Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set

The King’s Grace removed from Westminster Tuesday the nineteenth day of November, and thanked be to God was never merrier. And the Wednesday before he made a banquet to certain lords and ladies, which was first the Duke of Suffolk and my lady his wife, my lord my master and my lady, the Earl of Hertford and his wife, and my Lady Lisle, with others, maids, which were the Queen’s women. And there they lay all night in the Court, and their chambers gorgeously dressed, and everyone had banquets in their chambers and the King’s servants to wait upon them: and the next day they tarried their dinner, and after the King showed them all the pleasures of his house, which dured till it was four of the clock. And then they departed and were on their way.

—a servant of the Earl of Sussex to Sussex’s eldest son, 21 November 1538

7

I am back at court!

Jubilant, Nan wanted to whirl in a circle and sing, but she restrained her impulse. Her mother would surely not approve.

In retrospect, it seemed to Nan that her actions had been preordained. She had been meant to escape discovery. She’d had only to wait for a new opportunity to catch the king’s eye. How ironic that it should be her mother’s return visit to England, two months after the last one, that brought about that much-desired result. Honor Lisle had crossed again from Calais just a week earlier and taken a house in the Lothbury section of London.

It was a clear, cold November day when their party entered Whitehall Palace through the court gate, just to the north of the northern gatehouse on the east side of King Street. “His Grace has made improvements,” Honor Lisle remarked when they reached a courtyard. On one side was the great hall. Beyond that were the royal apartments, outer rooms leading into privy lodgings said to be more lavish than in any other royal residence.

“The changes are even more extensive on the western side of King Street,” the Earl of Sussex said. “There are four tennis plays, two bowling alleys, a cockpit, a pheasant yard, and a gallery for viewing tournaments in the tiltyard.”

King Street, which ran through Westminster to Charing Cross, neatly divided Whitehall, officially “the king’s palace at Westminster,” into two halves. They were linked by the northern gatehouse that stretched over the street. Nan craned her neck, trying to see everything at once. She had spent her brief stint as a maid of honor at Hampton Court, with a brief visit only to Windsor Castle. This was her first glimpse of Whitehall.

Together with her mother and the Earl and Countess of Sussex, Nan had been summoned to sup with the king. They would spend the night at the palace. Other noble couples made up the company, together with a few more former maids of honor.

Nan’s sense of anticipation grew as they neared the king’s presence chamber. She had not seen King Henry since she’d watched him ride away from Hampton Court following the queen’s death.

She heard his big, booming laugh first. Then she saw him. He was as gloriously attired as ever, although he did seem a little larger than she remembered. One of his gentlemen—the one standing next to him wearing green silk trimmed with black fur—had clearly just said something that amused him.

“Who is that fellow?” Nan asked her cousin Mary.

“Anthony Denny. He is a groom of the chamber and keeper of the king’s privy purse.”

“Close to the king, then.”

“And distantly related to us though his wife,” Nan’s mother whispered. “He may be of some help in the matter of Painswick.”

Nan grimaced at the reminder that Lady Lisle had her own agenda. She wished her mother luck holding on to Painswick Manor in Gloucestershire. According to Master Husee, Lord Cromwell had made Lord Lisle an offer for the property, a very low offer. To put pressure on Nan’s stepfather to sell, he was delaying payment of the annuity King Henry had promised Lisle when they’d met in Dover.

When it came time for Nan to approach the king and dip into her curtsy, she was pleased to see a look of delight on his florid face. “Mistress Bassett,” King Henry said. “It is a great pleasure to see you again and looking so hale and hearty, too. Rumor had it that you were ill.” He gestured for her to stand and face him.

Nan kept her smile firmly in place. “I suffered from nothing of any import, Your Grace, but I did not wish to bring any hint of sickness into your presence.”

“Very considerate of you, my dear. You are wise as well as beautiful.” Dismissing her with those pretty words, the king turned his attention to the next guest in line.

Among the glittering company already assembled were the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk and the Earl and Countess of Hertford. Each of those noblemen had at one time been the king’s brother-in-law. Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, had been married to King Henry’s late sister, Mary, while Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, was one of Queen Jane’s brothers. Nan realized with a sense of pleasure that, as such things went at court, this could very nearly be called an intimate family gathering. After all, Nan’s stepfather was King Henry’s uncle.

