I, Jane: In The Court of Henry VIII (30 page)

“As you may know, there has been affection of some duration between your son, William, and my own cousin Mistress Jane. I am told by both that the affection has endured their separation while she was at the court of our king and I am assured by both parties, as well as by my own relations, that a betrothal between them would be looked upon favorably. Neither of them have the full bloom of youth
about them any longer, as you know,” he added with a hint of his most charming and successful court smile. “So I am assuming your side will see the move with equal favor.”

“You should assume nothing, Sir Francis,” Lady Dormer quickly interjected, and he could see her hands tighten and go bloodless as they curled around the carved mahogany arms of her chair. “While it may be true that the bloom of youth has left
your
relation, my son—an unmarried man of means—is not under the pressures of time. I shall not have our good name, or his future, burdened by such a marriage because of some residual youthful fondness.”

Francis stiffened on the hard bench, having been caught entirely off guard by her fervent response. “Sir Robert, might I trouble you for your opinion on the matter in the event that it is aligned with my own? After all, the Seymours are a venerable family of strong standing in court circles, as you know.”

“Their sons are hangers-on, clinging to the fringes of society. If my information is correct, it would be a humiliation to a family of means such as ours if we were aligned together, particularly by the indelible tie of marriage,” Lady Dormer snidely interjected, cutting off her husband’s reply without releasing her death grip on the chair arms.

Francis arched a dark brow, the one above his ebony silk eye patch, and kept his calm demeanor. He had certainly met sharper opposition at the court of France than in this old crone, he thought, but he dare not show it. “What you mean, I assume, my lady, is that Mistress Seymour is beneath your son.”

“Well beneath.”

“And yet your only son remains an unmarried man and has offered no heirs to your…good family name?”

“Sir Francis, you are welcome in this house, but pray, do mind
your tone with my wife,” Sir Robert finally spoke up as he lifted a warm cup of ale from a carved side table. He made no attempt to offer one to his guest.

“I meant no offense, only clarity, sir,” Francis returned, his calm now beginning to turn to ice.

“You may be clear that there is no hope of a match between your cousin and our son,” Lady Dormer again interrupted. “Besides, we have been in the midst of negotiations for some time with another family on our son’s behalf. So the point is all rather moot.”

Francis struggled not to appear surprised. William had told him personally that there was no one else. There never had been. “I had no idea,” he managed coolly to say. “Might I ask if your son is aware of these negotiations?”

“Our son is aware of the overtures we have made to the family of Mistress Sidney,” Sir Robert replied before his wife could stop him.

“Mistress Mary Sidney, daughter of Sir William Sidney?” Francis asked in surprise.

“I see you know of the girl,” she remarked, shooting her husband a censorious stare. “Not altogether a surprise, however, since her family, like ours, is well-placed and financially beyond reproach.”

She would be their entry into higher society, Francis thought. Sir William Sidney’s position as a courtier was higher than his own because his reputation was above reproach and Francis had certainly had his difficulties in that regard. It was understandable, if a bit sad, considering the obstacles William and Jane had faced, and the years of estrangement they had endured, to have it all end here.

“Is there nothing I might do to convince you to consider an alternate alliance for your son? I am not without a certain connection in royal circles myself,” Francis offered.

Lady Dormer barked out a very unfeminine laugh in response.
“You are a rake and a libertine, Sir Francis! You may well have powerful friends willing to humor you and your particular brand of lechery, but William will have no part in that. He will be on sound footing when he goes to court.”

Francis arched the same brow and steepled his fingers in an attempt to maintain control. “Do you not mean
respectable
footing, my lady?”

“Take it as you will. The Seymours are a low family with only faint connections to the king, which that dreadful Margery Seymour trots out vulgarly like a prize to anyone who will listen. I am afraid an alliance with them is quite simply out of the question.”

Francis could not quite wrap his mind around this woman sitting before him now with the arrogance to lecture him on connections at court when he had sat less than a week ago at a banquet in the company of the king himself at Richmond Palace. Francis rose to his feet in the strained silence and began to don his riding gloves. “Just to be clear, neither of you make any allowance here for love?”

