A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR! I wanted desperately to get this out on NYE but it just didn't happen. I'm caught in the blizzard this weekend, and it is 17 below with a great deal of snow outside. So here's our latest chapter, and I'm going to get to work with the next one as soon as this is published =)
HALove, I am so, so happy you enjoy the story so much. Your reviews are always so complimentary and of course that is greatly flattering! I wanted to work Henry Percy into the story since I was so bothered when they omitted him from the series entirely. I hope you like this chapter, and if you have any requests or anything for the remainder, of course, let me know. =)
Carriebess, welcome! I am so glad to have you aboard, especially as I was so inspired by your own story. Please, please keep reading as you go on… I think there are parts of this story that will really appeal to you. (I realize you might not read this for awhile since you're on the earlier chapters, but I sent you a PM too, and you'll see it eventually!)
Alyson, thank you for your specific comments, I really appreciate the time you take to review. I love writing Anne and Cromwell and believe me… there's emotional output for me as a writer. Sometimes I look like a loon in the coffee shop on the verge of tears. HA! We've got a few chapters to go, so I hope you enjoy them =)
Hi, Rae, happy new year! I hope you like this chapter too – and if you're into the Borgias yet, let me know and I will recommend a few of my fave videos there too. Confession: any time I get writer's block, I play my favorite dramatic or epic songs and imagine the fan videos that could be made with scenes from my story and my characters LOL. It works like a charm! ;) and apparently I love putting myself through pain while writing… omg, some of these interactions are painful! I think it's because I've been "with" these characters – yes, historical figures, but my own versions of them – and developing them for 4 years now. Knowing Anne's death is coming is actually hard for me as a writer, isn't that ridiculous? PS My job is tough, but amazing… really challenging intellectually which I love. You will find your own happiness too, you just watch and see! And Oklahoma isn't so bad. You guys have produced more Miss Americas than any other state (useless trivia). Enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think, dear!
i.
15 May
Evening
A soft glow had settled onto Jane Seymour's cheeks as the sun settled into the horizon. She smiled, accepting the wine that Tom handed her. Nicholas Carew was beside him, downing one cup of wine, holding out his hand for the next. Lissie sipped from her goblet, watching her sister over its rim.
"To victory," Carew said jubilantly into the silence that was almost too excited for words. He held up his cup and Tom joined him enthusiastically, sloshing a little of his own drink.
"God's sake, I'm sorry –" Tom began.
Carew grinned. "No matter. Elizabeth, cheers. And Jane, Mistress Jane, please accept my heartiest congratulations. Fair lady."
Jane smiled. "Sir Nicholas, I cannot thank you enough for your support and good cheer. I am eternally in your debt."
"You owe me nothing. Save a kind word for His Majesty's ear, should I ever get into a scrape." He winked at her.
"It would be my honour to repay the favour you have done me."
In the falling twilight, each of them had been looking over their shoulder, waiting for Edward to appear. He had sent word that he'd be at the king's whim all day but they could expect him presently once the verdicts were all in. And trickle in they had: guilty, guilty. Not a single acquittal. May God have mercy on them.
What they had not expected was that the king himself would come lumbering in alongside Edward, an apologetic look on his face and with no announcement of his presence whatsoever.
Jane gasped, a throaty sound, a sound of true shock. "My lord!" she exclaimed, sinking to the ground with her wine still in hand. Lissie watched her skeptically and bobbed a curtsey. No one would notice her anyway.
"Your Majesty," Sir Nicholas greeted Henry, looking quickly around to see if anything was out of sorts. "You are most welcome."
"Forgive the intrusion, please, Sir Nicholas. Tom. Elizabeth." He had crossed the floor of the great parlor. There was a slight limp in his gait, as if he had spent too much of the day sitting and was stiff. His leg had never entirely recovered from January's jousting accident, according to Edward.
Jane remained on the floor. Henry reached her and drew her up, regarded her for a moment, and swiftly kissed her on the mouth. Jane gasped again, against the king's lips this time, and one of his jeweled fingers encircled the back of her skull to press her tighter.
"I could not bear to be apart from you a moment longer," he murmured when they separated. "I pray you longed for me equally."
"More," Jane told him simply.
Tom nudged Edward. "You left Anne?"
Edward actually flinched. "I'll go back tonight," he hissed back.
"Your wife misses you?" Sir Nicholas teased. "It seems mine can't spend enough time away from me. She claims I cause disorder and untidiness in my wake. I wish she'd hurry as she promised."
Edward smiled at Carew, but it did not reach his eyes. "Anne and I have been married just above one year. She's got plenty of time to grow frustrated of my clutter."
"You, cluttered?" Tom snorted.
"I have to agree," the king noted. "While at Wolf Hall, I took note of how organized and carefully arranged your bedchamber was. I was afraid to muss the sheets."
The younger three Seymours exchanged glances. Edward was struggling to keep the careful smile on his face. "My bedchamber, Majesty?"
"Yes, I … I stayed there. I slept there when I stayed overnight." Henry looked around, caught sight of the expressions of the other Seymours, and let out a great bellow. "Oh, God, they didn't tell you? Edward, forgive me." He raised both palms in mock supplication. "I swear to the Almighty. I mussed none of your possessions."
"My home is yours, Sire. Of course your choice of where to sleep takes precedence over all. I simply did not know that that was where you had stayed."