After supper, Nan returned to the luxuriously furnished double lodging assigned to her and her mother. The king’s own servants waited upon them to serve a sumptuous banquet. The next day, they shared dinner with the king and afterward His Grace insisted upon showing off the wonders of Whitehall.

In the course of the tour, King Henry led them to a bank of windows that looked out across the Thames toward Lambeth. He deftly singled Nan out and maneuvered her into a deep embrasure. For a few moments, their privacy was absolute.

“I would have you back at court, Mistress Bassett,” the king said. “It is a dull and dreary place without the maids of honor.”

“Pray God we will soon have a new queen,” Nan answered. “I look forward to entering her service.”

“And what of my service, Nan?”

His voice was so low that for a moment Nan wondered if she’d imagined the invitation. Uncertain as to what she’d see there, she was afraid to meet the king’s eyes. She wondered, suddenly, what had become of Margaret Skipwith.

Before she could decide how to respond, a rustle of fabric heralded Lady Lisle’s intrusion. “Your Grace,” Honor Lisle gushed as she dropped into a perfunctory curtsy and bobbed back up again. “Is my daughter not the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen? Why, I vow, being here at court has put roses in her cheeks.”

Only by a slight stiffening of his shoulders did the king show his displeasure. Nan held her breath, fearing a display of the infamous Tudor temper, but he said only, courteously, “Mistress Nan takes after her mother.”

“Your Grace flatters me.” She sent a flirtatious smile his way. “I am emboldened to ask, on my husband’s behalf, about one or two small matters that Lord Lisle discussed with you in Dover.”

The king’s expression darkened and he cut her off before she could elaborate. “You must settle such details with Cromwell.” With a curt nod at Nan, His Grace abruptly left them.

Nan’s mother, rigid with fury, looked nearly as formidable as the king. “For all his graciousness,” she muttered, “for all his pretty compliments, we are no better off than before.”

“Perhaps Lord Cromwell can be persuaded—”

“Hah! We have sent that upstart enough French wine to last a year and still he thwarts us.”

“He is preoccupied with matters of state.”

This reminder had its effect. Nan’s mother subsided into brooding silence broken only when she informed Nan that she was to spend the night in Lothbury rather than return to Sussex House with Cousin Mary.

Lothbury was a largely residential section of the city and boasted spacious houses with fine gardens. But it was hard by the foundries that made chafing dishes, candles, spice mortars, and the like. During the day, the noise was appalling.

After a light supper, Nan was not surprised to find herself alone with her mother in a small private parlor. She curled her legs beneath her on the window seat, braced her back against the closed shutters, and waited. There was something on Lady Lisle’s mind. Until she’d unburdened herself, Nan would be a captive audience.

“Last week,” Lady Lisle began, “Lord Montagu, the Marquis of Exeter, and Sir Edward Neville were arrested. Do you know why they were taken to the Tower?”

“I’ve heard that they wrote letters to Cardinal Pole without the king’s permission.” Nan fought a yawn. “Montagu is the cardinal’s eldest brother. Neville is Lady Montagu’s brother. Exeter is also related to the Poles and to the king.” His mother, like King Henry’s, had been one of King Edward IV’s daughters.

“At the time of my last visit to England, Sir Geoffrey Pole was arrested for carrying on a similar correspondence and failing to make the king privy to the contents of his letters. It seems such a small thing.” Pacing, Nan’s mother began to twist one of the many rings that adorned her hands.

Nan kept her head down and studied her fingernails. One of them was broken. “The king is wary of plots against the realm, and Cardinal Pole did vow to usurp the throne and return Catholicism to England. That being so, anyone who writes to him is suspected of treason.”

“Such foolishness!” her mother said. With a glower for Nan, Lady Lisle launched into a rant on the difficulty of corresponding with friends when one had to think how every word might be misinterpreted.

Nan barely listened. Her thoughts had drifted to her son, as they often did. She had visited her baby again, this time taking him the gift of a rattle containing a toadstone. It was supposed to be a powerful charm, particularly effective in protecting infants from harm. She hoped to visit Cheapside again, but it was not that easy to escape Cousin Mary’s house without an escort.

“Assassins,” Lady Lisle said.

The word brought Nan back to the present with a start. “What did you say?”

“It is well known in Calais. King Henry gave orders to assassinate Cardinal Pole. I’ve been told it was Peter Mewtas, one of the king’s gentlemen of the privy chamber, who was designated to shoot the cardinal with a handgun. By God’s grace, he never had the opportunity.”

