At the King's Pleasure (Secrets of the Tudor Court) (16 page)

A kiss from Dame Juliana paid the gatekeeper’s fee. Once out of the convent, a path led straight to the village. Juliana took the lead, covering the short distance at a rapid pace. Anne understood why as soon as the young nun joined the dancers on the green. She went straight up to one particular gentleman, a man who did not have the look of a humble villager. Anne smiled to herself at this proof that Juliana had connections to the outside world. It only remained to find a way to convince her new friend to help a penniless noblewoman.

While she considered the situation, Anne accepted a meat pie from one of the villagers. She had just bitten into it when, on the other side of the bonfire, through a haze of smoke, she caught sight of a familiar face.

Her heart stuttered in her chest and her breath caught. Then she started to choke on a succulent morsel of meat. By the time she stopped coughing, Will Compton had reached her side. She touched trembling fingers to his chest.

“Are you real?”

He grinned. “Here in the flesh. Dance with me?”

He swept her into a country measure that left her breathless and laughing. Afterward, he collected two tankards of ale and drew her apart with him, into the shelter of a stand of trees. They leaned against the trunk of an ancient oak, their shoulders just touching, and sipped the slightly sour brew.

“Have you come to rescue me?” Anne asked.

“Alas, my love, that is the one thing I cannot do.”

That was not the answer she’d been expecting. Disappointment pierced her, sharp as a splinter from a broken lance. “Then why are you here?”

He stared at the bonfire, reluctant to meet her eyes. “To make certain you are unharmed.”

“Did you think George would beat me?”

“I would not have been surprised if your brother had.”

“And yet you let them spirit me away without a murmur of protest.”

He did look at her then, his expression somber. “I objected, loud and long, and to the king himself. Rest assured that your brother did not escape unscathed. He had the poor sense to argue with the king and was banished from court, and your sister and her husband with him.”

Anne frowned. A part of her was glad to know that both Edward and Elizabeth had been punished, but she had been born and raised a Stafford. This wholesale dismissal of her family did not bode well. “And Hal?”

“Oh, he’s still there.” A little silence ensued before Compton spoke again. “You do not ask about your husband.”

“Perhaps I do not care what fate befell him.”

Compton continued as if she had not spoken. “Lord Hastings sent word to the king that he wished to retire to Stoke Poges, Lady Hungerford’s house in Buckinghamshire. The king graciously granted permission. Of you, Lady Anne, nothing at all has been said. Not since the day you left court. His Grace quarreled with the queen over the matter of dismissing your sister, but he has since found it more convenient to believe that I solicited your favors for myself. The king likes to think himself a virtuous husband.”

“And next, I’ve no doubt, he will contrive to forget that he exchanged harsh words with my brother.” Anne grimaced at the thought.

“There are certain advantages to having my lord of Buckingham at court,” Compton agreed.

“To keep an eye on him?”

Compton nodded.

A little silence fell between them while they watched the dancers. The villagers did not seem real to Anne. She wondered suddenly if she was dreaming, but she could smell Compton’s musky scent and feel the heat of his body, so close to her own.

“Am I to be conveniently
forgotten,
too? Is that why you mean to leave me here?”

“It is never wise to cause the king embarrassment. I risked His Grace’s displeasure simply by sending men in search of you, but I wanted to be certain you were not being ill-treated.” He glanced toward the walls of the convent. “Littlemore is a humble place, but you might have been sent to worse.”

“You know nothing of conditions within the priory.”

“But I do know how matters stand at court. I have spent almost my entire life in His Grace’s service. All that I have belongs to me only at the will and pleasure of the king. I am no great and powerful nobleman like your brother. I am dependent upon King Henry’s goodwill.”

“In other words, you’d have done nothing to help me, no matter how pitiful the situation you found me in.”

“But you are
not
in any danger, Anne, and you will not have to stay here forever. George Hastings is not such a fool as to—”

“George Hastings, thanks to you and the king and my brother, believes me to be wanton. You have destroyed my marriage. The least you can do in return is provide for my comfort. You have a house in Warwickshire, do you not? Take me there.”