He watched the couple exchange a glance before Lady Dormer finally rose from her chair to face him. “Love, Sir Francis, is highly overrated. By your own enduring behavior, the stories of which precede you, I can well guess you take my meaning. They shall both recover from it, and William shall marry someone suited for him. As to poor Mistress Seymour’s fate, I cannot speak.”

“Life is full of surprises, my lady,” he shot back as he turned to leave. “I pray you are prepared for those awaiting
you
.”

“A veiled threat seems beneath one who claims to walk with our noble king.”

“I claim it not, my lady. I shall be next month in the party at Greenwich for Queen Anne’s coronation. And where, I wonder, will you and your family be?”

Francis tipped his head, seizing her with a menacing stare, his black eye patch making him a far more formidable foe than the easygoing courtier he usually appeared to be. “No reply? I thought not. I am a tenderhearted enough libertine to know a great romance when I see one. A pity that your only son shall not be able to say the same. Jane may not know it now, but she is better off without the lot of you. Your son sees greatness inside of her, in spite of you. One day, perhaps she shall surprise us all.”

Lady Dormer scoffed as her husband rose to his feet along with them. “I cannot imagine how.”

“I suppose we shall see, won’t we?” said Francis, wondering if there really could be some miracle in the offing.

When William returned to the manor that night, his parents were waiting for him like two sentinel dogs. The light from the fire brought the bony angles of his mother’s face into harsh relief.

“Did you honestly believe we would ever approve of that Seymour girl, William?”

He walked cautiously toward them, guessing what had happened. “That is cruel, my lady mother, even for you. But I gather you have spoken to Sir Francis about our plan.”

He moved to the fire as calmly as his trepidation would allow and extended both of his hands toward the flames to warm them. He heard them whisper to each other behind his back, but he refused to look at them. Better to let his mother rant, since he who struck first generally lost.

“A dashed hope is not a plan, William,” she clarified icily.

“Is there a point in your distinction?”

“Since it will never happen between you, I suspect you should say that the point is imminently salient.”

His body went rigid with resolve as he finally turned around. “I have only ever wanted to marry Jane, Mother, and no matter how many impediments you place before me, my wife Jane shall be.”

“A pity youthful zeal contains so little practicality,” she acidly returned, showing colors he had always known were there but had rarely seen.

“I cannot contradict you, Mother, except to say that my zeal is not a product of youthful fancy. I am a man, and my affections and my intentions toward Jane are true. You have known that since I was a boy.”

Lady Dormer turned her mouth down into a mocking pout. “I did so hope you would grow beyond such folly, William. ’Twould have made everything so much simpler.”

He could not help it. In spite of his intention not to give way to panic, he glanced at his father for support. But Sir Robert was as impotent then as he had been with Sir Francis. Lady Dormer had long ruled her husband. And as much as William had tried to distance himself from her, living on whatever family property she did not inhabit at the moment, Lady Dormer had long ruled him, too. This one time, however, was going to be different.

“I will marry Jane, and that is final,” he declared defiantly.

“As it happens, my boy, you will not,” said his father, speaking up for the first time. The sting of his rejection was a painful thing to William.

“You know that your mother has been in talks for some years with the family of Mistress Mary Sidney.”

“Do you not mean she has been in the process of
bribery
for some years, Father?”

Sir Robert ignored the cutting remark. “We are close to completing the negotiations with Sir William, son. You know that.”

“So they have finally decided the size of our family’s holdings is worth surrendering their vain and silly daughter to us. Is that what you are trying to say?”

“Something like that,” he confirmed, unable even to look at his son. They were caught in the trap of a woman whose relentless ambition knew no equal.

“Well, I told you ‘no’ then, and I declare it even more boldly now.”

