Secrets of the Tudor Court (21 page)

"Lady Richmond?" a voice entreats in soothing tones. "Lady Richmond, what is it, dear heart?"

I pull away, meeting the violet eyes of Cedric Dane. "M--Master Dane--"

"Lady Richmond, please, collect yourself," he urges, his voice soft. "What is it? Tell me."

I shake my head, still rubbing my throat as I look here and there for my father's guards.

"Come," he says. "To the practice room. We will have privacy there."

I allow him to take my elbow and guide me to the chamber, where he bolts the door. We sit on the bench behind the virginals. He takes my hands and I do not fight him.

"My lady, what is causing such distress?" he asks, as though to a very small child. The sweetness in his tone causes me to cry harder. "Please. You can trust me. Let me help you."

"No one can help me," I sob. "No one could help her. And now...now..." I envision Kitty's sweet face alight with her girlish infatuation. Despair grips my heart in a chokehold more successful than Norfolk's. "God save the queen," I say at last.

"Lady Richmond." He is stroking the backs of my hands with a strange mixture of urgency and gentleness. "Please..." His voice is a husky whisper. "Let me in."

I shake my head with vehemence. "No! No! You do not want to be let into this. Once you are in you cannot get out, you cannot escape. You are trapped, forever trapped--"

He reaches out and cups my cheek. I lean into his hand, allowing my tears to mingle with his soft warm skin.

"Shall I call a doctor?" he asks. "Are you quite well?"

"I do not know," I tell him in honesty, for I do not know. Was I ever sane? Was I ever allowed a glimpse of sanity? I meet his eyes, my lips twisting into a grim smile. "There is no cure for what ails me, Master Dane." I begin to rub my aching throat, inadvertently drawing his eyes to it.

"Your neck!" he cries, reaching out to trace it. I flinch. "Lady Richmond, there are marks--bruises. Were you accosted? Who did this to you? Who hurt you?"

I shake my head. How can I explain this one away? I shake my head again. "It's no good, Master Dane. It's no good." I laugh, a hysterical sound that rings of Anne's edgy giggle.

It seems Cedric knows continuing in this vein will prove fruitless, so diverts me by placing his slim-fingered hands on the keyboard and playing a soothing melody. He swallows several times. "I wrote this for my Helen," he tells me as I collect myself.

"She must love it," I told him, sniffling.

He stops playing. "She did." His voice catches in his throat. "Lady Richmond...my lady wife...she has passed on."

Fresh tears sting my eyes. "No! Oh, Master Dane, no!"

"She--and my daughter died in childbirth last winter," he tells me, resting a hand on my shoulder. "So you see none of us are exempt from grief."

"I am sorry, Master Dane. With all my heart I am sorry," I tell him, reaching out to wipe away a tear that has strayed onto his cheek. I draw in a breath. "Sorrow runs high at this court of Henry VIII, it seems," I add, my voice tinged with bitterness. "And your boys? Who is caring for them?" I ask then.

"My sister in Cornwall," he says. "I want them as far away from here as possible. It is no life for children."

"I'm not certain if it is a life for anyone," I admit.

"From the lips of a professional courtier," he says. He wraps his arm about my shoulders and I do not pull away. It is highly improper being alone with this man, both of us widowed; not to mention that we are touching. But I no longer care for what's proper, for what's right. I have just been asked to help lead an innocent girl into betraying the most dangerous man in the land. Why should I bother with proprieties now?

I turn to him. He reaches out, tracing the bruises forming on my neck. "Lady Richmond, tell me who did this to you. I will kill him..." His voice is filled with venom. "I will
kill
him."

"And you would die," I tell him. Tears clutch my throat, a sensation so familiar that I marvel at the rare times it is absent. "I cannot lose you, too, Master Dane." I allow the tears to pour onto my cheeks. There is no point in hiding them, no point in playing games. With Cedric I do not have to be a courtier. I can just be a woman. "Please, whatever your suspicions, promise me you will not act on them."

