Tudor Pavanne: And Turns
Belle was utterly flabbergasted. She sat gaping at Catherine for a moment, then blinked hard and shook her head. "Don't I have any say in the matter?" she managed to ask.
The Queen's gracious smile faltered. "Well, certainly you can refuse. But it is such a good match, dearest Bella." (She never had managed to lose that last trace of Spanish accent, and always added an "a" to Belle's name.) "And I would see you married and settled, and protected. I fear for your safety and reputation, and it is my duty to ensure you are taken care of."
"So you and Henry – forgive me, His Majesty – just arrange my whole life for me?"
Catherine was confused. "That is how things are done, dearest."
"But I thought..." Belle swallowed hard against the unexpected hurt that suddenly tightened her chest. "I thought you wanted me to stay with you. I thought... we were friends."
It was Catherine's turn to blink, then she laughed, rushing to reassure her companion. "Of course I do! You won't be leaving me! You will still be with me daily, and even sleep here when you wish – when your husband allows. As Lady Montague's husband does her," she elaborated, referring to another of her ladies-in-waiting. Belle had forgotten the woman in question was (officially, anyway) married. "He cannot hope to take up all of your time. I shall demand that you continue to attend me."
Belle was still reeling, unable to process this latest development and what it meant for her own plans. "But I can still refuse?"
"Yes, if you truly feel that way. But I hope you will consider it carefully."
"Am I even allowed to know his name?"
Catherine's laughter pealed out. "Of course, dearest, por cierto! You will meet him this afternoon, and you shall measure each other's worth." Then her smile turned mischievous. "But my husband, the King, wishes to introduce you himself. You are to go to his chambers after the noon meal." And she refused to say anything more about it.
^..^
Belle had never been to the King's private chambers before; all the times they had met in the conduct of their affair had been in that little back room. The long walk across the castle brought out her simmering resentment against Henry. He hadn't even looked at her since the day of the Prince's birth, passing by her on his nearly nightly visits to the Queen's bedchamber without a glance, and now he thought to cast her aside, throwing her to some flunky as a bone? Well, we'll just see about that! She was quite used to even long-term clients suddenly disappearing when their tastes changed, or their circumstances no longer permitted availing themselves of her services, but she certainly wasn't going to let herself be disposed of.
Halfway through a formal garden, an awful thought occurred to Belle, and she checked involuntarily, staring at a blooming rose bush while she considered the implications. Had she allowed herself to develop feelings for the King? Had she let him get under her skin, and stopped seeing him as a (powerful, but still professional) client?
No, she decided, after a lightning-fast assay of her gut. She was as fond of him as some of her other former clients (the one she'd been with the night before her kidnapping sprang to mind, bringing a quick, tiny smile of affection), but more than that... no. She was OK on that score.
Loins thus properly girded, she continued on, preparing to negotiate a proper end to their professional relationship (even if he had no idea that's what it was). He would be made to understand that he had no responsibilities toward her future or her position, that she was just fine where she was, thank you.
She slipped through the usual crowd always hanging about the King's public chamber without attracting attention, and gave her name to the guard at his inner door. He checked inside briefly, then bowed her through the door, closing it behind her. Looking about quickly for the man she was being offered to, she was surprised to find herself alone with Henry, instead; the sumptuous quarters devoid of anyone else, even guards and servants.
"Belle!" Henry cried warmly – but softly. "Ma chérie!" Striding on his long legs across the chamber, he swept her up in his arms and began kissing her passionately, to her utter confusion. This was not the reception she'd been expecting.
She managed to pull away from him, her stiffness communicating her distress. "I thought..."
Smiling down at her, he finished her sentence. "You thought I was no longer interested, that I was giving you away? No, my dear. Never."
"Then this man... isn't even real?"
