After the joust had concluded, the attentions of the crowd turned to the sword fighting where several of the nobles had entered and would compete until the final two victors faced off against each other. It was clear straightaway that William Howard, Earl of Devonshire, had the advantage. He was skilled on his feet, quick, and capable of handling his sword with ease and grace. By the end, it was down to William and Margaret Thrope's father, the Viscount Hartford. Jane, already on the edge of her seat after watching the Duke of Suffolk best his competition was now anxiously watching her brother. There was, perhaps, one person more nervous than she in that moment and she took Eleanor's hand in her own to keep her friend from twisting her hands to bloody shreds.
The Viscount came out strong but he was unable to keep up with the youth, agility, and skill of William Howard who was able to beat him after only three rounds. After bowing to his opponent, William removed his shield and his chain metal, reaching into his shirt and removing Eleanor's handkerchief which he kissed. Jane squeezed her friend's hand and she felt Eleanor release a breath of air, whether in relief or in desire or both, she wasn't sure. He rushed across the field, bounded up the steps of the dais to where Eleanor sat and knelt before her.
"My lady, I give thanks for this token and for the kindness and affection with which it was given as it has allowed me victory on the field. I will have a mass said in your name, praising your virtue and goodness and giving thanks for making me victorious today," he said and there was a round of applause.
Eleanor blushed at his effusiveness and he took her hands in his own, pressing a kiss to the tips of her fingers before rising to go and change out of his tournament attire. Eleanor placed her burning fingertips to her cheek both embarrassed and desirous of more all at once. Suddenly breathless and a little dizzy, she excused herself and rushed along the paths between the tents. She was just about to reach the turn off into the garden when she felt a strong pair of hands on her arms, pulling her around the corner. She struggled for a moment, a scream about to escape her throat and a hand, a familiar hand came over her mouth. She knew it was William before she could see his face, knew he meant her no harm. When she stopped struggling, he pressed her back against the ivy covered wall and placed his hands on either side of her head.
"William," she whispered.
"Ellie, I can't wait any longer," he said, pressing his mouth to hers.
She sighed against his lips, against the urgency with which his mouth slanted over hers ever more persistently. It was futile to resist, futile to even pretend that she didn't desire this any more than he did so when his tongue ran over her bottom lip, she parted her lips to him and he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. She tasted like cinnamon and it was a heady aphrodisiac. The longer he kissed her, the more in sync she became with his movements and soon his hands were tangled in her hair, and their tongues were dancing. She ran hers over his teeth, moaning when he bit at her lip and his hands came to cup her cheeks, deepening the kiss. The sound of horse's hooves nearby startled them and he abruptly pulled away from her, his eyes grey with desire. She was panting, breathless, torn between wanting to fling herself into his arms once more and wanting to show modesty and discretion. Anyone could be on the other side of the hedges; her father, his father, the chaplain of Grentham Hall. He could barely look at her because his hands were itching to run over her body, to lift her skirt and feel the softness of her skin, to rise higher, to…no, he couldn't allow himself to go down this path. He was already growing stiff within his hose and thinking about touching her in the most intimate of ways was not going to help him control his lust. And he wanted to be slow with her, wanted to take his time, wanted to worship her the way she deserved, the way her station demanded he treat her.
When his eyes met hers, he took in her swollen lips, bruised from his kisses, took in the pink flush that covered her cheeks, heard her breathy sighs and had to look away once more. The fact that he was unable to meet her eyes distressed her.
"Have I displeased you, my lord?" she asked.
"No. No, of course not my sweet Ellie. I was just thinking about how beautiful you look right now and how very much I want to…" he began.
"Want to what?" she asked.
"Want to touch you," he answered, his voice low and husky in her ear.
She sighed and her hand reached up to rest on his cheek. He turned his mouth, kissing her palm and she leaned forward, hoping he would kiss her once more. Instead he leaned his forehead against hers.
"We can't, Ellie. But believe me, I want to. More than anything."
"William," she said, her voice like silk and he had to physically pull himself away from her.
"You're worth the wait, my love," he said, taking her hand and kissing it again.
In the distance they could hear the bell ringing for luncheon and so he allowed her to leave before he did so they could arrive separately and not arouse suspicion. Before she turned the corner, she turned back around, blowing him a kiss which he pretended to swipe from the air and place against his heart.
At the luncheon, Jane looked up from her meal to find Eleanor and William deep in conversation and Henry was seated beside the Duke of Suffolk, chatting away animatedly. Not wanting the Duke to feel compelled to listen to the musings of a small boy, she rose from her seat and came to sit next to Henry.