He pauses, considering. "And what will happen to you? Will I learn of your death one of these days? Or your disappearance from court? Will your name just be phased out as so many others are?
Where's Mary Richmond? Oh, I don't know. Last I heard she retired to Kenninghall
when really you're...you're..." Tears stream down his face. "Is there no one to champion you, my lady?" His voice bursts forth in a tortured whisper.

"I have only had one champion my whole life," I tell him. "One champion and one enemy. And they are the same man."

His face goes slack in horror. He cups my face in his hands. "My lady--you must leave this court. I have watched you over the years. I have seen your joy sapped from you, your innocence stolen. I have seen you grow serious and old before your time. Get away from here. Get away from
him.
"

I shake my head. "Wherever I go he will find me. Oh, now and then he forgets about me. For a time." I shrug, helpless, then meet his eyes, knowing mine are hard green mirrors that reflect nothing but his face. I know it as surely as if I were looking into them myself. "But he always remembers. Please." I reach up, resting my hands over his that still cup my face. "Leave this alone, Master Dane."

His face is soft. He draws in a breath. "Must we continue with these ridiculous formalities?" he asks, dropping his hands. "My name is Cedric."

I pause a long moment. If I allow this...if I allow this...I look him square in the face. "And I am Mary."

"Mary," he whispers, as though it is forbidden, the name of a goddess. I shiver.

Cedric takes me in his arms. For the second time in my life I am kissed. But there is no guilt now. There is no one alive to betray, no one around to care. Our spouses are with the Lord, leaving us to struggle alone and eke out what little happiness we can find. My father is off betraying his king and I am here.

I am with Cedric.

There is no one else.

Together we sink onto the floor beside the blazing fire. I am swept away on a new current, beyond infantile desire and courtly lust. This is not a game of flirtation. Perhaps it is not love, either. But it is a comfort of sorts, a wild sort of comfort. There is urgency, yes, and something more. Passion, pain, pleasure. We merge and meld into one being; his limbs, fingers, lips no longer separate from my own. We are perfectly, irrevocably entwined. I am enveloped in him and him in me.

It is that night I taste love's sweet bliss at last.

I cannot think of my night with Cedric. I cannot allow myself to go back there. I do not know if it will happen again. Do I want it to? A part of me yearns for him every moment--for his arms, his kisses, his warm flesh pressed to mine.... Another part of mecringes in horror. What am I? A harlot? What have all my religious pursuits brought me to? What must God think of me now?

Cat Parr sees the difference. She reaches out to me the next afternoon as the two of us stroll the gardens. I hear Kitty playing badminton with a group of courtiers, boys against girls. Thomas Culpepper is on the boys' team. He is laughing and teasing her. I shiver.

"What is it, Lady Mary?" Cat asks me, rubbing my upper arm. Though she is not much older than I she is so motherly that she has even been called to pacify King Henry's bouts of temper when his leg is giving him a particularly bad time. There is no doubt of her ability to comfort and soothe.

I cannot keep it from her. If I do not tell her I will collapse in upon myself. "I have been wicked," I tell her.

"Wicked?" She laughs. "You?"

I pause. "I have...I have known...I--"

"Lady Mary," Cat says, taking my hands. "Whatever you have done, be assured I will not judge you. Does not our Lord command it? 'Judge not lest ye be judged'? Come now. You may tell me, dearest, and if there is anything I can do to help, you must know I will do so. And if I cannot, you can take solace in the fact that I am your sympathetic friend who loves you."

I sigh in relief. I should have known I could trust faithful Cat.

"There is a gentleman," I begin. "I--I--that is to say, we--"

Cat nods in understanding. "If you are wicked then I am damned," she tells me. She purses her lips. "I tell you this because I consider you a very dear friend and know I can trust you. If you are wicked for trying to steal a little happiness for yourself then we are wicked together, for I too have sought out my heart's desire."

"Seymour?" I ask her.

She nods, smiling.

I sigh. "Oh, my lady, but I have made a promise...a promise I cannot seem to keep." Through a veil of tears, I tell her of my promise to Harry.

