Secrets of the Tudor Court Boxed Set

The King is so amorous of her that he cannot treat her well enough, and caresses her more than he did the others. The new Queen is a lady of moderate beauty but superlative grace. In stature she is small and slender. Her countenance is very delightful, of which the King is greatly enamored, and he knows not how to make sufficient demonstrations of his affection for her.

—Charles de Marillac, French ambassador to England, to the king of France, 29 August 1540

14

Cat swept into the maidens’ chamber the next morning as Nan was packing. She was so agitated that she could barely speak. “So, you are leaving.”

Nan stared at her sister. “What ails you, Cat? You are remarkably flushed.”

“I am to have a new post. As maid of honor.”

“To Queen Catherine?” Nan sounded surprised. “I knew there were two vacancies. Dorothy, Lucy, Mary, and I are leaving Anna of Cleves to go to the new queen, but her two foreign-born maids will remain here at Richmond.” She returned a pair of silver tweezers, used to pluck her eyebrows, to a small embroidered case and slipped it into a side pocket of her trunk.

“I am to take your place, sister dear. I will stay here and wait upon the princess of Cleves. Should I be grateful, do you suppose?”

“I have little to do with deciding who goes where,” Nan protested. A small, jeweled box went into the trunk next. Cat knew it contained lozenges flavored with licorice. She preferred cinnamon herself.

“The king asked for you, I warrant.”

“The king is entirely satisfied with his new wife.”

Cat snorted. “I wonder how long that will last.”

“Hush, Cat. It is treason to disparage Catherine Howard’s character now that she has married the king.”

Cat’s gaze sharpened. “What do you know?”

“Nothing. I thought you—” Nan smiled and shook her head. “Never mind. The important thing is that you are to be a maid of honor to a royal lady. And yes, you should be grateful. Anna of Cleves is a kind and decent woman who will treat you well. Help her with her English and she will be beholden to you.”

“But powerless to grant favors,” Cat pointed out. “You are the one who will be close to the king. Do you mean to use your influence to help Mother and our sisters?” That was why Cat was so upset. She had counted on being at court herself, with Lady Rutland, able to use what little favor she’d found with the earl and countess to advance her family’s cause.

“I will if I can, but you know how cautious one has to be with the king. I must choose my time with care.”

“They are prisoners, Nan. Locked up in Calais. They do not even have the comfort of each other’s company.”

“How do you know they are still separated? I have heard no details since shortly after their arrest.”

“Frances wrote to me,” Cat said. “She gave me the names of the citizens of Calais charged with keeping Mother and Philippa and Mary.”

“A pity Mary did not just elope with Gabriel,” Nan grumbled. “Matters would have been no worse and at least one of us would have been happy.”

Nan continued packing but, to Cat’s surprise, there were tears in her eyes. Cat frowned. Nan had been in a strange frame of mind for weeks. Only three days earlier, she’d walked right past Cat in the garden without seeing her.

“Nan—”

“Oh, just leave me be! I will do what I can for Mother and our sisters. I will!”

One glance at the wild look in her sister’s eyes had Cat backing rapidly away from her. She’d seen that expression before—on their mother’s face. It would do no good to talk to her now, and tomorrow she would be gone. Dissatisfied, but with no idea what else she could do, Cat went away.

NAN THREW HERSELF into the pleasures of life at court. With each passing day, more time elapsed between thoughts of Ned or Jamie or her stepfather or her mother or her sisters. The long journeys between houses on the royal progress were difficult to endure, but even on the road there was constant chatter about clothes and other trivialities to distract her. Once the progress reached a destination, another round of entertainments began. When Nan filled every waking hour with frivolity, she could almost forget how much she’d lost.

The new queen’s household was very different from those of her predecessors. Unlike Jane, Catherine was not heavily pregnant or dying. Unlike Anna, she knew how to please her husband … and herself. The court had a frenzied quality, as if the new queen sought to live every moment to the fullest. As for the king, he was plainly smitten with his bride. He was at her side every moment he could manage, touching her upon the least provocation.

