Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set

My Lady of Rutland has commanded me to tarry and to come back again to Hampton Court, and so to wait upon Mistress Katherine and to bring her to her house, because she hath but a few servants there. My lady herself and all the ladies must ride to Windsor to the burial, and so from thence for to come to London. She would have taken Mistress Katherine with her, but that she had no mourning gown.

—Edward Corbett to Lady Lisle, 10 November 1537

3

Had Anne Parr not elbowed Nan in the ribs, the queen would have caught her woolgathering. Nan barely managed not to cry out. She had no idea how much time had passed. Ned and all the rest had long since departed for the Chapel Royal. Only the king, the queen, the maids of honor, and a few yeomen of the guard had remained behind.

By tradition, a baby’s parents did not attend their child’s christening. Their Graces awaited the return of all and sundry at the end of the ceremony, when refreshments would be served—hippocras and wafers to the nobility and bread and sweet wine to the gentry. It would be close to midnight by then.

The king and queen had been engaged in quiet conversation when Nan’s mind wandered. Now the king rose and stretched.

“My dear,” he said to Queen Jane, “I fear I grow stiff with all this sitting. I must move about a bit.”

“As you wish, Your Grace. With your leave, I will remain as I am. My strength has not yet fully returned.” She reached for another comfit from the silver dish beside her.

After kissing his wife’s hand, His Majesty turned to the maids of honor. “Scatter, my pretties. There is no need for you to stand at attention. My guards do enough of that for everyone.”

Obediently, they all laughed at his quip. Five of the six maids were equally quick to comply with the royal command. Even the most limber person soon tired of staying in one position for too long. Only Mary Zouche elected to remain with the queen.

Anne Parr caught Nan’s arm and tugged her toward a window embrasure. Her wide-spaced gray eyes were alight with pleasure. “Well? Is he not wonderful?”

“The king? Why, that goes without saying.”

Anne rapped Nan lightly on the shoulder. “I mean Will Herbert, and well you know it.”

It took Nan a moment to connect the name to the tall redhead Anne had been admiring earlier. “He is somewhat bony for my taste,” she remarked.

“He is stronger than he looks.” Anne blushed becomingly.

“Why, Anne!” Nan pretended to be shocked.

In truth, she was a trifle surprised. It was abundantly clear from the way Anne had leapt to Will Herbert’s defense, and the dreamy look that came into her eyes when she said his name, that she was in love with Master William Herbert. Nan remembered then that Cat had told her Anne was likely to be the next maid of honor to wed.

“Tell me about him,” Nan prompted. “Who is he? What are his prospects?”

“He is Welsh. His father was an earl’s bastard, but that does not mean much in Wales.”

“Still—”

“Will has made a career for himself here at court. But that is not important, either. Oh, Nan—he cares for me as deeply as I do for him. We plan to marry.”

Nan opened her mouth to point out that if neither of them had any money, they would have nothing upon which to live. At the last moment, she held her tongue. Of all the maids of honor, Anne had been the only one to go out of her way to show kindness to a newcomer. Romantic love always made people do stupid things. That was why Nan was determined to avoid its pitfalls in her own life. But voicing that opinion would only annoy Anne and do nothing to change her mind about marrying Will Herbert.

Linking arms with her friend, Nan commenced to stroll. They made one circuit of the room, then another, as Anne continued to laud Will’s virtues. On the third, their paths crossed that of the king.

“Mistress Bassett,” King Henry said as both women sank into deep curtsies. “I trust you have settled into your new position without difficulty.”

Her head almost touching the floor, Nan murmured, “I have, Your Grace. Your Grace is most kind to ask.”

Ignoring Anne Parr, the king tugged Nan to her feet and kept hold of her hand once she was standing. Smiling down at her, he tucked her arm through his and began a slow promenade. Everyone they passed bowed low. To Nan, it seemed almost as if they were bowing to her. Was this what it was like for Queen Jane? Nan took particular delight in seeing Mary Zouche and Jane Arundell dip their heads.

“We are most indebted to your lady mother,” the king said as he began a second circuit of the chamber. “Her gifts are always a delight.”

“She is pleased to be of service, Your Majesty.”

“She would have liked to place both you and your sister with the queen, I think.”