"It was Lissie's idea," Tom said suddenly.
She bit her lip. "Because of the windows!" she defended shrilly. "The windows in the east! His Majesty had a mind for breathing country air, and so I suggested he might like the windows in your bedchamber…"
"And I did. I so enjoyed them, and the fresh air was a balm to my soul. Edward, thank you for that privilege." Henry winked at Elizabeth, clearly enjoying the role of being her champion, and most clearly enjoying partaking in this Seymour family conversation.
"The privilege is mine, Majesty. Mine indeed." He glanced at Lissie out of the corner of one eye as he turned to accept wine from Carew.
The six of them managed to avoid discussion of the queen, of her lovers, of their deaths. They made merry with jokes and a series of card games; then, one by one, the party began to retire to their beds. Midnight came and passed and they had had too much wine. In spite of Carew's insistence that Henry and Edward must stay overnight, the gentlemen maintained that they must return to Greenwich. The king, although he would not say as much, was waiting for the Thames traffic to dissipate before they would journey back; Edward glanced at the moon every so often, visibly agitated. Lissie guessed that he had told Anne he would be back sooner.
Carew and Tom drank the most of the six and were led, foaming at the mouth with apologies to the king and their party, to their respective beds. Lissie had grown heavy-lidded as well and tried to catch Jane's eye, to somehow signal her to end the visit with Henry, but Jane was oblivious. Her dimples appeared every time the king looked her way. They sat nestled together on a great seat near the fire; Lissie made do with a smaller, primmer sofa halfway across the parlor. From her seat, she watched Henry and Jane examining her hands, with Henry's fingers probing at one particular finger while they murmured and smiled at one another. Lissie imagined they were discussing her wedding ring. Certainly he would have a new one made for her, to her fancy. Whatever his sweetheart wanted.
Jane pressed one hand to her heart while Henry still held the other. She brought her lips close to the king's ear and whispered into it, the king's expression telling Lissie she must be spinning flattery, soft words of love and promise.
Edward dropped into the seat next to Lissie with an ill-concealed sigh.
"You should get back to your love," she taunted him sleepily.
His eyes were dark and clear – the thought occurred to her now: was this still Edward's first cup of wine? – as he threw her a serious glance. "Should I?"
She tried to muster the same coldness. "Your wife."
"Ah," he whispered. "But I mustn't tear the king from his love."
Jane had settled into the king's embrace, one of his arms tucking her close against his body. Together they observed his fingers now, splayed, and it looked as though he was telling her about the different rings he wore. Perhaps this one was his father's, and that one, an Italian ruby, courtesy of Cromwell. This one? Oh. One of the jewels that I gave to Katherine as a love token. I had it re-set for my own pleasure when I forced her to give everything back.
Lissie chuckled into the near-empty goblet, holding it to her lips to disguise the laugh. Edward nudged her. "My bedchamber?"
"I was trying to please him. The sunset is beautiful from there."
He nodded, accepting her explanation.
"What time is it?" she asked a few minutes later, afraid she'd just dozed off although she remained sitting upright. Actually, she realized, she'd slumped against the back of the sofa.
Edward rubbed his eyes. "Nearly one o'clock."
"Should we…" she looked over to her sister and the king and was stunned to see their lips touching, softly, but firmly. Henry's free hand twined with Jane's, palm to palm. He locked their fingers together. Jane leaned into his touch, into his kiss. Lissie wondered how many cups of wine Jane had had.
"Should we what?" Edward replied under his breath, watching the spectacle too. Henry moved cautiously, kissed Jane gently. After a hesitation Jane parted her lips and let the king kiss her open mouth. In surprise, Henry pulled Jane a little closer yet, and graced her with a slow kiss of pleasure. A low sigh of arousal floated through the air, vibrating in Lissie's bones.
She turned to answer Edward, and as if on cue, he turned toward her in that moment too. Lissie licked her lips. "Should we, I meant should you, just," she cleared her throat. "Just stay here for the night?"
He swallowed and gave her a long look. "I cannot. I must go back to Greenwich."
Lissie nodded. Their eyes held one another. "To your love – your wife," she corrected.
"My wife. My love," Edward agreed in a whisper.
She forced herself to look away, feeling gooseflesh spread over her body and a merciless chill stealing up her spine. "I should go to my bed."
"Yes. Yes, indeed, you should. Should I walk with you?"
Lissie's eyes danced in spite of her fatigue. "I can find my way," she teased, putting her cup down and picking herself up out of the seat.
"Ah, but if I go with you and leave the room, perhaps it will shock certain people back to this world," he countered, rising and offering her his arm. Noiselessly they left the parlor and traversed Carew's Great Hall. "I cannot help but laugh. His Majesty insists he be chaperoned with Jane, yet he's willing to assault her with his mouth despite our presence?"
"Soon," Lissie paused as another chill passed over her, "we shall have to live under that rule no longer."
"Soon, we shall have a new set of rules."
She chuckled into her palm, too much weight on Edward's arm. Her eyes were trying to shut. "But we shall keep the old set, too."
Edward smirked but she could tell he failed to understand what she meant. "Of course. Well, not that one. But some."
