful camaraderie, Catherine thought, as Henry corrected Anne’s English, causing them all to laugh. Anne seemed not to harbor the slightest bit of malice against them, though she had been replaced by one of her own attendants.

  As Henry patiently explained the history of Richmond to his former wife, Catherine finally saw him. Thomas was in the corridor beyond the dining hall, whispering with two of the royal guardsmen. The tremor she felt at seeing him rocked her completely, as it always did. Henry’s gravelly voice gradually faded into a muffled, incomprehensible sound. She tried not to fantasize about Thomas as she watched him standing magnificently, and smiling that velvety, dazzling smile she knew so well.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, but when she opened them he was still there, still smiling. He turned slightly and their eyes met from across the room. Everything seemed to go completely still, as if the moment were caught in a painting, rich with details and meaning. Catherine tried to drink it in, memorizing it all for later, when she would be in Henry’s huge, fleshy arms, wishing fate would give her the same freedom Anne of Cleves had so effortlessly found.

  A moment later, Catherine sensed that Henry’s droning had ceased. Anne had fallen silent as well. To her horror, she felt Henry’s hulking body tense, and his moist hand loosened in hers beneath the table. Instantly she redirected her gaze to Henry and leaned her head against his shoulder, fearing that she had been caught gazing at another man.

  “Is that Master Culpeper there?” Anne asked, oblivious to the moment. “I have not seen his handsome smile forever.”

  Henry scowled slightly, just enough for Catherine to see it. “He looks slightly ill to me. A bit pale,” he observed. “I pray it is not the ague. I want to avoid whatever could harm those dearest to me.”