The Secret Bride (21 page)

“Do you?”

“It would be a rather daring match—even a bit scandalous once I propose it—so we shall just wait and see how things progress?”

“Well, you certainly have my interest.”

“Ask me not to identify her now, but if all goes according to plan you will be more powerful and wealthy than Buckingham and Surrey together, once the match is made. Those two are thick as thieves about something lately, and I tell you, I am not amused by it,” said Henry with a sly smile.

Charles waited for her outside the chapel after the noon prayers, completely taken up by the unfathomable thought that Henry might actually intend Mary for him. He stood secreted behind a stone column, head pressed back, hands at his sides. There was so much against them that he needed to hear how she felt about them. He must know if it was anything close to his own affection for her. Only then would he know how to find the courage to talk to Henry. Mary came upon him in the same instant as Jane turned away to talk to Lady Guildford.

Mary was preciously alone. He seized the moment, gripping her arm and drawing her with him behind the column.  Silently, he took her face into his hands and kissed her deeply.

When she looked up at him, he saw a devoted smile that gave him courage.

“I believe I am in love with you, and, wild as it seems, if you return my affection, there just may be a way for us to be together,” he said in a deep voice that was just above a whisper. “It is important to me that you know that.”

“I have been in love with you since I was a very little girl,” Mary said, her own whispered words breaking with pointed, youthful sincerity.

“There is everything against either of us feeling this way.”

“Particularly a king.”

The truth of it made him smile and Charles kissed her again, tenderly. They were close, wound in one another’s arms. “It is a good thing I am going away for a little while.”

“How can that ever be good?”

“We need time to consider everything.”

“I need consider nothing, Charles. I know where my heart lies—where it ever shall lie.”

He smiled at her naive devotion, feeling another even stronger rush of love. “You are still very young but you must trust me. There is a great deal more than two hearts to consider.”

“None of it matters.”

“All of it matters when you are the king’s sister.”

And with that, he kissed her quickly once again, then left. Mary closed her eyes, calming her breathing as she stood a minute longer behind the column.

Mary had never liked the Duke of Buckingham, so when he came upon her from behind a separate column she was not surprised to realize he had eavesdropped on their exchange of devotion. Buckingham was too ambitious, far beyond anyone else at court, she had always thought. Even beyond what drove Charles. He had married off his daughter to the Earl of Surrey simply because she would become a Howard, and it had helped his own standing with the king. He did everything with the same single-minded devotion.

“He will never be able to marry you, you know,” he said to her now.

Mary gave him a cursory glance. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“As one who has watched you grow up, I am concerned only for your welfare, my lady Mary. I was not the only one to see you steal away with Brandon as you just did. Would you think the king would not be concerned as well?”

“You know nothing of what is between my brother and I.

I do not fear what the gossips may say to him against me,” she replied angrily.

“I think it only fair to warn you that this particular gossip has spread through court like wildfire. Brandon is to be made Viscount Lisle, and the only way to do that is to make her not just his ward but to actually become betrothed to Lady Elizabeth Grey, Viscountess Lisle. He has agreed to it, my lady, and your brother has granted it. He was informed of it this morning. As someone who feels the affection of a father for you, I felt you had a right to know what you may be getting into.”

Mary faltered and reached out to brace herself on the column. True to form, the duke seemed somehow to want to work this to his advantage, though Mary could not be certain how or why. One was never quite certain of anyone’s motives at court, since few were rarely all that they seemed.

“You are mistaken about Charles.”

“I heard Sir Thomas Brandon speaking with Wolsey about it myself. Planning, my lady.”

Mary sank against the column then. She felt an utter fool.

She had believed him. Loved him with her whole heart.
I feel such a fool, chasing after him like a lovesick puppy.

Seeing the sickened expression and the way the color had drained from her face, Buckingham softened. “You are a girl in bloom of first love, and he is a grown man who should know better, my lady. No one could ever fault you for that,” he said, sounding more genuine than even he had expected to be.

Perhaps he is what they say, and not what I have let myself believe him to be. . . .

That harsh thought raced through Mary’s mind as, sitting beside Katherine with Jane Popincourt, Lady Surrey, Lady Monteagle and Lady Guildford, she watched her brother enter the banquet hall in all of the pomp and pageantry to which he had swiftly become accustomed. Henry looked fit and regal in a magnificent green velvet doublet with gold slashes, encrusted with jewels, ornamented by a sweeping gold cape. His muscular legs accentuated by tight green hose beneath his velvet breeches were fashionably padded with horsehair. On his head was a plumed, green velvet beret studded with a great square ruby. Everyone sank into deep curtsies and bows as he strode by with a confident smile.