"Henry, you must remember that the Duke is a very important man and there are many men and women here who wish to speak with him," Jane scolded gently.
"It's all right, Lady Jane. We were just discussing horses."
"Horses, your grace?"
"Yes, Henry tells me that you ride quite well."
She flushed at the unexpected compliment.
"Passably, your grace," she replied.
"As passably as you play cards?" he asked teasingly, causing her to blush once more.
"Yes, your grace."
"Perhaps you might consent to join me for a ride tomorrow?" he asked.
She considered it for a moment. She wanted to go. Desperately. But she was also aware of the reputation of the man asking her.
"I've already asked your brother and Lady Eleanor if they would come along as well as your father and Lord and Lady Howard," he said, sensing her hesitation.
Both disappointed and relieved that he had invited others, she smiled up at him.
"Yes, your grace, I think I will join you all to ride out tomorrow."
"Good. Now that we have that all settled, I promised Master Henry here that we would take a walk to the stables so he could show me his horse. Are you ready, young sir?" he asked, turning to Henry.
"Yes, your grace."
As he walked away with her brother, she found herself smiling at the unexpected kindness he continued to show to Henry. Perhaps there was more to Charles Brandon than was rumored.
That night, William Stafford, Earl of Devonshire and future Marquess of Hampshire lay in bed, mind restless and tormented. He finally had what he most desperately desired; Eleanor, and yet he was unable to show her how very much he wanted her, how much he burned for her presence. When she was with him it was as though the sun shone down upon him and when they were apart a melancholy overcame him. To have waited so long and to be so close now was practically insufferable. He groaned, rolling over in his bed and pounding a fist into his pillow, trying to get comfortable. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop thinking of those minutes in the garden after the tournament. Bright eyes, deep sighs, soft lips, hands that touched his cheek and arm with a gentleness that left him yearning for more. He knew what he was about to do was a sin, knew he'd be forced to unburden himself to the Friar tomorrow morning before they went on their ride but it was the far better option given that the alternative was storming into her chambers and having her this very minute.
He allowed his hand to roam down his taut stomach until he was gripping his member in his hand. As he stroked himself he thought of the feel of her skin beneath his fingers, thought about the way she sighed and moaned as his mouth moved over hers. He licked his palm, closing it around his now erect manhood and he began his ministrations once more. He thought of those eyes, those pools of blue that sparkled when she smiled and darkened to the color of storm clouds when he kissed or touched her. He imagined running his hand through her hair, the color of wheat, the silkiest of tresses that slid through his fingers. His hand moved faster and he dripped a little of his own seed from the tip of his erection. His mind wandered to the feel of her silky skin, imagining what it would be like to run his hands along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, dragging his hands from her ankle up to her knee over her thigh and to the very heart of her womanhood. He could feel how wet she'd be, knew how tight she'd be, knew she'd sheath him like a glove. His hand pumped vigorously, the other clutching the sheet as he envisioned that it was her breast, soft skin and pert nipple under his palm, touching, teasing, and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. The sound of her whimpers and moans of pleasure caused him to spend himself into his own hand, hard and fast. Spent, he lay back upon the pillows, breathing heavily, hand damp with his own exertions. Rolling over, he used the shirt he had earlier discarded upon the floor to wipe himself clean. Lying back once more, he yanked the covers back over his naked body, and crossed himself. God forgive him, he needed to possess this woman and he needed it to happen soon otherwise his soul would be condemned to hell for all eternity.
When Jane arrived to the chapel for her morning prayers she discovered not only her brother and father were present but also the Duke of Suffolk. It would appear this morning that the entire household seemed to have need for spiritual sustenance. She curtsied to all three men before taking her place near the front of the chapel. While the choir boys sang their hymns, she dared a glance in Suffolk's direction, and though he wasn't looking at her, a small smile graced his lips when he seemed to feel her eyes upon him.
Already dressed for riding, she went to check with the kitchen staff on the luncheon that they were to enjoy later in the afternoon at a point selected by her father where grooms had already been dispatched to set up tents and tables in preparation of their arrival. Making her way to the stables she nearly ran into Eleanor whose hat was titled jauntily and whose hair was in a state of disarray that Jane knew was wholly unlike her. Her friend had been perfectly coiffed and attired when she had last seen her in the morning.
"Whatever has happened, Nora?" she asked as her friend tried futilely to fix her hair and hat though her hands trembled violently.
"Nothing, I am fine," she replied.
