Royal Mistress (22 page)

“Were you listening, my lord?” Jane enquired, amused. “Your attention seems to have flown up the chimney with the cinders. Did you hear that I stood up to my father?”

He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Aye, sweeting, I
did. How old were you when you first decided to be a rebel, Jane Shore?” Then he laughed at her astonishment.

E
dward sent a barge for Jane, not his royal barge, but it was as elegant a conveyance as Jane had ever traveled in. She now counted John Norrys among her admirers, as Edward’s squire had continued to be a conduit between the palace and Thames Street and had grown to like the sunny disposition of his master’s latest conquest. Jane always asked about his family, how his little son was faring, and complimented him on some new bonnet he was sporting. And he liked that Jane would insist on serving him ale or wine herself when he came bearing a message or to escort her to Edward. “She puts on no airs,” he had confided to his fellow squire of the body, Sir Walter Hungerford, “but is always ready to laugh.”

Jane settled into the cushions on the curtained vessel and watched the scores of small boats, wherries, and shouts ply the brown water of the Thames. Several washerwomen were slapping clothes against the rocks on the south bank, exchanging gossip and shouting a greeting to a boatman passing by. It was only early June, but the heat had been relentless and had sent the queen and her household down the river to her Placentia Palace of Greenwich, allowing Edward to entertain Jane for the first time at a small feast he was giving in honor of the visiting envoy from Brittany.

“I think ’tis time the court makes your acquaintance, dear Jane,” Edward had decided after a night spent in her bedchamber. “By now you are hardly my best-kept secret. I want to acknowledge you, but I needed the queen to be absent, you see.”

Hastings hid a smile. Nicely put, your grace, he thought.

Jane remembered now the evening at her house, when they had entertained Will Hastings as though they were a merchant and his wife. The two men had praised her cook’s culinary efforts and had laughed at Ankarette’s clumsy service as she attempted to control her shaking hands. Jane smiled to herself. Edward had
been the very essence of kindness to Jane’s maid, and after a few spills, Ankarette had settled down and even earned the king’s praise and a shilling for her efforts.

When Will had made his farewells, he had kissed Jane’s hand as he always did, but that night Jane noticed melancholy in the look he gave her as Edward put his arm about her waist and wished his friend a good night. Did Hastings disapprove, or, worse, did he still desire her? Jane wondered now. He had been so solicitous when she had first moved into her new house, and hardly a day had gone by that she had not received a visit or a token nosegay from him. She knew she would not be as confident about her first public appearance had it not been for his fatherly advice and courtly expertise. She hoped she was not causing the kind man pain.

The barge was passing the hospital of St. John, built out of the ruins of the Savoy Palace, which had been burned in the peasants’ revolt in the previous century. Who would have believed a mercer’s daughter was cushioned in the royal barge; she hardly believed it herself. She wished her sister might see her now, but thinking of Bella spoiled her mood. She did not want to be reminded of the uncomfortable visit she had recently made to Hosier Lane, when her mother and sister had sat stiffly side by side expecting a lambasting on John’s return for entertaining Jane. In that ten-minute meeting, she found out her father had forbidden them to visit her on Thames Street, and her heart had hardened anew against him. She pushed the scene from her mind and concentrated on the oarsmen’s blades and the evening ahead.

Soon she would be at Westminster wharf and have to make her entrance. She shivered—from excitement or fear, she could not tell—and she hoped her gown would please the king. It was of the palest of pale blue silk, cut with a square neck and high waistline. It fell in shimmering folds to the floor. She had purposely instructed the tailor to keep the bodice modest; she had no wish to flaunt her assets to the court. Covering the bare skin above the dark-blue
lace trim of the bodice was Edward’s gold and pearl collar. She was certain all would be aware of who she was by now and knew every eye would be critically evaluating the king’s new mistress. Let them at least see that a mercer’s daughter possessed good taste.

John Norrys took her hand to help her from the boat and tucked it under his arm for the short walk to the wharfside entry into the royal lodgings. “May I say that your beauty will eclipse all others tonight, Mistress Shore?” he told her as they mounted the spiral stairs.

“You may, sir, although I fear you flatter me,” Jane replied, relieved. “I must confess my knees are a little unsteady, and knowing you are here to bear me up is comforting. ’Tis as well I am so small for if I faint away, I will not be much of a burden to carry off.”

Norrys laughed. “You do not appear to be the sort of female that swoons, mistress.”

“Just you wait, Master Norrys,” Jane rejoined. “I may surprise you.”

She was thankful Edward was waiting in the private antechamber where the stairs led, and she warmed to his welcoming smile. “Dear God, Mistress Shore, but you are ravishing,” he told her, taking her hand to his lips as she rose from her curtsey.

“Not now, your grace,” Jane told him, all too conscious of the entourage watching. She was delighted to see Will, who came forward and kissed her hand, his smile showing approval of her modesty. If Will Hastings was pleased, then she had chosen her wardrobe well, she thought happily. “Lord Hastings,” she greeted him with another deep reverence.

Edward introduced her to one of his gentlemen of the chamber, Thomas Howard, Jack Howard’s son, whose greeting was courteous, and then to the steward of the household, Lord Thomas Stanley, whose curt bow and pursed lips were anything but friendly. His tall, angular wife merely inclined her head, her unblinking eyes traveling up from Jane’s pointed crackows to her deep blue velvet
hennin with such speed, Jane wondered how Margaret Beaufort could have formed any impression of her, let alone the disdain that curled the woman’s lip. Jane decided to tread warily around the Stanleys.