The court had had little to celebrate since the death of Thomas Knyvet. The subsequent declaration by their friend Edward Howard, that he would not return from sea until Knyvet’s death was avenged, had only intensified the somber mood at court. Everyone wore black. Henry had ordered the temporary cessation of his beloved musical consorts, and even music at meals, out of respect for his friends. But that was all over now. It was New Year’s Eve, and the king meant to cast off the old for a celebration of the new.

Surprisingly, walking directly behind Henry, with his long, confident stride, Charles entered the hall. He was wearing a costume nearly identical to the king’s: green velvet, gold slashings, gold cape. Conceived by Henry, as only it could be, it was a grand statement of not only their brotherhood, but of Brandon’s ever-growing power and influence—something Henry clearly wanted everyone to know. As the king approached the queen and bowed ceremoniously to her, Mary saw that Charles had paused to speak to Lady Monteagle’s young, pretty daughter, Eleanor. They were laughing, and he was leaning in toward her. Was he even thinking of her?

Would he think of her later tonight? Tomorrow? Mary wondered as she watched them, and felt her stomach twist when he did not soon move on.

Hot spiced wine was being brought around in jeweled cups by an army of servants holding them on gleaming silver trays. To Mary, the scent of it suddenly was noxious. She could smell the cinnamon and sugar mingling with candle smoke and burning wood. She could hear the foolish girl giggling at something Charles said. Mary watched her reach out to touch his arm. Lord, why did she have to care so much what he did?

Henry, who stood a few feet away, lifted his cup in a toast and as he did the room fell silent. His voice was commanding in its rich baritone as it echoed through the vast hall. “For his service to me, I command that Charles Brandon is henceforth officially Master of the Horse, which also makes him my esquire, giving him complete control over all of the royal stables. Those of you who know the importance of my horses to me will understand the great significance of this reward to my dearest, most important friend.”

Wolsey lifted a jeweled hand to his chin. So I have Surrey, Buckingham
and
now Brandon’s ever-growing influence to balance, he said to himself, knowing that the gauntlet and race for Henry’s closest favor had effectively just been thrown down to them all. In the face of so multifaceted a challenge, the title of Royal Almoner did not anymore seem enough to sate his own ambition. Like every other courtier, Thomas Wolsey wanted more, and he meant to get it by being just a little bit wiser than the three competitors. Unlike Surrey and Buckingham, Wolsey believed that he would gain far more by subduing Charles Brandon through friendship than by trying to vanquish him, as the other two were doing. It was a calculated risk, but success took daring as well innovation.

Dancing began and Mary lost Charles amid the turning, bowing and swirling of velvet skirts and the glitter of gold and jewels. Knowing about the wardship had changed everything for her. How could a man like him—one who had known so many women, and used them all—truly care for her? He might covet the princess, but could a man like Charles Brandon ever truly love the girl? If she remained at court, Mary had no doubt what would happen between them.

She had seen too much of Jane’s own sad story to believe it would be any different for her. She would not be the first virgin he had bedded, or the first woman to whom he would become unfaithful. Even so, she still found herself searching for him through the throng of dancers, through the laughter and the music. She was made dizzy by it all as Wolsey leaned in to speak.

“It appears that Mistress Popincourt could certainly use an escape to the country,” he calmly observed of Mary’s friend, who was dancing woodenly with the Earl of Surrey’s elder son, Thomas. Her face was devoid of emotion or enjoyment as she did. “Perhaps you could as well. Clear your minds. Both of you.”

Until then, Mary had been so taken up by watching Charles that she had not even realized Wolsey was sitting beside her, or that the weight of his significant presence was pressing in on her. Mary looked at him then, the kind, full face—the fleshy, slightly veined cheeks and sharp black eyes—which had once seemed like a father’s to her and was just now slightly irritating. Mary looked at him fully. “Leave court?”

“Only for a little while. Leave the things at court that trouble you. Give yourself time to consider,” he amended.

She paused a moment. “You know, don’t you?”

“I have always known, child. And I am here for you anytime you need to speak about him to someone you can trust.  Perhaps just have me listen. I am tolerably good at that, as well. There is a lovely house I have just purchased, called Hampton Court, in Herefordshire that needs checking in on.  It is, my lady Mary, an earnest offer from a well-meaning friend.”