"Oh, yes, he is real. But he also understands the situation. He knows he is only giving you his name, so that we may continue, you and I. Come, Belle." She suddenly realized his hands had been busy with her clothing. "Come, we have an hour. And I have missed you." He smothered any further protests with passionate kisses, simultaneously maneuvering her adroitly to his large bed and continuing to remove her clothes. Realizing she was basically trapped, she shifted mental gears with a tremendous effort, putting all other considerations on hold. A tiny back portion of her mind was wrenched, wounded – and confused. Was she a professional here, or was this personal after all?
^..^
A little less than an hour later, still panting slightly and glimmering with sweat, Henry bounded to his feet and began pulling on his clothes. Belle grimaced behind his back; he never could seem to lounge around in bed enjoying the afterglow, but was always racing on to the next activity. He glanced over his shoulder at her, seeming shocked and irritated that she was still lying there.
"Come on, get up! Get dressed!"
She was only halfway clothed when he started for the door, mind already on wherever he was headed. "He's waiting for you in Lady Chapel," were his last, off-hand words, and he was gone.
She stared at the re-closed door, jaw dropping, for a good half a minute. Then she slowly closed her mouth, and shook her head. "You really are a royal jerk, aren't you, Your Majesty."
She was mightily tempted to simply head back to the Queen's chambers, but knew she couldn't face Catherine without even exchanging a word with her supposed intended – let alone learning his identity! So, sighing, she cleaned herself up, finished dressing, then slipped out the door, went through the now-empty outer chamber, and headed towards the small chapel dedicated to Saint Mary tucked in the corner of one of the formal gardens.
Late afternoon sunlight was streaming through the side windows, slanting across the dusty summer air and blinding her momentarily when she entered the tiny church, and she didn't see him at first. Then she spotted the dark head bowed over his hands as he knelt at the railing, perhaps in prayer. She didn't recognize the back – but at least he wasn't fat. Or bald. Grimacing at herself for this lightning tentative approval of someone she had no intention of accepting, she walked slowly down the center aisle and stopped a few feet behind him.
"My lord?" she called softly when he didn't seem to hear her approach.
The man started, raised his head, hurriedly crossed himself, and pushed off the railing to his feet before swiveling around. His eyes swept past Belle towards the doorway, then darted around in anticipation, obviously looking for someone else.
"He didn't come. He sent me instead." She couldn't think of anything else to say.
His dark eyes snapped back to hers as understanding dawned in them, then his glance slid sideways again to the shadows opposite the windows, a rueful, disappointed look twisting his handsome features. And he was handsome, Belle suddenly registered, pegging his face a moment later as one she'd seen many times in the outskirts of the young, masculine crowd of highborn rowdies orbiting the King. She had the impression that he was quieter than most of them, more reserved, but he seemed observant and intelligent.
"Typical," was his clipped, wry – and slightly bitter – comment, and she couldn't help but agree. His eyes closed for a moment, and he shook his head as if forcing his thoughts into a different channel, then took a deep breath and opened them again, stepping forward to greet Belle. Stopping a pace short, he gave her a gentlemanly bow and a small but pleasant "public" smile.
"Madame," he began. "I don't believe we've ever been properly introduced – although I have seen you betimes in the Queen's company." She nodded, indicating she'd seen him, as well, and he continued. "I am John Wolfram, Viscount Pendleton, at your service. I have a good-sized estate in Wessex, which I inherited from my uncle, along with his title. I... I'm an orphan, madame, quite bereft of family, so there would be no one to... object." He began to falter a bit, his lack of a prepared speech catching up to his natural good manners.
"Why are you going along with this?" was Belle's gentle, but bewildered query. He seemed like a pleasant, intelligent young man, but there was something missing from the picture. Something – several somethings, to tell the truth – just weren't adding up.
Another soft, wry smile. "I have my reasons. His Majesty wishes it..." His eyebrows quirked, with a 'what you gonna do?' air. "But I assure you, Madame, I am sincere in my offer of protection and safety... even from me. I will not be making any... importune demands upon you."