Face flushed, spirits artificially high, Nan spun round the dance floor with Sir Edmund Knyvett as her partner. He had been one of her admirers for a long time, but now, since he was one of the new queen’s cousins, he was high in the king’s favor. What a great pity that he already had a wife!

Sir Edmund caught Nan by the waist and lifted her. He was an excellent dancer. They moved easily in the intricate pattern of steps. When they touched hands and walked together before moving apart again, they were able to exchange a few words.

“I vow, Mistress Bassett,” he declared, placing his hand over his heart, “you are the most beautiful woman at court.”

“Excepting only the queen,” she reminded him with a grin.

He had a wonderful laugh. In truth, he was a most appealing gentleman, dark haired and blue eyed. She guessed his age at thirty or so, but he regularly engaged in jousting and other sports and had a muscular build to show for it.

“Will you come and watch me shoot tomorrow?” he asked when the music ended.

“Gladly, Sir Edmund. I will even wager that you best all comers.”

And so, in the morning, on a bright, early September day, Nan made her way to the archery range where gentlemen of the court practiced with the longbow. The butts, tall mounds surmounted by a target, were set up at one end of the field while the shooters ranged themselves at the other. Nan recognized all of the competitors, gentlemen of the court and knights like Sir Edmund himself.

She settled herself on a little knoll, seated on the blanket Constance had carried there for her, and prepared to be entertained. Constance sat at the very edge of the blanket, tailor fashion, her needlework in her lap. Several gentlewomen and ladies also came to watch the contest, but none of them joined Nan. She did not expect them to. So long as Lord Lisle remained in the Tower, the taint of treason also clung to her. She tried not to think about that.

The air was so balmy, the match so uneventful, that Nan was soon struggling to stay awake. She rearranged the pillows Constance had insisted on bringing to support her back and let her eyes drift closed.

Men’s voices near at hand brought Nan out of a doze. She peered through her lowered lids and saw two of the king’s yeomen of the guard walking by. Her eyes popped open when she heard what they were saying.

Sir William Kingston dead? A giddy sense of relief swept over her, quickly followed by a wave of guilt. She had not wished Sir William harm, but so long as he had been constable of the Tower, there had been a chance that her involvement in Ned Corbett’s escape would come to light.

Her feeling of euphoria lasted through the end of the competition. Sir Edmund, having triumphed over the competition, was in high good humor when he joined her on her blanket.

“I trust you won a goodly sum with your wager, Nan. I vow I have never shot so well as I did knowing you were watching.”

“Only a modest sum.” She did not have much money with which to gamble.

“We both deserve a treat.”

She tilted her head inquiringly, having no notion what he had in mind.

Sir Edmund took her hand in his. “Lie with me, my sweet. Be my love. I have desired you ever since I first saw you.”

Nan blinked at him in confusion. “But … but you already have a wife!”

“I do not have a mistress.” He leaned in, intending to kiss her.

Nan flung herself backward across the blanket, nearly bowling Constance over in her haste.

Sir Edmund rocked back on his heels, a broad grin on his handsome face. “Nan, Nan, I mean you no disrespect, but it is not as if you have any hope of an honorable marriage.”

Scrambling to her feet, she glared at him. “I have every right to expect precisely that!”

He had the nerve to laugh. “Who is it you think will wed you? You are a traitor’s daughter!”

“Stepdaughter! And Lord Lisle is no traitor.”

“I was speaking of Lady Lisle.”

“My mother did nothing wrong.”

“Then why is she still confined in Calais?” With a sound of disgust, Sir Edmund levered himself off the blanket and stalked off.

As Nan watched him go, her hands began to tremble. The brutal truth was that he was right. She had no hope now of catching a wealthy and noble husband. Not even a mere gentleman, let alone a knight or a nobleman, would wish to be burdened with a wife whose mother and stepfather were in disgrace. She had little chance of making any marriage at all until the king pardoned Lord and Lady Lisle.

