Royal Mistress (11 page)

Will grimaced at the mention of the marquess of Dorset, another burr under his saddle. The inclusion of Edward’s young stepson—and his own stepson-in-law—in their entertainment was an embarrassing aspect of his and Ned’s friendship. The boy could be his grandson, he thought angrily. And such an arrogant and unintelligent courtier, he had long ago concluded. Could Mistress Shore be the same woman? Tom must have confided in Edward, which further irritated Will, but it was the thought that Tom might have already enjoyed Jane that really infuriated him.

“I believe the lady to have better judgment than to have dallied even a moment with a libertine like Dorset,” Will declared. “It cannot be the same woman.”

Edward laughed again, relishing his friend’s discomfort. “And you, I suppose, my dear Will, are pure as the driven snow? I am afraid that description belongs solely to my brother Richard. What is it about Tom you dislike so? Are you angry that Bess insisted
I give him to your wealthy stepdaughter? Come now, admit it.”

“Aye, I admit it,” Will snapped back. “I am fond of my stepdaughter and to see her wastrel husband seducing others in my sight sickens me.”

“William, William,” Edward purred. “Cast not out the mote from thine own eye . . . or however the scripture reads. And do not tell me you think about
your
poor wife when you are in bed with a trollop?”

And I suppose you do, Will wanted to retort, but he knew how far he could push Edward before the king became the king and no longer his adventurous companion.

“Speaking of wives, I had best go and visit mine,” Edward grumbled as he rose and called for a page. “I have promised Richard a game of chess after supper this evening, so no lusty sport for us. I love that brother of mine dearly, but he is not one to make merry.” He smiled as he checked his appearance in the polished silver mirror. “Did you ever meet his first love, Kate Haute? Now, there was a woman who might have brightened Richard’s sober-sided aspect. Bold and beautiful—like my Bessie—but sadly an unsuitable bride for a prince.”

Hastings nodded, but he was thinking: also like your Bess.

“Certes, you met her,” Edward said. “Richard’s Neville wife is all gentleness, but lacks the spirit of her predecessor.” As he strode from the room, he called back, “Shall I see you at the council meeting on the morrow?”

Will confirmed that he would be there, but his mind was on more interesting matters as he planned his strategy for the wooing of Jane Shore.

“W
e have been summoned to Lord Hastings’s house, wife,” William almost shouted, bursting into Jane’s chamber with barely a knock. At the interruption, Jane’s maidservant, Ankarette Tyler, dropped the gold necklace she was removing from her mistress’s
neck. Impatient to be alone with his wife, William spoke sharply to the trembling woman before shooing her from the room. Jane picked up the jewelry and shot him a disapproving look.

“Sweet Jesu, William, you have the manners of a peasant.”

His cold, hard look made her cower, and for a moment she believed that William would hit her, as her father would have done, but the news her husband wanted to convey overcame any desire to chastise her, and he disregarded her retort.

“The baron wishes to see both of us upon the morrow, Jane. And he wishes you to wear the green-and-golden gown. I should not be surprised if his lady wife is present, and she is a Neville! Can you not rejoice? This could be the making of my fortune.” Then William astonished Jane by capering—aye, she thought,
capering
was the word—about the room. She had not seen him so excited before, and as it seemed to her that for once his levity was not wine-induced, she had an idea.

She rose and took off her bedrobe, going to him with a smile and acknowledgment of the wonderful news. She ran her hands up his arms and ended with his face between her fingers as she stood on tiptoe, hoping to arouse him at last. “Certes, I am happy for you—happy for us both, husband.” She stroked his cheek and let her breasts press up against him. Surely she would feel his passion rise and manifest itself between them. “And, my dear husband, I would be happy for our child,” she hinted.

He stared down at her sensual smile and smelled the lavender water in her hair. He did indeed feel her full bosom warming his torso, with her hand perilously near his codpiece. She was waiting to be kissed, and for the first time since wedding her, he thought to his own surprise he might bed her. He had not forgotten her taunts of annulment, and in truth he wanted no part of a separation. He feared for his growing reputation. He had ambitions to rise in the guild and become a warden, like John Lambert, and even, God willing, an alderman of the city. Nay,
he could not risk a scandal at this point in his promising career.

As always, once thoughts about business again crowded his head, they drew the blood from his loins back into his brain, and he pushed Jane aside. “We cannot dally in bed when we need every second of this night to prepare. I must choose my finest wares to take with us to Lord Hastings’s house. You must look your best, and so I shall leave you to sleep alone.”

“Then you have forfeited your chance of keeping me as your wife, William,” Jane wanted to shout. Surely the dean of Arches would grant her an annulment after she told this familiar story. She turned from him, her eyes hard, and coldly wished him a good night.

William grasped her arm and swung her back to him. “Why the disdain, mistress high and mighty? Do I not afford you all the advantages of a wealthy merchant’s wife? Do you not hold the keys to the household? Have you not spent my hard-earned money on your wardrobe and jewels? Have I begrudged you your craving for luxury? How dare you turn from your husband and dismiss him with a rude ‘good night.’ What more do you want, mistress?”