“She wishes to see all of us well provided for,” Nan temporized.

“Tell me, Nan, did you leave many suitors behind in Calais?”

“None, Your Majesty. And even if I had, how could they compare to the lords at Your Grace’s court?” The king’s genial manner had dispelled Nan’s nervousness but this question set off warning bells. Did he have some personal reason for asking? That His Grace seemed extraordinarily pleased by this answer caused a frisson of alarm to snake through her. She was flattered by the king’s attention, but by custom he would not return to his wife’s bed for some weeks yet, not until after she was churched—purified by a special church service. If His Grace’s interest was amorous in nature, Nan had no idea how to respond. She had come to court to find a husband, not a lover. She’d not set out to seduce the king, either, but only to charm him into looking favorably on any request she might make on her mother’s behalf.

Nan’s heart speeded up, beating far too loudly. She was certain the king could hear it. She felt heat creep into her cheeks and her palms began to sweat. She did not know if her reaction came from attraction or trepidation but suspected it was a little of both.

When they passed the queen’s daybed, Nan darted a glance that way. At once, she wished she had not. Queen Jane’s glare did not bode well, nor did the suspicious expression on Mary Zouche’s square-jawed face.

THROUGHOUT ENGLAND, AND even as far away as Calais, bells pealed and bonfires blazed in honor of the new prince. But on the afternoon of the day after the christening, Queen Jane fell ill. By Wednesday morning, her ladies were deeply concerned.

“What ails Her Grace?” Nan asked, waylaying her cousin Mary, the Countess of Sussex, as Mary passed through the privy chamber.

“Is it childbed fever?” Mary Zouche voiced the question all of them had already asked themselves.

“It may be.” The countess’s tear-ravaged features and bleak expression made her look a decade older. “I am sent to fetch the king’s personal physicians.”

Queen Jane rallied on Thursday. The king went ahead with the investiture ceremony that created Edward Seymour, Queen Jane’s elder brother, Earl of Hertford, and knighted the younger, Thomas Seymour.

On Friday evening, while celebrations of Prince Edward’s birth continued throughout the realm, the queen became feverish once again. Delirium followed, growing steadily worse on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.

Nan did not hold out much hope that the queen would recover. She knew full well how often women died after childbirth. And if Queen Jane died, her household would be disbanded. Without a queen, there was no need for maids of honor. Nan would be obliged to leave the court before she’d had the opportunity to enjoy any of its pleasures.

Despondent, she sought solitude in one of the palace gardens. At last she was free to go wherever she would at Hampton Court. Much good it did her! With the queen dying, no wealthy, titled nobleman would dare be seen flirting with one of the maids of honor. They must all be respectful and sorrowful and wear long faces.

Nan kicked a stone out of her way and watched it bounce into the shrubbery. She wanted to scream in frustration. She might have given in to the impulse had she not suddenly realized that she was not alone amid the flower beds and topiary work.

As King Henry approached, trailed by his usual escort of gentlemen and guards, Nan dropped into a curtsy. She expected His Grace to pass by. Instead, he stopped in front of her, hesitated a moment, and then ordered his attendants to fall back to give him privacy.

“Walk with me,” the king commanded.

For several minutes, he said nothing more. The only sound was the crunch of their leather-shod feet on the gravel path. But when they reached a small, ornate bridge over a man-made pond, the king stopped to look down at her, his face a study in consternation.

“How does Queen Jane fare today, Mistress Bassett?”

Nan hesitated. It was not wise to tell a king something he did not want to hear, but lying would avail her nothing. “No better, Your Grace.”

“I had intended to return to Esher on the morrow,” he murmured, “but I cannot find it in my heart to leave her.”

It was on the tip of Nan’s tongue to tell the king that he should visit his wife, but she did not dare be that bold. She remembered what Anne Parr had said about King Henry’s aversion to sickness of any kind. If His Grace could not abide being near anyone who was ill, she did not suppose he’d have much tolerance for deathbed vigils.

“She gave me a son.”

“Yes, Your Grace. A beautiful boy.”

“She has done her duty.”

Nan was not sure how to respond to that statement. It was almost as if the king thought Queen Jane might as well go ahead and die, now that she had provided him with his much-desired male heir.

