Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set

… by the report of all the gentlewomen, Mrs. Anne is clearly altered, and in manner no fault can be found in her. So that I doubt not but that the worst is past, and from henceforth she will use herself as demurely and discreetly as the best of her fellows. My Lady Sussex willeth me to make her a gown of lion tawny satin, turned up with velvet of the same colour, and also to buy her a standard for her gowns, which shall be done, God willing, against Christmas. And there is no doubt, whensoever the time shall come, she shall enjoy her accustomed place …

—John Husee to Lady Lisle, 14 December 1537

4

A few dull days in the exclusive company of women, embroidering baby clothes and making plans for a quiet Yuletide, made Nan restless. She proposed another shopping expedition, but this time Cousin Kate had no interest in such a venture.

“Why go out?” Kate asked without looking up from her needlework. “London is noisy, crowded, filthy, and smelly and we have only to express an interest and Cousin Mary will ask tradesmen to bring their wares here for us to examine. Cloth. Ribbons. Even jewelry. Not that either of us can afford to buy much.” She frowned over a stitch. “Does this look straight to you?”

With barely a glance, Nan told her it was perfect.

“We both know why you want to go out,” Kate said.

Nan went still, suddenly wary. “Do we?”

“It is only an excuse to visit Master Corbett again. I can understand the desire. He is a well-made man and clever with words, as well.” She took several more careful stitches in the sleeve she was embroidering with tiny rosebuds. “But I see no advantage to myself in venturing out into London so that you can dally with your stepfather’s man.”

“You are mistaken,” Nan lied. “I have no interest in Master Corbett. And I would not dream of disturbing your work by asking you to accompany me.” She walked stiffly away, annoyed with her cousin and even more annoyed with herself. She had dreamed of Ned the previous night, a dream filled with longing … and fulfillment. But she had not thought her interest in Ned was so obvious to others.

Next Nan tried to persuade Jane Arundell to accompany her, but Jane, too, preferred to remain indoors, as did Isabel Staynings. Since Nan would lack the company of another gentlewoman, Cousin Mary refused her request for a second outing.

Frustrated, Nan brooded for the rest of the day and was still in ill humor by the time Constance appeared to help her get ready for bed. Kate was already sound asleep and snoring lightly. She had also appropriated all of the blankets, wrapping herself in a cocoon of wool. When Nan climbed into bed beside her, she’d have a struggle to free enough of the fabric to cover herself.

“I vow,” Nan grumbled, “I shall soon die of boredom. Then they will be sorry they kept me confined!”

Constance paused in the act of untying the points that held Nan’s sleeves to her bodice. “Are you a prisoner, mistress?”

“I might as well be!”

“Even prisoners in the Tower of London are allowed to walk on the leads for fresh air.” Constance’s voice was muffled as she fought a knot in the laces holding bodice to kirtle.

“Are they? Who told you that?”

“John Browne did, mistress. He knows all sorts of things. He says more than men are locked up in the Tower. There are beasts, too. Lions and—”

“John Browne? Who is he?”

“Why, he is Master Corbett’s man, mistress. His servant.”

Nan had a vague recollection of a manservant in Calais and at Master Husee’s lodgings, but she had not paid any attention to him. Big and brawny, she thought. Had he been on the boat from Calais with them? She supposed he must have been. And it appeared he’d entertained her maid while his master had been occupied with Constance’s mistress.

As Constance finished undressing her, the first glimmer of an idea formed in Nan’s mind.

THEY LEFT SUSSEX House through the garden. Since it was broad daylight, Nan expected to be caught at any moment, but luck was on her side. She and Constance reached the lych-gate unnoticed and stepped out into a narrow alley. All the way from Sussex House to Master Husee’s dwelling, Nan was certain she would be challenged, or robbed, or assaulted. The potential for danger made the adventure all the more exciting.

“Slow your steps, mistress,” Constance hissed, scurrying to keep up with her, “lest you draw unwelcome attention to yourself.”

Seeing the sense in her advice, Nan forced herself to walk at a sedate pace. Head held high, she pretended she had every right to be out on the streets of London with her maid. Fortunately, no one they passed could see how her hands were trembling inside her muff.

