The Boleyn Reckoning (11 page)

“It’s not a game, Carrie.”

“Lord Exeter would not like it.”

“Do you make all your choices based on what Harrington would like?”

They had never spoken openly of the growing affection between Carrie and Dominic’s right-hand man, Edward Harrington. Carrie had every right to be offended at Minuette’s retort, but she merely shook her head. “My choices aren’t so likely to get me into trouble as yours are.”

Minuette turned those words over in her head for a long time after Carrie left her. The trouble with her choices lately was that whichever way she chose, danger hovered. Was it better to incur Dominic’s anger for going behind his back and putting Rochford on his guard, or to allow William to be blindsided by the charges against his uncle? To continue the delicate dance of strengthening William until he could bear the blow of her secret marriage, or to
simply run away with Dominic and leave others to pick up the pieces? Where was the safe choice there?

But she knew that, in the end, she had made her choice the moment she married Dominic—and that choice had been entirely about her own desires.

She was up and dressed by eight o’clock the next morning, wearing a gown in a sober shade of blue to emphasize either submissiveness or piety. Perhaps both. Then she sat in her rooms, waiting. She was to meet Dominic and Elizabeth in William’s privy chamber at ten. No point trying to write in her diary, she was too fidgety and would blot the ink even if she could calm her thoughts enough to be coherent.

It was half past nine when Carrie came into her presence chamber with a guest: Lady Jane Grey. Minuette blinked with surprise. Jane was the daughter of a duke and the granddaughter of the late king’s sister and she had never sought Minuette’s company before—why did she do so now?

No matter what she wore, Jane always looked subdued, like a spring garden after a rainstorm. However elaborate her gowns or hair or jewels, something in her very nature made her look wise and almost otherworldly. She wasn’t plain, but she behaved as though she were, or as though her appearance was far too trivial to deserve attention. Although Minuette was a year older, Jane always made her feel young and very frivolous.

“Forgive my intrusion,” Jane said in her quiet manner. “If it is not convenient, I can come another time.”

As it was not inconvenient to pass the time with an unexpected guest, Minuette replied, “You are quite welcome, Lady Jane. Was there a particular conversation you wished to have?”

For all her soberness, Jane showed a flash of ironic humour. “My wishes so rarely enter into anything these days. It is my mother,
rather, who wished this conversation to occur. And I thought you might prefer me to her.”

Minuette most certainly preferred Jane to the shrewd, formidable Duchess of Suffolk. Frances Brandon had spent her eldest daughter’s lifetime positioning her as the only choice for William’s queen. The French betrothal had been a great irritation. No doubt Minuette’s sudden elevation had sent the duchess into a Tudor rage.

“And what is the subject of this conversation?” she asked Jane.

Beneath her submissive manner, Jane had a streak of stubborn honesty that manifested itself occasionally in bluntness. As now. “Are you and the king quite serious in your intentions?”

Minuette picked over her words cautiously. “Have you ever known William to be less than serious in matters touching his kingdom?”

“He truly intends to marry you?”

“I have not the slightest reason to doubt his intentions.”

“You will not persuade him otherwise?” Jane eyed her coolly.

“Lady Suffolk is niece to the late King Henry. Does she really think Henry’s son is open to persuasions that oppose his will?”

“My mother is capable of thinking that whatever she wishes must be so, rather like my cousin William.” Jane flashed a rueful smile. “I think she will be disappointed in this.”

“Does that trouble you?” Minuette’s conscience pricked her unexpectedly. Was she injuring Jane’s sentiments by stealing away William’s love?

The assessing gaze Jane turned on her was, for a moment, a disconcerting echo of Elizabeth’s sharpness, and Minuette was reminded that they were all cousins—even Dominic, with his Boleyn mother and royal grandmother. Only Minuette truly stood on the outside.

Finally, Jane said, “The greatest disappointment is my mother’s,
that I will not be the queen she has always wanted me to be. As for myself, my ambitions have never been so grand. I prefer contemplation and study to the rush and pomp of court. I would be quite content to pass my life in a quiet manner. If I must marry, I would prefer it to be a country gentleman far removed from politics.”

