Blaze Wyndham (51 page)

“Listen to me, madam,” he said. “The king may think that he is in love with Mistress Anne. He may think that he seeks to make her his wife. He may even believe it at this time, but it will never happen. I tell you now that Anne Boleyn will
never
sit upon England’s throne as its queen, nor will a child of her body and the king’s ever rule England. The people will not have it!

“The king must be freed from the barren Catherine, and he must remarry, but I promise you that it will be to a princess of the blood royal, and not the daughter of some Kentish knight. Do you understand me, madam? You may do the king’s errand with a good heart, although I seriously doubt that your words will have any effect at all upon that impossible woman. Still, you may try, and try your best, for eventually the king will be freed of her, and he will wed a proper wife. This is all that I would say to you.” He held out his hand, and Blaze, kneeling, kissed his ring of office. “The boy will see you safely back to your own apartments, madam,” said the cardinal, arising from his seat.

She had no sooner reentered her apartments than another pageboy arrived upon the scene, and without bowing to her said in a strident young voice, “The lady Anne says you are to attend to her at once!”

Blaze felt her temper flare. “Sirrah!” she said in a harsh tone. “Where are your manners? I did not see you bow to me. I am the Countess of Langford, and I am used to far better manners than you have just shown me. Who is this
Lady Anne
who demands my presence? Only the queen or the king’s sisters may demand my presence, and none of them are called by the name Anne.”

The page flushed with embarrassment, and attempting to mend his fences, began again. “My lady Wyndham,” he said, bowing deeply, “my mistress, the lady Anne Boleyn, requests that you attend her immediately.”

“Tell your mistress that I have just arrived after a horrendous journey from Herefordshire. I am far too exhausted to speak with anyone at the moment. Tell her that I hope that I shall see her on the morrow,” Blaze concluded. She had had enough. First the king, and then the cardinal, and now that upstart bitch!

“Well, boy?” demanded Heartha. “What are you standing there for yet? Be about your business!”

When the boy scampered out, Blaze turned to her servant and said, “I want a hot bath, and I want it now! No more cardinals, and no more kings, Heartha! Just a bath.”

“They are bringing the water in even as we speak, my lady,” chuckled Heartha. “That big old tub was exactly where we left it. I do not think anyone has used these apartments since you were last here.”

Blaze shortly found herself ensconced within her tub, the warm, oily water with its violet fragrance soothing her weary and travel-exhausted body. “Leave me in peace,” she told her tiring woman. “Do you realize that this is the first time in months that I have been really alone? It seems a pity that I had to come to Greenwich to find a little peace.”

Heartha chuckled. “When we are at home, you take all your responsibilities too much to heart, my lady. You must make a little time for yourself. We certainly cannot keep coming to Greenwich!”

Blaze smiled as the door shut, and lying back in the delicious bath, she closed her eyes. It was the first moment she had had to think since she arrived at Greenwich. It was the first time she had had to consider her words to the king in answer to his question of her.

And she had answered him that she did. That she loved him very much. It was the truth, she realized. She loved Anthony Wyndham. Not, perhaps, with the young love that she had given to Edmund. That would always be his alone. The love she felt for Tony was something that she had nurtured and that had grown slowly over the short months of their union, and she had never even known it. She wished that she could finish bathing, and get right back into her coach so she might go home and tell him. Tell him that she loved him, loved him and no one else!

Suddenly outside in the dayroom there came the sounds of shrieking and screaming and great protest. The door to her bedchamber flew open, and Anne Boleyn burst into the room, Heartha behind her. “How dare you refuse my summons, madam!” she shouted at Blaze. Her beautiful long black hair swirled about her. She was garbed all in yellow.

For a brief moment Blaze was totally nonplussed, and then in a flash of inspiration she considered what Bliss would do in such a situation. The answer came quickly. She eyed the Boleyn girl in a leisurely fashion, and feigning a yawn, drawled, “You should not wear that shade of yellow, Mistress Boleyn. It makes your skin quite sallow.”

Anne Boleyn’s cheeks darkened with her anger, and her black eyes were filled with hate. “One day I will be your queen,” she said in a low and even tone. “You would do best not to rouse my ire, madam!”

“You would do best not to publicly boast of a position to which though you may aspire, you do not yet possess, Mistress Boleyn,” Blaze warned her.

“I called you to my presence, madam!”

“I chose not to come,” replied Blaze. “Who are you to demand my attendance? I have just this afternoon arrived after a long journey. I am tired, and filthy, and I wished to bathe in peace.”

“You were with the king! Do not deny it! I have my ways of knowing such things!” Anne stormed.

“Aye,” said Blaze. “I was with the king.” She took the bar of violet-scented soap that Heartha had left for her, and began to soap her arms.

Mistress Boleyn’s dark eyes narrowed into slits and she almost hissed, “Do not think that you can trip lightly back to court and into the king’s good graces once again, madam. He is mine!
Mine!
”

“I did not come of my own volition, Mistress Boleyn,” said Blaze sweetly.

“What do you mean?” The Boleyn’s tone was not quite as sure of itself now.

Blaze laughed, enjoying the girl’s discomfort, and allowed her to consider the worst before she said, “The king sent for me, and being the loyal servant of his majesty that I am, I came to find my lovely old apartments freshened and awaiting me.” Having washed her arms and shoulders, she now began to soap her legs, humming, as she did, the latest popular ditty.

Anne Boleyn shrieked, her voice rising into a screech of pure anger,
“You cannot have him back!”

“My dear,” said Blaze, “do you think to rule the king? It is what he wants, and not what either you or I want. You had best understand that.”