“Do not indulge the boy, Robert,” Lady Dormer countered, calmly ignoring her son’s declaration. “Our two families have simply come to terms. ’Tis cause for celebration since, along with her dowry, you shall receive a position in the household of Master Thomas Cromwell, His Majesty’s own senior financial adviser. You shall be going to court at last, William, and you will attend the most wonderful banquets and masques with all of the dignity that we have always desired for you!”

“Do you not mean that
you
have always desired, Mother?”

She rolled her eyes in frustration and sank into a padded chair. “’Tis truly for the good of the family, William. You shall see that in time when you are mingling with the King and Queen of England and writing home to tell us of it.”

“So that a mother may bask in the glory of her son’s success? Is that how it is in your fantasy?”

“William, do mind your tone,” his father interjected tepidly as he sank with a little thump into the chair beside hers.

“Well, ’tis
your
fantasy, not mine, that shall be dashed, Mother. I am going to marry John Seymour’s daughter Jane, and there is nothing you can do to stop that.”

“And on what shall you live?” she calmly asked.

His mother had always played to win, and he knew it. William struggled to keep himself in the game, out of love for Jane. “I have
Gainsbury and the surrounding lands that net a goodly enough profit, which is my inheritance from father’s father.”

“Or do you?”

William was stunned. “You would take away that which I have earned, in addition to all that I stand to inherit?”

“In a heartbeat. We would do whatever is required to see your marriage to Sir William Sidney’s daughter come to pass.”

“I understand this not, Mother. By your leave, pray, explain how the daughter of one knight so surpasses the daughter of another in your good opinion?”

“Mistress Sidney comes with the key to great riches and fame. Mistress Seymour comes with an embarrassing connection to that lothario Sir Francis Bryan. Our good name and our standing would be instantly reduced.”

“Well, if I must be reduced to asking that same lothario for a posting in order to care for my wife, I shall.”

“Do you know there is an outstanding debt on Wolf Hall, William?” Lady Dormer suddenly asked, cornering and caging her own son like prey.

This threw him entirely off his game. “I did not.”

“It seems it is a rather large sum, or so your father tells me. Is that not correct, Robert?”

His father only nodded glumly, his chin doubling as it sank to his chest.

“’Tis quite extraordinary how much debt one can accrue in an attempt to clothe three offspring who play about the fringes of royalty. I am given to understand that the silver braid and beadwork on the last two doublets made for Edward Seymour’s summer turn quite surpassed the cost of Jane’s entire wardrobe for last year, and Sir John has been in quite a tangle about it.”

“You bribed them to withdraw their support of our marriage? But that cannot be, as Sir Francis reassured me earlier today that they had given their support…” William’s words faltered, and he almost could not breathe.

“Much can be accomplished in an afternoon. I’ll not have my only son, the total of my life’s work and worry, aligned with
country people
whose paltry connection to the aristocracy is only surpassed by their unimportant family name!”

William could see the vein in his mother’s temple began to pulse with restrained fury. The Dormers may be wealthy, but they were no better than gentry, William knew. He had waited so long for Jane, and yet like a predator, his own mother, who had controlled his entire life, now led him irrevocably to his own slaughter.

“I shall reason with her father myself,” William defiantly countered, hearing the desperation mount in his own voice.

“’Twill do you no good, my boy. He has already taken the money,” his father revealed in a tone of calm persuasion. “I spoke to Sir John the moment Sir Francis left our home. In return, they have promised to withdraw their support for your marriage to their daughter. Sir John gave me his gentleman’s word.”

William wanted to cry out. To object further. He had always been a good and obedient son, doing everything that he was called upon to do. He had never asked for anything, never wanted anything. Until now.

Cornered. Struck. Killed.

With one lethal blow, it was over. He would go to court on the largesse of Thomas Cromwell, and Jane would remain at Wolf Hall; they were destined never to see each other again. Perhaps that was better than having to see the pain and disappointment in those gentle eyes of hers again.

Jane knew it was bad before her mother spoke a word. They were alone in the sunlit gallery lined with Seymour family portraits. There was compassion on her face, not her usual censure.