Abruptly, King Henry bid Nan adieu and left her there on the bridge. She heard him call for his escort and then he was out of sight, behind a hedge. Her mind awash with confusion, she fled back to the queen’s apartments.

LESS THAN TWO weeks after giving birth to Prince Edward, two days after Nan’s encounter with King Henry in the garden, Queen Jane tragically died. The king left Hampton Court as soon as he was told of her passing. Grief? Nan wondered as she watched His Grace’s departure for Windsor Castle from an upper window. King Henry was all in blue, the color English royalty wore for mourning, but that signified nothing.

Nan was not certain what she felt, either, other than a sense of being set adrift with neither compass nor rudder. She had no idea what would happen to her next. She might be sent back to the Pale of Calais, England’s last tiny stronghold on the Continent. Or she could be offered a position in some noble household. That would be better than returning to her mother, but not as good as being at court. A tear trickled down her cheek as she contemplated all she had lost.

Cousin Mary came to stand beside her. Her eyes were red and swollen and her voice was husky. “Come, Nan. Seamstresses await us in my chamber.”

Nan sighed and followed her. “I suppose we must all wear black for mourning.”

“Not only that, but there are very particular rules for those who rank above a knight’s wife.”

Nan pretended to be interested, but her mind was fuzzy with weariness, her wits clouded with disappointment. She caught only bits of her cousin’s discourse, something about a mantle, a surcoat, and a plain hood, all in black, over a Paris headdress and a pleated white linen barbe that would cover Mary’s chin as well as the front of her neck. Nan thought longingly of the new lion tawny velvet gown and the satin one—a lovely crimson shade—that Master Husee had so diligently procured for her. It would be months now before she’d be able to wear either.

Cousin Mary was smiling ruefully when Nan’s attention returned to her cousin. “I am glad I am not a duchess,” Mary said with a wry chuckle. “The greater the rank, the longer the train.”

“Am I to have a train?” Nan asked.

“You have not heard a word I’ve said, have you?” Sounding exasperated, Cousin Mary pushed open the door to her own chamber. “Knights’ wives and gentlewomen of the household must wear surcoats with moderate front trains and no mantles.”

“And what is a surcoat?” She was not familiar with the term.

“It is an old-fashioned garment such as they wore in the days of King Edward IV. It is made like a close-bodied gown.”

Inside the countess’s rooms, a servant was just closing the window and preparing to drape it in black cloth. The maids had already packed away Mary’s usual assortment of colorful clothing.

The tears that sprang into Nan’s eyes were heartfelt, as were her whispered words: “It is most unfair that Queen Jane should die.”

The queen’s lying-in-state began on the day following her death. For a week, she lay in her own Presence Chamber, where her ladies took turns keeping vigil day and night. Then, on the last day of October, the body was taken by torchlight to the Chapel Royal, where it would remain until the twelfth of November, when it would be transported to Windsor Castle for the funeral and burial. The queen’s ladies continued to keep vigil during the day, but now gentlemen took their places at night.

On the last day of that duty, Lady Rutland took Cat Bassett aside. “I have asked Master Corbett to escort you to Rutland House in Shoreditch,” the countess said. “I will join you there as soon as the queen’s household is officially dispersed.”

“But why, my lady?” Cat asked in alarm. “Have I offended you?”

“Not at all, my dear. But you lack the proper clothing to accompany the funeral cortege to Windsor Castle.” As the third gentlewoman serving the Countess of Rutland when she was only supposed to keep two ladies-in-waiting at court, Cat had not been provided with mourning by the Crown.

“What will happen to my sister?” Cat asked. “Where is Nan to go?”

“Lady Sussex will house her for the time being, just as I will continue to look out for you. You know already that your mother has been seeking a position for you in the household of the Duchess of Suffolk. The Countess of Hertford is another possibility. So is the Lady Mary. Never fear. In time, you and Nan will both find good places.”

“I would rather remain with you than serve another,” Cat said.

Lady Rutland patted her cheek with one plump hand. “You are a sweet child. Now, go and pack your belongings and be ready to depart on the morrow just as soon as the funeral cortege leaves Hampton Court.”