Soon, she decided. Soon she would force herself to speak to the king. But not yet. She could not compete with Catherine Howard and did not want to incur the new queen’s jealousy. She would have to wait until the king was less besotted with his bride, more amenable to a request from someone else.

Nan gestured for Constance to gather up the blanket and pillows and began the long walk past the courtiers who had witnessed her exchange with Sir Edmund. Head high, she ignored the whispers of speculation. She was still a maid of honor to the queen, still at court. She was young and pretty and she had her whole life ahead of her. Her situation would improve. It had to.

WITH THE KING and queen so often in each other’s company, the members of their households were encouraged to mingle. At Ampthill, in Bedfordshire, where they were to spend a fortnight on progress, from mid- to late September, their numbers were swelled by members of the local gentry.

Nan was watching several grooms of the king’s privy chamber play at Hazard when one of them, Tom Culpepper, suddenly slanted his sparkling green eyes her way. “Have you noticed that you have an admirer?” he asked.

“Do I?” She thought at first that he was referring to himself. Culpepper was as much a nobody as Nan was, but he was pleasant company and with his fair hair and those beautiful eyes he was also one of the most attractive young men at court. King Henry was especially fond of him, but that was because Tom had a gentle touch when it came to dressing the ulcer on the king’s leg.

Tom jerked his head to the left, indicating a young man who stood in front of a tapestry. The fellow was staring at them with an intensity that surprised Nan. No—he was staring at her.

She could not see his face clearly at this distance, but he was tall and broad shouldered, with well-formed legs. She did admire an attractive physique. His clothes seemed very plain for court dress, but by his bearing he was a gentleman. She could not help but be flattered that he seemed to be fascinated by her. But she also found his intense interest a trifle disconcerting.

“Who is he?” she asked.

Tom did not answer. It was his turn to throw the two ivory dice. He kept throwing until he got a “main,” any number between five and nine. In this case, it was a six. On the next roll of the dice, he’d need either a six or an eleven—a “nick”—to win. If he threw a two, a three, or a twelve, it would be the next player’s turn.

Tom muttered darkly as a four came up, a “mark,” as any number but two, three, six, eleven, or twelve was called. This obliged him to throw again until he rolled either another mark, for the win, or another main, which would now mean he’d lost. Nan waited impatiently, hoping for the main, and hid a smile when he rolled a six. With ill grace, Tom passed the dice to the player on his left.

“Who is he?” Nan repeated, gesturing toward the young man.

“Wat.”

“I said who—”

“Not what, Wat. That’s Wat Hungerford.” Tom grinned at the play on words.

“Oh.” She remembered him then. In the many months since she’d last seen him, he had gone from boy to man, at least in size. Although he could be no older than sixteen, he stood a head taller than anyone around him. Because he was so pleasing to the eye, Nan stole another glance at him as the game of Hazard continued. He was still watching her. For the first time since she’d sent Ned Corbett away, Nan felt the telltale flutter in her belly that signaled true physical attraction. The sensation had been notably absent during her flirtation with Sir Edmund Knyvett.

Nan went back to watching the game, but she was aware of the young man’s gaze upon her. A few minutes later, she felt a touch at her elbow. Wat Hungerford stood beside her.

“A word with you, Mistress Bassett?” His voice was deep, making it difficult to remember that he was still a boy.

“We might walk awhile. It is very warm in here. I would not mind a breath of air.”

The gardens at Ampthill featured low brick walls along the alley paths, secluded arbors, and turf-covered benches, as well as fragrant flowers. When they were well away from anyone who might overhear, Wat turned Nan to face him and, in almost defiant tones, blurted out the reason he’d been watching her: “I have admired you for many years, Mistress Bassett. You are the most beautiful of all the maids of honor.”

Nan hid her astonishment. “Many years?”