“A gun? What a very haphazard way to kill someone!” Nan had lived long enough in a garrison town to know that small guns were notorious for misfiring. They were difficult to aim, as well. “When did this attempt take place?”

“In April of last year. Officially, Mewtas was in France to persuade King Francis that he should evict Cardinal Pole from the country. The assassination plan was secret.”

“Not for long.”

Her mother shrugged. “It is difficult to keep anything quiet if you tell more than one person. The point is, King Henry wants Cardinal Pole removed because His Grace considers the cardinal a threat to the throne. Now, I fear, he believes that anyone with Plantagenet blood in his veins endangers the Tudor dynasty.”

Nan supposed her mother’s deduction made sense. If King Henry was to be replaced along with the new religion, then a new king would have to be found. Cardinal Pole and his brothers had the best claim and, after them, the Marquis of Exeter. “Do you think the king will execute them?” That was the time-honored method of ridding the kingdom of rivals to the throne.

“I fear so. Their families are also in custody. Montagu’s wife and son, as well as the Marchioness of Exeter and her boy. Even the old Countess of Salisbury, Cardinal Pole’s mother, has been questioned. Where will it end, Nan? What if your stepfather is accused of treason?”

“Has he been in contact with Cardinal Pole?” Nan asked. That was the root of her mother’s concern—Arthur Plantagenet, Lord Lisle.

“Certainly not!”

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

“Arthur’s father was King Edward IV.”

“Yes, but he is the king’s illegitimate son.”

Nan heard the faint clack of rosary beads as her mother fingered them. “Bastards have taken the throne of England before. And bastard lines have been legitimized.”

Nan left the window seat to cross the room to wrap her arms around the older woman. “You worry too much, Mother. My stepfather is not the sort to plot rebellion. Lord Lisle is a quiet, plodding sort of man, content with his lot.” Nan’s mother was the one with ambition. “No one could possibly believe him capable of conspiring to overthrow the king.”

“You always were a blunt-spoken child,” Lady Lisle complained, but she seemed to take comfort in Nan’s assurances.

“There is no reason for you to be concerned about him, Mother.”

“I suppose not, but what if Lord Cromwell is behind the arrests of so many of the king’s kin? I came to England determined to oppose him in the matter of Painswick Manor.”

“If you truly fear Cromwell’s influence, then let him have Painswick!”

Lady Lisle went rigid with anger and Nan hastily stepped back. “I may be persuaded to sell it to him in the end, but not for the paltry price he’s offering. And I am prepared to stay in England as long as is necessary to obtain the 400 pounds Arthur was promised as an annuity.”

“How do you hope to accomplish that? The king has already told you that you must deal with Lord Cromwell.”

“I need another opportunity to speak with the king alone, when he is in a receptive mood.” She eyed Nan speculatively. “He seems quite taken with you.”

“I may not have been at court long, Mother, but it was time enough to learn that the king does not like to be pressured. He is known for his volatile temper. Push too hard and you will incur the very fate you fear most.”

It clearly galled Lady Lisle to accept advice from her daughter, but she was, above all else, a sensible woman. Charges of treason were nothing to trifle with. She swallowed her protests.

“The promise of a post as a maid of honor to the next queen will put you in place to court royal favor for many years to come,” she said after a few moments of silence. “You have done well so far,” she added grudgingly. “The king admires you. I can see that.”

Impatient with her mother’s histrionics, Nan spoke before she thought: “He already has a mistress.”

“Is that what he wants of you?” Shock reverberated in the words.

“So I must suppose.”

“I did not labor to send you to court to turn whore. It is a sin to bed any man but your husband. Both the old religion and the new agree on that point.”

It was good to know how her mother felt on the subject, Nan thought. She chose her next words with care. “The king admires wit as well as beauty. I can do nothing until he marries and I am once more part of a queen’s household. But then, I am certain, I will be able to find honorable ways to persuade him to grant me favors.”

“You have a responsibility, Nan. You must not only advance yourself, but your brothers and sisters as well.”

This was the start of another lecture, one Nan already knew by heart. She nodded from time to time to convince her mother she was listening, but her thoughts quickly returned to that afternoon, when she’d stood beside the king in the window alcove. Had he really been inviting her to become his mistress?

