At the King's Pleasure (Secrets of the Tudor Court) (5 page)

Bess Boleyn’s grandfather had been Duke of Norfolk at the time of her birth. Her father had been Earl of Surrey. But before she’d been full grown, Norfolk had died in battle and her father, only three months after inheriting that title, had been attainted for treason and imprisoned in the Tower. The unmarried daughters of attainted noblemen had little to offer a husband. Anne had wed a younger son of an earl. Bess had married Tom Boleyn, a gentleman whose grandfather had been a London merchant.

Although Bess was a few years older than Anne, and had three small children at home, she was young in spirit, with an infectious laugh and a cheerful outlook on life. She had also been a great help to Anne in sorting out who was who at court. That Bess’s father was no longer a prisoner and had been restored to his lesser title of Earl of Surrey gave Anne hope that her brother Hal might soon be granted his freedom.

“Do you suppose we will remain here at Woking long?” Anne wondered aloud as they circled the great hall, watching the dancers. They were careful to skirt the place where Will Compton stood with two other untitled gentlemen who were high in the new king’s favor, Ned Neville and Harry Guildford.

“We will stay as long as the hunting is good,” Bess predicted. A few days earlier, the court had taken up residence at Woking, one of the king’s lesser houses. Rebuilding the Great Hall had been one of the last architectural projects of the last king’s reign.

They encountered two of Bess’s younger brothers on their next circuit of the room, Lord Edward Howard and Lord Edmund Howard.

“Why are you not dancing, Lady Anne?” Lord Edmund asked. “I vow you have a most excellent light step.”

It was flattery, but it was also true. When Anne realized that the next pavane was to be danced in threes, with one man partnering two women, she gave in to temptation. “I have only been waiting for you to offer to lead us out, Lord Edmund,” she said.

“My pleasure.” He extended his right hand to Anne and the left to his sister.

The dance began with curtseys and bows to the king and queen. King Henry, flushed of face and smiling hugely, bestowed a nod of recognition on Anne as she took her place at Lord Edmund’s side. His Grace looked genuinely pleased to see her join in, although he’d spoken barely a word to her in all the weeks she’d been at court.

As Anne executed the steps, taking special care with the long train of her gown when she danced backward, she was intensely aware of being watched. Although she would have been happier without her brother’s scrutiny, she could not help but be pleased by the admiring glances from the others. The king approved of her. He looked often in her direction, even though he was once again dancing with the queen. Anne also had the full attention of two of the most toothsome unmarried gentlemen in the Great Hall—Will Compton and George, Lord Hastings—and that made her feel like the most fascinating woman alive. As she executed the intricate steps of the dance, she laughed aloud in delight.

Oh, yes—she did love life at court!

L
ady Anne sang like an angel. Seated on a stone bench in the garden and surrounded by other courtiers, she accompanied herself on the lute. George Hastings waited until she trilled the final note of the ballad before he went to sit beside her.

“Never have I heard that song performed better,” he said, relishing the smile she lavished on him, “not even by the king’s choristers.”

“You are kind to say so,” Lady Anne replied, “but others are far more talented than I am and there are those who can play more instruments, as well.”

“Better to excel at one than butcher many,” Will Compton quipped.

Compton sat on the ground near Lady Anne’s feet, as did Ned Neville and Charles Brandon. The second bench in the little bower was occupied by Lady Boleyn and Lady Fitzwalter. The latter, George knew, was Lady Anne’s older sister, Elizabeth. George did not think they liked each other much. As if to prove it, Elizabeth Fitzwalter sent her sister a sly look and sighed deeply.

“You must confess, Anne. Tell them what other instrument
you
play.”

“I am not ashamed of my skill,” Lady Anne shot back. “Not everyone can master the rebec.”

“Why would anyone want to?” Lady Fitzwalter idly strummed her own lute. “Its high pitch and shrill quality are most annoying.”

George had never thought much about the rebec. It was a pear-shaped instrument with three strings and was played with a bow. He’d heard it was far more difficult to coax music from than a lute. That was not surprising. Everyone at court could pick out a few of the most popular songs on lute strings.