“I attended Prince Edward’s christening. Even then, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.”

Nan paused by a rosebush and bent to smell the flower. She loved roses, finding their scent both sweet and calming.

She was flattered by the young man’s interest, but she knew better than to encourage him. Were he still Lord Hungerford’s heir, it might have been possible to discount his youth, but he was the son of an attainted nobleman, stripped of lands and title and then executed. He had likely come to court to beg the king to restore some of the Hungerford inheritance. She doubted he’d have any success. His Grace disliked letting go of anything once it became his. And that meant, Nan knew, that she could not allow herself to consider Wat Hungerford as a potential suitor any more than she could have accepted Ned Corbett as a husband.

When she glanced up from the roses, their eyes met. “I would ask for your hand if I could. It should not matter that I am a few years younger than you are.”

Nan did not doubt his sincerity, but what he wanted was impossible. She chose her words carefully, unwilling to hurt his feelings more than she had to. She was careful not to touch him. She told herself that he really was very sweet, in an adoring-puppy sort of way, and that it was only because he smelled most enticingly of mint that she felt the tug of physical attraction.

“Neither your desires nor mine count for anything, not when you are not old enough to wed without permission.” Upon his father’s execution, he’d have become a ward of the Crown. Either the king, or some person who had purchased Wat’s wardship, had the responsibility for arranging his marriage. Until he was of full age, at twenty-one, he could not make that decision for himself.

Wat caught her hand in a surprisingly firm grip. Her fingers tingled in reaction. “We have much in common, Mistress Bassett. The king’s justice has stolen our prospects. But together—”

“Our situations are very different,” she protested, pulling free. There were other couples strolling in the garden, though at a distance. She began to walk and he came with her. “My stepfather did nothing wrong.”

“While mine was guilty of a great variety of sins.” Wat’s words were clipped and bitter.

Nan’s heart went out to him. Lord Hungerford had been found guilty of procuring the services of a witch to determine how long the king would live and of performing unnatural acts with gentlemen of his household. The latter crime was spoken of only in whispers.

“His own wife testified against him,” Wat said. “My stepmother had cause. Father kept her locked up in Farleigh Castle for years.”

“His sins are not yours, Wat.” They stopped by an arbor, temporarily shielded from prying eyes.

“But I am made to suffer for them, all the same.” He gave her a startlingly mature look. “You’d marry me if I still owned Farleigh Castle. I wish I could show it to you. There are high hills all around, and a broad, deep-running stream hard by the castle wall. My father kept seventy head of deer in the park and—”

“There is no sense in pining for what is lost,” Nan interrupted. How well she had learned that lesson!

He was silent for a moment. Then, his expression bleak, he said, “I did try to warn you—before your stepfather’s arrest.”

Nan felt herself blanch. “Warn me of what?” She remembered that he had once tried to speak with her, and that she’d sent him away.

“My master’s scheme to replace Lord Lisle with a man of his own choosing.”

Shaken, Nan sat on the soft turf covering the nearest garden bench. After a slight hesitation, Wat settled in beside her.

“You will remember that I was in service to Lord Cromwell.”

Nan nodded. Later Cromwell had briefly been Earl of Essex, but most people still referred to him by his more familiar title.

“As you must know from your own experience, those who wait on their betters sometimes become so much a part of the background that they go entirely unnoticed, like a piece of furniture. Often they overhear and observe much more than their masters realize. When the plot to overthrow Calais in herring time came to light, I saw how Lord Cromwell reacted. It came as no surprise to him. And when he heard of your stepfather’s arrest, he was jubilant.”

“As you say, he wanted to replace Lord Lisle with his own man.”