How odd, she thought, that her mother believed bribes of wine or quails or jewelry were acceptable, but that offering one’s self in return for favors was a sin. Just now, Nan found the idea of becoming King Henry’s mistress tempting. Even more tempting was the possibility that, if she could please His Grace sufficiently, she might not have to settle for that role. Was it possible she might be able to follow in the footsteps of Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymour … without the fatal consequences?

Nan returned to Sussex House the next day, determined to further her future. She’d have liked to begin at once, but was constrained by her mother’s continued presence in England. She resolved to be patient, to wait until her mother returned to Calais before she began her campaign to seduce the king.

WHEN LADY LISLE was still in Lothbury at the end of November, Nan worried that her mother would never leave. Troubling in another way was the reason her mother stayed on. She was unable to obtain an interview with Lord Cromwell and settle the matters of Painswick Manor and Lord Lisle’s annuity because Cromwell was busy gathering evidence against the king’s cousins.

On the second of December, Lord Montagu was tried for treason. On the third, it was Exeter’s turn. On the fourth, trials were held for Sir Edward Neville and Sir Geoffrey Pole. All were found guilty and all but Sir Geoffrey sentenced to death. Nan, and everyone else who heard of it, assumed he’d escaped that fate because he’d given evidence against his family and friends.

Lord Cromwell finally found time to see Lady Lisle on the seventh of December. He offered her an unappealing bargain. He would guarantee an annuity of £200—half what Lord Lisle had been promised—in return for which she would agree to sell him Painswick for a fraction of its worth. Persuaded by the fact that Montagu, Exeter, and Neville were about to be executed, Lady Lisle conceded defeat and agreed. She did not want to make an enemy of Lord Cromwell. At last, in mid-December, she left London, freeing Nan to pursue her own inclinations.

CHRISTMAS AT GREENWICH Palace was everything Nan had hoped for. There were masques and games and, every evening, dancing. The palace itself was all that was wonderful, with its gardens and tiltyard and its hunting park. Even in December, its beauty was unsurpassed, and Nan saw it through a golden haze.

The king was most attentive, riding at her side during one of the hunts and seeking her out as a dance partner as often as he did Margaret Skipwith. But Margaret Skipwith was present, and apparently in as much favor as ever.

Nan studied the king’s mistress when she thought no one was watching. Her rival was small, plump, and amiable. She flirted with the king, admired the things he admired, and spoke of nothing but inconsequential matters. Nan took heart when she heard the rumor that Margaret was to have young Lord Talboys as her husband. Her reward, Nan assumed, and a sign that the king had grown tired of her.

On the day before Twelfth Night, Cousin Mary took it upon herself to interfere in Nan’s plans. She dismissed Kate and Isabel and Jane so that she could speak with Nan in private. As soon as they were alone in Mary’s inner chamber, she rounded on Nan. “You will ruin yourself for a good marriage!”

“Hardly.”

Nan went to the sideboard and selected two wineglasses with gilt decoration. She filled both from a covered crystal flagon and offered one to her cousin. “Say what is on your mind, cousin.”

“A virtuous woman lies only with her husband, and then only after marriage vows have been exchanged. You have nothing to gain by attracting the king’s interest but the loss of your most precious possession.”

Nan took a steadying sip of the wine—a fine Rhenish—to give herself time to think. Mary clearly meant what she said. She’d be no help at all in winning the king’s heart. “I have been trying to pique His Grace’s interest,” she admitted, “but not for the reason you think.” Nan lowered her voice, even though they seemed to be alone. They were, after all, at court. “As long as King Henry is not yet married to some foreign princess, it follows that any true-born English gentlewoman has a chance of marrying him. Would you deny me my opportunity?”

“The king must take a foreign princess to wife. He’ll not wed you, Nan, only make you his mistress and endanger your immortal soul. Just because he is the king, you cannot allow yourself to break God’s laws.”

Mary put aside her wine and went to her looking glass to adjust the crossed bands of amber-colored velvet arranged at the front of her French hood. They were supposed to make her look as if she had light-colored hair, far more fashionable than her own black locks.

“I suppose you are right,” Nan said. “I was flattered by His Grace’s attention and did not think matters through.”

To placate her cousin, she pretended to abandon her attempts to win the king’s affection. In truth, she had no intention of doing so.