Jane stilled her hands, tucking the loose strands of hair back into Nora's elaborate coiffure and righting her hat to its proper position.
"You're trembling, dearest. Something must have happened."
Eleanor looked at her oldest and dearest friend. She had to tell someone, had to relate her feelings to a person she knew and trusted, a person who would not make judgment when she revealed all that had taken place.
"It's…Well…William seems to quite like kissing me," she said in a rush of words.
Jane suppressed a smile. It was not surprising in the least that William had been unable to deny his passions for Eleanor, especially after having to hold each other at arms length for so long.
"Do you like when he kisses you?" Jane asked.
"Yes. Very much, probably more than I ought to."
"I think if you love him and he loves you that it is perfectly appropriate to demonstrate that affection for one another," Jane soothed.
"But what if I want more? What if I desire to know him completely? Is that appropriate?"
Uncertain what to say because it was both her brother and friend they were talking about as well as a subject matter on which she knew so little, she took Nora's hand and smiled at her.
"I think, Nora, that what you feel for him is perfectly normal between two people who love each other. That said, I would caution you both to proceed carefully and not allow those feelings to overtake you to a point from which there is no return," Jane said sagely.
"Jane, I would never…" Nora began to protest.
"I know. I have no doubt that you are as pure as the driven snow."
"And what of you, my lady? Has the Duke professed his undying love and loyalty to you?"
Jane shook her head. "He is a perfect gentleman."
"Before I was waylaid, I was coming to tell you that I have it on good authority that he has spoken with your father."
Jane turned, "Spoken with my father? About what?"
"I don't know, Jane. My maid saw the Duke and your father entering his study yesterday after the tournament. That's all she could tell me."
Her heart fluttered in her chest. What could they have spoken about? Were Eleanor's protestations that Suffolk was interested in her true or was he here on behalf of his majesty, sent to vet her and find a husband recommended by the King himself?
She was distractible and anxious on the ride, unable to keep pace with the remainder of the party which was unlike her. She was quite a good rider and normally able to hold her own with both William and her father but today, she felt ill. Her mind wandered to the earlier conversation with Eleanor. Suffolk had been unusually reserved with her that morning, barely sparing her a glance and riding ahead with Eleanor's parents and other members of the party. His inattention worried her. Perhaps his kindness and attention to her had an ulterior purpose; one that terrified her with its possibilities. She was unready to leave her home, unwilling to marry a man she had never met, aghast with fear at the thought of being sent to marry some noble in Wales, far from her family and friends. Her father had spent all of her life protecting her from the advances of men who sought only to further their own wealth or position and now, it seemed, that the King would do with her as he pleased, presumably to appease some courtier or noble who had gained his affection and who he wanted to reward for his loyalty to the realm.
She pulled off the road, dismounting her horse, and retching into a nearby bush. When she stood, patting her face with her handkerchief, she realized that she had been crying, her face was wet with tears. Leaning upon a tree, she sobbed at the prospect of a future over which she had no control. Knowing she was about to be sent away from the only home she had ever known, that she would probably die in childbirth without ever seeing her father or siblings again was all too much to bear.
"My lady?" one of the grooms questioned from the other side of the tree, "Are you well?"
"Yes," she called back, drying her face, straightening her dress and doing her best to appear calm.
She stepped out into the clearing, a small, weak, smile on her face.
"My lady, is there something I can do to help you?"
"Do you have any water? I seem to have a bit of a headache."
The groom handed her a draught of water and she drank several sips, attempting to rinse the bile from her mouth.
"Thank you," she said, returning the water to the young man, "Would you be kind enough to help me back onto my horse?"
After she was situated once more, she continued along the path the rest of the travelers had taken, the groom several lengths behind her. By the time she arrived at the tents that had been set up for the lunch, the rest of the party had already been seated. Not even gone yet and already forgotten, she thought to herself, which brought a fresh wave of tears that she was forced to wipe away once more. Making her way inside, she moved silently, coming to sit at the end of the table where a servant offered her some food and wine which she waved off. Her stomach was already upset and the idea of eating anything made her dizzy with nausea. Throughout the meal she could barely look up and when she did, it appeared to her that everyone was studiously avoiding her eye.