Cat did as she was told. At five o’clock the next morning—a full two hours before dawn—she stood next to Ned Corbett to watch Queen Jane leave Hampton Court for the last time.

Guards, household officers, officials, and a hundred paupers came first, followed by noblemen, ambassadors, heralds, and gentlemen of the court, some of them holding banners aloft. Six lords rode, three on a side, with the chariot that contained the queen’s casket. It was drawn by six horses with black trappings beneath a canopy of black velvet fringed with black silk and decorated with a white satin cross.

The queen’s effigy was prominently displayed on top of the casket, clothed in robes of state and holding a scepter in a hand that had real rings on the fingers. There were golden shoes on its feet and the head wearing the crown rested on a golden pillow.

More noblemen came next, then the Lady Mary. As chief mourner, she was mounted on a horse trapped with black velvet. The king would not take part in any of the ceremonies. According to custom, a husband did not attend the funeral of his wife.

Some of the ladies and gentlewomen of the court had gone ahead to Windsor, but all those who had not—and who had proper mourning garments—followed the king’s daughter in the procession. Some were on horseback. Others rode in black chariots. Lady Sussex and Lady Rutland both had places in the first one. Nan sat inside the fifth and last chariot with some of the other maids of honor. Cat had a clear view of her sister’s ravaged face, staring straight ahead.

“She has been deeply affected by the queen’s death,” Cat murmured.

“Indeed,” Ned agreed. “She did not plan for this.”

Cat frowned at his tone, but his expression was properly somber. When the last of the cortege had passed by, he took her arm and led her to the water stairs where a boat waited to take them downriver.

Ned said little during their journey on the Thames. Cat found herself remembering the last death to touch her closely, that of her father when she was only nine years old. For Cat’s mother, the loss of a spouse had meant she must find a new husband, someone who could help her provide dowries for four daughters and two stepdaughters and find employment for two younger sons. Once upon a time, one of the boys and one or more of the girls would have gone into the church. After King Henry’s break with Rome, that had no longer been a choice. These days becoming a nun or a Catholic priest meant living in exile, branded a traitor, like Lord Lisle’s cousin, Cardinal Pole. One by one, the monasteries and nunneries were being closed. Soon there would be none left in England.

The sound of bells ringing penetrated Cat’s reverie.

“London,” Ned said.

“But the city is still miles away,” she protested.

“That is the sound of every church bell in a hundred parishes, tolling in memory of Queen Jane.”

The din was deafening when they disembarked for the ride through London on horseback to the Earl of Rutland’s house in Shoreditch, a northern suburb of the city. But just as they reached their destination, an eerie quiet descended.

The mansion itself was not only silent, but nearly deserted, and permeated by an icy chill. Ned set the cook to preparing a light supper and started a fire in Lady Rutland’s parlor with his own hands. He was adept at the task, clearly accustomed to looking out for himself.

“You do not seem much disturbed by being sent away from court,” he observed as he balanced a small piece of wood on the stack of burning kindling.

“It matters little to me where I am,” Cat said, “although I do enjoy Lady Rutland’s company.”

“After the queen is buried, her household will be dispersed. I suppose your sister will go to the Countess of Sussex?”

“So we expect. Temporarily, at least.” Cat supposed she should not be surprised that Ned asked about her beautiful younger sister, but she did not want to talk about Nan. To change the subject, she asked him when he was due to depart for Calais.

“Not for some time.” His blue eyes twinkled in the firelight. “While John Husee meets with Lord Lisle in Calais, I remain here in his place.”

“How pleasant for you.”

“For you, too, I hope. You know how I enjoy spending time with you.”

Absurdly pleased by his comment, Cat felt herself flush. “You are welcome to visit me here as often as you like during your sojourn on this side of the Narrow Seas.”

“I look forward to seeing a great deal more of you.”

A shy smile curved her lips when he winked at her. His added responsibilities meant her stepfather trusted Ned and meant to advance him. Did she dare hope Lord Lisle might consider Ned worthy to court one of his stepdaughters? It would be very easy, Cat thought, for her to fall in love with Ned Corbett.