“It was more than that.” Wat’s voice was low and intense. Nan leaned closer, so as not to miss a word. “Long before Sir Gregory Botolph went to Calais, he met in secret with Lord Cromwell. I heard Cromwell coerce the priest into doing his bidding. I heard him say Lord Lisle’s name. Then, later, just before his own arrest, Lord Cromwell took steps to thwart the search for Sir Gregory.” Wat gripped both of Nan’s hands tightly. His eyes bored into hers. “Thomas Cromwell arranged for Botolph to enter your stepfather’s employ. He planned it all. I do not believe there was ever any real plot to overthrow Calais, only one to make Lord Lisle look guilty of betraying England.”

Nan could hardly breathe. “If this is true, we must go to the king and tell him everything. He’ll free—”

“There is no proof.” Wat held her in place on the bench when she tried to rise. “If there had been, I’d have reported it at the beginning. I only tried to tell you so that you could warn Lord Lisle to be careful. I thought perhaps he could convince the king of his innocence before Cromwell made his final move against him. But all that I know is comprised of bits and pieces, things seen and things overheard. Cromwell is dead. The conspirators are dead, all but Botolph himself, and no one knows where he is.”

“Then why tell me this now?” Nan clutched the front of his doublet. “What good is it to know and not be able to do anything for my family?”

“I … I thought you would want to know for certain that Lord Lisle is innocent.”

“We must tell the king, even if there is no proof. We will convince him that my stepfather should never have been sent to the Tower in the first place.”

“You want me to tell the king that he made a mistake?” Wat asked, putting his hands over hers.

Nan sagged against him. He was right. It would do no good. The king could not pardon her stepfather without admitting he’d been wrong, not only about Lord Lisle, but also about Lord Cromwell. King Henry did not like to be wrong. On the rare occasions when he was, he went to great lengths to avoid admitting it.

“I shouldn’t have told you.” Wat’s voice was full of remorse. “I did not mean to raise false hopes.”

“You meant well.” Slowly, reluctant to let go, Nan extricated herself from what was very nearly an embrace. “I must go back now.”

She fled without another word or a backward glance and once more flung herself headlong into the frivolity of royal life on progress. If Wat Hungerford lingered at Ampthill, she did not see him again.

THE KING AND queen spent Yuletide at Hampton Court, joined there by the king’s older daughter, the Lady Mary, and her household. After spending several years sharing a household with her sister, the Lady Elizabeth, the Lady Mary was once more mistress of her own establishment at Hunsdon.

The king was generous with his New Year’s gifts, especially to his new wife. Catherine Howard passed them on to her maids of honor to admire—a rope of two hundred large pearls, two diamond pendants, another made of diamonds and pearls, and a muffler of black velvet edged with sable fur.

“There were rubies and pearls sewn into the fur,” Dorothy Bray marveled, still impressed hours later, after she and Nan had retired to the bed they shared in the maids’ dormitory.

“You received a magnificent pearl yourself,” Nan said. The new acquisition was in the form of a brooch. It had been prominently displayed on Dorothy’s bosom throughout the day.

“Lord Parr is most generous. And anyone can see how devoted he is to me.”

“Dorothy, he already has a wife.”

“If the king can have a marriage annulled, so can one of his subjects. Will has not lived with the woman for years and they have no children. He will marry me as soon as he is free.”

Nan abandoned the argument and lay on her back in the closed-in bed. It was easy to believe the flattery of courtiers. Too easy.

She thought of Sir Edmund Knyvett. He had nothing honorable to offer her. He not only had a wife, but four sons besides. And Tom Culpepper? He flirted with her, but Nan knew that was all for show. She’d seen the way he looked at the queen when he thought no one was watching. Tom was infatuated with the new queen. He’d fallen in love with the one woman at court he could not have.

Then there was Wat Hungerford, with his hangdog expression and his big, mournful eyes, the picture of unrequited love if his words were to be believed. She sighed. She liked Wat, and he was well grown for his age. But it was foolish to wish for the impossible. Besides, Wat was only sixteen and boys his age were notoriously fickle. Then again, so were grown men. So were kings! If not for Catherine Howard, Nan might have been queen.