Belle was getting more confused, not less. "Not your type?" she asked, trying for a casual air to cover the unexpected slight to her self-esteem.
His face twisted, quizzical. "Not...? Oh," as her meaning dawned. "That's a rather cru – unusual way of putting it," he remarked, off-hand. But he didn't deny it, so she dug a little deeper.
"So who is your type, then – OH!" A dozen tiny, almost hidden clues suddenly fell into place, and she nodded at the realization, her turn to be rueful. "Henry." It wasn't a question.
He froze for a very long moment, shock making his eyes round as saucers. A short, sharp gasp, and he spluttered, "M-madame!" That was all he could sensibly say.
Belle threw up a hand. "Stop. Just stop. My lord..." A tiny beat for emphasis. "I don't care. It doesn't matter to me." She licked her lips, giving her head a tiny shake while digging furiously for the right words that would help without giving too much away. "Where I come from, it's ... perfectly normal." That might have been stretching it a little, but who'd know? "Two men – or two women, for that matter... nobody cares. It's fine. It's accepted." Disbelief still colored his face, so she went personal. "I'm not shocked, or disgusted. I don't think any less of you, my lord. But neither will I ever tell anyone else. I do understand how it is here," she finished quietly, trying for matter-of-fact reassurance.
He found his voice at last, still shaken. "It is 'accepted'... where you come from?" She nodded. Suddenly he whirled away, taking a couple of restless steps towards one of the high side windows and staring unseeing out to the garden beyond. "And pray tell me, madame, where this golden land of yours is, which is so accepting of everyone?"
"Somewhere very far away..." she whispered through the magnitude of that reality.
"Undoubtedly so... since I have never heard of such a place." A pause, then he whipped back around to pierce her with a question. "But I was under the impression that you had no memory of your former life?"
Caught. She struggled a moment, making it look real. "I don't... really. Just... bits and pieces, sometimes."
Doubt showed in his face, but then he turned back to his perusal of the window, apparently accepting her word. A moment's silence. "And if you did ever remember... would you go back there? If you could?" She could barely hear his murmur, yet still the wistfulness was evident.
"Yes," she whispered again.
After a moment, she couldn't help her curiosity, and gently began, "Is Henry...?"
It took him a moment, then he stiffened, and the word exploded out of him: "NO!"
"Then... does he know...?"
Quicker this time: "No!"
"Then why is he making this – arrangement?"
He snorted softly, turning to give her a sour look. "Why else? It is convenient for him, and I'm obviously in need of a wife, having none, and as his loyal man will do his bidding." At her look of disbelief, he turned even more sarcastic. "Henry, think of someone else? I thought you knew him."
Stung, she shot back without thinking, "I thought you loved him."
He immediately deflected the accusation, obviously well practiced at it. "As everyone loves the King. But I'm not blind to his faults – yet dwelling on them risks treason," he added, signaling that avenue was best closed. The heat had somehow left his voice, leaving only weariness and faintly echoing pain.
Silence stretched out between them, and yet... it was somehow not uncomfortable. They had turned a corner without even noticing.
After several moments, he drew in a deep breath, let it out in almost a sigh, then stepped forward again to face her squarely. Looking down, he carefully reached for her hand, holding her fingers gently with his own. Then he caught her eyes again and searched them deeply, his own troubled thoughts crowding behind his dark irises. She looked up hesitantly – he was a good half a head taller than she was – but each of them saw some indefinable something that spoke of reassurance.
"Madame..." he began again. "I would not have thought it possible, but incredibly, I think we understand each other. We both understand the situation, at least, and have no illusions about it which would lead to confusion. And I think... I think we could even be friends."
Her mouth quirked, and she slid a look of exaggerated disbelief across her features. "A man and a woman, friends? With each other? Surely not!"
Eyes glinting with humor, he matched her expression. "Shocking!"