PLAIN FACED AS Cat Bassett was, Ned Corbett thought, it was inevitable that she would fall for his flattery. A few days after he’d brought her to the Earl of Rutland’s house in Shoreditch, they walked together in the gallery, just as they had each day she’d been in residence. When they came to the far end, Ned tugged Cat into his arms and took advantage of the shadows to give her a lingering kiss on the lips.

The clatter of hooves and wheels on the cobblestone courtyard of Rutland House interrupted him before he could do more. He cursed under his breath. The commotion could mean only one thing—Lady Rutland had arrived home.

A short time later, Ned and Cat took their turn greeting the countess. She gave him a narrow-eyed look, but addressed her words to Cat. “Lady Sussex traveled with me from Windsor. Even now she is at her husband’s house in London. Your sister is with her.”

Ned hid his elation. Here was a piece of luck. He had expected the Countess of Sussex to go to the earl’s manor in Chelsea. The place was easily accessible by boat, but would have been expensive for him to visit on a regular basis. The cost of hiring wherries mounted quickly and Ned had to hoard his pennies. Having Nan Bassett in London meant she’d be only a short walk from John Husee’s house, where Ned lodged. He could continue to court Cat Bassett and at the same time pay frequent visits to her sister without incurring any appreciable expense.

The next day Ned made his first call on Lady Sussex. She received him in a bright, sunny room luxuriously furnished with not one, but two chairs. There were Turkey carpets atop the tables and richly woven tapestries on the walls. And it was overflowing with females in all shapes and sizes.

Ned’s gaze went first to Nan. She had abandoned her gable headdress for a French hood and was all in mourning black. The dark garments flattered her pink-and-white complexion.

Seated next to Nan on a low, padded bench was the countess’s half sister, Jane Arundell, another displaced maid of honor. On a cushion on the floor sat the countess’s orphaned niece, Kate Stradling. Kate had the dark hair and eyes of the Arundells and a heart-shaped face that would have been appealing had it not been spoiled by a rather sallow complexion. On the window seat Ned identified one of the countess’s cousins, Isabel Staynings, who had lost her husband to the most recent outbreak of the plague and was great with child besides. He recalled that Nan was kin to both Kate and Isabel through her mother.

Ned bowed to Lady Sussex and explained that he had been appointed to fill in for Master Husee during Husee’s sojourn in Calais. “I bring letters from Lady Lisle,” he added.

The countess took the one inscribed “To the right honorable and my very good Lady of Sussex.” The other was for Nan.

Offered refreshments, Ned munched on marchpane made with blanched almonds and sugar and sipped barley water while the two women read. Nan’s eyes lifted briefly from the paper to meet his. He winked to let her know that he was aware of the letter’s contents.

“Honor invites you to join her in Calais, Isabel,” Lady Sussex announced. “She writes: ‘If my niece Stayning will take the pain to come over hither, she shall be as welcome as heart can think, and her woman with her.’ That is a generous offer.”

“Lady Lisle always seems to be in need of waiting gentlewomen. None stay long if they have the means to escape her service,” said Jane Arundell. Her acid-tongued remark created an expression of sheer panic on Isabel’s face.

“You are welcome to remain at Sussex House as long as you wish,” Lady Sussex assured her. “I enjoy your company.”

Isabel’s relief was painfully obvious, but so was her embarrassment. “Your mother has always been kind to me,” she said to Nan in a soft, almost inaudible voice, “but I fear she would be a … difficult mistress.”

Nan started to deny it, then shrugged. “Her reputation precedes her. I just hope she does not decide to send for me next. I do not have the liberty of refusing.”

“She will not take you away, not when she knows that we are bound to have a new queen soon,” the countess said. “The king must marry again. He cannot place all his hopes on young Prince Edward. He must beget more sons to secure the succession.”

“He has daughters,” Nan pointed out. “Queen Catherine gave him Mary, and Anne Boleyn’s daughter, Elizabeth, is the very image of her father.”

The countess looked at her askance. “They are both barred from inheriting on the grounds they are illegitimate.”

“It will be months yet before the king is out of mourning,” Ned remarked. He watched Nan closely, trying to gauge her state of mind. He admired Cat Bassett’s serenity, but she was a dull stick compared to her sister. Even when Nan was out of sorts, she had a vibrant quality Cat lacked. And it went without saying that Nan was by far the prettier of the two sisters.