Forewarned by John Browne, Ned was expecting them. If he had any qualms about entertaining Nan without the presence of Cousin Kate and the two Sussex grooms, he hid them well. Indeed, it seemed to Nan that he regarded her clandestine visit as a great lark. They spent a pleasant hour sharing stories about their childhoods and laughing over Nan’s mother’s latest unsuccessful effort to secure the services of a waiting gentlewoman.

“She sent an enameled pomander containing cinnamon balls to Lady Wallop to sweeten her,” Ned said with a chuckle. “Lady Wallop has a niece of the right age and disposition.”

“Lady Wallop is fond of my mother. They met when her husband was the English ambassador to France. Never tell me that she failed to deliver the girl.”

“Worse than that.” He waited a beat, then slid closer to her on the window seat they shared. “The clasp on the pomander was faulty. It broke, scattering the cinnamon and quite ruining Lady Wallop’s favorite damask gown.”

Nan’s fingers flew to her mouth, but it was too late to hold back the explosion of mirth. “I can just imagine the expression on her face,” Nan sputtered when she could catch enough breath to speak. Lady Wallop affronted would be a comical sight even without cinnamon spilling down her ample bosom.

Ned’s laughter mingled with her own. His hand came to rest on Nan’s shoulder, as if to steady himself. Or her.

The touch, light as it was, sparked a conflagration. Nan’s cheeks warmed. Her heart raced. She leaned closer to Ned, face lifting until their eyes locked.

She recognized an answering heat in Ned’s gaze. And then she saw no more because he’d closed the distance between them and was kissing her. His lips settled over hers, warm and sure. His soft beard and mustache brushed her skin, sensitizing it almost beyond bearing. She heard someone moan and realized with a sense of wonder that she had made the small sound of arousal.

All too soon for Nan’s liking, Ned pulled away from her. “You had best return to Sussex House before someone notices you are missing.”

She struggled to get her breath back and to adjust to the sudden loss of Ned’s embrace. “I pled a headache,” she blurted out. “They think I am lying down with the bed hangings closed to keep out the light and with a poultice of banewort leaves on my brow.”

“And if Lady Sussex should decide to offer comfort to her dear young cousin?”

Nan turned away from him, suddenly chilled. She knew he was right. To stay away too long was to court discovery.

An hour later, having collected Constance from John Browne’s bedchamber, she returned to Sussex House the same way she had left.

THE SECOND TIME Nan crept out to meet Ned Corbett, the kisses were more intense. “I love the way you smell,” she whispered.

She felt him smile against her cheek. “I am a noxious weed compared to you, my flower. I never knew lavender could be so sweet.”

Again they parted too soon to suit Nan, and the third time she visited Master Husee’s little house, Ned greeted her with the news that this must be their last meeting. “Husee intends to make the crossing on the first of December. I am to meet him at Gravesend, in Kent.”

“Must you return to Calais?” The aching, empty feeling inside her was far worse than any hunger for food.

“I am one of your stepfather’s regular couriers,” Ned reminded her. “That means I will come back from time to time.”

“But we will never have this house to ourselves again.” Tears sprang into her eyes. First she had lost her best chance at attracting a wealthy, titled husband. Now she would lose Ned’s company. It was not fair!

Ned took her in his arms and kissed her damp cheeks. When his gentle, comforting embrace turned passionate, the lure was irresistible. Nan tugged at his laces even as he began to undo her kirtle.

“Are you certain?” he whispered. “I would not hurt you for the world.”

Nan did not reply in words. Caught up in a whirl of new and fascinating sensations, she seized his face in both hands and pulled until his lips met hers. Her world tilted and spun and by the time the tumult slowed enough for her to think again, she was naked in Ned’s bed and he was pushing himself into her.

The intrusion hurt … until Ned slid one hand down her body. The waves of renewed arousal lashed at every place he touched. She had never experienced anything like what he did to her, never imagined such pleasure was possible. She had no name for what she felt. She only knew that the moment of pain was quickly replaced by shudders of ecstasy.

Only later, when they lay sated and smiling, did Nan realize the enormity of what she had just done. Men wanted wives who were virgins. How could she have allowed herself to become so caught up in passion that she’d lost all common sense? How was she to catch any husband now, let alone one who was rich and titled?

Nan sat straight up, fumbling for her smock. Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes, but this time she was determined not to let them fall. She dared not look at Ned, although she could feel him watching her.

“Wounds of Christ,” he swore. “I’d never have taken you for a puling infant. Is it really so terrible to have given yourself to a lover? Great ladies do it all the time, and so do maids of honor!”