“To do such a thing would only make matters worse. And the king would—”

“Oh, yes,” she said bitterly. “The king. We must not offend His Grace, no matter how much he offends me!”

“Have a care, Anne,” he warned.

“Why should I? Let the whole world hear my complaint! I am the one who was wronged, not George Hastings or Edward Stafford. And most certainly not Will Compton!”

He backed away from her, hands in front of him as if to ward off a blow. “It was a mistake to come here. I can see that now. I will not trouble you again.”

She wished she were a man so that she could pummel Will Compton as he deserved. Instead she had to watch in fulminating silence as he abruptly turned his back on her and almost ran to the horse and a man he’d left waiting for him at the edge of the clearing. Moments later, he’d mounted and ridden out of her life.

Juliana and Meriall found her still standing there, staring after him, when it was time to return to the priory. They would be missed if they did not appear for Compline.

Later that night, Juliana again came to Anne’s cell. “I thought perhaps you might wish to talk to someone,” she said.

“I did not think nuns heard confessions.”

Juliana laughed softly. “I’d have something to confess myself if I warranted a visitor as toothsome as that one!” Without waiting for an invitation, she settled herself on the end of Anne’s bed. “Did you see the young gentleman I danced with? He is a clerk in Oxford now, but I knew him when I was a girl.” She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly, almost as if she imagined herself embracing her clerk.

“Do you plan to run away with that young man?” Anne asked, forcing thoughts of Will Compton from her mind. She could count on no help from him. She must make her own plan of escape.

Juliana sighed deeply. “The church would only find me and bring me back here. I took my final vows. I am not permitted to change my mind any more than a wife is allowed to take a second husband. But so long as I do not run away, I can still see him now and again.”

“At Whitsun ales?”

“And other times.”

Anne kept her head down and toyed with the frayed edge of her coverlet, hoping to hide her eagerness from Juliana. “Do you leave the priory often?”

“I visited him in Oxford once. It was not so very difficult to get away. There are horses in the stable and the distance is under three miles.”

“Would it be possible for you to smuggle letters out for me?”

Juliana was not fooled by a careless manner. She leaned closer. “It may be. . . so long as you have the wherewithal to pay for their delivery.”

“I have no money.”

Juliana waited.

“The seed pearls that once decorated my clothing have some value. They could be sold.”

“Or used to barter with. Give me your letters and the pearls and I will see what I can do.”

When the nun had gone, Anne gave herself a stern lecture. She must endeavor to be patient. She would have to wait a reasonable length of time for what she’d written to yield results. If nothing came of those efforts, then she would have to persuade Dame Juliana to show her the way to Oxford.

It was at that point that her confidence faltered. She knew no one in that city or at the great university there. If she identified herself as Lady Hastings, the authorities would notify her husband and he would likely send her straight back to Littlemore. Or to some worse place.

If only she could make her way to Wales, she thought. She had inherited a castle and two manors there from her first husband. Then she remembered—they had all become George’s property when Anne married him. She had nothing of her own, not land nor chattel nor ready money. Even if she sold her book of hours and all the gemstones decorating her clothing, she would lack the means to live for more than a few weeks.

G
eorge Hastings stood with one hand braced against the side of the casement as he stared out at the South Buckinghamshire countryside. Stoke Poges, a castellated manor house, was nearer to London than the family seat at Ashby de la Zouch, and more comfortable, too. He’d been in residence since he left his wife at Littlemore Priory nearly four weeks earlier.

In brooding silence, he quaffed more ale, then leaned his head against his forearm. The duke was pleased with him. The king was not. And George did not know what he thought of himself. He was plagued by indecision and an uneasy conscience. Could he truly have been so blind to Anne’s faults, so completely deceived, so enamored of his own wife that he’d overlooked every hint of her true character? Or was Anne innocent, as she claimed? If she had been faithful to him, then he had done her a great disservice.