She begged to be allowed to return to the manor once lunch had been cleared away and the party went off to walk about the countryside. She had no desire to put on a happy face and pretend interest in discussion of the beauty of the countryside or in tomorrow evening's masque. The only thing she desired was to return home, lock herself away in her room, and cry until she had wrung herself dry. Her father, seeing how pale and tired she looked, quickly gave his assent, sending her on her way and promising to check in on her when they returned later that afternoon. The ride back seemed even longer than the ride there and by the time she reached the entrance of Grentham Hall, she was dizzy and faint. Her maid helped her out of her riding clothes and into bed, giving her a cool cloth for her head and shutting the curtains to keep the room dark and quiet. She fell into a restless sleep, tormented by thoughts of her home and family and nightmares about the fate she was certain was to be hers.
She awakened and asked if the rest of the riding party had returned, only to be told that nearly everyone, except her brother, father, and the Duke had returned over an hour ago. Her maid said that the Lady Eleanor had come to check on her and asked if she should send a message to let her ladyship know that she was ready to receive guests. When Jane shook her head no, and said that, in fact, she'd receive no visitors save her father, her maid raised her eyes in surprise.
Sometime later she found herself seated before the fireplace, staring out the window, her fingers resting on the edge of her chin as she sat in worried thought. Suddenly there seemed to be a flurry of activity at the door of her outer chamber. She could hear her maid speaking in low, polite tones and then the sound of a man's voice, low at first and then growing louder the more he was denied. A moment later the door burst open and the Duke of Suffolk appeared, her maid behind him.
"Your grace," she greeted and he bowed to her.
"Might I speak to you alone, Lady Jane?" he asked and despite the fact that the room seemed to feel as though it was spinning, she nodded her assent and dismissed her maid. They eyed each other for several long moments, neither speaking and finally she sat back in her chair once more.
"You left the party so quickly this afternoon that I didn't have a chance to speak with you. Are you well?" he asked gently.
"I fear I have a headache, your grace. It made me quite unwell."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Have you been well attended here? Had a chance to rest?"
"Yes, your grace."
"My lady, I've come to speak with you about something important."
She released a shaky breath. So this is how her sentence was to be pronounced, by the Duke of Suffolk, not even by her father or brother to lessen the blow.
"Lady Jane…Jane…I've come to ask if you would consent to allowing me to pay court to you," he said, blue eyes meeting her brown ones.
Her face changed, crumpled, and she sobbed, a sound so achingly heartbreaking that he came to kneel before her, taking her hands in his own. It wasn't quite the reaction he had anticipated and he had no idea what was causing her such distress but he wanted to do anything to ease her anguish.
"Dearest Jane, whatever is the matter?" he asked and she only sobbed harder.
Unable to resist, he pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair as she wept against his coat. It took her several minutes to recover herself, to regain her composure and when she had finally stopped crying and was able to take a breath, she righted herself and looked at him, kneeling before her. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, stifling her laugh and then it bubbled over until she was shaking with the force of her own laughter.
"Do you find my proposal amusing, my lady?" he asked seriously, jaw twitching in disappointment and offense.
"Your grace, I am not laughing at you," she assured, seeing the look of affront on his face, "I am laughing at myself. I am the most ridiculous woman who has ever lived," she informed him.
"What?" he asked in confusion.
"Eleanor told me this morning that you had spoken with my father yesterday after the tournament and when you didn't speak to me this morning or ride beside me or offer to walk with me after lunch, I assumed it was because you had been sent by the King, to see if I would make an eligible match for some noble or courtier he wished to reward."
"You thought what?" he asked in shock.
"I thought you had been so kind to me because you were sizing me up for another."
He laughed at this, drawing her into his arms once more.
"I can't believe you thought I was showing you attention on the behalf of someone else," he said against her hair.
"I thought you'd come to tell me that you were taking me away from my family and sending me to Wales."
"Wales? Why Wales of all places?"
"Because it's furthest from my family and friends and my happy life here," she answered and he pulled back to look at her.
"I would never allow you to be taken from your family, Jane. You have my solemn promise."
She nodded and smiled at him.
"You have not answered my question, sweetheart," he said, taking her hand in his.
"Yes, your grace. My answer is yes. But why did it take you so long to ask?"
"It would appear that my reputation has preceded me. Your father wanted time to think it over, to assure himself that I didn't intend to hurt or mistreat you. And he wanted to be sure that you would say yes."
"But how…"
"William. William ultimately is the one who assured him that you would consent."
She gave a silent prayer of thanks for her brother and his great love for her.
"I stayed away today because I didn't have his answer and I couldn't bear the thought of being so near and not knowing whether I would be given his permission or no."
"And now?"
"Now, I wondered if you might accompany for a walk in the gardens? The walk I was very much hoping to take with you this afternoon after the ride."
"I would be delighted, your grace," she said.
"Then I will meet you in the great hall when you are ready?" he asked.