"But you have not broken your promise at all," she points out. "You have found love. Didn't he want you to find love?" she asks. "You are not married. You are not even betrothed. So you took what is owed you, what you deserve. Yes, it may not be the most prudent thing in God's eyes, but I cannot imagine He wouldn't understand. He is merciful to those who love Him. And your Harry...he wants you to be happy. When you are with this gentleman are you happy, Lady Mary?"

"I do not know," I answer. "Emotions run high when we are together. There is so much intensity..." I shake my head. "I am not
un
happy in his presence. He--he is very kind. It is odd. We have been virtual strangers since I was eleven or so, exchanging a few words here and there, and yet I think he knows me better than anyone."

"Then delight in him, Lady Mary," Cat tells me. "Happiness is too seldom found in this life. Take hold of it while you can."

"Yes," I say. "Yes. That is what I shall do."

While we are sitting there a messenger comes to me with a gilt box. Thrilled, I open it to find a pretty emerald and diamond bracelet set in gold to look like ivy.

"Is that from him?" Cat asks as she lays the bracelet across her wrist to admire it.

I read the note in the bottom of the box.

Cat has read the note over my shoulder. "Oh, for God's sake," she mutters. "Why on earth wouldn't he just leave it at 'your loving father'? As though you don't know who he is?" She takes the note and rereads it, wrinkling her nose. "What does it mean, anyway?"

I sigh. "He does that from time to time," I tell her. "To inspire me."

She puts the note back in the box. "It's a pretty bracelet. Shall I clasp it on you?"

"No," I tell her, placing it back in the box. "Thank you." I lean over and kiss her cheek. "You're a good friend, my lady," I say. "Thank you."

"As you are to me, Lady Mary." She reaches out and squeezes my hand.

I leave the gardens, walking past Kitty and her games.

I go to Norfolk's apartments. He is not there. I set the box on his desk and leave a note of my own.

Whatever this earns me, I am smiling at the boldness of my move.

Let that inspire him.

Our personal intrigues are distracted when the king takes ill with a fever. Kitty is sent away for her protection--in case she carries an heir, no doubt--and takes a small handful of ladies, including Lady Rochford.

At night I pray for the king's demise. It is a terrible thing, a treasonous thing, to pray for the death of a king, but I cannot help myself. Perhaps he will die and free my Kitty. How wonderful her life could be then! She would live as queen dowager, free to surround herself with whatever and whomever she wants. If she wants to marry Culpepper she can marry Culpepper. Oh, if only...

But it is not to be. The king, whose will is still strong enough to command his failing body, recovers and Kitty is called back to court. She is glowing, her cheeks rosy with happiness. Any fool can see she runs mad with love sickness, and anyone with a beating heart knows to fear for her, for this love that causes her to giggle and skip and dance about is not for His Majesty.

Again she suspects she is with child. The king is delighted at the prospect and dotes on his rose like an idiot, promising her a grand coronation at York Minster if her pregnancy proves true. My stomach churns. But I am so immersed in my own newfound happiness that all of my energy is no longer expended in fretting over the royal couple.

Cedric and I see each other as often as possible. Together we play music and share our compositions; we read our poetry along with other courtiers' works, such as those of Thomas Wyatt and my brother. Cedric causes my cheeks to flush when he says that Surrey is all flowers and no real substance. He prefers Wyatt's more honest style of writing. I of course defend my brother out of familial loyalty.

"I don't think there exists a more loyal daughter and sister in the entire realm," says Cedric one day as we snuggle before the fire. "I hope they appreciate it."

I wave a dismissive hand. "I don't care if they do or not. I don't want to think about them or anything outside of us."

Cedric pulls me in his arms and I stifle giggles of delight.

"Are you going with us on progress, Cedric?" I ask him as I kiss his neck.

"I wouldn't miss it," he says, stroking my hair. "I couldn't, anyway. The king has commanded my presence. It will be a merry progress, Mary. We will have a lot of freedom...." He winks.

My cheeks burn. I feel as naughty as Kitty. "I cannot wait, my dearest."