They crossed the threshold to the entranceway and the great staircase loomed before them. "Some," Lissie agreed, a single word, a single whisper. "I'll go up alone. Go back to the lovers." She removed her arm from Edward's and walked around him to mount the first few steps.
He held fast to her fingers and she swung around to face him, leaning over the banister. She stood slightly above him. "Sometimes I wish to choose the rules."
"And you will. You're soon to be the king's brother, we his family with you at its head. You will be making all the decisions, not that you do not already –"
"No." He tugged her closer. In the darkness, and with her sleepiness, his face loomed close. She could have bitten his nose, and for a moment she childishly imagined doing so. "I wish we made the rules."
Her brow wrinkled for a moment, her lips about to repeat the assurance she'd just given him, before she caught his reference. "Oh, you wish we made the rules. You wish we did. No…"
Lissie broke off, yawning. Edward was silent and still.
"Ahhh," she finished the yawn noisily. "No, no. It is not that you wish we made the rules. It is that you wish we were the lovers, not they."
His lips parted in shock. They were still so close, so close that she could have bitten. Or kissed.
She waited a moment, and when he did not respond, Lissie stood up and slipped her fingers from his. "Goodnight," she called softly as she ascended the stairs.
Over an hour later, when Edward finally poured himself into bed beside his wife, his love, his heart was pounding.
"Mmmmmm," Anne pouted, feeling the coldness of his hands and nose. "God, what time is it?"
"Do not ask, and do not ask me in the morning what time I got in." He buried his face in her hair. "I'm sorry."
She acquiesced and wrapped her warmth around him. "I know. It is not your fault."
Edward sighed as his wife blew puffs of hot air on each ear and cheek, warming him. "No," he agreed. "I do not make the rules."
"Not yet," Anne murmured sleepily. He closed his eyes and did not respond.
ii.
May 16
Midday
"She's not guilty," Madge protested. "How could this have happened? She is not guilty."
"Of course she is not." Mary Shelton concurred, for once without a rolling of her eyes. Her gaze was sober and steady as she stared over her the shoulder of her sister, looking at nothing but the wall.
Nan's eyes ticked between the two of them. "We knew this was coming," she offered. "We knew she would not be acquitted."
"But in such grand fashion?" Madge replied, her tone as deadened as her sister's.
"If Master Cromwell must topple a queen, he must do so with enough pomp to make the whole pageant credible." Bess Dormer's voice was small but sure. She and Nan shared a true women's look: mutual understanding and mistrust.
Now Mary chuckled. "That part follows reason."
"The rest does not," Madge maintained. The past fortnight, it seemed, had made seasoned courtiers of all Anne's waiting ladies excepting Madge. When the reports of the verdicts had trickled in yesterday, the elder Shelton's reaction to each would have one believe that she was new to politics.
"Can we really be surprised in the least?" Nan replied, using the collective when she really meant to refer to Madge. "When we offered testimony against her at the start?"
"Coercion…" Madge mumbled.
Bess sat down on the bed the Sheltons shared. The ladies had been roaming about the court, the cluster of them meeting in different bedchambers or galleries, wandering the gardens, but never venturing from royal grounds. The current state of things was too unsettled to take any chances. None of them wanted to spend time in the queen's bedchamber or apartments, and so they did not, other than to ensure that things were in proper order there.
"Coercion, yes," Bess agreed. "But testimony was wrought from each of us nonetheless."
Madge turned to face the others then, twisting in her chair and gripping its back. "What if…" she paused. "What if I went to the king?"
Bess straightened; Nan swiveled on her stool near the window. Mary Shelton took a tiny step back. No one spoke.
"Well?" Madge prodded eventually. "If I went to the king, and explained…"
"Explained what?" Nan cut in harshly.
"Explained… told him that we were all driven to speak against the queen –"
"Accuse Cromwell of coercion?"
Madge glared at her sister's protest. "It is true, isn't it?"
"Such an accusation would avail you nothing, except the displeasure of king and secretary alike. Are you so desperate to be separated from me? That you'd like to join the others in the Tower?" Mary argued with a hard edge in her voice.
"The king…"
Bess shook her head. "The king is the seed of this monstrosity, Madge, please tell me you understand that. Cromwell would have us believe it's his own doing, but without the king's sincerest wish to be rid of her, these things would never have come to pass."
"But she isn't guilty," Madge tried again, the objection meek.
"The king does not know that." Bess' response was firm.
Nan turned back toward the window, speaking as she gazed outside. The way the queen used to. "He very possibly may," she pointed out. "And it hardly matters at all to him."
Defeated, Madge sank in her chair. At least she was not crying yet. She had not cried yet today. That was a victory.
"He's a monster," Madge murmured sorrowfully.
Bess shook her head. "He's a king."
Mary ran her hands over her sister's loose hair; it seemed that with every passing day, the ladies' zeal for maintaining the queen's standards waned. With the exception, of course, of Nan. Madge's hair had grown long and hung over the back of the chair; she sighed at the comforting touch of Mary's hands. The younger Shelton bent her head and spoke to the top of her sister's head. "He is a man."
iii.
"But she isn't guilty," Boleyn asserted with a low thread of desperation audible in his voice. "Surely he will not burn her?"
His brother-in-law, Thomas Howard, glowered back at him. The duke looked like he had not slept and was badly in need of a shave. "She's been found guilty, Thomas. They all have."