“I am not a maid of honor any longer!” Nor was she a maid. Nan met his gaze at last and read concern there, as well as frustration.

“Did I not please you, Nan?”

“You know you did,” she whispered.

“Then what is it that troubles you?”

“This … this is not … acceptable behavior.”

Startled, he blinked once and then began to laugh. Nan glared at him, but after a moment she saw the humor in her choice of words and her prim tone of voice and joined in the mirth. Acceptable or unacceptable did not begin to define what they had just shared. And if she had truly cared a fig for what was “acceptable,” she would never have crept out of Sussex House to be with Ned in the first place.

What was done, was done. Her maidenhead was gone. That being so, Nan reasoned, why should she not enjoy herself while she could? Scooting closer to Ned, she rained kisses down his chest. He responded with enthusiasm.

They had two days before he had to leave to meet John Husee. They made the best of them, spending both afternoons in his bed. What Cousin Mary thought of Nan’s sudden spate of headaches, Nan neither knew nor cared. She did not trouble herself overmuch with worrying about it. She had discovered the delights of coupling with her lover and was far too eager to be with Ned to concern herself with the consequences if she were found out.

The only thing Nan dreaded was the moment when they must say farewell. Inevitably, it arrived. They made love for what would have to be the last time. Then Ned, his face wearing the most serious expression she had ever seen there, took her hands in his and drew her up so that they were kneeling face-to-face upon the bed. Hangings closed them in, away from the rest of the world, but they could still hear the faint sounds of London beyond. A death knell began to toll the years of a deceased parishioner’s life.

“We can go through a private form of marriage here and now, Nan, if you are willing. None will ever be able to part us if we do.”

What Ned was suggesting made Nan’s limbs go stiff with shock. “We cannot marry!” she blurted out.

“Formal trothplight is the only answer. It is not a ceremony in church or the presence of witnesses that makes a marriage binding. We have only to pledge ourselves per verba de praesenti, as they call it, and we will have made a legal precontract. That done, neither of us can ever marry anyone else.” He grinned. “We have already taken care of the consummation that seals the bargain.”

“We cannot!” Her voice rose in panic.

“Why not? I love you, Nan. And you love me.”

“What has love to do with marriage? My dowry is but one hundred marks and you have no prospects at all.”

A spasm of displeasure momentarily turned his handsome features ugly. “What if you are with child?”

Nan jerked her hands free of his and scrambled off the bed. “Was that your plan? To force a marriage? Well, it will not work.” Surely it was not that easy to conceive. Her mother and Lord Lisle had tried without success for years. Nor had the king been notably successful at getting his wives with child.

More slowly, Ned followed her from the bed. They dressed in silence, his brooding, hers a mixture of anger and trepidation. In spite of living with two pregnant women, her cousins Mary and Isabel, it had never crossed her mind that she might quicken with Ned’s child. Such an outcome was unlikely, she told herself firmly, and dismissed the possibility from her thoughts.

She was more concerned that Ned would betray her. If he told her stepfather that they’d been meeting in secret and that he’d taken her maidenhead … Lord Lisle could force them to wed. More likely, he’d turn Ned out for his effrontery. She did not think Ned would risk that. She hoped he would not.

“I love you, Nan,” Ned said as she was about to leave, “and I think you love me.”

“That may be, Ned. But marriage is a business arrangement. A contract negotiated by parents for their children. Love, if it happens at all in a marriage, comes after the wedding and bedding.” So she’d been taught her whole life.

“And what we’ve shared?”

“A mistake?”

She heard the regret in his voice and was sorry for it, but he should never have pressed for marriage. “Go on, then. Run back to the countess. Pretend none of this ever happened,” he said bitterly.

Nan walked rapidly through the gathering dusk, trying to outrun her troubled thoughts. She left Constance at the lych-gate, bidding John Browne a tearful farewell, and hurried through the house to the safety of her own bedchamber. She saw no one along the way and was certain her absence had gone unnoticed … until she caught a whiff of Cousin Mary’s rose-water scent.

Curled up on the window seat, her face shadowed in the twilight, the Countess of Sussex watched Nan close the door. Nan had the sense that her cousin had been waiting for her return for some time.

“Where have you been, Nan?”