The next day, Nan paid a visit her old friend Anne Parr. She was Anne Herbert now and shared her husband’s lodgings at court. Nan’s heart sank when she saw how small and cramped the space was. Will Herbert had but one room. The only place to sleep was a single flock bed with a bolster and coverlet.

Perched atop the ship’s chest used to store clothing, drinking an inferior Gascon wine from a beaker of plain glass, Nan hastily made further adjustments to her plans. If she could not move in with Anne and Will, she must find somewhere else to stay, a place where her every move would not be scrutinized.

“I am charged to advance my stepfather’s cause at court,” she confided to Anne, “and I hope to secure my own future as well. To succeed in both, I need access to the king. Private access.”

Anne blinked her wide-spaced gray eyes once in surprise, but Nan read neither shock nor disapproval in her expression.

“You must remember how the king sought me out, even before Queen Jane died.”

“I do.” Anne sipped her wine. “So, you want to replace Mistress Skipwith, do you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Be very sure, Nan. His Grace is not easy to please and there will be a new queen soon. What if she takes his fancy? She might persuade him to banish all his former mistresses from court.”

“I need your help, Anne. I must find someplace to live where the king can visit me without causing comment.”

“Mary will be wroth with you if you leave Sussex House.”

Nan grimaced. “She has been good to me and I hate to disappoint her, but she has not been able to arrange the sort of marriage I want for myself, and she has made it clear that she does not approve of my … flirtation with the king.”

Anne looked thoughtful. “I suppose you could go to my sister Kathryn.”

“Lady Latimer? But she hardly ever comes to court except to visit you. I need someone with lodgings at court. Or nearby. Or someone whose husband is close enough to the king that His Grace might pay frequent visits to his house.”

“What about Jane Mewtas? Her husband is high in King Henry’s favor.”

And a would-be assassin! Nan quickly suppressed the thought. If Peter Mewtas had earned the king’s trust by his willingness to shoot Cardinal Pole, so be it. “An excellent idea,” she said aloud.

“I will see what I can do,” Anne promised, “but you must be patient. After all, Margaret Skipwith is still at court, and the king, in his own way, is monogamous.”

THE NEXT WEEKS passed with excruciating slowness. Then Anne Herbert and Jane Mewtas paid a visit to Sussex House. Jane lived beside Our Lady of Barking in Tower Street, not far distant, and since both women had been maids of honor at the same time as Mary and Jane Arundell, no one saw anything unusual in subsequent visits, singly and together, over the next weeks.

On her second visit to Sussex House, Jane pressed a small packet into Nan’s hand. “His Grace sends his best regards,” she whispered, “and looks forward to the day when your beauty will once more grace his court.”

The gift was a small likeness of His Grace. The miniature portrait was exquisite, Master Hans Holbein’s work, painted on vellum that had been glued to a playing card and then cut into an oval shape to fit into a small gold frame. Nan kept it hidden, since she did not want to arouse Cousin Mary’s suspicions, but she took it out often in private to stare at it and daydream.

Gatherings of the former maids of honor at Sussex House soon became a regular event. They speculated about the identity of the next queen, talked about clothes, and exchanged news of the court: Anthony Denny had been appointed as chief gentleman of the privy chamber; Margaret Skipwith had left court to marry Lord Talboys; the king had been excommunicated by Pope Paul III.

“More rumors of treason are afoot,” Jane Mewtas reported in early April, “even after last month’s executions.”

Another plot, Nan thought without much interest. New ones seemed to spring up daily, each one more insubstantial than the last. But the king took no chances. The penalty for expressing a treasonous opinion was the same as for fomenting rebellion—death.

“There are times,” Cousin Mary said, “when I am glad to be away from court. There is too much intrigue. Nor are we free of it in London. I am well pleased that we will soon be leaving here.”

Startled, Nan dropped a stitch.

“Where are we going?” Kate Stradling asked, equally surprised.

“My lord husband informs me that in a few days’ time we will travel into Essex to spend several months at the new property he has acquired near Boreham.”

Go away? For months? That would not do. Nan sent a beseeching glance in Jane Mewtas’s direction. Jane hesitated, then gave an almost imperceptible nod. It was time to put into effect the plan they had been hatching since Anne and Jane first came to call at Sussex House.

That evening, Nan’s old complaint, the megrim, returned with a vengeance. Or so Nan told anyone who would listen. Such acute headaches, accompanied by dizziness and extreme sensitivity to light, had been strangely absent since the previous autumn. Although Kate was clearly suspicious, she could not voice her doubts without revealing her own complicity in Nan’s earlier deception.

