The Secret Bride (28 page)

“That is her wish, not my own. I was brought to court by your father to pay a debt he felt he owed to
my
father. You would not know it to see her now for the scars, but she was lovely once. Our uncle actually thought to make a proper marriage for her. It was the only way, he said, that either of us were ever to rise above the unfortunate circumstances of our father’s death.”

“I would like to meet her.”

“She knows all about you.”

“Oh? And what does she know of me?”

“She said all along that you were of the sort of character that made it not absurd to believe you might actually love me.”

“I like your Anne already.” Mary smiled for the first time all day. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“I trust you with my life.”

“And you with mine,” Mary said, her eyes shining with open devotion.

Henry did survive, and Lord be praised, the queen was once again pregnant. The country’s excitement over that knew no bounds. It quickly spread to a frenzy all across England over Mary’s impending marriage. Every detail of the plans was coveted, each element endlessly discussed, debated and eagerly awaited in taverns, shops and country homes alike. Even the design of her wedding dress was a heavily guarded secret.  As the date drew near, Henry VIII’s ambassadors sent long, laborious letters to Margaret, Regent of the Netherlands, in whose country it was decided the wedding would take place, detailing accommodation requirements, musical selections and even the food.

By April, the court had moved to Lambeth Palace for the king’s convalescence. Mary and Charles were daily fixtures in his recovery, which had been rapid since he was young and strong, and he had not been stricken as badly by the illness; nor was he scarred, as Charles’s sister had been. They walked with him, ate with him, read to him and protectively watched over him as he slept. Mary was as devoted to her brother as any wife—and Brandon was devoted to Mary. No one saw it as anything, however, but the dedication of the king’s sister to His Highness, and the kind attentions as well of his oldest, dearest friend.

They sat together beside him on a gray afternoon, one that still bore a hint of the winter’s chill. Henry was stretched out on a long chair and covered with an ermine throw with heavy carpets over his legs to keep him warm. But he was determined to be out in the light and fresh air, not inside surrounded by fire smoke and human odor, perfume, sweat and old food. There, amid the patchwork hedge of boxwood and the conical-shaped yews, they sat together, the three of them; friends, allies, a triumvirate of trust. Today, however, Henry was out of sorts and both of them had seen it from the first.

Even the king’s fool had been excused with a dismissive flick of the wrist as a light mist began to fall. Mary pulled her fur-lined cloak around her neck, and exchanged a little glance with Charles.

“Surely, Harry, it is not the company you keep that has you seeming in such a foul temper today when you are so much recovered, and without a single scar to mar your handsome face.”

Henry took her hand and kissed it, but the smile that followed was more of a grimace. “Never. You are what brightens all of our days, does she not, Brandon?”

“Like no other,” Charles smoothly agreed.

“So then, be honest with us,” Mary pressed. “We are here to share your burden if we can.”

“It seems there is a sudden plague in Calais.”

Again they exchanged a glance, but Henry did not see it.

“The emperor and his new ally, my own treacherous father-in-law, seek to postpone the wedding again, blaming it on that.”

“But is it not all arranged?” Charles asked with true surprise. “The travel plans? Her dowry? Even the accommodations.”

“Done, I suspect, to inflict maximum humiliation. All that I gained in France, the victory and the hard-won honor, is lost. I feel a fool, which I am certain was the intention.”

“How does your council advise you?”

He looked at them directly then, at twenty-two, his face sad and older somehow now. “I am advised to terminate your betrothal. Better me, they say, than Maximilian in control of it.”

Mary felt the shock of sudden hope then. Unrealistic perhaps, yet as bright and strong as a beacon leading the way to something better. Hearing the recommendation, she tried to steady her heart and not smile like a silly child. She trusted Wolsey, and she loved him. She always had. Perhaps there was more than his prayers at work for them.

After Henry was taken by litter back to his apartments, amid an orchestrated ballet of courtly maneuvering with the cavalcade of servants it took to run his day, Charles took Mary by the hand. He led her down a twisted gravel path that crunched beneath their soft-soled shoes, to the seclusion of a small greenhouse. She was in his arms at once. As he seized her with kisses, wild and frenzied, his fingers traveled over the bodice of her dress, reaching into the pocket between the silk and her breasts. After a moment, he drew in a shuddering breath to collect himself, then rested his chin on the top of her head, closing his eyes. His powerful arms were wrapped tightly around her, almost, she thought, desperately.