“Do you have a particular gentleman in mind?”

“No. But it would not matter if I did. If I am not to be queen, then I must be a duchess. Which leads me to a question on my own account. You are well acquainted with Lord Exeter. He seems a serious-minded man. I wonder only …” Jane let her gaze wander around the chamber, flitting from the portrait of Elizabeth of York to the blue and gold curtains at the diamond-paned windows to Minuette’s modest jewelry casket. Clearly she was uncomfortable discussing personal matters. Finally, Jane said in a rush, “It is rumoured that Lord Exeter’s mother remains devoted to Rome. What are his own religious inclinations, do you know?”

Minuette felt nearly incapable of speech. It was one thing to be quizzed about William—but Dominic? She looked at the fair, slender Jane with her pretty eyes and submissive manner and, in that moment, hated her nearly as much as she was used to hating Eleanor Percy. “So it is Duchess of Exeter your mother aims for, is it?” She could not moderate the sharpness of her words.

“The only other possibility is the Duke of Norfolk, and Lord Exeter is far closer to the king.”

“And what is your preference?”

“I want a husband who will respect my convictions and share them, so that our children may be raised in an honourable and honest home. Will Lord Exeter allow me that freedom of conscience?”

Minuette had to subdue the urge to slap that righteous concern from Jane Grey’s face. In fact, the force of her violent reaction rather startled her. She managed to keep a level tone through sheer
force of will. “I do not know what sort of husband he would make you. I suppose you shall have to decide that for yourself.” Minuette stood up in dismissal, though she was by far the lesser-ranked. “I’m sorry to be abrupt, but I have an appointment with the king.”

Jane did not appear to take offense, though her expression was thoughtful and Minuette remembered that often the most dangerous people were those on the edges whom everyone tended to overlook. “Whatever my mother’s opinion,” Jane offered, “I think you are very good for my cousin. You make him happy, and that is never to be taken lightly. I wish you well, whatever difficulties lie ahead.”

“Thank you.”

Despite feeling ashamed at Jane’s generosity, Minuette could not trust herself to say more. Was she going to have to watch Lady Suffolk bear down upon Dominic as she had spent years doing to William, dragging Jane in her wake and thrusting her into his way with single-minded determination? She remembered Aimée at the French court last year, coming out of Dominic’s chamber in the middle of the night. Jane was not quite so bad as the voluptuous Frenchwoman. But that didn’t mean Minuette wanted to watch while any woman angled for Dominic’s attention.

She had to get this business of Rochford straightened out, then put paid to any French invasion plans, so that she and Dominic could cut through their tangled responsibilities and be free.

When Dominic and Elizabeth entered William’s privy chamber, Minuette was already, as usual, at her ease with the king. She wore a gown of dark blue that echoed the damask doublet of the king, and Dominic had a sudden vision of her with a crown on her golden hair. How lovely she would look, dressed as a queen.

He blinked and nodded once to his wife, trying to clear his head
of that disturbing image. She looked as though she carried unpleasant images of her own, for her hazel eyes were troubled and did not linger over him.

The king’s privy chamber at Greenwich retained the furniture and décor of Henry VIII’s reign. Although it was May, it was chilly and gray outside and a fire blazed in the wide hearth. Candles added a bit more light to the weak daylight that came through the windows but the whole effect was one of gloomy oppression.

William sat at his ease in a carved and cushioned chair, Minuette in a matching one at his side. The king’s expression was more alive than Dominic had seen in months. He instantly realized that was not, at this moment, a good thing. William’s mouth was set and squared-off, his keen blue eyes alive with irritation. And when he spoke, the very flatness of his tone announced his fury.

“So, you have come at last to tell me about Robert Dudley’s accusations against Lord Rochford.”

Dominic caught Elizabeth’s sideways glance and supposed she was as little surprised as he was. In some ways, the only surprise was that they hadn’t been found out before this.

“My uncle has been before you,” William continued. “He made a full confession to me last night.”

Dominic stared openly. “Lord Rochford confessed?” The words did not seem to fit together in his mind.

“He seemed to think I would be more lenient if I heard it from him first.”

