The Boleyn King (36 page)

“Please, sit. I need your opinion.”

“The opinion of a man who speaks honestly when he should not? It’s yours for the asking.” Dominic spoke calmly enough, but William thought there was more than a hint of hurt behind it.

“I’m sorry. I wrote a plea for your advice, and then purposely avoided you in France. But perhaps, when you know the matter, you’ll understand my difficulty.”

“Has it to do with Elisabeth de France?” Dominic leaned against the door, arms folded.

“In a manner of speaking.” Now that the revelation was upon him, William hesitated. He had wanted to speak to Dominic for weeks—ever since Hever—but face-to-face he felt the old fear that Dominic might be disappointed in his behaviour.

After all, the last man who’d laid hands on Minuette was now dead.

Dominic prodded him. “Why was the archbishop the only one who knew you were not going to ask for Mary Stuart?”

“I told Cranmer at the last minute, so that he might not have time to question me.”

“Why did you choose Elisabeth?”

There was no answer but the honest one. “Because I am in love.”

“With a nine-year-old?”

William laughed at the appalled look on Dominic’s face. “Of course not.”

“I don’t—”

“With Minuette.”

The silence was so complete that William thought he had suddenly gone deaf. But then noises began to filter in from outside—the hum of voices, the creak of wooden wheels, and the impatient nickering of horses.

He focused on Dominic, trying to discern something—anything—behind that impassive face. He felt his heart sink as the silence lengthened. Clearly, Dominic did not approve. And though William was set on his decision, he wanted Dominic’s approval. There would be little enough of it from any other quarter.

Sounding as though he were speaking from a distance, Dominic said, “Why Elisabeth?”

“What?”

“What has loving Minuette to do with your choice of bride?”

“Elisabeth is younger than Mary Stuart. The treaty stipulates that the marriage will not take place until she is thirteen.”

Dominic’s eyes cleared as he worked it out. “You don’t mean to marry Elisabeth. You did it to buy time.”

“Anything might happen in four years.”

“Time alone won’t make Minuette acceptable to the council.”

William felt his temper threatening. “I will marry where I choose, council be damned.”

Dominic didn’t back down. “Then why bother with a betrothal at all? Why not simply marry Minuette at once?” He paused. “You do mean to marry her, don’t you?”

“Yes.” William bit the word off. Why was everyone so quick to believe he might intend anything else? “I cannot think only of myself, Dom. I have England’s welfare to consider. I have bought four years of peace. That is not to be taken lightly.”

He should have known that Dominic would not settle for the surface answer. “Four years of peace. For England, yes. But for yourself as well. Four years in which you need not be badgered on every side about when and whom you will marry. Four years in which to find a way to make Minuette an acceptable queen, so that you might not have to fight your council.”

Their eyes held as Dominic added, “Are you sure you can wait four years?”

“My father waited six. I love her, Dom. I don’t know how it is I never saw it before. Now that I have, I won’t let her go.”

Dominic nodded once. He had his hand on the door before William realized he didn’t mean to say anything more.

Desperate for some word of approval, William asked, “Do you not think her worth it?”

Dominic was still for so long that he almost asked the question again. At last, without looking at him, Dominic said, “I know no woman more deserving of a crown.”

He pulled the door wide and walked out.

By the time the night’s banquet began, Dominic was so taut with resentment and despair that all he wanted was to fall into bed and find forgetfulness in sleep. But he feared that even closing his eyes was dangerous, for instead of blackness, he saw Minuette.

Minuette with William.

Dominic had been caught once more by his friend in the hour before the banquet and had been forced to listen to William sing Minuette’s praises. Though he did not elaborate on the details of what had occurred at Hever, he said enough to make Dominic feel a rush of fury such as he hadn’t felt since Giles Howard’s first attack on Minuette. But try as he might, he could not persuade himself that William had forced his attentions or in some way misread her response. William was too experienced to mistake desire for anything else.

The thought of William’s desire made Dominic want to strike his friend. The thought of Minuette’s response made him want to get very, very drunk.

Short of feigning illness, he could not escape the celebratory banquet. And though he half considered lying about his health, the truth was that he wanted to be in the same room with Minuette, no matter how painful.

Mercifully, both etiquette and discretion prevailed at this banquet. Elizabeth and Lord Rochford were seated on either side of William at the high table, with rank and precedent determining the rest. Minuette was not even at the high table, which surprised Dominic until he realized she had been conveniently placed within easy sight of William. No doubt he preferred not to have to strain to look at her.

And he did look at her. He could hardly stop looking at her. If William thought he could hide his feelings, he was very much mistaken. Whispers would begin to grow from this night. Admittedly, Dominic was somewhat sensitive, but he didn’t think many would overlook the heat of William’s gaze. Elizabeth certainly didn’t. Her eyes flicked more than once between her brother and her friend, and Dominic would have given much to know what was going on behind that serene face of hers. He would have given more to be able to drink himself into insensibility, but the wine had been carefully portioned and the most he could manage was a slight dulling of his headache.

He should ask William for permission to return to France. Better to be away from them both and give his own heart time to harden. Dominic couldn’t stay in love with Minuette forever. Now that he had no hope, his desire would fade. There were plenty of pretty women in France. He wondered if Aimée, or someone like her, would go a long way to easing his resentment.

The feasting drew to an end, and music began in an adjoining chamber. As people drifted away from tables greasy with remnants of food and spilled wine, Dominic thought gratefully that now he could go. He would not be missed in the dancing and singing that would follow.

