The Boleyn Deceit (28 page)

Since she couldn’t say any of that, she parried. “Have you and Robert quarreled?”

“Why, because I did not bring him along to our private celebration tonight?” he asked sarcastically. “I thought his absence might settle the rumours of your affections, Sister.”

She blinked. William was often imperious, but almost never rude. Not to her.

And she knew that they had fought. Robert had written to her often during her sojourn in France, and the things he had not said were even more revealing than the things he had.

She opened her mouth to be biting, and realized that William wasn’t really speaking to her. His temperament was all about who wasn’t here: he was taut, almost frantic, with his impatience to see Minuette.

So she changed her sentence to, “How was your visit to Kenninghall? Did the Howards behave themselves?”

“Impeccably.”

“Including Eleanor?”

“Indeed. I think you would not know her now. She has … softened. Grown up. Motherhood suits her.” William spoke casually, as if he thought nothing of it, but she did not miss the strained set of his shoulders or the way his eyes darted without settling on her.

Elizabeth was more inclined to believe that widowhood suited Eleanor Percy. “And the child?”

“She is healthy, active. Only sixteen months and already she can speak intelligibly.”

“What does she look like?” she asked, meaning,
Who does she look like
?

He met Elizabeth’s eyes at last. “Her hair is red-gold and curls naturally.”

Like my own, she thought painfully.

“She is called Anne,” William added.

To keep from showing that any of this had shaken her, Elizabeth said, “Presumptuous of Eleanor, giving her child that name.”

“
My
child. She is mine, Elizabeth. I am taking steps to recognize her formally. And Eleanor will return to Lady Rochford’s household at court. It was her only request.”

Because of that red-gold hair, she thought. Being invited to court is Eleanor’s reward for having living proof of my brother’s virility.

“Be careful, Will. I’m not sure who will be less pleased—Dominic or Minuette.”

He laughed, clearly relieved that she didn’t intend to lecture. “Minuette, no doubt about it. But she will have to learn to trust
me. Now, tell me about this new man you’ve retained. Walton something?”

“Walsingham.”

“Another scholar, like John Dee?”

“Walsingham knows Dee, but his talents are … varied. Lord Burghley also knows him; it was his letter of introduction that got him to me in France. He is an intelligent man with a wide acquaintance. I shall certainly find him something useful to do.” Like keep an eye on you, she decided. For some reason, she didn’t want to tell William that Walsingham had tracked Dominic for her to the Spanish ambassador. Better if she had her own sources of intelligence and kept them private. Even she never knew everything that William might think of.

But some secrets she could not in good conscience keep. “He had a letter from John Dee while we were in France. It seems Dee is concerned about the Duke of Northumberland. The duke has been receiving guests while he has remained away from court—men of radical disposition and the will to enforce it with arms.”

“So I’ve heard,” William replied, snatching away her momentary triumph. “Rochford’s keeping an eye on them. He thinks it’s mostly Northumberland busying himself while waiting to see what I do about Guildford.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Wait for the child to be born. If Guildford is lucky, it will be a girl, and if he is wise, he will accept an annulment of the marriage, humble himself to the dust, and vow never to lay eyes on Margaret Clifford again.”

“And if he is neither lucky nor wise?”

“Then we shall see.” He gave her a look that spoke of confidences kept, of so many things he knew and never told.

It made her feel less guilty about keeping her own counsel.
Two could play this game, and no one better than Henry’s children.

The nearer they drew to Nonsuch, the more Dominic felt Minuette closing herself off. He couldn’t fault her, for he was withdrawing, too. Their honest—if angry—passion at his mother’s house could not last, and already they were barricaded behind their secrets. How can it be otherwise? he thought miserably. As long as we are lying, we will never have peace. But he did not regret what he had said to her. Between breaking his heart and breaking his loyalty, it would have to be his heart that suffered. He realized wretchedly that part of him was already preparing to say goodbye to Minuette.

That resignation strengthened when they reached the court. The royal banners streamed from the walls and towers of Nonsuch Palace, and William himself stood waiting in the courtyard. He greeted Dominic first, warmly, but with all his being yearning for Minuette. It was obvious to Dominic—he worried how obvious it might be to the others. Elizabeth was quick to take possession of her lady, but not before William had swept Minuette into an embrace that lasted too long to be merely friendly. Dominic saw Rochford watching them and almost rejoiced. From his expression, the Lord Chancellor clearly knew about William’s intentions, and just as clearly was dead set against it. Good—Rochford had long practice in enforcing his will on a kingdom. William would be hard pressed to oppose his uncle. And though it stung Dominic to speak about Minuette at all with William, he knew he would have to begin persuading him. Put aside his own reticence and argue for England’s sake. Right before he asked to leave court.

He began as soon as he was alone with William. When the
women withdrew from the courtyard, he and the king walked in Nonsuch Great Park with only four guards ahead and behind for privacy.

“Tell me about Simon Renard,” William said.

“Like all ambassadors,” Dominic answered. “He speaks in maybes and perhapses and what-ifs.”

“Must have driven you crazy.”

Dominic shrugged. “Only when I have to play the same game. I didn’t bother with Renard. When I told him you wished to approach Prince Philip, he grasped at once that you intend to set aside the French.”

“Did he grasp why?”

“I don’t think so. He didn’t mention any particular woman, at least. I would say that he suspects you of wishing to solidify your position with a Protestant marriage. Jane Grey, probably.” Dominic slid lightly over her name, hoping William would not renew their earlier conversation about her.

“Good.” William sounded satisfied. “What will Renard do next?”

