Queenbreaker: Perseverance (The Queenbreaker Trilogy Book 1) (16 page)

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Prove it?

Mother
cut me adrift. She rejoined the family only steps away from where I stood, but
a thousand miles to my heart.

Prove it? I could sooner prove the Earth
went round the sun.

I
stood on the cold edge of our family’s proprietary sphere. They surrounded
Anne’s table, laughing, drinking,
reveling
in their
imminent elevation. Cousin George and wife Jane traded winning smiles under
Uncle Wiltshire’s eye. Father maintained his place at Aunt Elizabeth’s elbow,
ear cocked for any utterance she might make.

These
people were all I had in the world. Until I had a husband and children of my
own, and even then I would still owe them my first obedience.

After Anne, of course.

I
forced myself to watch her. I tried, but failed to picture her at fifteen.

I
could not believe she had ever been fifteen. More like, she’d burst fully
formed out of Uncle Wiltshire’s skull like Athena from Zeus, ready to win her
place as Queen.

My
fingernails scratched the fray I’d made in my skirt. Anne could command
anyone's friendship. I must win it.

“It
went the same for me.”

I
swung my head toward the speaker. Cousin Mary Carey stood beside me, a silver
goblet cradled between her hands. I had not noticed her on the Queen’s barge
nor among the crowd earlier. Did she have some trick for being inconspicuous or
was it only that Anne’s presence made her so?

“I
beg your pardon?” I said.

Cousin
Mary’s dimple flashed. “I can guess the subject of your mother’s lecture. I got
the same from my own at your age. Anne did too.” We both glanced at her. She
and the King sat hand in hand, whispering in each other’s ears.

“Always
pushing, prodding, suggesting, demanding.” Cousin Mary sighed. “It never
stops.”

I
peered at her enigmatic face. “Never?”

She
grinned. “I am supposed to be contemplating a grand new marriage. If the French
Queen’s cough finally carries her away, you may be looking at the next Duchess
of Suffolk.”

“Truly?”
I gasped. “But he hates Anne.”

Cousin
Mary smirked. “Yet he loves Henry. And he loves his position best of all. Since
Henry has no more blood sisters to seduce, a sister-by-marriage must do.” She
sipped her wine. “I would make a grand duchess, don’t you think?”

Cousin
Mary laughed. I joined in.

“And
who shall it be for you, little cousin?”

“Mary
Howard and Margaret Douglas.”

Her
lips fluttered. “Strange choice.”

We
spotted them with Lady Frances, commanding the dance floor with fresh partners.

“I
have no friends in the Privy Chamber—I thought they would be the most
likely to take me up.”

The
instant the words were out I wanted them back. Cousin Mary was a Lady of the
Queen’s Privy Chamber, Anne’s first official appointment in fact. But everyone
knew that honor had been made solely out of familial obligation.

The
smile faded from her eyes. “I see.”

“Forgive
me, cousin.”

Cousin
Mary gave a dry shrug. “It is no secret. If Anne was not my blood she would
have naught to do with me.” She threw back the last of her wine. “She hates me
almost as much as she does Spanish Katherine.”

“Because
of the King.” It came out a breathless murmur, but she heard it.

Her
lips twitched. “Aye, because I came before her.”

And
because you have his son.

But
I could never say it. The King had never acknowledged little Henry Carey his;
he never would now that Anne was Queen.

How
can she stomach all the honors done for the King’s first bastard and nothing
for her son?

Cousin
Mary’s late husband, Sir William Carey, had died in the outbreak of sweat that
had almost carried away Anne herself five years ago. He had not left her a
wealthy woman. Mother had told me she was entirely dependent upon her father
and Anne’s largesse. Marriage to the Duke of Suffolk would be a God-sent
miracle to her.

Cousin
Mary signaled a passing servant to re-fill her goblet.

“My
sisters hate me because I was chosen to come to court and they were not,” I
said once the man was gone.

Cousin
Mary chuckled. “We females are cruel to one another. Thank God for my brother
George. He is a friend no matter which way the wind blows.”

I
smiled at her. “My brother Tom is the same to me.”

She
nodded. “We cannot compete with our menfolk so we can be at our ease with them.
Our female kin, never.” Her eyes clouded. “But that is the way of things,
little cousin. The first are sometimes last and the last, well, you know.” She
laughed. “My luck has been fickle. I wish you better fortune.” She saluted me
and took a long draught of wine, pressed a napkin to her lips. “So you think
being taken up by the young female lights of court will advance your prospects.”

“Mother
thinks so. They spoke with me once before. My first day at court, but nothing
since.” I did not try to hide my chagrin. “I do not know what I’ve done wrong.”

She
sighed. “Take no offense.” She tapped her goblet, appraising the three girls.

“Margot
styles herself the leader of the younger set in Anne’s household. She never
takes anyone up on first meeting. Mariah…Mariah is kind, but sometimes aloof.
She does not suffer fools. Ever. Frances is headstrong, but follows Mariah’s
lead most days. Unless her husband’s about.”

We
watched the three of them inventing ever more wild steps in the galliard. Their
red-faced partners stumbled trying to follow them. Margot clapped her hands,
urging them on.

“Anne
tolerates the presumption and Margot keeps herself pleasant toward her.”

I
frowned at Cousin Mary’s implication. It ran counter to what Mother had told
me.

“I
thought Margot supported the King’s marriage to Anne?”

Cousin
Mary nodded to her brother George across the room. “She supports her uncle.
Margot doesn’t have her cousin Mary’s scruples or Auntie Katherine’s
conscience.” She shrugged. “Or mayhap she just lacks their loyalty.”