“Some compare the sound of a rebec to a woman’s voice,” he blurted out.

“Is that meant as praise or condemnation?” Lady Anne had a teasing light in her eyes.

“Some women,” Neville interjected before George could reply, “cackle like hens.”

Bess Boleyn threw a ball of yarn at him. She always seemed to have needlework at hand. Neville caught the missile one-handed and tossed it back, laughing.

“The rebec is a useful instrument in courtship,” George said, directing his words solely to Lady Anne. “It is ideally suited to playing duets.”

“With the lute?” Her full lips curved into a pleased smile at the thought.

“With the lute,” he agreed, “or with the harp, the gittern, other rebecs, double pipes, double shawms, panpipes, or the voice.”

“Stick to the lute,” Brandon advised in a lazy drawl.

Charles Brandon was accustomed to doling out advice. Although not much older than Compton, he had more experience of the world than the rest of them put together. He’d been master of horse to the Earl of Essex by the time he was George’s age, and he’d gone on from there to serve King Henry the Seventh as an esquire of the body. No one could equal him in the tiltyard, and he was undeniably appealing to females. If the rumors George had heard were true, he’d already been married three times, twice to the same woman.

“Will you sing if I play, Lord Hastings?” Lady Anne’s question caused him to lose interest in anyone else.

“I do not have a strong voice,” he warned her.

“No matter. I am certain we will do very well together.”

She strummed a few notes and, caught, George complied with her wishes. He faltered, then gained strength and, as it was a song everyone knew, his nervousness quickly vanished. Performing a duet with Lady Anne proved most congenial . . . until the other gentlemen joined in. All of them, especially Compton, had better voices than George did.

The moment the song ended, Compton seized the lute. He accompanied himself while he warbled a mournful love song. Lady Anne appeared to be impressed by the performance.

George felt an unaccustomed surge of annoyance as he watched her flirt with the other man. He remembered another occasion, more than a year earlier, when he and Compton and some of the other young men at old King Henry’s court had spent an evening in a tavern near Greenwich Palace. There had been a pretty serving wench on the premises. She’d been responding to George’s advances . . . until Will Compton enticed her away with his charming smile and ready wit.

This situation was far different, George assured himself. The Duke of Buckingham had already promised his sister to George and Compton knew it. George touched one tentative hand to Lady Anne’s sleeve, recapturing her attention.

“Will you walk with me, Lady Anne? There is more to enjoy in these gardens than a single bower.”

That she rose at once and went with him pleased George beyond measure. The strains of the lute and the sounds of the others singing together now became no more than a pleasant background accompaniment to their stroll. He never remembered afterward exactly what they said to each other. He only knew he was in heaven.

A
s far as George Hastings was concerned, the matter of his marriage had been settled well before he answered the summons to visit his grandmother at her third husband’s house in the city of Westminster. Several weeks had passed since his walk in the garden with Lady Anne. He’d seen her almost every day since. True, they had generally been part of a large company, but she’d singled him out for attention and had danced with him more than she had with any of the other men. He’d come to adore this lively, appealing creature with the sparkling eyes. She was graceful in movement, pleasant in speech, and shapely in form. He could hardly wait to be bound to her at bed and at board till death did them part.

It was a shock, therefore, to be confronted by his mother, his sister, and his grandmother and told that all three of them were opposed to this marriage.

“I do not understand what you have against Lady Anne.”

George’s words dropped into a deep pool of silence. He had to fight not to shift his weight from foot to foot or run a finger under the collar that suddenly felt too tight around his throat. Women, he thought, were the very devil to deal with.

“Lady Anne is unobjectionable enough,” his grandmother conceded, “but that brother of hers is trouble.”

George’s grandmother was a very small woman, but she had a big presence. Her solar was not the overtly feminine chamber found in most houses. Instead it contained shelves full of books and manuscripts. Ledgers were stacked on the worktable that dominated the room. The only embroidery in sight belonged to George’s sister Nan, and she’d abandoned it on a window seat. The three women stood ranged against him like combatants at the barriers in a tournament.