Boleyn snapped his fingers impatiently at Norfolk, his behaviour impressively imperious for a man committed to the Tower of London on a vague charge involving 'suspicion of treason.' "Never mind that – she is not guilty, and everyone knows it. Most of all that snake Cromwell. Surely he will intervene with the king if it comes to that? Surely… he won't…"
"You think," Norfolk ground out each syllable individually, slowly, with great effort, "that Cromwell cares for her comfort in dispatch? You think he wishes to avoid cruelty? Have you been asleep for the past month?"
"His end is achieved already. She is removed. She is condemned. He must show mercy."
Boleyn's unwavering gaze met the strained eyes of Norfolk. "To speak thus is to liken Cromwell's ability to grant mercy to that of the king. Cromwell is not in a position of sufficient authority to grant such an appeal, were she to even request it."
"And has she?"
"As far as I know, which is about a finger's length, she has been approached by no one to discuss any matter of politics. And has initiated no such contact. She keeps to herself."
Boleyn blinked and dropped his eyes, faltering for the first time. "I hear her laughing."
"At what?"
The earl shrugged. "And crying."
Norfolk waited for his brother-in-law to meet his eyes. "Have you cried?"
A sickening smirk enveloped Boleyn's features, a smirk that made Norfolk notice for the first time that Thomas Boleyn looked a little unwell himself. "I am not present enough to weep, Thomas. I'll weep when it all breaks over my head, or perhaps I will break with it."
"I forgot that Wyatt was about. Have you been taking poetry lessons?" Norfolk's lips curled in disgust.
Boleyn shrugged, that infuriating expression lingering on his face. "You and I, Thomas, we are not so different. Although I know you prefer to think yourself superior on all facets."
"This is not about –"
"But it is, it is. You would dismiss me as a genuine being, and think yourself grand for taking me to task. Yet as you put it not so long ago, my house has burned down, and it's taken my children with it. I am sick with breathing the smoke, and numb from the flames scorching me. You may speak of the Howards' poor decision at Bosworth until you run out of breath. Your house has never burnt like this. How am I to grasp such a loss? I shall have nothing before we are through. Nothing but Elizabeth, if she will still have me. Which possibility is not probable. And perhaps my life, even less probable."
Norfolk exhaled. "You've still got Mary."
Boleyn raked a hand through his unkempt hair. "No. I haven't had Mary for years now."
"Perhaps now you'll see clear to the path to changing that," Norfolk suggested.
"I…" Boleyn shook his head and looked up. "I would not have anything to do with me, were I either one of them."
The duke tried to smile. "They are women. Perhaps they are made of better stock than you or I."
There was a long silence while the earl opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed. "Anne certainly is."
"Yes. She is." Norfolk nodded.
"So you've come," Boleyn continued hastily, "to inform me of the fates of my children as far as present circumstances dictates, yes?"
"Yes."
"And so you have. Have any charges been presented against me yet?"
"No. And I would not expect that any should."
Boleyn's smile was wide and feline. "Expectation means nothing to me at this juncture. And would you, brother, kindly keep me astride of any development in these proceedings?"
Norfolk raised his eyebrows. "Are you dismissing me? From your cell?"
"I expect you have other tasks to pursue," Boleyn murmured, looking absent again. "I thank you your attention to my burning house."
"Not ashes yet," Norfolk replied as he turned toward the door.
The earl closed his eyes, unseen by the duke, and leant his head against the wall. "I care not. I only wish that my children be spared the flames."
iv.
Early Evening
"Guilty. Guilty, guilty, guilty." Anne repeated to herself over and over, until the word was meaningless on her tongue.
She thought of how the word related to other words: rainy. If a day was rainy, it meant that an ordinary day had been accosted with rain. Snowy. If a hill was snowy, it meant that an ordinary hill had been covered with snow.
"So then, guilt-y," she sounded out to herself. Guilty. She was an ordinary woman who had been accosted and covered with guilt. The guilt had been applied to her, rather than she seeking it out. It had been poured over her like rain, blanketed her like snow, drowning her and choking her as if someone had filled her lungs with fluid.
She could accept this version of guilty, she decided.
And guilty she was. Not of the charges that had been laid against her at trial, of course, and she was pleased at the way she'd defended herself. In spite of the circumstances a thrill of joy had surged through her at the sensation of thousands of Londoners at her back, supporting her, cheering her. She'd almost wanted to throw a grin in Cromwell's direction. Almost.
But indeed, she was filled with a guilt of her own, she was not innocent; she'd committed many sins and deserved the death that had been assigned to her, as she had honestly told the jurors who had condemned her. She deserved to die and she would. Just not for the charges they thought. She understood all of this, and she saw the Lord's presence in these events, guiding what seemed to any honest earthly being to be a blazing miscarriage of justice, when truthfully it was better than what she deserved.
There were two questions of guilt, two applications of guilty, the way Anne saw it. The first was the false cloak of guilt that had been given to her, and the second was her own. She accepted both, each for what it was to her: the former, her penance, her punishment for the latter. And it fit that she should bear the horrors of this sentence and judgment for the second guilt, the one that she embodied, the evidence of which grew in her body even now as she sat embroidering a linen square in silence at twilight, had been her own doing and her own choice. It had not been applied to her or bestowed upon her. She had chosen this path and now she would pay for it.