It seemed that he was not the only one to think as much. As Dominic rose from his seat, he saw William slip away from the crowd and exit the hall by another, more private door.

Minuette followed, her hand held firmly in William’s.

Minuette did not ask where William was leading her. She did not ask why. She thought about him hardly at all, except to be annoyed that he had removed her from the party before she could speak to Dominic.

From the moment Dominic had stared at her so blankly across the courtyard this morning, Minuette had been in a fever of impatience, torn between anticipation and fear.
He knows
, her fear whispered.
He knows what happened at Hever. What must he think of me?
She wanted only a chance to explain herself, though she wasn’t sure how.
“I didn’t know what I was doing”? “I stopped him before it could go too far”? “I didn’t mind William kissing me, but I’d much rather it had been you”?

Minuette shivered. Dominic could not avoid her forever. She wouldn’t let him.

William stopped before a door that opened into a spare, high-ceilinged chamber. The walls were unadorned plaster, but a red and gold Persian rug covered the floorboards and a fire blazed high in the small stonework fireplace.

Before she had time to wonder why William had brought her here when he had dozens of larger and more luxurious rooms for his personal use, he explained. “I apologize for the condition of the room, but I did not wish to raise more questions than necessary. And I would not insult you by taking you to my own chambers.”

Minuette nearly laughed, for surely he must be joking. She had been in his chambers dozens of times. Alone with him, even. But she swallowed her laugh, for she could see that he was serious. And as he looked at her, she suddenly knew why he had brought her to this uncomfortable chamber.

As a protection—not for her sake, but for his.

Now that she was looking at him, seeing him fully for the first time today and undistracted by other concerns, she recognized the spark in his eyes. It had been there that night at Hever, and when he touched her hair before leaving Hatfield. But she knew it from before, as well.

It was the look William had often bestowed upon Eleanor in the weeks before she came to his bed.

His cheeks were hectic with colour. “I have been debating for some days how best to approach you, Minuette. And I have decided that my only hope is to speak plainly.”

She sat ice-still, her heartbeat the only movement in her body. She felt almost as though she were floating above her surroundings, an observer perched in a far corner and watching with distant interest the scene playing out before her.

William swallowed. “You know that I am betrothed to Elisabeth de France. It was an important part of the treaty—perhaps the most important. England needs peace to rebuild the treasury, to strengthen the navy, to balance our own religious difficulties and protect our borders. I can’t do that while fighting a war with France.”

Somewhat offended, Minuette said, “Do you think I don’t see that? You need not explain as if to a child.”

His smile warmed the whole of his face. “No, I need not. I’m trying to ease my way into this, but I see that I only insult you by doing so.” He took one long breath and spoke rapidly. “I will promise what I must to have peace. But I will marry where I love.”

And then he was on his knees, catching her hands in his. “I love you, Minuette. I think I have loved you all my life. What happened at Hever was a gift—like awaking from a long dream only to find that what I wanted was in the waking world all the time. It’s always been you.”

Letting go her hands, he cradled her face between his palms and kissed her. It was a much different kiss from the one at Hever—a gentle exploring rather than a frantic coming together. But all the while he kissed her, her mind remained detached and separate. Though she could feel the spreading fire through her veins, there was no fear that she would forget herself tonight. She would stop him if she must.

But William had himself under control, and he broke the kiss before Minuette had to. Smoothing her hair back as he had the last time she’d seen him, he whispered, “I will have no queen but you.”

In that moment she didn’t see William—she saw Giles, eyes wide with shock and pain, a shard of glass driven into his neck, dying at her feet. She was afraid to look at her hands, sure that they must still be covered in blood, no matter that she had scrubbed them over and over and over …

I can’t be queen
, she wanted to say to William.
I killed a man
.

She bit her tongue and forcibly shoved the image of Giles into the depths of her memories.

They did not stay long in their borrowed chamber. A few more kisses from William, an abundance of half-whispered endearments that Minuette hardly heard in her daze, and then he was walking her back to her own chamber, where he left her with only a touch of his hand to her cheek. He looked at her for a long, tension-filled moment before striding away rapidly, as if he was afraid he would not leave at all if he didn’t do it quickly.

Carrie was surprised to see her back so soon. “Isn’t there dancing tonight?” she asked.

“I didn’t wish to dance.” But was that true? William hadn’t even asked her. Not that she could imagine walking into a crowded room just now and pretending all was normal.

Minuette brushed Carrie away when she attempted to undress her. “I’ll send for you when I am ready.”

Carrie paused just long enough to slip a shawl around Minuette’s shoulders before she left. Only then did Minuette realize she was shaking as violently as she had once before—the last time William had turned her world on end.

She had never dreamed that he would wish to marry her. She was nowhere near important enough for him to marry. Her first thought was that, for some obscure reason, he was teasing her.

Her second, more considered thought, was that he had lost his mind.

William had certainly wanted women before, had even gone to creative lengths to get what he wanted. She need only remember Eleanor’s wedding to know that. But he had never let his desires override his good sense.

Until now.

But why? Minuette could scarcely believe that her charms were such that William would overthrow his ambition, his councilors, and a royal princess to have her. He was far too practical for such a course.

He is his father’s son
, the contrary part of her mind whispered.
What he wants, he will take
.

It had not escaped her attention that William had not asked her anything. He had taken her consent for granted. She could hardly blame him; not one woman in a thousand would decline the offer of a crown. Minuette was not immune to the temptation. And that it was William offering it to her—Will, who had ever been like a twin part of her soul—increased the temptation to snatch at what she was being offered and revel in it.