“And will you be?” Elizabeth drawled.

“That,” William drew out the word, displeasure heavily colouring his voice, “is not the point. The point is that I was kept in the dark while my sister and my dearest friend went behind my back on a matter touching my throne.”

“William,” Minuette interposed sweetly, “we were not intending
to be deceptive. Only helpful.” She let her hand rest on his arm and Dominic twitched at knowing what her touch would feel like to William. Warm and reassuring and ever so enticing …

William’s eyes lingered on her hand, and then moved slowly, intimately, to her face. Not quite a caress, but near enough to make Dominic twitch again. But then the king spoke, and Dominic grew cold. “And you, sweetling? Would you like to tell the others how you betrayed them to Rochford and counseled him to confess before they could speak? Do Dominic and Elizabeth know that?”

Dominic almost choked holding back the words he instantly wanted to shout:
Minuette? How could you do that? I told you to stay away from him. We don’t need a snake like Rochford on our side and I thought we agreed …
 But Minuette had not agreed. Indeed, he had not asked it of her. He had simply assumed that his word was the last one.

In that split moment of confusion between his head and his mouth, in which Minuette bit her lip and avoided her husband’s accusing gaze, Elizabeth spoke first. With characteristic dryness, she said, “Well, Minuette, if your aim were to prove that you belong at William’s side, you have achieved that and more. Who would have guessed you could be so calculating?”

Minuette removed her hand from William’s arm and straightened in her seat, meeting the watchful eyes of all three with apparent calm. “The lighthearted, merrymaking girl is so easy to overlook.”

“So it seems,” Elizabeth retorted. “May I take it, William, that Rochford’s confession included his manipulation of Robert Dudley?”

“Is that always to be your primary concern—the welfare of Robert Dudley? Just as well you are not England’s ruler or your affections might undo us all.”

“And yours will not?”

Everyone knew in an instant that Elizabeth’s flippant response had crossed the line. Dominic felt that the ceiling had lowered and the air grown dangerous as William’s eyes went dark, like a sky about to storm. “Do you have something to say, sister? Come to think of it, I do not believe I have yet received your well wishes on my betrothal. Surely that is an oversight and not an insult to either me or my lady.”

William reached for Minuette, taking firm possession of her hand without even looking at her. Dominic couldn’t decide where to look: at William’s cold fury or Elizabeth’s sparking temper or Minuette’s shuttered withdrawal. He wanted nothing more than to take his wife by the other hand and get her out of here. Out of this chamber, out of the palace, out of London …

Even Elizabeth knew when to submit. “I thought my well wishes were a given. Of course I congratulate you, William, on having had the good sense to fall in love with a woman you do not deserve.”

After a heartbeat in which he might have chosen to take offense, William’s expression eased. “I suppose I can overlook the insult to me as it is such a truthful compliment to Minuette. I do not deserve her, but I will have her, and whatever your opinion of the politics, I expect your wholehearted and vocal support in the matter.”

“Naturally.”

Before Dominic could be asked to give that same promise, he said hastily, “What about Lord Rochford?”

William released Minuette, and Dominic had a sudden vision of his wife as a chess piece—one that kept being picked up and put back down at the whim of others. The king leaned back in his seat. “I sent Rochford to Charterhouse last night. I do not mean to have him arrested. But I do think a long absence from court is in
order. I will banish him to Blickling Hall and let him ponder the folly of trying to maneuver behind my back.”

“He is not to be made to answer for any of his crimes?” Dominic could not help his harshness; as long as Rochford was free, the man could stir up any sort of trouble he liked.

His image of Minuette as a chess piece—silent and played by others—shattered when she said coolly, “What would be the point? The past cannot be changed and it would not profit England to put one more leader in his grave. The king can make known his displeasure with Rochford short of killing him.”

The look William turned on Minuette was assessing and not entirely pleased. But he nodded once. “Norfolk and Northumberland are both dead, the first by natural causes and the latter through his own actions. I have already reinstated Norfolk’s grandson to the title and estates, and I will release Northumberland’s sons from the Tower. His oldest son, John, may retain his earldom of Warwick, but his father’s estates remain forfeit to me.”