“I went for a walk.” Perhaps there was still a chance to bluff her way out of trouble. Mary could not possibly guess where she had been or what she had been doing. All she’d know for certain was that Nan had not spent the afternoon prostrate on her bed, laid low by a megrim.

“Alone?” Mary’s displeasure was a palpable force in the room.

“I took Constance with me. I was most desperate for relief and, indeed, the air and exercise seem to have done wonders for my aching head.”

“This is not the first time you have left the grounds with only your maid for company. Do not trouble to deny it. Yesterday one of the gardeners found the lych-gate unlatched.”

“I did go out. Just for a few moments. That is how I came to realize that venturing beyond the gates does more to ease my pain than banewort leaves moistened with wine and laid to my temple, or bloodwort made into a plaster, or even infusions of cowslip juice.”

“It is not meet for you to venture into the city without a proper escort.” Cousin Mary’s voice dripped icicles.

Nan winced. In truth, her head had begun to throb. “It will not happen again. I promise.”

Mary patted the cushioned seat beside her, indicating that Nan should come and sit. She was far from mollified, but Nan thought her cousin might believe her. She was certain Mary wanted to. It did not reflect well on the Countess of Sussex if one of her household misbehaved.

“My Lord Sussex and I have worked hard on your behalf, trying to convince the king that he should guarantee you a place with the next queen, whoever she may be. It would be a great pity if you ruined your reputation before her arrival in England.”

Nan bowed her head. She had been foolish. If she was to return to court, she must engage in no more dalliances. Moreover, she must take care to appear both biddable and virtuous. No one, least of all Cousin Mary, must ever discover that she was no longer a virgin.

“I devoutly hope we will have a new queen soon,” Mary said as Nan took the place beside her on the window seat. “There is talk of a young woman at the court in Burgundy—Christina, daughter of the deposed king of Denmark. She is your age, Nan, but already a widow. A virgin bride, or so they say, but by that marriage she became Duchess of Milan. As such, she would be a most suitable wife for the king of England.”

Mary rambled on, extolling Christina of Milan’s many reported virtues. Nan had only to nod and smile. She agreed with everything Mary said for the next hour, but for much of that time a part of her mind was elsewhere.

As soon as her cousin had gone, Nan sent for Constance. “I think she believed me,” Nan said when she’d repeated the first part of her conversation with Mary, “but just in case she asks you, you must confirm all I told her. We ventured no farther into London than a few yards from the garden gate.”

“You have naught to fear from me, mistress,” Constance vowed. “And I’ve no doubt Lady Sussex is so wroth with you only because she is great with child and uncomfortable with it. Mayhap you should ask your mother to send her more gifts.”

Cousin Mary had not developed a craving for quails, but she did love pretty trinkets. For once, Nan wished she could write a letter in English in her own hand. She resolved to have Master Husee set quill to paper for her as soon as he presented himself. She’d ask Mother to send whatever tokens she thought would keep the countess sweet.

“If everything goes well,” she said, as much to convince herself as to reassure Constance, “it will only be a matter of time before I am back at court where I belong.” Pageants. Dancing. Disguisings. Tournaments. A little sigh of anticipation escaped her as she contemplated all the pleasures of life at Hampton Court and Greenwich Palace and Windsor Castle.

And then she pictured King Henry in her mind’s eye. Tall. Muscular. Smiling. She could almost smell that wonderful scent he wore. And the thought of encountering His Majesty again in the flesh, of seeing admiration in those blue-gray eyes, produced a distinct flutter in Nan’s belly and set all her female parts to tingling.

LESS THAN TWO weeks after Nan had resolved to turn over a new leaf, King Henry sent word that her place as a maid of honor to the next queen was secure. Nan was elated. She saw this news as proof that the king remembered her fondly and that she had done the right thing by refusing Ned’s offer of marriage.

December passed quietly and, save for the servants, entirely in the company of women. Then, in early January, the Earl of Sussex rode into London from Whitehall Palace, in the City of Westminster, where the court was, to pay a visit to his wife. Eager for news of the king’s search for a bride, every gentlewoman in the household, Nan included, immediately surrounded him.

“We will not have a moment alone until you have satisfied their curiosity,” the countess warned her husband. “And I, too, am eager to hear of the doings of the court.”

“The king leaves for Greenwich Palace in two days’ time,” the earl said. “He will celebrate Twelfth Night there.”