They were joined by Howard’s wife, Elizabeth, and his stepmother, a plump little woman not much bigger than Jane, to whom Jane immediately warmed. “Lady Margaret is missing her husband, are you not, my lady?” Edward said, raising her from her reverence. “Jack Howard is one of the most trusted of my councilors, Mistress Shore. Unfortunately, he is deputizing for Lord Hastings in Calais, but you will meet him soon. Lady Margaret and Lady Elizabeth will be your companions today, and they will see that you come to no harm.” He winked at Margaret, which caused her to wag a motherly finger at him. At once Jane felt comfortable; she had come to understand how Edward put everyone at their ease, noble or commoner.

“Come, now, ladies and gentlemen, let us not keep our guest of honor waiting any longer. Will, escort Mistress Shore to her place. Come, Lady Margaret, will you serve as my consort for our entrance?”

“Make way for the king!” called the usher, and at once the hall was hushed and the assembled group parted to allow the king to pass. He graciously accepted the bows made to him right and left and paused to have a word with this one and that until he reached his throne. His purple-gowned majesty, arresting stature, and charismatic presence filled the room as if someone had suddenly opened the roof and let in the sunlight. Despite their richly made garments and many jewels, the Breton delegation was cast into the shade.

Will gripped Jane’s arm reassuringly, and they stepped out a few paces behind Lord and Lady Stanley and the younger Howards. Discreetly, Will led Jane up two steps to an alcove farther down the hall, furnished with three velvet-covered chairs, and begged her to
take the center seat. “The Howard women will flank you, my dear Jane, and all will know you have their blessing,” he reassured her. “Tonight you must watch and learn, and it may be that Edward will not speak to you, but all will know why you are here.” He saw her flinch and patted her hand. “You need to hear the truth from me. I shall not dissemble; they will need to become used to you.”

Momentarily forgetting her escort’s conflicted feelings, Jane clung tightly to Will’s hand as she took her seat. “Sweet Jesu, but I am terrified,” she confessed as she faltered in her step. “Say I at least do not look like a harlot, my lord.”

Will bowed gravely and took her hand to his lips. “Far from it, Mistress Shore, you outshine every lady here. You might be a duchess,” he soothed, and added with a wink, “Good luck, my dear.”

As Hastings made his way back to Edward’s side, he overheard someone say to his neighbor, “So, she is the well-kept secret. I cannot say I blame the king.” Hastings gave the man a look that would have withered a summer rose, but he marked the moment to share with Jane later.

The musicians in a facing alcove began to play softly on lutes and recorders, and Jane’s spirits lifted. No one had laughed at her, no one had pointed at her, in fact most were ignoring her, and she felt brave enough to tweak the tight sleeves over her wrists, adjust her velvet bonnet, its veil floating in a cloud of white gauze down her back, and eagerly observe the proceedings.

It was then she had the odd sensation that someone was watching her, and she turned away from the scene by the throne, where Edward was clapping the ambassador on the shoulder and laughing, and she looked right into Tom Grey’s eyes.

Jane could not say if her pounding heart sent the blood rushing to or from her face, but she was aware that every nerve in her body was alive to the sight of this man who had broken yet stolen her heart. Why had she not anticipated Tom’s presence this day? He attended the king, so certes he was bound to be present. She
gripped her fingers together and looked away. She had rehearsed what she might say to him when next they met, but now that he was coming toward her, the phrases fled her mind.

“My lord marquess, God give you a good evening,” a voice at her elbow said. Jane was unaware that in those fleeting seconds Lady Howard had joined her in the alcove, and she was startled by Margaret’s greeting. “Have you made the acquaintance of my new friend, Mistress Shore? Thomas Grey, marquess of Dorset.” Margaret Howard made the introduction smoothly.

Jane was astonished by the generous word
friend
but so grateful, she could have kissed the plump matron. Before she lowered her eyes, she tried to send Tom a message to deny knowing her.

Tom bowed over Lady Howard’s hand, murmuring, “Lady Margaret.” Then he raised his eyes to Jane. “Mistress Shore and I have been acquainted for some time, have we not, mistress?”

Jane could not say if he deliberately chose to ignore her sign or truly wanted to be friendly. But if he were baiting her, she would not bite. She inclined her head, as Will had taught her a seated lady should, and furrowed her brow. “Perhaps you could remind me of the occasion, my lord. It must have been either at my father’s mercery in the Chepe or when I was presented at court as a freewoman of the city earlier in the year, for I am not used to mingling with nobility and thus would have remembered meeting a marquess. But, if I am wrong, I am glad to make your acquaintance again, and this time I shall be certain to remember you.” Her demure pretense infuriated Tom.

“As you wish, mistress,” was his terse response. He bowed to Margaret, turned abruptly and walked toward the knot of courtiers around the king, leaving Jane chastising herself for her wayward tongue. She had not really wanted to send him away; she only wanted him to respect the delicacy of her position. She was not to know that delicacy was not in the young marquess’s unimaginative repertoire.

“Oh, nicely done, Mistress Shore,” Margaret Howard congratulated her young charge. “I cannot remember when I have seen vainglorious Tom Grey’s flirting so nimbly deflected.”

“Was he flirting with me, my lady?” Jane thought it wise to play the innocent. “I was merely answering his question.” Looking over at Tom, she saw to her dismay that he was carrying a lovely young woman’s hand to his lips, who simpered as he lingered over it.

“You remind me of a friend of mine.” Margaret smiled. “A young woman of spirit who won the heart of the king’s brother, Richard of Gloucester.” Then she was serious. “A word of warning, my dear. Stay away from Dorset. He is none too bright and is his mother’s darling, an unattractive combination in a man.”

But Jane was too miserable to mark her words. Tom Grey’s arrival had ruined her much-anticipated debut at court.