I, Jane: In The Court of Henry VIII (42 page)

April 1536

Greenwich Palace

“Y
ou win again!”

Jane laughed at Francis Bryan, slapping her final card on the table as she sat across from him, William Dormer, and Anne Seymour, with whom she played a rousing hand of primero.

“She
is
suspiciously good at this game,” Francis noted with a wink, dashing as ever in a charcoal-colored doublet and matching eye patch. “If I didn’t know better, I would think our Jane had learned how to cheat.”

“I have learned a great many things these past years, cousin.”

William sent her a sudden glance full of meaning, and she looked guiltily at her cards.

Jane was so glad to have Francis returned these last months from France, and glad that he felt at ease in the company she had kept with William these past few days during the king’s absence. It helped, perhaps, that Francis had been the one to try to arrange their marriage long ago. Thus, he seemed enough of a romantic not to begrudge the star-crossed lovers a simple friendship now. If friendship was what it was between Jane and William. In spite of
everything they had endured, the battles and the anger, it was unspoken between them that they both wanted to spend time with each other. With the king and queen away, she and William played admirably around the edges of courtesy, and both did their best to be cordial, but there was always a charged energy when they were in the same room like this. As they played or strolled through the gardens, dined or danced, Jane could not help but feel there was unfinished business between them. She knew that he felt it, too.

When she lifted her cards for the next hand and saw the words
Arbor at sunset
scrawled in ink across the queen of hearts card, Jane was not entirely surprised. William’s expression bore absolutely no evidence of the invitation when their eyes met again, but she knew it had come from him. She also knew what meeting him alone would mean for them both. Still, in spite of the risk, Jane knew already that she would go. She would go anywhere, do anything, to be in William’s arms once more. Everyone was married, it seemed anyway, or betrothed or committed. Even the king and queen had apparently reconciled.

“I understand Minister Cromwell has gone back to London,” Francis remarked to William as he played his hand and Jane folded the card in, secreting it among the others she held.

“He has indeed, my lord.”

“And yet he did not take you with him?”

“My lord Cromwell said it was a private matter that did not require my attendance upon him.”

“It is rumored that he continues to seek justifiable avenues for annulment, if not divorce, in case the queen is not brought to bed with a son this time either. I suspect Master Cromwell does not wish news of that spreading until the time is right,” Francis said.

“Think you all that the only reason the king has gone off with her now is to mark time?” Anne Seymour asked.

Jane felt herself stiffen. She did not want to think of Henry just now.

“What other reason might there be? The queen is a selfish harridan who has brought the king nothing but disappointment; she has dissipated and aged him before his time. He would do well to be rid of her,” said Francis.

“Those seem treasonous words from one who once supported her, cousin,” Jane meekly put in.

“Not so treasonous as her behavior with a veritable bevy of courtiers,” Francis countered with a sneer. “She could well lose her head for it.”

“If it were proven,” added Jane.

“They say Master Cromwell has learned well from Cardinal Wolsey’s mistakes,” Francis said. “If it happened, he
will
prove it.”

“Pray God that our good queen is delivered of a son,” Anne Seymour said bitingly. “That does seem her only hope.”

The April sunset was alive, filled with shimmering crimson and gold, and splashed across the broad horizon as Jane slipped alone out the side door of the east wing, hurried down the stone steps, raised the hood of her cloak, and dashed behind the row of plane trees. Most ladies who regularly attended the queen were taking advantage of the peace and freedom in her absence and did not watch too closely for one another. They were resting at this hour and would later dine with a few of the men who had been left behind as well. Still, Jane made her way carefully down the pathway, bordered by colorful vines and blooming shrub roses and concealed by the trees.

William was waiting for her on a painted white lattice-wood bench beneath an arbor spilling with lush pink roses, as she knew he would be. Her heart raced when she saw him, and he rose to his feet the moment he caught a glimpse of her. He reached out his hands and drew her tightly against his chest.

“How I have missed this,” he murmured deeply. “How I have missed
you
.”

Jane smiled. “As fate would have it, you see me nearly every day.”

“Not like this,” he said, smiling back at her and reaching up to very gently touch her cheek.

She thought how this was just how Henry had touched her before they kissed last time, but she banished the thought. They were such very different men.

“I know I always say this to you like some besotted boy, but I am convinced there is not another woman in all the world with as beautiful skin as yours. It is exactly like alabaster.”

“You are far too partial for your own good.”

“A man in love is always partial.”

“A man with a wife can afford no such bias.”

“What of the man who seeks a divorce?”

She tipped her head, feeling the weight of his question. “Who are we speaking of here, William?” she asked cautiously.

“I called you away to speak privately like this because my mother has died, Jane.”

“Oh, William, I am sorry!” she exclaimed, hiding the conflicting feelings of sympathy and hope behind her words.

“It was she alone who sought my marriage to Mary, she alone who withheld my sinecure, who tied my hands in my bid to marry you.”

She looked away from him, but William brought her face back
around and cradled her jaw like a delicate thing in both of his masculine hands.

“My heart is yours; it has always been yours, Jane.”

She felt the desperation in his kiss and let him pull her more deeply into his arms, let him part her lips and explore her mouth with his tongue. She let him press his hardened maleness tightly against her own center, let him sweep his hands down her back to her bottom and anchor her to him intimately, arousing her with every part of himself.