She nodded and he kissed her hand before rising and leaving the room. Summoning her maid, she dressed quickly in a warm cloak and gloves, then bounded down the stairs to the Hall. When she entered the room, he turned from where he had been standing near the fire and smiled at her. That smile alone would be her undoing.
"Shall we?" he asked, offering her his arm.
They walked in companionable silence through the seemingly endless twists and turns of the gardens until they came to a small grove of trees.
"These trees are so beautiful in the spring and summer," she said.
"What are they?" he asked.
"These are dogwood, these are magnolias, and these are cherry blossoms," she replied, pointing out each tree, "You can't imagine how beautiful they all smell in bloom. This might be my favorite place in all the garden," she said.
"I'll have a grove planted this spring," he said with a smile, caught up in her beauty and her enthusiasm for such a small thing.
"Your grace, that is too generous," she said.
"Jane, when we're alone, do you think you might be persuaded to call me by name?" he asked.
"Yes, your…Charles," she said, blushing at the intimate familiarity that she was now allowed.
He took her hands, drawing her nearer to him and she shivered at his touch.
"Are you cold, sweetheart?" he asked, pulling her into his arms and wrapping his cloak around her, bodies pressed against each other.
She shook her head against his chest. She was the exact opposite of cold at this moment. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, could feel the hard planes of his chest against hers. Her fingers rested softly against his collarbone and she wanted to allow them to wander, to explore, to touch and feel, and learn. Instead she leaned against him, letting his warm, solid form calm her. It had been a tense, nerve wrecking day and now that she knew the real reason for his distance, all she could feel was relief and a sense of excitement at what was in store.
They stood this way for long minutes as he breathed in the scent of her hair, let the feeling of her fingers against his skin course through his body. Her body pressed to his was causing the blood to course through his body, pumping furiously. He knew he'd have to relinquish his hold on her in a few moments otherwise she would feel the evidence of his desire and he knew he needed to be slow and gentle with her, with the delicate flower he so desperately craved. The moment he'd laid eyes upon her days earlier he'd known he had to have her. He felt, for the first time, something more powerful than lust or a desire to advance his position. He felt the urge to protect her, to cherish her, to love and adore her above all others. And that was a first for Charles Brandon.
Her fingers began to roam, up his neck, to his throat, and then to trace over his stubbled jawline. They reached the cleft of his chin, gently drawing a line there.
"Jane," he whispered, voice deep, laced with desire, "I want to kiss you."
"Please, Charles," she said and it was all the encouragement he needed.
His hands moved to her face, caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. He looked at her for reassurance, needing to be sure that she wanted this as much as he did.
"My Jane, my sweetheart," he breathed a moment before his lips brushed over hers.
It was the most thrilling moment of her life. His soft lips were moving over hers, his hands were anchoring her in place, the gentle scrape of his facial hair rubbed over her tender skin and she knew there'd be marks in his wake but she didn't care. All she wanted was more; more of his caresses and sweet words, more of his kisses, more of him. He was gentle, allowing her to set the pace, letting her be the one to press her mouth to his when he pulled away slightly, letting her be the one to run her tongue over his bottom lip. He was swallowing her breathy sighs and moans with his own mouth and he moved one hand from her face to her hip, drawing her flush to him. About to bring his mouth to hers once more, he heard the faint cry of someone calling his name as though from a distance. The cries grew louder and he pulled himself away from her, reluctantly and with great force.
"Here! I'm here!" he cried out.
A groom, dressed in the livery of the King ran into the grove.
"Your grace," the man said, bowing before him and handing him a letter.
Breaking the seal, he opened the creamy paper, scanning it quickly.
"Tell your master I'll leave at dawn," he said, dispatching the groom.
He turned back to her questioning eyes.
"I've been summoned back to court. Wolsey has convened a court to hear the King's arguments for why his marriage should be dissolved. The King has requested I return to keep him in good spirits."
"Must you go?"
"Of course I must. It's the King and my oldest friend. Regardless of how I feel about this, I must submit to his command."
She nodded.
"Fear not, sweetheart. I'll write you everyday and return as soon as I am able. I can't bear the thought of being apart from you longer than necessary," he said, kissing the back of her hand and turning to go.
She grabbed his hand tightly, drawing him back to her once more and standing on her tiptoes to brush her mouth over his once more before letting him go.
"Write to me, my love," she said and he smiled and turned to go.
Alone once more, she pressed her fingers to her lips, willing the feel of his mouth on hers to linger and remain. It was all she would have of him in the days that lay ahead.