“It may take years to negotiate with some foreign power for a new queen,” Jane said. “She will have to be a princess this time. The king’s marriage is too valuable a tool of diplomacy to waste on another English girl.”

Nan did not look pleased by the prospect of a long delay. Ned took another swallow of barley water to hide his smile. Nan’s discontent suited him, for it provided him with an excellent opportunity.

The next time he visited Sussex House, Ned asked the countess’s permission to stroll with Nan in the walled garden at the back. It contained several small trees, and an expanse of turf had a fountain at its center. Now that it was November, the fountain was dry and empty. No flowers bloomed. The grass was brown. The only color came from plants that stayed green all year round—rosemary, lavender, myrtle, and germander. Near the far wall, a gardener worked with his spade. Whether he was digging something up or planting it, Ned could not tell.

“Earlier in the week,” Nan said, “I saw a woman weeding a flower bed. These days watching servants work passes for entertainment.”

“Things cannot be so bad as all that.” He was careful to keep the satisfaction out of his voice. She’d been in London less than a week and already she was chafing at the bit.

“Cousin Mary is expecting a child and is loath to do anything to endanger the babe,” Nan said. “For that reason, she has declared that November is a bleak month best spent indoors. When I said I did not wish to pass the time embroidering, she suggested that I play the lute instead.” Nan grimaced and related her last experience with that instrument. Time and distance allowed her to laugh at herself, but her voice also held a deep sadness as she recalled Queen Jane’s reaction to her performance.

“So she threw a pillow at you,” Ned repeated, shaking his head. “Did you play so very poorly?”

“I am an excellent musician. She’d have admitted that, had she lived.”

Having reached a bower, Ned stopped and drew Nan down beside him on a stone bench. “It is a great pity the queen died,” he said, “but at least you had the opportunity to live at court for a little while.”

“All I have to show for my short tenure as a maid of honor are clothes I cannot abide and the services of a tiring maid.”

“No spaniel?” He tried to tease her bitterness away.

“I did not choose to acquire one.”

“Tell me about your maidservant, then.”

“Why?” She held herself stiffly, her eyes suddenly wary.

“So that I may assure myself that she serves you well. While Husee is in Calais, it is my responsibility to see to your every need.”

“Find me a queen to serve, then!”

“Tell me about your maid,” he insisted, certain that any knowledge of the person closest to Nan on a daily basis would prove useful to him.

“Oh, very well! Her name is Constance Ware. She is a girl from the countryside near one of the earl’s estates. Cousin Mary selected her. Constance is a year younger than I am and still as gangly as a colt. Cousin Mary’s tiring maid has taken her in hand to teach her all she needs to know to dress me and look after my belongings.”

“Are you satisfied with her?”

“She’ll do well enough.” Nan toyed with the embroidered band trimming her sleeves. “Will my sister stay with Lady Rutland, do you think? At one time there was talk that whichever of us failed to become a maid of honor would go to the Duchess of Suffolk, but Mother thought she was too young. The duchess, not Cat. Lady Suffolk is only two years older than I am.”

“Who can say? Cat seems happy where she is.”

“I could go to the duchess in her stead.”

“If not a queen, then a duchess will do? Well, why not? A duchess takes precedence over every countess in the land. But I thought you wanted to be at court. The Duchess of Suffolk remains in the country for some time yet, since she is also expecting a child.”

Nan grimaced. “More babies! It is an epidemic.”

“There has been talk of placing your sister in the household of the Lady Mary.”

Nan’s look of dismay amused Ned, although he was careful not to let his reaction show. A princess, even one who had been eliminated from the succession, still took precedence over a duchess. “Never tell me you want that post for yourself?”

Nan mulled it over. “I suppose not, since the prince appears to thrive. And the Lady Mary is hardly ever at court. They say the king has never forgiven her for siding with her mother over the divorce.”

Ned gave a bark of laughter. “Always thinking. Always planning. Always looking for the best way to get what you want. You are the most determined woman I’ve ever met, Nan Bassett.”

“There is nothing wrong with ambition!” A tinge of pink colored her cheeks as her temper flared.

“Indeed, there is not.” He slid one arm around her waist.