When Jane Mewtas called again the next day, Nan was still abed, the red-and-white damask curtains drawn and all the candles save one snuffed out. Cousin Mary was in a state, concerned for Nan but reluctant to delay her own departure.

“You will have to travel to Essex in a litter,” Nan’s cousin decided.

Nan shielded her eyes with one arm and injected a pitiful quaver in her voice. “Let me stay here, coz, I beg you. Constance can look after me until I am able to ride.”

“Impossible!”

On cue, Jane Mewtas spoke up. “She cannot stay here unchaperoned, but neither can she make such a long journey in her present state. Surely there is somewhere here in London where she can stay until she is fit again.”

“Her sister is with Lady Rutland, but they are presently at Enfield.”

“Then let her come to me. Peter and I have room and we would be glad to have her.”

“Even ill?” Cousin Mary sounded doubtful.

“A megrim does not last forever. It only seems like it. Why, this is the perfect solution. Nan can be moved the short distance to Tower Street, together with her maid, and the rest of your household can depart on schedule.”

Mary did not hesitate long. She gave orders for Constance to pack Nan’s belongings. That very afternoon, Nan went home with Jane.

Her new lodgings were small and cramped compared with the old, but the Mewtas house stood close to the Thames and could easily be accessed by the royal barge. Nan’s bedchamber under the eaves was tiny, but she had it all to herself.

Two days after her arrival, she was sitting on the window seat, passing the time by hemming a handkerchief, when the door abruptly opened to reveal the king.

“Your Grace!” Nan rose in a flurry of skirts and sank into a curtsy. The handkerchief and a pair of shears, in a case of crimson velvet, tumbled to the floor.

The king lifted her by the elbows and greeted her with a kiss. In itself, that was nothing out of the ordinary. The exchange of kisses was as common as the clasping of hands. But this was no brief brushing of lips. King Henry lingered. When he stepped away, his eyes gleamed, anticipating more kisses to come.

“It is a delight to see you again, Mistress Nan.”

“Your delight cannot surpass my own, Your Majesty.” This was the first time she’d been completely alone with him. A sudden attack of nervousness had her trembling. More than three months had passed since their last encounter. What if she had been wrong about the intensity of his interest in her?

His great booming laugh was both startling and reassuring. “Do you strive to outdo your king in compliments, sweetheart? I say my delight is the greater.”

Nan bobbed a second curtsy. “Your pardon, Your Grace. I am no doubt mistaken. And yet, I take such pleasure in your company that I feel as if the sun has just come out after forty days and forty nights of rain.”

“Saucy minx.” He linked his arm through hers and guided her back to the long, padded bench beneath the window. “Sit, my dear.”

He settled himself beside her and took her hands in his, caressing them lightly. He frowned at the lack of rings on her fingers. She wore no jewelry at all except for the miniature of himself as a pendant. Her gown was plain, too, made of violet cloth lined with red saye.

In contrast, the king’s fingers were heavy with jewelry, as were other parts of his person. His gown was scarlet and gold brocade, slashed so that puffs of white satin, held with gold clasps, came through the openings. He wore a white satin sash and a collar of twisted pearls with ruby medallions. Even the linen shirt that showed above the neckline of his doublet was heavily embroidered with gold thread.

King Henry slipped an arm around Nan’s waist and drew her close for another kiss. Nan found it pleasant, although not as stimulating as the kisses she’d shared with Ned. She returned it with as much fervor as she could manage, but even as she willed herself to encourage him to seduce her, she had to fight an urge to pull back. It had been easy to imagine being intimate with the king, but the reality was far more difficult.

The king might wear fine clothing, but he was much older than she. He was also alarmingly large and heavy. There was a great deal more of him than she’d remembered! Fingers that suddenly put her in mind of sausages stroked her arm and toyed with the pins that held her cuffs in place. She inhaled deeply, reassured when she caught a whiff of the same wonderful scent he always wore. But when he embraced her, she could not suppress a small sound of distress. She felt overwhelmed by his massive physical presence and intimidated by the thought that this was her king.

King Henry responded to her whimper with a sigh. Releasing her, he sat back, as if to study her. He did not seem angry, but when Nan looked at him, dismay cascaded over her. How had she ever thought this man was handsome? He had piglike eyes in a jowly face. Just as Constance had said, he was a fat old man.

