Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set

34

It had long troubled me that I remained estranged from my family. The commission’s decision that Will and I were legally married had not brought about the reconciliation I’d hoped for. Then again, both my father and my brother William spent much of their time in Calais, where Father was lord deputy. Mother was often with them, although for the most part she remained in Kent. I thought often of visiting her there, in spite of Father’s disapproval, but I had much to occupy me at court. I did see Aunt Elizabeth, who had duly married Sir Edward Warner, having met him when he came to Cowling Castle to discuss a possible betrothal to me.

When I heard that Father was to be installed as a knight of the Garter, one of the greatest honors an English king could bestow upon a subject, I was determined to make an opportunity to mend fences. My entire family came to court for the ceremony on the thirteenth of December. At my urging, Jane Warwick invited them to sup with her, then slipped quietly away, leaving Will and myself to host the meal.

“A neat trap.” My father’s grudging acknowledgment gave no hint of what he would do next. He could walk out, taking the others with him.

Mother placed one hand on his arm and smiled up at him. “Sit down, George. This foolishness has gone on long enough.”

Soft music drifted out from behind a screen. Well-trained servants carried in platters and flagons and vanished as soon as they’d placed them on the table. Despite a certain awkwardness, we began to eat.

I studied each of my brothers in turn. It had been years since I’d last seen any of them. I was a mature married lady of twenty-three, while William had grown into a tall, sturdy young man of twenty-two. He sported a fine spade beard. As if he felt my gaze upon him, he glanced my way, hazel eyes intense. “You look well, Bess. Being Marchioness of Northampton must agree with you.”

“Are you important?” nine-year-old Edmund piped up.

Father snorted. Mother shushed him.

“We like to think so,” Will said. He dealt daily with the young king and was more at ease with a boy of Edmund’s age than I was.

“Do you think, my lord, that there will be another invasion of France?” This question came from my brother George, named after our father. He was nearly seventeen and likely to see battle if hostilities did break out again. He had shot up in height and now stood a full head taller than our brother Thomas, who was ten months George’s junior.

“As far as I can see,” I answered, “we are always at war with France, and with Scotland, too. It matters little whether peace treaties are signed.”

“Can you tell us what the king is like?” John asked. At fourteen he bore a strong physical resemblance to Father, having inherited his square face and serious brown eyes.

“King Edward is a very studious, religious youth, weighed down by great responsibilities,” Will answered. “But he excels at many sports, too. In time, I think, he will be as great a monarch as his father was.”

At eleven, my brother Henry had a particular interest in the twelve-year-old king. “I should like to be one of his schoolmates,” he declared. “Can you arrange it?”

Will glanced at Father, who merely shrugged. “I can mention your interest to His Grace, Henry, but I cannot guarantee he will invite you to court. Most of his companions have been with him for many years. He would have to displace someone to make room for you.”

“He could dismiss the Duke of Somerset’s sons,” Henry suggested. “Send them to the Tower where they belong.”

Will looked so uncomfortable with the suggestion that I rushed to intervene. “The king is loyal to his friends. Besides, young Lord Hertford and his brother are innocent of their father’s crimes.”

At last Father spoke. “And what is to be done with the Duke of Somerset himself? Is he to be executed, as he executed his own brother?”

“I do much doubt it,” Will said. “Lady Somerset has already been set free.”

“And is already scheming,” I muttered. She’d lost no time ingratiating herself with Jane Warwick, who was far too softhearted when it came to old friends. The duchess had gone so far as to remind Jane that their children—Jack Dudley and Anne Seymour—had been all but betrothed before Somerset’s arrest.

“The Privy Council is not an instrument of vengeance,” Will said. “We seek only to do what is best for England.”

Father’s fulminating gaze would have disconcerted a lesser man, but Will met and returned it. Mother ended the standoff by poking Father in the ribs.

“This is a rare pleasure,” Mother said. “A family gathering. Have done with talk of war and court alike. My husband and older sons will soon return to Calais and who knows when I will see Bess again.”

For the remainder of the evening, she kept control of the conversation.