But an image of the king as he had been at the end of the progress popped into her mind—ill with a fever, his leg swollen to grotesque proportions. His doctors had drained suppurating pus and fluid from the ulcer to bring down the fever.

Nan shuddered. She did not envy Catherine Howard her duties in the royal bedchamber! Or in public, for that matter. The king’s temper was more volatile than ever. Nan had been hoping for an opportunity to ask King Henry to pardon her mother and sisters. So far, she’d not dared risk her own position. To make such a request at the wrong time would enrage His Grace and turn him against her.

Resolutely, Nan rolled over and punched her pillow into a more comfortable shape. Then she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep. She needed to be well rested and alert if she was to thrive at court.

She rose at the usual hour and went to wait on the queen, but on this particular morning, most unusually, Catherine Howard singled her out. “You will take my offering to the Lady Mary,” the queen instructed, indicating a small tray on which a box filled with candied fruit had been placed. “I am hopeful it will sweeten her temper.”

“Am I to tell her that?”

Nan’s tart tone brought a sour expression to the queen’s face. Catherine pouted for a moment, then decided to be amused. She beckoned Nan closer. “It is no secret that the king’s daughter does not care for me. She does not show me proper respect. But since His Grace seems fond of her, I would have harmony between us. Do all you can to soothe her ruffled feathers.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

“Nan!” The queen called her back.

“Your Grace?”

Queen Catherine waited until she was close enough to hear a whisper. “If she responds well to my offering, you may hint that she will be allowed to reside permanently at court if she … behaves herself. You understand me?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” This time Catherine let her leave the privy chamber.

The Lady Mary’s household was much smaller than the queen’s, only about forty attendants, but the king’s daughter had been taught by her mother that she would inherit the throne and she knew her own worth, even now that Prince Edward was the king’s heir and Mary herself had been relegated to the status of royal bastard. Although she was only a little older than her new stepmother, a regal dignity was as much a part of the Lady Mary as the red in her hair and the low, throaty timbre of her voice.

“So,” she said, examining the queen’s gift, “she sent you to me with this trifle. Am I to express my undying gratitude now?”

Nan felt the corners of her mouth twitch. “Perhaps a mild expression of rapture?” she suggested.

The Lady Mary looked startled for a moment. Then she narrowed her eyes to take a closer look at Nan. “Mistress Bassett, is it not?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

A little silence fell. To call Mary Tudor “Your Majesty,” a form of address used only by the king, was a risk on Nan’s part. For no more than referring to the Lady Mary as “Princess Mary,” back when Anne Boleyn was queen, one of Mary’s friends had been imprisoned in the Tower of London for several months. But with that single word, Nan had told Mary that she was among those who, in spite of the current law making Mary illegitimate, recognized King Henry’s daughter as his legitimate heir, next in line after Edward.

“What does my lady stepmother want?” Mary asked.

“To welcome you to court, my lady. Perhaps to invite you to make your permanent home here, close to your father the king?”

Mary considered this for a moment before she detached a delicate brooch from her own breast and placed it in Nan’s hands. “Convey this to the queen with my compliments.”

Nan made her obeisance and backed out of the room, clutching the bauble to her bosom. Once free of the Lady Mary’s chambers, she smiled. In a small way, she had just won the princess’s favor as well as the queen’s. Surely that was cause for optimism. The support of one or both of them might make the difference between her family’s freedom and their continued imprisonment.

“YOUR MISTRESS HAS acquired more stylish clothes,” Nan remarked as she and Cat watched Anna of Cleves—attired in silver lamé striped in cloth of gold—dance with the queen. Catherine wore a gown of cloth-of-gold lined with ermine.

Anna of Cleves had sent her New Year’s gift to Hampton Court ahead of her own arrival. Two fine horses with purple velvet trappings had paved the way for a warm greeting from the king, who had welcomed his former wife and current “sister” back to court with a kiss. Then Anna had knelt before her former maid of honor, accepting the reversal of their roles with apparent equanimity.