Struck by a mixture of terror and confusion, Nan’s eyes filled with tears. Her entire body trembled. When she spoke, her voice shook. “I … do want to please you, Your Grace.”

His touch was gentle as he used his own handkerchief to brush moisture from her cheek. “You please me greatly, Nan, and you would please me even more if you were to become my mistress, but to find you so innocent of the ways of men gives me pleasure, too.”

Nan bowed her head to keep him from reading her expression. He had misinterpreted her reaction. He thought her sudden revulsion was the fear some brides experienced. He thought she was a virgin.

Unable to bring herself to admit that she was not, Nan struggled to clear her mind. She needed time. She needed to think through what the king’s misreading might mean. But he was waiting for her to say something.

“To be your mistress would be a g-g-great honor, Your Grace.”

Her nervousness seemed to amuse him. She could hear it in his voice. “You have no experience by which to judge, dear Nan.”

She did not correct him. One did not contradict the king of England. “Your Grace flatters me,” she whispered, still avoiding his eyes. “I know not what to say. I would fain keep your good opinion of me, and your friendship.”

“I would be a very good friend to you, Nan.” Again, he sighed. “What a great pity it is that I must make a foreign alliance. I cannot marry an Englishwoman, but if I could, I would need to look no further for my bride.”

Nan’s head jerked up and she stared at him in amazement. She’d dreamed of hearing him say such a thing to her, but she had not really believed it was possible. Knowing that he considered her worthy to be his queen left Nan feeling breathless.

“But I am not free to wed where I will,” the king continued, caressing her palm with his thumb as he spoke. “My agents abroad have at last found a suitable princess for me to marry.”

King Henry’s gaze shifted away from Nan. He was staring at the busy street below her window and the view of the Tower of London beyond, but Nan doubted he noticed any details. His eyes had a faraway look in them.

“Her name is Anna of Cleves. One of my agents who has met with her says that she outshines the Duchess of Milan as the golden sun surpasses the silver moon.”

“It is good that we will soon have a new queen,” Nan whispered. She wished she believed it.

Swift as a striking snake, the king’s attention shifted back to her. “Nothing will happen quickly.”

Nan’s heart stuttered. Her mind raced through tangled thoughts. In a moment, His Grace would embrace her again. For the interim, until his new bride arrived in England, he wanted a woman to warm his bed. He craved feminine company, someone to pamper and amuse him.

She could be that person. She’d be a fool to refuse the honor. And yet, if she did not send him away at once, he would discover the truth about her virginity. Would he care that she was not the innocent he’d supposed? Nan was afraid to find out. She shuddered to think what he would do if he decided that she had deliberately misled him.

King Henry kissed her again, more fervently than before. Nan willed herself not to respond in any way. Had he only been paying lip service to high ideals when he’d stopped before, or did he truly admire women who went to their marriage beds with their maidenheads intact? He was the king. He could slake his lust with her whether she showed any inclination to participate or not, and no one would reprimand him. Besides, she’d made it plain enough that she was his for the taking. But she did not want this, not now. Rigid with tension, she felt his lips move to her throat, his hands caress her breasts.

When he abruptly released her and stood, Nan kept her eyes tightly closed. Had her lack of response angered him? Worse, had she just lost any chance to advance herself and her family? Silence stretched between them until she thought she would scream.

At last he spoke. “Will you join Lady Sussex at Boreham?”

Slowly, Nan opened her eyes, where tears once more shimmered. “I would rather remain here.”

The king’s smile was tinged with lingering desire and what Nan thought was regret, but she saw no temper there, no threat of retribution. “I would rather that you remain here, too. I crave more from you, Nan, but for the nonce I will hold you to your offer of friendship.”

With that, he left her. Nan retrieved the partially hemmed handkerchief from the floor and used it to dry her tears. By the time Jane Mewtas arrived a few minutes later, she had control of herself again.

“His Grace did not stay very long.” Worry creased Jane’s brow. She and her husband had their own stake in Nan’s success with the king.

“Not this time.” Nan reached for the fallen shears with unsteady fingers. She was not sure what she wanted anymore, but she had time to consider. Nothing had to be decided today.

“Will he return?” Jane asked.

“Yes,” Nan said. She was certain of that much. The king of England had promised her his friendship.