Jane shook off his hand, her eyes now the color of an angry sea. “What I want is beyond your understanding, William. To begin with, you have no capacity to love, and even that I could forgo if you could give me the real treasure that I seek. ’Tis not the fabulous gowns nor sparkling sapphires that you bribe me with. Oh, do not take me for a fool, sir; I know full well they are bribes. Nay, what I yearn for is a babe whom I can love and who will love me. My own child is what I want.” She scoffed at his astonishment. “Aye, even
your
child, husband, although I would pray he would not take after his father.” She knew she had provoked him too far and as he lifted his hand to hit her, she raised her own to prevent him. “Do you wish me to have the marks of your fingers on my face when you meet with Lord Hastings, Master Shore?”

William had gone white and now a faint flush colored his
cheeks as he pulled his hand from her grip. He turned on his heel, exited the room, and slammed the door behind him. Jane threw herself down on the bed, unable to stem the uncharacteristic tears that had threatened during her defiant speech. It was one she had often dreamed about making during her waking hours while carrying out her duties as mistress of the household. She never thought she would ever have the courage to speak her mind in such a blunt manner. She was at once proud of herself and yet chastised. Had she not promised at the church door to obey her husband in all things?

Her tears were quickly spent as her practical self took over. She offered a quick prayer to the Virgin’s mother, St. Anne, who was known to comfort childless women and who had become Jane’s favorite intercedent with God over the past few months. “I pray you let William be well received by Lord Hastings so that he may celebrate by getting me with child. I fear greatly that if he is unable to then, I shall succumb to temptation with another.” She closed her eyes tightly and hoped neither St. Anne nor God could read her mind. She did not think that either deity would approve of her committing adultery with Tom Grey. But the idea excited her, and, after crossing herself for her sinful thoughts, she got up off the bed and stood in front of the polished copper mirror. She lifted her shift to reveal her ankles and then a little more of her legs and, closing her eyes, imagined her lover removing the garment completely and taking her naked body in his arms.

Aching with unfulfilled passion, she let the skirt fall, blew out the candles, and crawled alone between the sheets.

W
ill Hastings’s residence lay a stone’s throw from Paul’s Wharf to the south and Baynard’s Castle to the west, and once inside the small courtyard Jane admired the warm, ivy-covered brick facade with its several large leaded windows, which she would discover
illuminated the solar on the second floor to great effect. From them, one could just see the river and Southwark’s growing skyline of lime-washed houses standing out against a leaden sky.

The baron’s steward met their small cart at the side entrance. It was a singular honor to be met by the steward himself, William explained to Jane as he began supervising his apprentices and a household page in transporting the many bolts of damasks and velvets up the stairs to the main floor. On top of the pile was the green-and-gold satin.

Jane was ushered up alone first and admired the painted room, lavishly decorated with tapestries that could only have come from the finest weavers in Brussels or Bruges. Aye, she thought, turning to contemplate one depicting a unicorn hunt, Lord Hastings had fled into exile with the king five years ago when Edward took shelter with his brother-in-law Charles of Burgundy in Bruges. Hastings must have made the most of his time there, she concluded, throwing back the veil that William made her wear whenever they were in the street. He could not abide the lecherous looks his wife invariably attracted, and Jane, amused more than irked, had acquiesced with grace.

“The workmanship is beautiful, do you not think, Mistress Shore?” The voice was so close, Jane jumped and clutched her heart. Will Hastings smiled. “Forgive me for startling you. You were expecting me, I hope?”

Jane turned back to the wall hanging, aware Hastings was watching her. “I am very fond of the hunt, my lord, though I have been unable to pursue it lately, more’s the pity.”

After her self-arousal the night before, Jane was hungry to be desired that morning. She saw again the frank admiration in Will Hastings’s look, and it warmed her. She noticed that, despite his age, he still had all his teeth and his legs were strong and straight. What stood out, however, were his eyes. Brown and kind. Aye, she could see the intelligence behind them, but their kindness
mattered more to her. She made him a small curtsey and smiled coyly up at him.

“My lord, my husband is downstairs overseeing the unloading of his cloth. But may I tell you that we are humbled by your patronage.” She smoothed the folds of her soft satin skirt to draw Will’s attention to it. “My husband told me to wear this, so you might examine it more closely,” she said, and saw to her sudden understanding that his eyes had not left her face and were clearly uninterested in her gown. Why, it was she whom Lord Hastings had wanted to see again, not her green-and-golden gown! The king’s chamberlain was interested in her, she thought, only slightly flustered. She knew of his reputation with the wenches in the city—his and his sovereign’s. And only recently had she learned to her chagrin that Tom Grey was a part of this trolloping trio. She had witnessed the landlord at the Lamberts’ favorite tavern in the Chepe, where the family would take their weekly Sunday dinner, gossip about the seduction of one of his serving girls by a disguised Edward. “Imagine the king in The King’s Head,” he had chortled to Jane’s father, “and then taking a maiden’s head.” Jane had seethed silently as he and John had winked and enjoyed the joke at the violated servant’s expense.

But Jane was no tavern wench, and the king’s most trusted councilor—arguably the most powerful man in England after the king—was treating her like a lady. Far from being cowed, she was spurred on to take a risk, especially after her unhappy evening with William. She lifted her skirt an inch or two and revealed an ankle in the process. “This is what you have a liking for, is it not, my lord? ’Twould be imprudent for me to invite you to touch, as we are alone, but as soon as William arrives with the rest of the material, you will be allowed to finger it.”