“You grow bold, sir.” But she did not pull away from him.

He tugged her close against his side. “I must make certain you are warm enough. It grows colder by the minute on this gray November day.”

“A paltry excuse for such familiarity,” she chided him, “but it will serve, I think. You do realize that at least one of my kinswomen is certain to be spying on us from that convenient window in the ground-floor parlor?”

He had not. A glance showed him that it overlooked the garden. Ned wished they could adjourn to somewhere more private, but that was like asking for the moon. He would have to content himself with conversation … for now.

“Why are you so unhappy?” he asked.

“What have I to be cheerful about? All my hopes have been dashed. Soon Cousin Mary will go into seclusion, just as Queen Jane did. Once again, I will be cut off from all light, all air, all amusement.”

“Surely that will not happen for some time yet.” He’d not have guessed the countess was expecting a child if Nan had not told him.

“Mary expects to give birth sometime in March.”

“Months away! Perhaps by then the Earl of Sussex may have found you a husband.”

Nan sent an annoyed glare his way. “The earl may have been thrice married himself, but he is no one’s choice as a matchmaker. His idea of a suitable spouse would likely be some minor lord’s youngest son!”

“Ah, my poor Nan!” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Great heavens! If that is the case, you might as well marry me.”

Irritated, she pulled free of his embrace. “I would rather die a maid than wed a man with no money.”

Ned winced. “What a waste that would be! No one with any sense, my sweet, would voluntarily choose chastity if they had any other alternative. Do you seriously think you can live all your life without ever sampling the joys of love? Dearest Nan, I can imagine no worse fate.”

She punched him lightly on the arm. “Far worse to live a life of abject poverty. Or one of servitude. Or of utter boredom.”

When Nan stood, Ned followed suit. They began to stroll again, weaving in and out among the raised flower beds. “I am sorry you are so unhappy with your lot.”

“I thought my life would be full of excitement once I escaped Calais. Even if I cannot be at court just now, there should be other pleasures. London is right out there.” She gestured toward the garden wall. Very faintly, they could hear the noises of the city beyond. “It is so near, and yet I cannot venture into its streets. I vow I am wasting away for want of freedom. When I lived in France as a child, we often left the château. I rode out into the countryside, just for the exercise. And once Madame de Riou took me to the French court and I saw King Francis himself.”

“Did you now?”

A mischievous look came into her eyes. “Only from a distance. Madame was full of warnings. She did not want the French king to see me. He is said to be very fond of pretty young ladies, and not above ordering them into his bed.”

“Poor Nan,” he repeated. “No chance to catch a king.”

“Not that one,” she quipped.

He laughed again. “You do deserve to have some fun. Has it occurred to you that you might simply ask to go out?”

Having planted that suggestion in Nan’s mind, Ned went away from Sussex House well satisfied with his day’s work.

THE MORNING AFTER Nan walked with Ned Corbett in the garden, she asked Cousin Mary for permission to explore London. “I would like to visit the shops, even if I cannot afford to buy,” she said, “and take in the sights and sounds.”

“You cannot just wander about the city on your own!” Mary was appalled by the very idea.

“I will take Constance with me.”

“Your tiring maid? She knows less about avoiding the dangers of London than you do.”

Nan pouted. “I will pine away if I am confined in one place much longer!”

Mary smiled at this exaggeration, but Nan also saw a hint of sympathy in her cousin’s dark eyes. Tapping her fingers against the arm of her chair, Mary reconsidered Nan’s request. “You may go out for a few hours to visit some of the more respectable shops, but only if you take Kate with you in addition to your maid and are accompanied by at least two grooms.”

Nan leapt at the chance. Of all the women in the household, she got along best with Kate Stradling. Kate was nine years Nan’s senior and Welsh by birth, so they had little in common, but Kate was very fond of sweets. She was amenable to the expedition so long as it included a stop at a confectioner’s shop.

They set out at midmorning the next day, after taking formal leave of Cousin Mary in the parlor. Their little procession made its way through the hall into the screens passage and across the yard to the entry where a liveried servant waited to open the gate to the street. He dipped his head as Nan and Kate went through. Heedless of pedestrians and horses alike, Nan set off at a brisk pace. She wanted to see everything at once.