Then, without warning, he was serious. "Will you accept my offer? I promise you, it is sincere. and not merely by order of the King. Will you accept my hand, and my protection?"
Belle was utterly confused, not knowing what to think. She stuttered a bit, then saw his hurt reaction, felt him start to withdraw his hand, and she said quickly, "My lord... it's just... this has happened so suddenly, I haven't had time to think!"
Instantly his face cleared. "Of course! I'm sorry. Please, take all the time you need." He tipped his head back a moment, thinking, then deliberately put on a more formal, courtly manner. "Madame, may I call on you tomorrow? After the noon meal? – We could walk in the garden," he added as the idea occurred to him.
She smiled up at him, teasing. "Together? In public?"
And again, he matched her air at once, eyebrows flaring. "If you dare!" he challenged.
Belle paused, then realized that she quite wanted to. "I would be honored, kind sir," she said, matching his formal manner of a moment before, and he smiled, recognizing it.
"Tomorrow, then." Lifting her hand slightly, he bowed over it, then turned and walked out of the chapel with the air of a reprieved prisoner.
Belle watched him go, then without warning was swamped by a flood of conflicting emotion, as the entire whiplash afternoon caught up with her. Staggering a step sideways, she caught the end of a pew with her hand and managed to maneuver into it before her knees collapsed.
"Oh my god," she whispered. Far from taking charge of her position and destiny, as she thought she was going to do on her way to Henry's apartments, she felt she was drowning instead, unable to fight the currents that kept pushing her this way and that.
And then she caught her breath, as the realization she'd had just after the poor doomed Prince's birth pierced the mental fog again. She had no idea how long she might be stuck here, waiting for history to be knocked sufficiently off its course. She couldn't use the Jumper to skip ahead, she had to live through it; Jared had been quite specific on that as he'd taught her how to use it.
She might be here for years.
Decades, even.
And she had damn well better start making some plans. She couldn't rely on keeping capricious Henry's attention or favor. Catherine was more steadfast, but even there, she needed to stay in her good graces in order to remain close enough to have the opportunity to vaccinate the next Prince. And Catherine was bound and determined to see her "married and settled".
She made herself stop and consider her suitor, this John Wolfram, Viscount Pendleton, assessing her gut just as she always did with a potential new client. She'd certainly learned how to be an excellent snap judge of character over the years; she'd had to, out of self-preservation against the creeps. And her gut was reacting favorably. He seemed pleasant, and steady, without any hint of creepitude. And without the entanglement of a "real" marriage, and given his (hidden) sexual preference, if and when she did manage to complete her mission and return to her own time, his heart would certainly not be broken. Nor hers.
And if she did refuse him, who knew what kind of idiot the King might try to set her up with next? John was likely the very best Tudor match she could make.
Realizing that she'd actually already made the decision, Belle heaved a huge, heavy sigh, closing her eyes against prickling tears. This damned "adventure" just seemed to keep getting worse and worse, as she sunk further and further into the tangled web. She whispered again the words that had seemed these past months to become a personal mantra.
"Damn you, Jared... Ah." A bitter smile of recognition crossed her lips – or was it only coincidence? "Wolfe. Wolfram."
She glanced sideways at the statue of Mary she'd been studiously ignoring since she entered, smiling her sweet, forgiving marble smile down upon the sinners at her feet. "Are you trying to tell me something?" she asked wryly.
Sighing again, she pulled herself to her feet and turned to the door, heading back to the Queen's apartments. A few yards away, however, she abruptly checked. He hadn't made it very far away himself, walking very slowly through the cloister at the garden's perimeter, head down, lost in deep, melancholy thought, hands clasped behind his back. Belle sped up again to come up behind him.
"My lord?"
As he had before, he started, then turned to see her behind him.
"John," he corrected her with a smile as she approached.
"John," she repeated, suddenly self-conscious. Then she held out her hand, and he took it, confused.
She took a last deep breath and smiled. "I accept."