Disguisings, Nan thought. And a Lord of Misrule to preside over the Yuletide festivities. She longed to be there.

“He is still in mourning for Queen Jane,” Jane Arundell objected. “How much celebration can there be?” Then she saw something in the earl’s expression that made her light gray eyes go wide. “Who?”

Nan watched the earl’s expression change as he glanced around the circle of eager faces. He seemed to be debating with himself, but in the end he relented. “No doubt you will hear of it soon enough. The election lies between Mistress Mary Shelton and Mistress Margaret Skipwith. I pray Jesu that the king will choose the one who will give him greatest comfort.”

“You cannot mean he intends to marry one of them!” Kate Stradling exclaimed.

“He is supposed to wed a foreign princess,” Nan added.

The earl shook his head. “It is a mistress His Grace is after from among the gentlewomen of his acquaintance, not a wife.”

“MARY SHELTON,” JANE Arundell mused when the earl and countess had retired. “Well, well.”

“Do you know her?” Nan sat with her legs curled under her on a cushion on the floor.

Isabel, whose pregnancy weighed heavily on her, had claimed the window seat that overlooked the garden, while Kate occupied a stool. Jane took the countess’s chair.

“I have never met the woman, but I know who she is. One of her sisters, Margaret, was at court when Anne Boleyn was queen. Madge, they called her. That one was no better than she should be.” Jane paused to glance over her shoulder at the door, making sure there was no one else listening. Then she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Madge Shelton warmed the king’s bed throughout one of Queen Anne’s pregnancies.”

Isabel fanned herself with her embroidery hoop. “Oh, my! Well, I do not suppose His Grace minds tupping sisters. He has done so before.”

“There are some who say that the two children Queen Anne’s sister bore during her first marriage were really fathered by the king,” Jane explained, noticing the puzzled expression on Nan’s face.

More tales of Anne Boleyn’s sister, and other women who had reportedly been King Henry’s mistresses, followed hard and fast. Nan was fascinated. Her mother had told many stories about people at the English court but, with one exception, she had not included illicit liaisons in her lessons. She had mentioned a woman named Bessie Blount, but only because Bessie had given birth to King Henry’s bastard, Henry FitzRoy, a boy who had died about a year before Nan arrived at court.

“The first mistress anyone knows by name,” Jane continued, preening a bit because she had been a maid of honor long enough to know, “was the Duke of Buckingham’s sister. That was way back in the first year of King Henry’s reign. The duke very nearly caught them together and afterward he had his sister confined to a nunnery for her sins.”

“Is she still there?” Kate asked.

“Not likely,” Nan interjected. “Most of the nunneries have been dissolved.”

“And the Duke of Buckingham is long gone—executed for treason years ago.” Jane lowered her voice again, obliging the others to lean closer. “But his wayward sister, as you suggested, Nan, did not remain long in confinement, and these days she is the Countess of Huntingdon!”

“Whatever happened to Bessie Blount?” Nan asked.

“She was married off to Lord Talboys, and after he died she wed Lord Clinton.”

“So one former mistress has married an earl and another became a baroness twice over,” Nan mused aloud. “It would seem that the king’s castoffs do not fare too badly.”

“Not all of them married peers. Mary Boleyn was wed to a mere knight and her second husband is the same.”

Jane’s answer only piqued Nan’s curiosity. “And Madge Shelton? What happened to her?”

“I’ve no idea,” Jane admitted.

“Have there been others?” Nan persisted.

Jane’s eyebrows rose. “Surely we have enumerated quite enough for one man! Any more would be excessive.”

“Not so,” Nan said with a laugh. “Why, the number of mistresses the king of England has taken pales beside the legions of women so honored by the king of France.” Finding herself the center of attention, Nan regaled the others with stories of King Frances and his conquests until it was time for supper.

That night Nan dreamed she was at court. King Henry walked right past shadowy figures that Nan somehow knew were Mary Shelton and Margaret Skipwith, and chose Nan instead. And not just to be his mistress, either. It was a crown he offered her, and his hand in marriage.

Nan could not help but feel chagrined a few weeks later when she heard that the king had made Margaret Skipwith his mistress. She took care to hide her reaction, but Constance knew her too well.

“Why do you care what Mistress Skipwith does?” the maid asked as she dressed Nan’s hair for the day.