It was the smell of London that slowed her down. Fumbling for the decorative pomander ball that hung from her waist, she pressed it firmly to her nose so that, after a moment, the most unpalatable odors—she refused to try to identify any of them!—weakened in intensity. Filtered through the soothing scent of hartshorn, they became endurable.

Nan felt a trifle foolish. She should have remembered how London stank. Still, some things were worth putting up with, so long as the reward was great enough. Linking her arm through Kate’s, she marched on, determined to make the most of her hours of freedom. Constance trailed behind with the two burly grooms Cousin Mary insisted they take with them.

Nan made frequent use of her pomander ball at first, but before long she became accustomed to the stench and could manage with only an occasional restorative sniff. They stopped to view the Great Conduit in Cheapside and the Eleanor Cross, the latter erected to commemorate the passing of the funeral cortege of a long-ago queen. Nan wondered if King Henry planned any such memorials for Queen Jane. If he did, she had not heard about them.

Some streets were cobbled. Others were paved. Some merely had a layer of gravel over hard-packed dirt. Nan suspected the latter turned into quagmires every spring. All the roads and byways were crowded with persons of every sort, from rough farmers in town to sell their produce to expensively dressed gallants on richly caparisoned horses. Nan wished she had been at court long enough to recognize individuals in the latter group. After all, it would do her no good to attract the attention of some scoundrel who was deep in debt or, worse, already had a wife.

The noise of the city made conversation difficult. Hawkers shouting out inducements to buy their wares competed with the clop of horses’ hooves and the clatter of wheeled carts and wagons. Church bells in dozens of churches rang out the time, adding to the din. Everywhere there was bustle and confusion.

Nan was happier than she had been in weeks. After two hours of walking, however, even she began to flag, and Cousin Kate had been limping for the past quarter hour. Nan looked around, thinking to find a respectable hostelry in the vicinity. A tavern or an alehouse would not do, but inns that catered to travelers had rooms for hire where a gentlewoman could sit down for a bit and even order food and drink.

There were no inns in sight, but there was something familiar about Nan’s surroundings. She looked more carefully at the buildings and realized that one of them was Master Husee’s house. The tall, narrow structure rising cheek by jowl with its neighbors was not distinctive in any way, but Nan remembered it from her last visit. She and Cat and Ned had stopped at Husee’s lodgings to break the journey from Dover to Hampton Court.

Sheer chance that she had ended up here, Nan told herself. She had not intended to search out familiar landmarks. But fate had taken a hand, and here was a place to rest awhile, just when they needed it.

If Husee had been in residence, Nan might have continued to search for an inn, but he was still in Calais. That made her decision a foregone conclusion. “We must stop for a bit before we return to Sussex House,” she announced, “and here is just the place to do it. If Master Corbett is not at home, then Master Husee’s servants will make us welcome.”

“Master Corbett?” Kate’s dark eyes widened in surprise. “How … fortuitous.”

“I have always been lucky,” Nan agreed.

As for Ned, he seemed delighted to find two young gentlewomen on his doorstep and obligingly offered them refreshments and the chance to rest their feet. At the first opportunity, he bent to whisper in Nan’s ear, “Clever girl to find this place again.”

A teasing smile played across Nan’s lips as she inhaled his fresh, clean scent. “I hoped you would welcome me.”

His eyes gleamed and his voice turned husky. “I’d have given you an even warmer welcome, Nan, had you arrived without an escort.”

They both looked at Kate. Nan’s cousin was watching them with gimlet-eyed intensity, her suspicion that Nan had arranged this meeting with Ned as obvious as if she had lettered it on a sign.

“I would such a thing were possible,” Nan murmured as she stepped away, depriving him of the opportunity to say more.

Her intent had been to match Ned’s lighthearted flirtation. But the moment she spoke those words, it came to Nan that she’d meant them. The epiphany stunned her.

She stared hard at Ned, now bantering with Cousin Kate. She told herself that Ned’s brown hair and blue eyes were unremarkable. And hundreds of men had a physique as excellent. He was penniless. That was what she had to remember. And she must not lose sight of her goal. She had left Calais to set her traps for a man who possessed both wealth and a title.

Ned Corbett had neither.