A
commotion around Anne’s table drew our eyes. The King was on his feet. The
music stopped.

“Uh-oh,”
Cousin Mary said. “They should not have been so conspicuous.”

The
girls’ foolery ended in flat-footed silence as Anne glided into their midst.
They sank, a fraction late to my eye, to their knees.

Cousin
Mary chuckled. “Anne cannot be overshadowed—by her own talent and
now—forever—by her crown.”

The
music returned as a stately pavane—its slow, stately steps meant to show
Anne to best advantage. The three girls drifted away; their antics put to
flight.

“Foolish
girls,” my cousin said. “Mariah knows better, but Margot’s waywardness is
ungovernable.”

She
looked at me. “Are you certain you want their friendship? Margot’s pride and
high spirits make her risky. She will lead you into trouble if you let her.”

Trouble?
Trying to
outshining
Anne on the eve of her
coronation? It was slightly treacherous, but so daring.

I
rolled my shoulder. “Mother expects it.”

And I do believe I want it.

Her
lips tightened. “Well, then it’s on your head.”

“But
how do I accomplish it?”

She
lifted her goblet, acknowledging someone in the crowd. “Oh, that is easy. I
will speak to Anne and suggest she put you four together as much as possible.”

Surprise
warmed me. “I would be forever grateful, cousin.”

She
waved her hand. “I do no more than I should. We are kin and bound to aid one
another. But putting you in their company will not be enough.”

My
stomach shrank. “What else can I do?”

“Well,
the usual gifts and flattery will not interest them.” She touched a fingertip
to her lips, thinking. “They crave excitement, novelty…scandal.”

I
flinched from the word. “I have no scandals.”

Cousin
Mary’s smile blazed. “You’re half a Boleyn, coz. Just give it time.”

A
scandal was the very last thing I needed to win their attention. Mother would
beat me.

“Is
there aught else I might do?”

She
shrugged. She’d locked eyes with a gentleman across the chamber. I felt her
attention departing.

“Cousin
Mary?” I prompted.

“Oh,
yes. Something else you can do? They do not ignore poets. How is your verse?”

My
stomach shrank again. “Doggerel.”

She
patted my arm. “You need a tutor. Do you know any good poets at court?”

__________________

Master
Wyatt’s height made him easy to track. I tried, but could not overtake him
through the crowd. If he was leaving the banquet, he was one of the first.

I will catch him at the wharf for
certain.

Wyatt
left the White Tower, but did not turn left toward the river as I expected.
Instead, he walked, unhurried, west across the Green toward the little Chapel
of St. Peter ad Vincula.

What is he about?

I
watched him go inside then darted across the Green and down three short steps
to the chapel door. Two candles burned on either side of the altar. Their
modest light failed to touch either wall. I held my breath to catch his
footfalls, but heard only the music from the White Tower seeping through the
walls. Wyatt had vanished.

Did
Wyatt have an assignation?
In the chapel?
He had no
reputation for being particularly devout, but he could not be so dissolute? But
if he could, might I learn the identity of his unrequited love? That knowledge
might be enough to ingratiate me with Mariah and Margot—mayhap the Queen
herself.

I
took one step further inside and a door creaked somewhere near the altar. The
candles flickered. I hiked my skirt past my ankles and backed out of the chapel
as swift as I could be in the near dark. I ducked behind one of the outer doors
and crouched in the shadow.

I
counted nineteen before I heard soft footfalls coming my way. A pair of mud
caked riding boots passed me and went up the steps back toward the Green. I
lifted my skirt and tiptoed up the stairs after them.

Just
as I crested the stairs, the chapel bell tolled right above my head. The man
swung around just as the wind died. Unfettered torchlight struck his face.

He did not drown…

My
skin flared hot then cold then hot again. Sweat tickled the nape of my neck,
mimicking what his fingers had done in my mother’s garden.

“Tom
Clere.” His name tasted like honey fresh from the comb. Saying it intoxicated
me.

“Clere!”

My
shout brought him up short.
 
Gravel
flew from his boot heels. I ran at him ready to throw myself in his arms, but
they did not open. I skidded to a stop.

“I-I
cannot believe you are here,” I gasped. “When did you return? Are you to stay
at court? I am here—Maid of Honor to the Queen. It is better than we
hoped for. I have a room and pin money, and the Queen has already shown me
favor…” My words ran off, frightened by his continuing silence.

Torchlight
threw baffling patterns across his face, masking his true expression.
   

I
grabbed his arm to pull him back toward the chapel. “We must speak in private.”

Clere
pulled my hands off, flinging them away as though they stung.

“I
have nothing to say to you.”

“Nothing?
After five months?” I reached for him again. “What is the matter?”

The
ostrich feather punctuating his black cap vibrated—not from wind, I
realized, but from Clere’s own shaking.

“Playing
innocent?” he muttered. “That is a new trick.”

His
brusqueness froze my blood.

“What
are you saying?” I cried, baffled and spooked by this boy who looked like Tom
Clere, but spoke nothing like him.

“How
much do you want?”

“Want?” My
forehead folded. “For what?”

“Your
silence.”

“About
what?
Your
meeting with Master Wyatt?” The coldness in
my bowels eased. If I had spied on something private then I could not fault his
anger. But his harshness was out of bounds.

“Forgive
me if I saw something I should not. But it is nothing to me. I will say nothing
of you and Wyatt.”

Clere’s
continuing hostile stare told me I was mistaken. “Stop it, Mary. What do you
want to keep silent about us?”

“About
us?” My stomach pitched sideways. “W-why should I keep silent about us?”