Constant Heart (46 page)

“All that you have counseled me was only meant for my destruction.”

She looked truly offended. “That is not true!”

“Then explain yourself.”

“Everything I have counseled you was meant for your success.”

“Sir Thomas?”

“I brought you Sir Thomas because I thought he would help you. ’Tis your own fault that you bobbled that chance!”

“Essex?”

“Again—’tis you who fumbled that opportunity.”

“And your lies about love? Your education about how to navigate through court?”

“The only lie I ever told you was the one about becoming one of the Queen’s ladies. But for that you
must
see that I am to be forgiven! Everything I have ever done was meant for Lytham’s success. Even when he chose Elinor over me, still I worked for his success.”

And then I comprehended everything. “
You
are in love with him.”

“There is no place for love in court. If I have loved him, then at least I have always only acted for his good. To remove from his path everything that would divert him from his goal. You cannot tell me that you have done the same, you selfish witch! At least
I
have the sense to know that love means nothing. That love can do nothing.”

“But there, you are wrong. You have always been wrong. Love is not some tool for manipulation. Love is a gift—love is from God. Love means
everything
. And unlike everyone else’s marriage at court, when I pledged my vows, they meant something.” I had once promised myself that I would not have a marriage like my parents’. And now I knew for sure that I did not. If I had failed at everything else, at least I had achieved that.

“Are you still so young? Do your vows still mean more than Lytham’s success? Because if you truly loved him, then you would do as I have done. You would remove yourself from him; you would retreat, so that he could advance.”

“You have done nothing but destroy everything that means something to him. First Elinor, and now me.”

“He might have found success through you. At first, I was only trying to teach you how to be useful. But then you fell in love with him. Even that might not have been so terrible, except that he fell in love with you. And that could help no one.”

“And so, you removed me.”

“Aye, I removed you. And you might have thanked me, except for the fact that with the sonnet he removed himself. But all is not lost. I do have news. News that might be of interest to you
if
you love him as much as you profess to.”

Now the haste of her journey made sense. Something must have happened in London. I could not speak. Neither could I stand. I groped for a chair and sat in it. Hard. “Her Majesty . . . ?”

“Aye.”

“What has she commanded to be done to him?”

“What she wanted and what she commanded are two different things.”

It was the first time I had known hope in days.

“She has been counseled against acting too hastily.”

“Thank you, Lady de Winter.” For who else would have persuaded Her Majesty to listen to reason? In spite of my newly proved distrust of the woman, I would be indebted to her forever.

“I had very little to do with it. One cannot insult Her Majesty’s Grace, and simply go on living.”

My heart seemed to stop itself up within my chest. “Go on living?”

“Aye. Have no fear. He is to live. But it is to be in a place far from here.”

“It is not the Tower?”

“Nay. ’Tis worse. He is to be the new ambassador to Polonia.”

“Polonia!”

“Aye. ’Tis the best that could be done, everything considered.”

“Praise God! Then he is to come home? To pack? We must pack! We must make arrangements, we must—”

“Nay. First, we must think.”

“Think? Think of what?”

“Of
why
the earl fell into these troubles, of course.”

But I could not think of why—of what the cause might be.

Lady de Winter left her chair and crept toward the fire. “After all of this, can you not see some common theme to all of the earl’s difficulties?”

“Nay. I fail to see any—”

“ ’Tis always difficult to see beyond one’s self!”

Beyond one’s self? Was she saying . . . ? “You are saying that the cause is me? But now I know you. Now I know what you are about. What you have always been about.”

She whirled from the fire toward me. “Aye. You have won. You have him. You hold his heart. I admit it. Well done.” Her words sounded strangely humble. “But can you not see
this
? The cause
is
you. ’Tis always been you! His position was secure before he married you.”

“But—”

“From the first time she saw you, the Queen despised you. She called you a gypsy! In front of the entire court!”

“I—”

“The decline of his star began and ended with you.”

“That cannot be true. I only ever wanted his success. I only ever wished for his influence to increase. All I ever did was—”

“What? Cause the Queen to hate him? Cause his friends to revile him? And all because you loved him?”

“I did not mean . . . I never meant, never thought—”

“Aye. The one thing you did not do: you did not think! But now there is time.
Now
we must think. Lytham has secured a position for himself from the Queen. She has given him a second chance to prove his loyalty. When did all of his luck desert him? When you came. When you decided to
love
him.”

I had no comment. Love had never before sounded so base. So selfish.

“And now he has an opportunity. Now he can set right everything that has gone wrong. Now, my dear, finally, you may begin to help him.”

“How can I? What can I do that—”

“Since you profess to love him, one must assume you are committed to his success. If that is the case, then you must do what you have failed to do thus far: you must stop hindering his ascent.”

“I have tried everything I can to—”

“Just so!
You
have tried. I have already told you, ’tis yourself at the root of all of this evil. Let him go, girl. If you truly love him as you say you do, then let him go!”

“To Polonia?”

“Aye. To Polonia. By himself. Unyoke yourself from him, and the Queen will see his worth once more.”