“I know Hal Stafford is in the Tower,” George began, “but he’s not been charged with any crime. He—”

“We do not speak of Lord Henry,” his mother interrupted. “Buckingham is the problem. The man’s unstable, just as his father was. Ambitious. Proud. Hot-tempered. No good can come of an alliance with the Stafford family.”

Like her own mother, George’s dam was slight of build and large of character. She stood a bit taller than the older woman, and was as yet unbent by age. She kept her hands tucked into her long sleeves, but there was otherwise nothing demure about her.

“The king himself approves of the match,” George said in his own defense.

His mother and grandmother exchanged a speaking glance that George could not interpret, although he had the feeling that it did not flatter King Henry. Nan looked only slightly more sympathetic to his cause.

At twenty-five, George’s sister was the youngest of the queen’s high-ranking ladies-in-waiting. As Countess of Derby, she served with Lady Anne at court and therefore knew her far better than either of the others. George thought of appealing to Nan for support, but if their objection was not to Lady Anne herself, what good would it do?

He tried another argument. “It is no bad thing that the premier nobleman in the realm wants me as a brother-in-law. But beyond that, I find Lady Anne most pleasing to be with. I consider myself a lucky man on that count.”

“You must not let physical attraction sway you, George,” his mother said.

Christ aid! That was rich, coming from her. His mother had married where she’d pleased the moment old King Henry was dead, hoping in the confusion of a new reign to avoid the penalty for wedding without royal consent. True, she had been a widow for three long years and was old enough to know her own mind, but some sons might have seen her new husband, Richard Sacheverell, as a fortune hunter.

George’s mother, Mary, as the only heir to the Hungerford barony, was extremely wealthy in her own right. She was still addressed as Lady Hungerford, rather than as Lady Hastings or Mistress Sacheverell, because Hungerford was the greater title.

George refrained from criticizing her remarriage, but only just. He admired his mother. She had seen to it that he’d had an excellent education, something not all noblemen valued. After his father’s death, when he’d become a ward of the Crown and gone to live at court, she had moved into his London house in Thames Street so that she would be close by. At the time, he’d resented her hovering, but even then he’d known that she’d been motivated by her love for him.

He was not so certain about his grandmother. She frankly terrified him. Nearly seventy years old, but spry for her age, she knew how to turn her walking stick into a vicious weapon. Grandmother’s first of three marriages had been to Lord Hungerford, George’s grandfather, and she still used that title. Her second husband had been a mere knight. Her third, Hugh Vaughan, had not even been knighted yet when they wed. That marriage had taken place several years before George’s birth, but he’d heard the story so often that he knew it by heart. His grandmother, the widow of a baron and the daughter of an earl, had married a commoner because she’d admired his prowess in the lists. In his day, Hugh Vaughan had been a champion jouster.

At present, Vaughan was responsible for royal prisoners in the Tower of London. He must have been, George realized, the one who oversaw Lord Henry Stafford’s arrest and imprisonment. George narrowed his eyes at his grandmother and sent her hard look for hard look. “What
do you know to the detriment of the Staffords?
Has
Buckingham been plotting against the Crown?”

There were always rumors. Most could easily be discounted. But Grandmother was the daughter of the third Earl of Northumberland. The Duke of Buckingham’s wife, Eleanor, and Eleanor’s brother, the current earl, were her niece and nephew. Between Grandmother’s current husband and members of her own family, she was privy to as many state secrets as any of the king’s ministers. She’d know if there was any truth to the stories about Buckingham’s desire to be king and Hal’s alleged part in an aborted plot to put his brother on the throne instead of King Henry the Eighth.

“Well?” he prompted her when she seemed hesitant to speak.

“I have heard only that some of my nephew’s servants think Buckingham should have been named Lord Protector, since our new king is so young. And that Northumberland himself should have been given control of all the lands north of the Trent.”

“King Henry is fully capable of governing this realm. Age has naught to do with it.”