The back of her hand rested on her belly, keeping the mostly blank handkerchief spread flat for her needle and thread. She had only brought a small embroidery kit with her, but luckily, it contained a few spools of black thread. She'd been working for most of the afternoon on this handkerchief, after spending the morning largely in prayer.
Anne smiled to herself. Her life, ironically, resembled that of a nun.
She glanced down, although her hand and linen covered her torso. Well, not all parts of her life resembled that of a nun.
When she closed her eyes, she could feel Cromwell's palm on her shoulder, those few moments where he had stood behind her in the observing room. Should she have turned and spoken to him? Had he wished to speak to her? She could hardly imagine what they might say to one another now, yet she would lie to claim that she did not think of him frequently. She'd been desperate that he not stay near her, for his presence frightened and comforted her in such a difficult mixture that she felt hysterical just from the few minutes they had been together. She'd wanted to turn and grasp at his coat with one hand, just pull him closer to have him stand behind her, just for a little while. Yet the relief that overwhelmed her at his departure had told her that she was not thinking clearly. And indeed, how could she be? How could anyone be?
That would probably be the last time she was ever close enough to speak to him, she comforted herself. She would not have to endure such a feeling again. He would no doubt attend her execution, on Henry's orders if for no other reason. She hoped there was no other reason. She hoped he would not take pleasure in seeing her die. She would try, she promised herself, to avoid looking into the crowd when the time came. She would try to die with the knowledge that he would regret her death at least a little, in some way. She would try not to pick his face out of the crowd. It would be easier if she could fool herself into thinking he was not there. And it would only need to be for a minute, anyway.
One of her maids, not having known she was awake, had speculated to the others that Henry might decide to send her to an abbey instead of going through with the execution. The other girls had debated the possibility, one insisting the king would not waver for his pride was damaged and he would have blood for it; the other, revealing she suspected the same as the first. It's all, really, the latter had suggested, in the hands of Master Secretary Cromwell.
D'you not think he will want her dead? the first had asked curiously.
The second had cut in. Master Cromwell will not make such a decision. It will come from the king, and the king will make an example, you shall see.
An example to future wives? the third had sniggered.
A short silence. An example to anyone who would dare betray him. Like Wolsey and More before her. And this betrayal is far more personal.
But he does like to show his munificence, the first one had pointed out.
Not here.
I maintain that the king might change his mind. Send her to a nunnery somewhere.
Not after what she's been convicted of, I promise you.
A hushed laugh. Are you a lawyer now?
And d'you know? The fact that matters least of all, somehow, is that she is not guilty. And everyone knows it.
Everyone but the king.
Would that we could hear his heart of hearts. I would wager my life that he knows it too.
Anne had smiled at that – at least these maids, whatever their names, which she had still not committed squarely to her now-fickle memory, had faith in her innocence. Of course, they were wrong. But they had no way of knowing that.
For they did not know about her new interpretation of guilt, with its two meanings sharp like a double-edged sword. Sharp like the needle she slipped through her linen, embroidering her handkerchief, spools of black thread perched on a table beside her, waiting patiently for her to unravel them. Waiting for death, like little ravens. Hop, hop, hop.
v.
Evening
Tom met her eyes in the mirror as he adjusted his cap endlessly. A tiny nudge this way, a slight push the other way. Fluff the feather, tuck it in further, pull it out so its plume was longer. He really should have been a woman.
"What do you mean, tasteless?"
Lissie shrugged with one shoulder and looked into the dark wine in her cup. Sir Nicholas had an extensive wine collection and she had been making her way through his recommendations in the past few days. This was some sort of mulberry something or other, aged with charred oak. She'd have to come up with a new way of describing it to him when he asked her how she liked it. The man had very developed taste, it seemed, in comparison with her opinion that all wine tasted fairly well the same. "They were all tried and sentenced yesterday, and the men will be executed tomorrow. Victory for us or no, does this not seem like an inappropriate time for a celebration?"
"Don't think of it as a celebration, then. Think of it as a reception. A small gathering of friends and family." His eyes had drifted back to his own reflection, dismissing her discomfiture as inferior to the appearance of his cap.
"Mmm," she replied noncommittally.
Anne Stanhope peeped her head around Lissie's open door. "What are we to do? I'm uncertain."
Lissie chuckled. "Come in, then. Join me in uncertainty, or join Tom in preening."
"I've preened enough for all of us in the past few weeks," Anne admitted, sitting on the edge of Lissie's bed. "There is very little to do when one is alone at court."
"I would not know. I am never alone anywhere."
Tom turned his head and narrowed his eyes at his sister. "Are you a wilting flower then, Lissie? Too much wine already?" She just shrugged again.
"Elizab – " Jane crossed the threshold before seeing who else was in the room. "So this is where everyone is. Why was I not invited?"
"No one was," Anne clarified. "Each of us has intruded on Lissie's bedchamber."
"What a charming hostess," Jane teased, eyes tracing over the slack posture and wine goblet that were becoming customary for her younger sister.
Chuckling himself, Tom set to tugging at the exposed fabric in his slashed sleeves. "Her bedchamber is right at the top of the stairs, that's all."
"Poor Edward went down already." Anne shook her head. "He missed the invitation entirely."
