Lady in Waiting: A Novel (21 page)

“Ah, but it is not the part about God that has men at odds over this. It is the part about men. And power. And practice.”

We stepped outside into the glory of a late summer noon. Birds sang in nearby trees. Horses at the waiting carriage shuffled their feet. A warm breeze tugged at my hair. A coachman opened the carriage door for Nicholas and waited.

“I did not dictate the words to the lullaby,” I said.

Nicholas held out his hand. A second later, I stretched out my own hand. He pressed into it a slip of parchment.

“’Tis my address at Oxford. Perhaps you would send the words to me, Miss Day?”

As I took the bit of parchment, our fingertips brushed, sending a tremor through my body. He took my hand, bowed, and kissed it.

“I shall be waiting every day to hear from you, Miss Day.”

He turned, then stepped into the carriage and took his seat. His eyes were on mine as the door closed and the carriage began to move. He held my gaze until the carriage was well past the steps.

The carriage had turned to follow the curve in the drive before I realized I had not curtsied a farewell or even bid him Godspeed. My hand still tingled where he had kissed it.

I was not summoned to Lady Jane’s rooms until long after the evening meal. I was not part of the day’s developments at all, which allowed me many hours to ponder the pull I felt toward Nicholas Staverton. My sole
duties after tending to Jane’s wardrobe were to mend a bit of torn lace on Lady Katherine’s gown and then assist Jane’s youngest sister, Mary—who only made an appearance in the afternoon—dress in a gown of sunny yellow, which made the little girl look like a bouncing daffodil. After this I was dismissed to the wardrobe room by the duchess’s attendants to spend the afternoon as I wished. I spent it contemplating the strange set of feelings Mr. Staverton had awakened in me. It annoyed me some that he knew so much about me, via Jane’s kind but liberal tongue, and that I knew so very little about him. And his admiration for me was unsettling. The young man whom I had pined for all those years ago when I was but a child had not even known I pined. I found myself sad that Mr. Staverton had left so soon, even though his presence in the house had been disconcerting, albeit to no one save me. I missed his presence the moment he left.

I only saw the Duke of Somerset, his wife, and his son Edward, from the third-story windows as the two families partook of afternoon ices in the rose garden. From my limited vantage point, it appeared that the two families were having a lovely late summer afternoon, but the two dukes appeared to be cautious and pensive. Neither one laughed or smiled.

Young Edward and Lady Jane did remove themselves to a bench in the garden, but in the full view of their parents and several attendants, of course. At one point I saw Edward hand something to Jane, but it seemed a stolen moment that I was not meant to see, nor anyone else. I looked away until my peripheral vision suggested the two were rejoining the others underneath a striped canopy where a trio of musicians began to play happy tunes.

When at last I was called for, I found Jane sitting in the cushions of one of the windowsills in her bedchamber, looking out onto an indigo sky and its sprinkling of stars. She had dismissed her other attendants. Even Mrs. Ellen was gone. We were alone.

“Lucy!” she said, when I stepped into the room.

I curtsied and came to her. She patted the pillows next to her. Instinctively, I looked to see who might see me take a seat on the sill with her, even though I knew there was no one else in the room.

“Do not worry. I sent the others away. And Mrs. Ellen is off to fetch me something from the kitchen. I was too excited to eat before now.”

I wordlessly took a seat, arranging my legs for a speedy change in position should the door open and Mrs. Ellen step in. Jane seemed content, but on edge, as well. I waited for her to speak.

“You were right,” she said softly.

“My lady?”

“Edward is quite happy to be in a marriage contract with me!” Her smile widened, and she looked away from me, toward the vast, slow-moving summer twilight outside her window.

“You spoke with him, then?”

“Oh yes. We spoke!”

“So it is official? You are betrothed to him?” I could not help but lean toward her in excitement for her.

Jane cocked her head so that her forehead rested on a diamond-shaped pane. A line of worry appeared on her forehead. “There is nothing in writing. Not yet anyway.”

“Perhaps that will come later?” I suggested.

“Maybe. I think Papa is waiting until the duke’s affairs are settled. I heard them talking, my father and Edward’s father, about John Dudley and the Privy Council and the mess Edward’s father was in. The Duke of Somerset has had a falling out with John Dudley, you know. I don’t care for him.”

“Pardon?” Though I had heard her.

“I don’t care for John Dudley. I don’t trust him.”

I said nothing.

“But the people love Edward’s father,” she went on. “They call him the good duke.”

Again, I merely listened.

“But I do not want to trouble my mind with any of that.” Jane leaned toward me. “Lucy, Edward wants to marry me. He does! He told me his heart has stirred for me since his uncle became my guardian! And I laughed and told him it has been the same for me.”

“I am so glad for you, my lady,” I said.

She leaned even closer. “He gave me a gift, Lucy!” Jane stretched out her hand. On her ring finger on her left hand, a lovely sapphire, set about with rubies and tiny diamonds, glittered on a gold band.

“It is beautiful,” I said.

“Look inside.” Jane took the ring off her finger and handed it to me. I turned the ring toward the opalescent moon on the other side of the glass. I could make out Jane’s name in beautiful script. But there were other words, tiny and foreign to me.

Jane sensed my inability to read what Edward had inscribed there.