“He promised to approach his prince, and intimated he would prefer to return you an answer in person.”

“If he brings me the right answer, he is welcome at my court as long as he wishes. Did he seem amenable?”

“He didn’t seem displeased. But when it comes to a decision—I don’t know. Elizabeth is a prize, no doubt of it, but an alliance means more than just a marriage. Will it be to Spain’s benefit to ally themselves militarily with us? That likely depends on circumstances at the time of any alliance.”

“And you think we cannot compete with France.”

“I think that we have to try harder to prove our strength, seeing as France shares the Continent with Spain and we do not.
Your victory last year has helped tremendously. But we must hold what we took and, maybe, fight once more. Which no doubt we will have to do when you discard Elisabeth de France.”

“Why Dominic, you do not sound as though you like that plan. Aren’t you the soldier? I expect a bit more enthusiasm for battle from you.”

He thought of Renaud LeClerc and of Nicole, who was so glad to have her husband home. He thought of the little princess in France who yearned desperately to know how to please her betrothed. And he thought of William, moving them all around as though they were chess pieces to be picked up and cast aside at his whim.

“As a soldier, I anticipate necessary battles, not those fought for sport. We have bought peace, Your Majesty, at a dear price. Why be in a rush to throw that away?”

Dominic knew it was his use of William’s title, as much as his tone, that narrowed the king’s eyes as he answered. “If I were in a rush to throw away peace, then Minuette would already be carrying my son. Don’t lecture me about patience.”

“I only meant that, more than any other man, your decisions cannot be based solely on your own preferences.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” William’s shout carried, and Dominic knew he had gone too far. “Everyone is so keen to remind me that my choices matter to England. What everyone seems to forget is this: I
am
England. I have been from the moment my father drew his last breath. And as I would do nothing to injure myself, I am incapable of injuring England.”

“It’s only that … with Minuette—” Fortunately, he didn’t have to think how to continue, because William cut in.

“England needs me as king, and I need Minuette as my queen. She will be good for
England
because she is good for
me.
Don’t
argue my uncle’s side for him, Dom. He does it quite thoroughly on his own.”

“What if I am arguing my own side?”

William’s brow furrowed. “I would expect you, of all people, to approve of Minuette. Others may look only at her birth, or her less than wealthy circumstances, or her youth. But you know better. You know her goodness, her generosity, her kindness to all, her understanding of human nature, her charm and poise and diplomatic skill … you know my people will love her. Look me in the eyes and tell me that Minuette will not make a glorious queen.”

It had been months since Dominic had been able to look his friend in the eyes. “Not everyone sees her as you do.”

“They will. And on the day she gives me a royal son and England falls at her feet, I will remind you that I was right and you were wrong.”

“Until that day,” Dominic warned, “tread carefully. The French are wary.”

“You just keep me apprised of your friend’s thoughts. I expect if French wariness turns into French aggression, Renaud LeClerc will know of it first.”

Wonderful, Dominic thought. Not only have I failed to persuade William to reconsider Minuette, now he intends to use my friendships against me. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

T
HE NIGHT THAT
Minuette returned to court, William summoned her to play chess after dinner. Elizabeth watched her go with a troubled expression; Dominic was nowhere to be seen. As long as they played in sight of William’s guards and gentlemen in the presence chamber, Minuette was easy enough. But all too soon William escorted her into his privy chamber and shut the door on the two of them alone.

“I missed you so much.” He pulled her onto his lap and momentarily buried his face in her hair. “As hard as it is to be near you and restrain myself, it’s infinitely harder to not have you here at all.”

“This is restraint?” Minuette teased, to cover the fact that her heart thumped irregularly.

He grinned wickedly. “I promise—when I am no longer restrained, sweetling, you shall know the difference at once.” He traced the neckline of her dress with one finger, and despite herself she shivered—and hated herself for it. How could she be so furiously jealous with Dominic for kissing a woman who meant nothing to him when William, who meant so very much to her, could rouse her body even while her mind remained disengaged?

The damning truth was that she responded to William’s touch.
How was she to stop it? Her mind, at least, always remained detached and ironic, making sarcastic comments about her behavior and William’s indiscretion.

But when Dominic touched her, she was incapable of thinking at all.
And that’s your difference, Dominic. When you touch me there is nothing else in my world but you.

Tonight, as William trailed kisses where his finger had traced, Minuette attempted to distract him with a genuine question. “Why didn’t you tell me about Bishop Bonner’s execution?”

“There was no need. You would hear of it when it happened—no need to distress you beforehand.”

“You never used to trouble about distressing me. You used to tell me everything—well, nearly everything. I am not a china figurine, Will. You needn’t worry about breaking me.”

“Oh, I’m not,” he said huskily, and captured her mouth with his. His arms tightened until she found it hard to breathe, but still her mind worked.

“I mean it,” she insisted when he stopped to draw breath. “I wish you would talk to me like you used to. Or do you not trust me anymore?”

That startled him into releasing his hold on her. With creased brow, he said, “You know I do. You, Dom, Elizabeth—you are the only three I trust.”

“Then tell me the truth—who pressed for Bonner’s burning?”

“Look, the man committed treason in everything but the final action, he didn’t trouble to deny it at the end. He wanted me off the throne and Mary on it.”

“And you could have had his head for that. Why burn him at the stake?”

“A well-placed blow to heresy carries a long reach. I spared the young Thomas Howard, allowed him to be made Duke of Norfolk, and still the Catholics are discontented. And with the
Dudleys behaving badly and out of favour, the Protestants are also restless and want to ensure that I remain firmly on their side. Bonner was trouble. I did what had to be done.”