“By himself . . .”

“Come, you must act quickly! You are the strong one. Men are weak. If he finds you here when he arrives, he will not have the strength to do what he knows he must.”

“But how can I leave without seeing him? How can I let him go without saying good-bye? I love him.”

“Your course is plain, girl! There can be no love at court. You must do yourself what he is incapable of doing. If he will not give you up, you must do this thing for him. Can you not see?”

Aye, I could. Like Elinor, I could see too clearly what must be done.

I told Joan to see to Lady de Winter’s departure and I started up the stairs. Anguish found me before I reached the top. Was this what love was? Grief and sacrifice? Was this, then, what love felt like? Submission, surrender. A giving up, a yielding of hope. I loved. Clearly this was what I must do.

Had I not once thought, after the encounter with Sir Thomas, that God had wanted me to preserve my integrity? Had I not told Him that if He wanted the impossible, that He would have to open up the way?

This, then, was how He meant to do it.

Maybe virtue from afar was preferable to the sharing of love in proximity. But how could I do it? How could I live without Lytham? How would I survive?

It was there, on the stairs, that I collapsed into tears, and there that Joan found me.

“We must go.”

“Go? Go where?”

“Back to King’s Lynn.”

“You cannot tell me you believe her?”

“She only told me what is true.”

“Her truth has always had a strange way of sounding like lies.”

“We cannot go with him.”

“And why not?”

“Can you not see? She is right.”

“How can you know what you do about her, hear the confession of all of her deceits, and then tell me that she is right?”

“She has always been right. Can you not see it? No matter what she has done, no matter what she has said, she has always been right when she says there can be no love at court.”

Joan sputtered, working herself into an explosion.

“The earl has been able to redeem himself from Her Majesty’s wrath. But it could only have come at great cost. In order to aid him any further, I
must
let him go. Alone. The only way left me to aid him is to let him unshackle himself from me.”

“But he loves you!”

“I know it. And I love him. But there can be no love at court.” As I repeated the words, I knew finally the accuracy of them. Lady de Winter had never spoken a truer thing.

54

I
n the end, there was not much to be packed. What need would I have in King’s Lynn for gowns of tinseled silk, velvet, or cloth of gold? If I was going home, then it was in disgrace, for I had failed at the courtier’s tasks. I had failed to provide my husband with an heir and I had failed to advance his position at Her Majesty’s court. Indeed, I had figured largely in hastening his destruction. I would take only Joan with me. And several of Lytham’s men to see us safely there.

I desperately wanted to leave a letter for Lytham. To explain to him why I could no longer be with him. But Lady de Winter was right. It would only have caused his resolve, and mine, to weaken.

We started out the next day and rode fifteen hard miles.

When the men wished to travel through London, I commanded them to ride a different way. Toward the north and the east. I had no wish to be reminded of all that I had lost.

Three days later I was ready to leave Lytham House for Holleystone. All had been readied for the voyage to the Continent. Those items I had packed would be sent to the port at Dover, where they would wait for Marget and me. A week of hard riding and we could gain the port before winter closed the seas. I could not wait to tell Marget of my good fortune. Could not wait to sail with her from England’s shores and leave the past behind us.

Every day, every mile, every minute, Joan pleaded with me to turn back.

“Please, Marget. You cannot go without telling him why.”

“I left a letter.”

“You did not!”

I kicked my horse to pick up the pace. Lytham’s men spurred theirs to keep with me.

“Marget!” She had to shout now in order to be heard above the fury of the north wind. “How can you call yourself a wife and then separate yourself from your husband?”

“I do not! I call myself a countess and so seek to do my husband whatever good I still may.”

“Marget—”

“I will not change my mind!”

“Then think on this: how can you give him a babe if you separate yourself from him?”

Her words nearly made me weep. I did not want to be reminded of just how much I was losing by returning to my parents’ home.

“He does not need me to have a babe.”

“Marget—”

“He does not need me! He already has a son. His name is William. And with me gone, he can finally give the boy his own name.”

Joan’s face registered shock. William was the only secret I had ever kept from her. I spurred my horse into a canter as I crested a hill. I only meant to increase the distance between myself and Joan. But what I had meant for good, fate turned to evil. My horse stepped into a hole and broke her leg.

Her tragedy succeeded where Joan had failed. My friend caught up with me. As one of Lytham’s men freed the horse from her earthly woes, I wept. And then I had to ride with Joan. There was no help for it. I had forgotten to command that a spare horse be brought along. By the time we reached the next village, it was too late to acquire another and take up our journey anew.

“Marget?” Joan’s voice echoed plaintive through the bedchamber, like the honking of a goose.

“Do not speak to me.”

“Marget, I have only ever wanted your good.”

“If you cannot stop speaking to me, then I will stop speaking to you.”

“I know you think that you are doing this for Lytham’s sake. But ’tis not only you going back to King’s Lynn. ’Tis me as well. You think you go back to disgrace? Well, I go back to hell.”