Jane glanced at Lissie; the sisters made eye contact and then mutually looked away. "Pity."
"And who else is here?" Lissie asked.
Tom shrugged, and immediately started fussing with the shoulders of his jacket. "Carew knows everyone in the kingdom. It's anyone's guess. But I expect we will be few tonight; only those whose discretion Carew trusts."
"Will his wife ever arrive?" Jane wondered.
"Probably still packing. We were all but whipping the three of you, yet it still took half a day to prepare for a short trip." Jane came over and adjusted the back of his jacket, straightening the seams and smoothing his collar. "Shall we go?"
"I suppose." Jane shrugged over his shoulder. "Cannot hide out forever. We are not upstairs at Wolf Hall."
Tom started out of the room, and the ladies fell in step behind him. "No. Those days are gone."
Indeed, Tom was correct: the gathering was small and the company was comprised of Carew's closest associates. In other words, it was a party of religious conservatives and a large proportion of the king's former intimates.
Edward was making polite conversation with Ursula Stafford, wife of Henry Stafford, brother-in-law to the Duke of Norfolk. He caught sight of his own wife and siblings entering Carew's Great Hall, brilliantly festooned in glittering draped fabric in various shades of red and gold, and made his way over to escort Jane. "Were you all holed up somewhere without me?" he chided.
Jane smiled steadily at him. "We were indeed. Lissie's bedroom. Shame you missed it." She laid her arm on his. Watching her brother carefully, Lissie saw that he flinched at her remark.
When Carew caught sight of the cluster of Seymours, he clapped his hands loudly and a hush fell over the two dozen or so people gathered in his home. "Please give a warm welcome to our guest of honour – the most lovely, virtuous, and pious Lady Jane Seymour."
A rainfall of applause poured out then, to which Jane flushed and curtseyed, holding it until the clapping ceased. "I am so humbled and honoured to be your guest, Sir Nicholas. You have been the most wonderful host. And I am doubly honoured to join all of you here, on this night." She bent at the knee again and nodded deeply.
Jane was sucked into the crowd almost immediately, with various lords wanting to get to know the woman they recognized as their next queen. Carew squeezed Edward's shoulder and spoke into his ear. Lissie read his lips: "She is ready."
Edward smiled as if it was his accomplishment. He took Anne and together they entered the sea of fine jackets and caps.
Carew found her next. "Elizabeth, did you enjoy the mulberry?"
"Oh – it was such a deep flavour," she nodded. "A pleasing mixture of tastes, indeed."
He smiled down at her. "I am pleased it pleased you," he murmured. "And does this please you?" One hand swept through the air, indicating the entire Great Hall.
She fumbled for an appropriate response. "It is not meant for my enjoyment, sir."
He held her gaze, in a way that Tom did, in a way that Edward did, but still in a way all his own. "How can you be sure?"
"I… it does please me, of course." She smiled back up, feeling a little flutter in her stomach in spite of herself.
"Then I am pleased. I could not enjoy myself if I did not know that you had been pleased at the first."
"Is it so?"
He still held her gaze, but somehow he was not staring. She matched his steadfastness. "D'you not believe me?"
Lissie blinked. She felt her cheeks grow pink with the thrill of what she recognized as flirtation. "I might. I shall have to evaluate."
"Do." Carew's eyes sparkled. "And please, tell me anything I may do to help convince you." She thought he might wink, but he turned away and was gone. She knew this certainly for flirtation, now, because she left the conversation completely confused about what they were discussing.
Within two minutes, a page approached her with a small gilded tray, scarcely large enough for a few goblets of wine. He held it out to her. There was one goblet only, sitting off center, as though it had been part of a pair and someone had snatched the other.
"Oh, no, thank –"
"Compliments of Master Carew. He insists." The page bowed at the waist, yet the tray did not move.
Elizabeth's heartbeat quickened and without meaning to, she glanced around for Edward. Later, when she reflected on it, she would realize that in that moment she'd recognized that Edward had been right about Carew. Then she plucked the goblet from the tray.
"Master Carew has this wine brewed once per year, squeezing the oil from the roses of the end of the season. He produces only a jug or two per annum. Two goblets were poured tonight, for this special occasion." The page bowed again and moved away, and there, directly behind him and now unmistakably in her line of vision, was Sir Nicholas. He grinned and held up his wine goblet, toasting her from across the room. Lissie raised her own cup and smiled as she took a sip. The taste was truly floral, deep and heady and romantic. This was lover's wine.
Carew raised his eyebrows at her: what do you think?
Feeling that thrill again, Lissie simply smiled and turned away. She felt his eyes on her back as she slid into the crowd and stood listening to but not really hearing a conversation between Henry and Gregory Pole.
The rose wine was gone within a quarter hour; she found it addicting, smooth on the tongue and down the throat. She could drink the whole jug, she thought.
But there was other wine, and tonight, she was thirsty. She was thirsty for wine a lot recently. Edward and Tom both caught her eye on different occasions while she got a fresh cup from a page or from a table.
"You all right?" Edward asked her under his breath as she passed him in the crowd.
"Better than all right," she replied, sliding away before he could question her further. Her cheeks were warm with drink and the Great Hall was warm, so after midnight – when, to her slight dismay, the gathering showed no signs of ending – she slipped through one of the doors to the riverside and stole around the shrubbery to the fountain that bubbled softly in the moonlight.