“I will not let you have him!” The Boleyn’s eyes were almost bugging from her head in her rage. Anger did nothing for her looks.

Blaze considered for a moment, and decided that she really was enjoying herself. Slowly she arose from her tub and stepped out onto the rug. The oily water sluiced down her body, giving it a particularly lush sheen in the golden firelight. Her breasts were fuller than they had ever been. Her belly was prettily rounded. Her limbs pleasing in form. Lifting her arms, she undid her hair, and the honey-colored mass tumbled about her shoulders. A drop of water glittered and hung from one of Blaze’s nipples. Casually she flicked it off, and looking up, stared directly at the other girl.

“Can you offer the king what I offer him?” she murmured huskily with devastating effect, and then she laughed again at her opponent’s look.

Mistress Anne could do naught but stare, and she opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came forth.

“Get you gone from my chambers, Mistress Anne Boleyn,” said Blaze haughtily. “You are not welcome here, and it may be that I am expecting a guest.”

To her surprise the girl turned abruptly about and ran from her apartments, sobbing.

“Why, m‘lady, I have never seen you behave in such a fashion before, not that the little bitch did not deserve it, uppity creature that she is. Leading her on like that, and making her believe that the king was eager to be your lover once again! For shame, m’lady!” But Heartha was hard-pressed to hold back her laughter. “She’s got ambitions, that one, and what big ones they are,” Heartha went on as she dried Blaze off. “You’ve made a bad enemy in her though, m’lady.”

“I will not be here long enough for her to even consider it,” Blaze said quietly. “The jest of the whole matter is, however, Heartha, that the king has sent for me to try to reason with the queen to release him because he believes that he wants to wed with that strumpet.”

Heartha shook her head. “I’m a simple woman, m’lady. I do not think that however long I serve the gentry, I will come to understand them.”

Blaze laughed. “I am not certain that I understand either, Heartha,” she said, “but as the king’s loyal subject I cannot help but do his bidding.”

I
t was several days before Blaze was able to obtain an audience with the queen. Seeing her back at Greenwich, alone and without her husband, and living in her royal apartments, confused the members of the court. Her presence gave rise to much gossip, particularly when Mistress Boleyn was seen to sulk within her own little room, avoiding the king. Blaze, however, said nothing that either stemmed the rumors or confirmed them. As for Henry, he seemed glad to have the lovely Countess of Langford about once more, joking openly with her, and insisting she sit by his side one evening during a musical. No one could understand what was happening, although there was a great deal of speculation. Had Lady Wyndham been recalled to her former place? Was Mistress Boleyn already being replaced in the king’s fickle affections?

Finally the queen’s chamberlain set the time for Blaze’s private audience with Catherine. It was to be the following morning in the hour immediately after the queen had heard the Mass.

“Good!” Blaze said to Heartha. “We can leave afterward, and still have practically a full day for travel. With all this sun the last two days, the roads have surely dried. We will certainly get home quicker than we came. I doubt that it will take me very long to report on my interview to the king.”

Blaze chose with much care the clothing that she would wear. Although she was not a noblewoman of great family, she must still show Catherine that her coming on the king’s behalf was not meant as an insult, but rather an honor. Her gown was made of a golden-brown velvet, its bodice very heavily embroidered with a design of gold and pearls, its upper sleeves slashed to show cloth of gold beneath. The fitted lower sleeves were also heavily embroidered, and from beneath them emerged soft cream lace which fell over her wrists. The underskirt of the gown was made of cream-colored silk brocade, its plainness a severe contrast to the overskirt despite the rich material.

The neckline of the dress was square and very low, as the fashion dictated. About her neck Blaze wore a gold necklace that lay flat at the base of her throat, and from which hung an oval-shaped jeweled medallion. Her second necklace was a long strand of matched pearls that hung gracefully below her bosom. In her ears were fat baroque pearls, and upon her hands she sported several fine rings in addition to her wedding band.

Her hair had been parted in the center, and drawn back over her ears to be fixed in a French knot at the back of her neck, and held neatly within a golden caul that was decorated with pearls. From the dainty gold
cordelière
attached to her girdle hung a delicate, small round gold mirror studded with pearls. Blaze stared at herself in the pier glass and was satisfied. The gown was one she had never gotten to wear when she had been at court last as the king’s mistress. Thank God the fashions had not changed.

“Is everything all packed, Heartha?” she asked her tiring woman for the tenth time since she had arisen that morning. “The coach is ready, and the escort also?”

“Aye, m’lady. All is in readiness. We’ll be on our way as soon as you’ve completed your business here. I’m just as anxious as you are to be home again.”

Home. RiversEdge. God, yes, she was anxious to be home! Anxious to tell Anthony that she did love him. That she loved him with all her heart, and that she never wanted to be separated from him again. How could she have been so damned blind? How could he be so incredibly patient? Even after Philip had been born she had not been able to admit the truth to herself. She had not been able to say the words to him that he so desperately wanted to hear. How her callousness must have hurt him. She did not deserve him! He was the dearest and best man in the whole world, and she was going to spend the rest of her life making it up to him. All that she need do was speak with the queen, speak with the king, and then she was free. Free to go home to RiversEdge and her wonderful husband!

Shortly before the appointed hour the queen’s page came to fetch her, and brought her to the queen’s apartments. The antechamber in which she was left to wait was a lovely room with windows looking over the green lawns that fell away to the river. She was alone in the room, and very uncomfortable. Then at last one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, Lady Essex, came to fetch her. Her smile of greeting was a pleasant one, but there was no cordiality about it.