But Will Compton
had
been in her chamber, he reminded himself. And Anne had been wearing nothing but her night robe. What else was he to think but that they were lovers? A virtuous woman avoided even the appearance of misconduct.

Compton! The hand on the windowsill clenched into a fist. Women always flocked to Compton. They loved his flamboyance, his
confidence, his easy way with them. They never even noticed pudgy little George Hastings when tall, toothsome Will Compton was in the same room. While it was true that George was no longer the shy, awkward boy he’d once been, he doubted he’d ever hold a candle to the king’s boon companion. How could Anne
not
be fascinated by Will Compton?

Anger and jealousy flowed through him, swamping all gentler emotions. He struck the stone wall at the side of the window with his fist. The pain brought him back to himself, and to a sudden awareness that he was no longer alone in the small room he used for prayer and contemplation.

“Feeling sorry for yourself?” his mother asked.

“Do I not have the right?”

“For myself, I am inclined to pity your wife. She has written to me.”

Slowly, George turned to face her. Lady Hungerford had made herself comfortable in his Glastonbury chair and was idly flipping through the correspondence on his writing table. “Did you reply?”

“I did not,” his mother said. “According to her letter, she is forbidden correspondence, or any other communication with the outside world. I imagine she had to have the missive smuggled out. You could do worse than be married to such a resourceful woman.”

“Resourceful enough to betray me.”

“Did she? Or did her brother lose that infamous temper of his and leap to conclusions? Did you trouble to investigate or did you simply accept Buckingham’s word?”

She read the answer in his face and shook her head, her expression full of remorse.

“You were eighteen when you inherited your father’s title and went to court, George. I’d have thought you old enough to know the grain from the chaff.”

“I have seen firsthand how appealing Will Compton is to women. All women. As for the king—he has been called a young god and the comparison is apt.” King Henry had male beauty, wealth, and power. How could any woman resist him?

“Did you
ask
either of them if they’d seduced your wife?”

“No, but—” He broke off, at a loss for words. Compton would have told him the truth and he would have believed the other man, even though he doubted the word of his own wife.

If Compton
had
been her lover, George would have found it unbearable to remain at court.

“Let me summarize,” his mother said. “Lady Fitzwalter and Buckingham thought His Grace was sniffing around Anne and that the king sent Compton to test the waters. Is that likely? She is years older than His Grace.”

“Anne is a most attractive woman, and spirited, and the queen is breeding again.” It was all too easy for George to imagine other men lusting after his wife.

Mary Hungerford made a tsking sound. “You miss her.” It was not a question and he did not answer it. “Tell me this, George—do you plan to poison her? Or apply to the pope for a divorce?”

He felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. “I would never harm her.” And he could not imagine himself with any other wife.

His mother heaved a deep sigh. “Search your heart,” she advised, “and while you are taking your time about it, as it seems likely you will, use your head, as well. Without a wife, there will be no heir. If you do not want your title, and mine, to fall into abeyance when you die, then you must bring yourself to get a child on Lady Anne.”

“A part of me wants to take Anne back, to forgive her, even if she did sin against me, but how am I to be certain of her honesty in the future?”

“What if she did not lie to you? What if she is guiltless in this matter?”

“Then I have wronged her sorely.” He bowed his head. “I do not know what to do.”

“Are you asking my advice?”

He crossed the room to her chair and flung himself at her feet. She stroked his hair as she had when he was a child. Her touch still had the power to soothe him.

“Go back to Littlemore,” she advised. “Talk to your wife.
Listen
to her, this time. Do not, under any circumstances, use the word ‘forgive’ unless it is to ask her to forgive you.”

“But—”

She silenced him by touching her fingers to his lips. “First mend your fences, George. Then bargain with your wife for what you want. Marriage is a business contract like any other. It is possible to negotiate a successful partnership even with someone you dislike and mistrust.”