“I dare to hope,” he murmured, trailing kisses once again down along her throat and to the hollow just above her collarbone. “And that is a dangerous thing.” “It seems to me the Duke of Suffolk does not hope foolishly.”  “If wishing could make it so, you would be my wife already.”

His touch and the heady way he spoke the words brought such a sensation of arousal that Mary was almost undone by it. “Dare I tell him the truth? Now may be our moment. We have been there for him for months, and I know he is grateful. What is the worst that could happen when he loves us both?”

“His wrath would be dreadful, particularly directed toward me.”

“But does it not seem just the slightest bit fated to you?

We have waited for so long and he has tried everything to make a different match for me.”

The earnest expression on her young face made him almost believe it could be true. Yet the danger in believing still ruled him.

“Let me handle my brother,” she said then so sweetly that he could not hear the steely determination within the words.

But it was there, a defining part of her. “We have been here for him. He owes us.”

“He is a king. He owes me nothing. I am a duke by his grace alone. It is I who owe him everything.”

“Very well,” she said stubbornly. “Then let it be for my sake that he accepts us.”

Mary found it difficult to find a time alone with Henry. He was surrounded by people from the hour of his rising, when he was taken up with the hundreds there to see to his care with great formality. Ushers, stewards, gentlemen-at-arms, yeomen, dressers, tailors, high-ranking gentlemen-of-the-chamber, gentlemen-of-the-body all gathered for his rising ceremony in the privy bedchamber. Once ushered with great ceremony out to the third and final of the connecting presence chambers, he was greeted by a waiting throng of clergy, ambassadors and noblemen from the countryside, all demanding time to meet with him. Even on the hunt, he was followed always by those wanting something from their sovereign, if only a moment in his presence. So her timing must be exact. Mary could afford no error in this.

The next day, as Henry made his way back from the stables following a check of his horses, Mary emerged from prayer in the chapel. Henry’s face was flushed and he was happy and distracted as he walked laughing in the company of his new admiral, Thomas Howard, eldest son of the Duke of Norfolk, Edward Guildford and Gawain Carew, with whom he liked best to hunt.

“Would that I might have a private word with Your Highness,” she said. Then, along with Jane and Lady Guildford, she dipped into a proper curtsy, their skirts rustling.

He removed his leather gloves and studied her for a moment, his hesitation clear. “Has something happened?”

“Nothing that should make you unhappy. I would like to speak with you about my future.”

He laughed and turned back to his companions, from among whom Brandon was noticeably absent. “I was to visit the queen when I returned but you know perfectly well I can refuse you little. And I need to speak with you about the same thing anyway.”

It was precisely what Mary was hoping to hear. But she did not say that.

“She wishes to meet you.”

“Meet me?” Anne gulped in a breath, then sank stunned back in her chair as her brother’s announcement resonated like a church bell through her small country house.

“You are coming to court with me, and it is about time,” Charles said with a smile.

“But what on earth has happened?”

“Everything. You made me dare to hope, and now I have.”

“You do not mean the marriage to the Prince of Castile?”

His eyes sparkled. “Gone in a blaze of resentment and broken promises.”

“And so?”

“And so there is a chance now, small though it is. Yet hope, as they say, does spring eternal.”

Anne laughed at that, the joyful way he had said it, and a ray of sunlight through the window cast a shadow across the scars on her young face. “Four years is a long time to wait for a woman, brother.”

“I would have waited a lifetime for Mary,” Charles Brandon said.

As Anne and her brother Charles rode toward court, installed again at Greenwich, Mary and her own brother had walked back from the stables and now sat together in his presence chamber. It was a grandly elegant room that had once been a favorite of their father. Over the carved mantel hung a grand painting of Henry VII framed in gold leaf. A similar one had been hung in each royal palace, so that they might never forget his enduring influence in both of their lives. He had been painted as strong-faced and serious, the man he had been in life. Dressed in full armor, the image had captured the very essence of a king, gone to dust, yet whose spirit watched over them. Henry had chosen this place intentionally for the obligation he knew it would engender within Mary when he told her what he must. She knew it always weakened him like nothing else to see that wounded expression in her eyes but today was different. He did not bend.

“You cannot seriously have chosen the King of France for me!” she cried as his announcement hung dark and heavy between them.

“It is a splendid future I have set for you.”