“She won the prize before I even knew there was a contest,” Nan muttered. They were alone in the bedchamber. Kate had risen early and was already in attendance upon Cousin Mary.

“You cannot have wanted to be the king’s mistress. Not after knowing Master Ned. The king is old and getting older. Fat and getting fatter. What pleasure would there be in going to bed with the likes of him?”

“A great deal if he could be persuaded into marriage,” Nan replied.

“You want to be queen?” In the mirror, Nan saw the girl’s eyes widen.

“A woman can aspire no higher,” said Nan. “And surely a king would be a superlative lover.”

Nan did not mention the way King Henry affected her. She did not think Constance would understand that she had been drawn to the king’s person every bit as powerfully as she had been to Ned’s. True, Ned was younger and better looking, but Nan had no difficulty at all imagining herself in Henry Tudor’s bed.

Constance snorted and pulled a little too hard as the comb caught a snarl. “Climb too high and a fall from that height will be the death of you. King Henry has killed three wives already, one by neglect, one by beheading, and the third in childbed. Where’s the pleasure, or the profit, in joining that company?”

Nan considered for a moment. “There’s pleasure, profit, and power, too, just in being at court, and to have the king’s attention means more of all three. Whatever woman he takes as his mistress has more influence than other women at court, at least for a time. A wife would have even more.”

“For a time,” Constance amended under her breath. Satisfied with Nan’s hair, she went to the wardrobe chest to collect kirtle, bodice, sleeves, gown, and shoes. Nan was already wearing her stockings and garters and chemise and petticoats.

“Perhaps I aim too high.” Nan heaved a gusty sigh. “Even to dream of replacing Mistress Skipwith is likely presumptuous. And foolish, as well,” she acknowledged, catching sight of Constance’s expression. “And yet I do know one thing—I will never be content to spend my life living as a poor relation in a wealthy cousin’s household.”

Most assuredly she could do better than that!

FOR THE NEXT few months, Nan busied herself making baby clothes, attempting to learn to write in English, and planning the garments she would have when she was once more a maid of honor at the royal court. She was least successful with the writing, since she had little true interest in acquiring that skill. Given that her own mother corresponded with dozens of people, always employing a secretary to write for her, Nan had no real need to make the effort. Nor did she have anyone to whom she had a great desire to send a letter. Except, perhaps, for Ned. But she knew that was not a good idea.

But if she had written to someone, she mused, she might have said that Isabel Staynings had been delivered of a healthy girl and that Cousin Mary, the Countess of Sussex, still awaited the birth of her child. Mary had taken to her bedchamber in mid-February. Since Nan was not obliged to stay with Mary all the time, she could take walks in the garden, despite the cold weather, if she so desired. For some reason, however, she found she lacked the energy to venture outside.

She’d felt listless for several weeks—she blamed the weather—when John Husee arrived on the fifteenth of March with letters and tokens from Nan’s family in Calais. The news that he was accompanied by Ned Corbett made Nan’s heart flutter with anticipation, but she was determined to show no weakness where he was concerned.

Jane Arundell remained with her half sister while Nan and Kate went to greet their visitors. Since the king had left off wearing mourning on the third day of February, the day after Candlemas, thus permitting his subjects to do the same, Nan had on the gown of lion tawny satin turned up with velvet of the same color. It was one that Master Husee had supplied against her return to court as a maid of honor. With it she wore a flattering French hood. Her headdress still lacked an appropriately rich decorative border, but she had already begun a campaign to amend that lack.

“Has Mother sent the pearls?” she asked before Husee had a chance to say a word beyond his greeting. She pretended to ignore Ned entirely.

John Husee was a stolid individual in his early thirties, plainly dressed. There was nothing memorable about his brown hair and brown eyes. His other features, including a short, neatly trimmed beard, were equally unremarkable. He was skilled at effacing himself and eager to please without being obsequious. He had been in the employ of Lord and Lady Lisle since Nan was twelve and deferred to her just as he did to her mother and stepfather. If any of them asked for something, he procured it, whether it be goods or information. He always knew the best places to find both.

A pained expression on his face, Husee shook his head. “It grieves me to tell you, Mistress Anne, that she has not yet done so.”

“I need them by Easter.” Easter Sunday fell on the twenty-first day of April, only a little more than a month away.