“It’s Latin,” she said. “From the Song of Solomon. It reads, ‘You have captured my heart, my sister, my bride.’”

W
ith the frosts of October, the sweating sickness waned, and the noblemen and women who had retired to the countryside began to return to London. Jane’s parents, as the newly named Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, were eager to be back at court to display their new titles. They made plans to return—and bring Jane with them—at the first opportunity.

I was given leave to return home before we headed south.

Nicholas had written me the moment he had returned to Oxford, and I had quickly returned a letter to him with the words to the lullaby. His next letter arrived only days after. We found a kinship in each other’s thoughts and even in matters of faith that surprised us both, perhaps me more so than him. By the turning of the leaves, we had exchanged a dozen notes. I began to dread the thought of our friendship ending, or worse, of its never blooming past friendship. I was to learn he felt the same way. He asked if he might ask permission of my father to court me, even if only by letters, and I admit this was the primary reason I entreated the duchess to allow me a visit home to Haversfield before the household returned to London.

My father spent his days seated by the fire, wrapped in blankets, even in the summer, where he could mend seams and stitch pockets in between his frequent naps. Within an hour of my arriving home, I knelt by him at this chair and told him there was something I needed to ask him.

“I’ve met a young man, Papa. A student at Oxford. He is a friend of Lady Jane’s tutor, Mr. Aylmer. His name is Nicholas Staverton. He wishes to court me, albeit through letters.”

My papa’s long illness had robbed him of strength and vigor. But he smiled and laid a hand on my cheek. “Tell me about him.”

I shared what I knew of Nicholas, how we met, his kind heart and genteel manner.

“And what are Mr. Staverton’s plans after Oxford, Lucy?”

I told Papa that Nicholas wished to teach, that his uncle was headmaster of the King’s School in Worcester and that perhaps he might join him there upon graduation.

“And where does this young man stand on matters of faith, child?” Papa asked.

It was against the King’s law to practice the Catholic mass; such had been the case since Henry the Eighth broke away from Rome. There were those, including the banished Princess Mary, who defied this mandate and quietly went about finding priests to bless their communion bread and wine. It was dangerous business. But Nicholas had no bonds with Rome, and not just because it was against the King’s law. This mattered to me, that Nicholas believed what he did because he was convinced of it, not because it was the safe or popular choice. And I knew it would matter to my father.

“Mr. Staverton is a follower of His Majesty’s faith—and yours, Papa.”

My father touched my face. “Would it please you if Mr. Staverton were to court you? Would this make you happy?”

I nodded. It surprised me how much I believed it would.

“Tell Mr. Staverton he may write to me,” my father said. “I should like it very much if he would write to me.”

In the next room, I heard my mother exclaim a celebration was in order and that she would bake a ginger tart. It was then I realized how
much my parents had prayed for my future. Cecily was already betrothed. My father’s illness showed no signs of leaving him. They had worried about me. My announcement—my request—had been an answer to their prayers. I wrote to Nicholas that hour.

Leaving Haversfield to return to Lady Jane was bittersweet. I prayed God would spare my father’s life long enough to see me married.

In the weeks after Edward Seymour and his family left Bradgate, both Jane and I waited upon coaches that brought us news from the men who’d won our affections. There were many evenings that Jane and I would find a quiet corner to share the news of the letters we’d received. And sometimes we’d write our letters at the same hour, Jane in her bedchamber and I in mine, and in the morning as I readied her wardrobe for the day, we’d share what we had written.

Jane’s parents did not discourage her many letters to Edward, nor did they encourage them. Some days Jane would wear the ring Edward had given her, but most days she would place it in the Turkish jewel box on her dressing table. I think the duchess’s moods dictated Jane’s confidence in whether or not she’d wear the ring. On the days the ring was placed in the box, she did not confide in me the reason why. She seemed sad and withdrawn on those days, spending long hours translating passages of Italian or Arabic, for no reason—it seemed to me—than to pass the time.

When the duchess announced that the family was returning to court, Jane’s spirits brightened. If the lords and ladies were returning to London, it would follow that Edward Seymour and his family would be also. I packed Jane’s wardrobe with care, as commanded by the duchess, and we set out for London on a chilly autumn morn.

In my letters to Nicholas, I admitted I had learned to care deeply for young Jane but that she would likely be married within a year’s time, and I did not know if I wished to stay in the duke’s employ without Jane to sew for. I enjoyed her sister Lady Katherine’s company, but we shared no
bond. It was quite likely that when Jane married, I would be dismissed. The duchess had plenty of dressmakers and tailors on her staff. I believe she had kept me on her staff because Jane had begged her to.

There was no reason to assume that Jane would have the freedom to employ me when she became a young earl’s wife. Seymour, no doubt, had his own household staff.

Though Nicholas had compassion for the loss I would feel at leaving the Grey household, I could tell he was relieved that I could envision a future that didn’t include working for the Duke of Suffolk. Knowing that the road ahead of me was to be far different than the one I had traveled thus far, I began to bit by bit ease myself away mentally from Jane. She would be leaving for Seymour’s home, I would be leaving for my own, back in Haversfield, and then upon Nicholas’s future graduation, to Nicholas’s home, God be willing. I needed to help her prepare for her new life as Edward Seymour’s wife. And I needed to think about my own preparations.