Her surprised reaction was milder than it should have been, both because she'd been drinking and because she had expected it, but she managed to look startled when Carew rounded the low wall of bushes and came upon her at the fountain.
"Mistress Seymour, alone in the darkness?"
She smiled. "Just for a moment. Too warm in the Hall."
He kept his distance, swirling the wine in his goblet. "Should I ask everyone to leave, then?"
Lissie threw her head back and laughed. "Every last one."
"Done. Please, tell me you enjoyed the wine."
"All of it. All the types that I tried. Finished now, at last." She held up her hands to show him they were empty, and then used them to ease herself back onto the edge of the fountain's basin.
"Indeed? And the rose?"
"Exquisite," she enunciated. "The best wine I have ever had."
Hesitantly, Carew took a step forward. "You would say, then, that it pleased you?"
"Immensely."
"Thank God," he sighed. "Now I can finally drink it."
Lissie's mouth dropped open. "Is that the same goblet you had earlier?"
His brow wrinkled; she saw it in the moonlight. "Did my boy not tell you? Only two goblets were poured tonight. This is mine."
"And you've held it all night without drinking?"
"I told you," Carew said with a smile, "I could not take my pleasure until I knew you'd had yours. You never told me how you liked the rose wine, so I was bound to my word not to indulge." They both paused a moment. He took another step closer to her, mutually smiling. "May I drink now? Have I pleased you?"
"You have," Lissie laughed gently. "You may. Savour it; do not be greedy as I was."
Carew took a long sip and looked to be savouring it indeed. "The lady appreciates fine wine."
"Not all," she admitted. "My tastes are not as sophisticated as yours; but any fool would appreciate the quality of this one."
"You must partake again, then." He held out the goblet to her, still a discreet distance away.
She grinned. "No, no. You mustn't indulge my greed."
Carew paused and his face grew serious. "Someone must indulge you."
Elizabeth's face lost its smile too. "Oh?" He nodded.
"May I?" he indicated the space next to her on the lip of the fountain.
She moved aside as though she needed to make room, as though the fountain's edge was not wide enough for the both of them. Carew sat a respectable distance away, nearly enough room for another person to sit between them, and held out the wine again. "Would you not care for another sip?"
"It is not necessary…" she breathed, holding him in her gaze.
"Allow necessity no right," he insisted. Lissie smiled again, a little hesitantly, and took the goblet. She sipped the rose wine, inhaling the floral aroma and taste which were somehow distinct from one another but equally delicious. "Is my cup as pleasing?"
"Even better than I remembered."
Carew smiled with satisfaction and took the goblet back when she indicated. He sipped it too, savouring it, but continued to look at her. "I am glad you came here, Elizabeth Seymour."
This night was balmy, warmer than most had been this spring. But perhaps the several cups of wine she'd swallowed had to do with her warmth. She allowed herself a yawn; the tradition of late nights and tense days was not familiar to her. "As am I, Sir Nicholas."
"Nicholas, please." He took another sip of the wine.
Lissie chuckled. "I am not close enough to you to call you by your first name, sir."
"No?" He arched his eyebrows, causing his forehead to fill with horizontal lines, the attractive wrinkles of a man who laughed and smiled often. He stood and moved a step closer to her before sitting back down. "And now?"
She laughed out loud, again with abandon. Oh, if Edward could see this, she thought.
"I only meant," she explained, "that your station is far superior to mine and I am uncomfortable calling a man of your stature by his first name."
"You mustn't think of me as superior, but as a friend – an ally. An associate."
"Are we to be partners in some business venture, then?"
Sir Nicholas looked at the ground for a moment, then back at her. "I enjoy you, Elizabeth."
She blinked a few times. "You enjoy me, Sir Nicholas? I am not certain what you mean."
"I think you do." It was barely above a whisper.
You are married, she told him silently. Instead, her tongue formed a different sentence: "Indeed, I think I do."
"I would not ask…" he looked away again, as if embarrassed. "I will not ask whether you find me enjoyable, but I have hope that you do. And if you do not, then I have hope that you might yet grow to."
Lissie cleared her throat, that same thrill coursing through her. The same thrill that had touched her so intimately when she had been pressed between Thomas Cromwell and a stone wall, lips melded together, when he'd had what must have been his life's only moment of weakness and taken her in his arms. She'd propositioned Cromwell with the idea of marriage; and now Sir Nicholas seemed ready to proposition her with something. "What would you ask of me, sir?"
He started. "Ask of you?"
"Surely you thought not to tell me this with no result. You must have sought to honour your words in some way, or cause me to honour them. What is it that you'd ask of me?"
"Elizabeth Seymour," he replied after a long pause, "I would not have thought you so direct."
She smiled. "I meant no disrespect…"
"And you leveled none. I suppose I am used to a great deal more simpering. You are not your sister."
"No," she agreed. "You needn't use my surname to address me, sir."
Now Carew grinned. "Ah, but she will not call me by my own name. The lady writes her own rules."
An inelegant burst of laughter bubbled from Lissie's lips. Carew could not know of her discussion with Edward the previous night. "No, no, my lord, I write no rules," she assured him, and herself, though only the latter caught her reference. Still laughing, Lissie leant on her palm and moved herself closer to Carew's side, closing the distance between them almost entirely. She smiled up in the moonlight. "There, now we are close. I shall call you Nicholas, and you shall call me Elizabeth; does that please you, sir?"