Although Nan could feel Ned’s intense gaze boring into her, she refused to look at him. He’d no doubt try to steal a moment alone with her, but she did not intend to let him succeed. She did not dare allow him close to her, not when just knowing he was in the same room shook her resolution to avoid him.

“What news of the king’s search for a queen?” Kate cast a flirtatious look Ned’s way. Nan frowned at her, but Kate took no notice.

John Husee answered, “The king has sent Master Hans Holbein abroad to make portraits of several noblewomen considered worthy to be queen of England.”

“Including Christina of Milan?” Kate wanted to know.

“Including Christina. Wagering at court favors her five to one over any other candidate.”

“There is news closer to home,” Ned cut in impatiently. He stepped in front of Nan so that she was forced to meet his steady gaze. “Your eldest brother, John Bassett, has married your stepsister, Frances Plantagenet.”

Nan kept her expression carefully blank. “That is no great surprise. They have been betrothed ever since my mother married Frances’s father. I imagine they were only waiting until John reached his eighteenth birthday.”

“I suppose you do not care, either, that your youngest sister, Mary Bassett, has been ill. She was sent home to Calais last week in the hope that your mother could nurse her back to health.”

Nan stared at him with concern, but said nothing. She felt as if she barely knew Mary anymore, having seen her only a handful of times during the last four years.

Master Husee hastened to assure her that her sister would recover.

“In spite of her ill health,” Ned remarked, “she is quite the beauty, by far the prettiest of Lady Lisle’s daughters.”

Nan went rigid as a fireplace poker, but she refused to be baited. She would not oblige Ned Corbett by quarreling with him.

“Perhaps,” Ned continued, as if unaware of her irritation, “you will soon be able to judge for yourself. It has been suggested that when she regains her health, Mary should join you here in the Sussex household.”

Caught off guard, Nan struggled to find a polite reply. “It would be pleasant to see my youngest sister again,” she said after a moment, “but I would not want her to make such a long journey if she is not well.”

“We have news of your sister Catherine, too.” The hard glint in Ned’s eyes belied his casual tone of voice and reminded Nan that he’d once shown a marked interest in Cat. “There is talk of a marriage for her with one of Sir Edward Baynton’s sons.”

“Baynton,” Nan mused aloud. “He was vice chancellor to Queen Jane. No doubt he will assume the same post under the next queen.” Baynton had wealth and influence, but he was merely a knight and his sons lacked even that distinction. Still, Cat must be well pleased at the prospect of such an alliance. Plain as she was, she’d never have much choice in a husband.

“I’ve heard no names bandied about for you, Mistress Anne.”

Nan ignored Ned’s taunt. Andrew Baynton, she recalled, the oldest of Sir Edward’s sons, was about Cat’s age. There were at least two younger boys. Nan hoped her mother would not suggest doubling the alliance—two sisters for two brothers.

“The Bayntons are wealthy and growing more so all the time,” Master Husee chimed in. He looked from Ned to Nan and back again with a puzzled expression on his face.

“How fortunate for Cat.” Nan smiled sweetly. “For as we all know, there is never any point to marrying a man who has no ready money.”

THE COUNTESS OF Sussex gave birth to a son on the eighteenth day of March. That same day Master Holbein returned to court and showed King Henry his drawing of Christina of Milan.

“This put His Grace in an excellent mood,” the Earl of Sussex reported to his wife and her attendant ladies. “The king has agreed to be our new son’s godfather.”

Nan’s spirits soared. If King Henry came to the boy’s christening, she might have an opportunity to speak with him.

“His Grace will send a deputy,” Sussex continued.

Disappointed, Nan repressed a sigh.

“Did you see the sketch of Duchess Christina, my lord?” Kate Stradling asked. “What does she look like?”

Sussex considered that in thoughtful silence for a few moments. Then his deep-set eyes crinkled and he gave a snort of laughter. “A great deal like Madge Shelton, if you want to know the truth. Pretty girl, that Madge. I hear she married a country gentleman by the name of Wodehouse. I wonder if that resemblance accounts for the king’s enchantment with the duchess’s portrait? Whatever the cause, he has ordered negotiations to proceed apace. With luck, we could have a new queen as early as Whitsuntide.”

Whit Sunday was the ninth of June, not very far away at all. Nan resolved to send a reminder to Calais. Her mother must send the pearls at once. Everything must be in order before the new queen of England arrived.