“My lady delights in buying things and has the wherewithal to indulge herself,” Cat said proudly.

“You look very fine yourself. I envy you that crimson velvet. Queen Catherine gifted her attendants with livery to match that of the officers of the king’s privy chamber, but black is not my favorite shade.”

“You have no cause for complaint. You are just where you wanted to be—at court. Have you done anything to help our mother and sisters?”

“There are good reasons why I have not yet approached the king. His moods are uncertain. I do not wish to incur his wrath. We must be patient.”

Cat did not look convinced.

“Are you happy in the service of Anna of Cleves?” Nan asked.

“I am,” Cat said. “She is a good mistress. But do not try to change the subject. What are you waiting for? If I were here, in your position, I would have found a way to ask the king for a pardon long before this.”

Nan sighed. In the face of Cat’s criticism, she had to admit that she had not tried very hard to find the right moment. She’d let fear rule her. But what if there never was a perfect time to ask a boon of the king?

“Soon, Cat,” she promised. “I will talk to His Grace soon.”

The next day, after dinner, the king presented Queen Catherine with more gifts—two lapdogs and a ring. She thanked him prettily and then, with a look that asked permission first, gave them to Anna of Cleves. Since Nan knew that Catherine Howard was not overly fond of spaniels and that the ring was not nearly as magnificent as the other jewels the king had given her, she supposed that His Grace had approved the gesture beforehand.

The king’s honorary sister and Nan’s real one stayed at Hampton Court for one more night and left the next afternoon. Cat’s disapproval weighed heavily on Nan. Two days later, seeing that the king was in an especially jovial frame of mind, Nan gathered her courage and approached him during one of his visits to the queen’s presence chamber. “A word with you, Your Grace?”

“Why, Nan! What a vision you are.”

“You are too kind, Your Grace.” She slanted a glance at the queen, but Catherine was winning at cards and paid them no mind. “I crave a moment’s conversation, if it please you, Your Majesty.”

Nan hated to grovel, but it was necessary. When King Henry led her a little aside, into a window alcove, and gestured for his attendants to keep their distance, she essayed a few flattering remarks before she broached the subject of her sisters’ confinement in Calais. She was not yet ready to risk asking favors for her mother.

“To whom do you refer, my dear?” The king did not seem to know what she was talking about. Had he truly forgotten that he’d imprisoned most of her family?

“To my oldest sister, Philippa Bassett, and to the youngest, Mary Bassett. They have been the … guests of two citizens of Calais for some time now. If Your Grace would permit them to return to England, they might live at Tehidy in Cornwall, one of the properties my brother John Bassett inherited from our late father.” She took care not to mention Lord Lisle’s name, or to remind the king that Mary was the one who had illegally betrothed herself to a minor French nobleman.

Peering through her lashes, Nan could not read the king’s expression. Was that a frown of displeasure? Or merely the result of intense concentration? Her stomach twisted into knots as she waited for him to speak. She did not dare say more for fear of irritating him.

“Hmmm,” King Henry said at last. “I suppose there is no harm in it, so long as they both rusticate in the country upon their return.”

“You are most generous, Your Grace.” She deepened her obeisance, nearly touching her head to the floor.

He lifted her up, beaming at her, and signaled for Anthony Denny to approach. “Denny, remind me on the morrow to order the release of Mistress Philippa Bassett and Mistress Mary Bassett. They are to be conveyed from Calais to Cornwall at my expense.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Denny said, bowing low.

Well pleased with his own generosity, King Henry returned to his queen’s side. She’d noticed his absence and did not look happy to see him in such close proximity to Nan.

When Denny started to follow the king, Nan caught his arm. “Will His Grace keep his word?”

Denny winked at her. “If I have everything ready for his signature and seal, he will not even read what he’s signing. He’s that anxious to dispense with routine business and return to enjoying the company of his bride.”