Never…She would never love anyone else like this!

“I cannot let you ruin your life for my sake,” she struggled desperately to say as he kissed her again and again until she felt drunk with desire. She stroked his hair back from his temples, then ran her hands down the broad width of his back, taking pleasure in the fit maleness of him, so different from Henry.

“We have no children, or the promise of any. I will pay what she asks and confirm any story she tells,” William said huskily. “She can say I am an evil lothario, or that I neglected her, whatever will help keep her dignity. I am fully prepared to leave court and make a life with you in Buckinghamshire, or anywhere you wish.”

Unable to process what had been laid before her, Jane tried to gather her thoughts and calm her heart. What she had wanted all of her life was before her now, at last, yet the decision was not the easy one she had always expected it would be if a miracle like this ever happened.

“Do you not love me, Jane?” he asked desperately against her ear in a way that made her shiver as he drew her ever closer to his heart.

“Eternally,” she admitted, laying her head back for a moment against his chest and taking in the unique scent of him that would be with her forever.

“Forgive me for not asking sooner. When it seemed that you and the king might…” His words fell away as she turned to gaze into his eyes, which held such history for her.

How like him,
she thought,
to have a sense of propriety, even at this wild court.
It was the very thing that had kept them apart all these years, and while it had disappointed—nay, infuriated—her in the past, she saw the honor in it now, and could not love him more for that.

This was a true crossroads, a choice that only she could make. Not her brothers. Not William and not the king.

“I must have time to think,” she finally said. Her hesitation did not involve her feelings for him, but she was not eager to do to another woman what Anne Boleyn so cruelly had done to Queen Katherine. She must reflect. “This has all happened so quickly.”

She knew by the way his shoulders fell and he cast his glance at the ground that he understood. His next kiss was achingly gentle, a fragile thing. As fragile as the two of them were together.

“It feels like an eternity,” William said.

She walked slowly back to the new apartments after that, deeply in thought, hearing nothing but the sweep of her own gown across the stone floor. Jane’s sense of guilt flared as she even contemplated a life with William. Mary was Lady Dormer, no matter how much she wished it to be otherwise. Anne was still Queen of England.

Jane was glad to be alone when she entered the elegant suite of rooms to which she had been moved; she was quite sure everyone would see the truth of her decision written into every part of her expression. She needed a few minutes to collect herself.

Then she saw it. It was a large ivory sheet of vellum, folded and stamped with the king’s personal seal. It seemed to bulge from an
object tucked within its folds. On the front of it, one word, simply written.
Jane.

And so her world mightily shifted yet again.

Thomas had fallen victim to his brother’s foul humor all morning, and he had grown tired of it. With every accolade and gift bestowed upon him recently by the king in order to impress Jane, Edward was becoming more pompous and more insufferable than ever. He was the classic older brother, always certain to remind the younger one of the difference not only in their ages, but also in their standing. Today had been one of the worst. He walked a pace behind Edward, who had been told that Jane had returned to the apartments, and Edward was fully prepared to scold her yet again for not having kept a better hold over the king when she had the chance. Thomas had thought to argue, but there really was no point in that.

The folds of Edward’s velvet cape fluttered against Thomas’s knees as they walked at a clip that was near a run. Edward cast open the door with great force, and Jane whirled around, startled enough that the paper in her hand fluttered onto the Turkish carpet beneath her slippered feet.

“Here to enjoy one last moment in these rooms, are you, before we are all cast from court?” Edward petulantly asked.

“Edward,” Thomas cautioned.

“You have had one task all your life, only one, and you could not fulfill even that, Jane.”

“I really think that is enough, Edward,” Thomas tried again, facing fraternal ire that was decades old and deep.

“You had it all in your mousy little fingers: a new life, riches, and the king at your feet, and you handed him back to his wife on a platter!”

“I cannot keep that which belongs to another, and I did not intend to be a plaything,” Jane replied defensively.

“And where would the queen be if she had adopted that passive stance? She fought for him!” Edward raged.

“I am nothing like Anne Boleyn,” Jane countered in a tone that was firm enough to surprise both of her elder brothers. Thomas could tell Edward was taken aback because he went silent for a moment, which was not at all his custom when he was angry.

“You well could have used what you had a bit more boldly,” he finally said angrily. “Certainly better than you did. Now we are all at a loss. We Seymours made a strong stand against the Boleyns, and now they will want to completely vanquish us!”

“Not if we vanquish them first,” Jane returned, which shocked Thomas. He had never heard that confident tone in Jane’s normally meek voice. But there was something more, something in her eyes, as she motioned with her gaze to the letter lying at her feet. Thomas bent down to pick it up as Edward went to a table set with crystal and silver wine decanters and a collection of goblets. He filled one with ruby liquid for himself and took a sip, steeling himself.

“We shall need to make a plan. Salvage what we can of our dignity, at least. Humility will be the key. Especially with that woman, the queen…,” Edward muttered.

As Thomas scanned the letter, he felt the blood drain from his face. It was the last thing he expected to read.

“Edward, perhaps you should have a look at this,” Thomas offered, extending the letter between them.

“We cannot be bothered with our sister’s drivel just now, with our family’s welfare on the line.”

Jane and Thomas remained silent until Edward finally took the
missive from his brother’s hand. After a cursory glance at the words, Edward’s expression turned incredulous.