"Does it please you?" His dark smiling eyes drank her in.
"Yes. Now you?" Never had she experienced flirtation like this. She could understand now why court ladies found it difficult to keep their wits about them; perhaps she'd never noticed before because every man at court seemed to lavish his focus on Queen Anne.
"It does please me. Elizabeth." He enunciated her name, making it a soft caress, a sensual murmur almost. He pressed the goblet into her hand. "And it would please me to have you finish the rose wine."
"If it would please you, Nicholas," she replied, taking the last sip.
Without warning, his hand rested against her cheek. One thumb brushed her lips. "Spilt a drop."
Their eyes were on each other. "Did I?" she whispered.
He traced the delicate bow at the middle of her upper lip. "No."
Lissie's hand shook a little as she passed the goblet back to him. "Sir Nicholas…"
"Elizabeth Seymour?" he cut her off teasingly. He straightened, putting space between them, and the tension dissipated.
"I cannot be your mistress."
"Of course not," he agreed. "Nor would I ask you to be."
Again, she blinked in confusion, wondering if the wine or her own dull wit was clouding her. "What are you asking of me, then?"
"Let me enjoy you, and enjoy me. We…" he started a bit then, and cleared his throat. "Have you given any further thought to the paintings of the Christ's passion that I showed you? I still plan to make a gift of one of them to your sister, if you deem either one worthy."
Lissie faltered. "I… I hadn't thought about it, truthfully. Perhaps I should look at them again. I have not given it much thought, I'm afraid. I apologize…"
Suddenly she became aware of another presence, a third person. Carew's eyes had twitched to look at something to the right of her. Lissie turned and felt only minor shock – again probably due to too much to drink – at the sight of Edward standing still in the shadows where the wall of shrubbery ended and opened toward the fountain.
She tried to smile at him. "Brother," she greeted.
"Sister." A steady smile was on his lips. "It's late. We were worried about where you'd gone."
Carew gave Edward one of those lazy grins. "No need to fear – she is perfectly safe. We've just been talking."
The smile never wavered. "What a comfort."
Turning back to Lissie as though to finish an academic conversation, Carew continued: "If you wish to look again at the paintings, feel free to do so. They are still in the library downstairs." In a voice low enough that Edward could not decipher the words, he added, "Adjacent to my study."
He stood and bowed to Lissie and then to Edward, excusing himself.
As soon as Carew had disappeared, Lissie met Edward's eyes, faint glittering points in the moon-washed garden. "Scold and whip me, now?" she teased.
Her brother rubbed his eyes. "What am I to think? With the two of you disappeared?"
"Just talking," she shrugged.
"About paintings, I am sure." Edward snorted. "Promise me you will be cautious."
She stood up. "Step lightly?"
"Prudent," he amended.
"When have I not been?" The words were out of her mouth before she realized the folly, before she remembered how stubbornly she had stood beside Anne Boleyn. It felt like years ago. Edward and Elizabeth mutually ignored that question. "Is it not prudent to forge a friendship with a man who is our host and ally?"
Sighing, Edward beckoned her with one hand and they started back toward the house. "He is too fickle, Lissie, I told you that."
She nodded, biting her lip where Carew had touched her. She'd rarely been touched there.
"And anyway," Edward continued, an edge to his voice, "the man is not a priest. I would wager he wants more than friendship."
"I will be careful." The vow was a murmur. "Prudent."
Not touching, the siblings rounded the corner and the grand glowing expanse of Carew's house came into view. "This stage will be over soon, and things will change. And we will all be happy."
Lissie paused on the step above him, just as she had last night when they'd abandoned Jane and the king in the parlor. You wish that we were the lovers, not they. "I hope so," she told him. "But we'll have to keep being prudent, will we not?"
Edward glanced down and back up. His expression was a mixture of hurt and guilt. "Yes."
She nodded minutely, feeling slightly off-balance standing on the narrow step. Now she beckoned her brother and he offered her his arm so they could go back inside. "Ever prudent," she said softly. The party was finally winding down; a number of courtiers had already departed. Carew was just inside, talking animatedly with Jane and Tom. He dutifully did not look at Lissie or Edward.
Finally, the Seymours took their leave as a group. Lissie curtseyed to Carew last, glancing sideways to make sure Edward was not watching. "Goodnight, Nicholas," she whispered. She searched his face for any secret, any recognition, and her heart fluttered when he gave her a small smile and a wink.
He quickly reverted to Carew the Cordial Host. "Goodnight. Elizabeth," he whispered. He looked around, too, to be sure they were safe. None of her family members were in earshot. "Remember, your opinion is required presently on those paintings. I must get the chosen one out of sight and choose a corresponding Bible to complete the gift."
"In the library?" It was more of a statement. Their eyes remained connected. Lissie barely restrained herself from grinning.
"Yes." He squeezed her hand and kissed the back of it chastely. "Adjacent to my study.
A/N: OH MAN! Heehee. This Carew storyline is running amok, but don't worry, I'll reel it in.
Review, if you would be so good. 3 more chapters – maybe 4 – and then the epilogue. It's almost over, I can hardly believe it.