Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,19

the Protector’s wife is in the middle of it all.”

“I’ll have nothing said against the Duchess of Somerset,” Mary said coldly. “She is a woman of virtue and a friend of mine.”

“Indeed,” I said, suddenly wishing myself back at Bradgate with its bare altars.

7

Jane Dudley

April 1548 to September 1548

Thomas Seymour patted the Queen of England as if she were a particularly fine heifer. “Well, Lady Warwick? Do you think the mouse will crawl nicely out of its hole?”

“I do indeed,” I said as the queen gave a strained smile and my son Robert, who had decided I needed a manly escort to Chelsea, looked slightly ill. The couple’s wards, the lady Elizabeth and the lady Jane, tittered.

To everyone’s shock, the queen had announced her pregnancy a few weeks earlier. Now in her mid-thirties, she’d never quickened with child before, although Seymour was her fourth husband. Catherine had been miserable for the past few weeks, her early pregnancy sickness exacerbated by her having conceived for the first time at such a comparatively advanced age, but she had come out of her worst time and now had a healthy glow to her.

The queen took me by the arm. “Would you walk in the garden with me, my lady?” She smiled at her husband and at my Robert. “You can entertain the ladies Elizabeth and Jane. There are maternal matters I wish to discuss with Lady Warwick.”

I let the queen lead me away toward some rose bushes, the flowers just a few weeks from bloom. The men, I saw, had paired off also: Thomas Seymour with the lady Elizabeth, Robert with Lady Jane. I suspected my Robert was not entirely happy about this situation. “I hope Your Grace is not overly concerned about this pregnancy?” I eyed the queen as appraisingly as Seymour had earlier. “There are risks, as you hardly need me to tell you, but you are not delicate look—”

“No, it is not that. For that I will trust in the Lord.” The queen looked over her shoulder, but we were well out of sight of the others. “It is my husband and the lady Elizabeth who concern me. Tom is flirting outrageously with the girl, and I know not what to do.”

“Flirting? A man married to a queen, flirting with a princess of the blood?”

Catherine nodded grimly. “At first it was mere pleasantry, I thought. Tom is not the sort of man who can let a pretty girl go unnoticed—I knew that when I married him. But lately, his behavior has been most unseemly. He comes bare legged into her chamber, surprises her in bed—even pats her on her buttocks. It is all quite open, mind you. Her whole household is aware of it.”

“Does he do the same with the lady Jane?”

“No, not at all. He is very kind to her, very friendly—but no more. But then, he hopes to match her with the king. It would not do to demean her. And she is very young, too.”

“Has he done more with the lady Elizabeth than flirt, do you think?”

“I don’t believe he is lying with the girl, and I don’t believe he will try. That would be too much even for Tom.”

“Does she resist his advances?”

“Not in the least. I believe she was taken aback at first, but now I believe she looks forward to them, from the way she giggles. The lady Elizabeth has the strangest giggle, by the way. Almost like a neigh. I never heard it until Tom started his antics with her.” She sighed. “I quite expected this from King Henry. Sooner or later, I thought, some pretty young girl would make her way into my household, and he would be after her. He did no such thing, though; he must have had his fill of young girls with Katherine Howard. But I never expected this treatment from Tom Seymour, who professed to love me so!” The queen broke off a sprig that was beginning to bloom and twisted it in her hands.

“There is no need to think that he no longer loves you, Catherine. Men sometimes act foolish when their wives are expecting a child,” I offered gently. “Even loving husbands.”

Catherine snorted. “What would you know about such matters? Your husband is notoriously faithful to you. My brother once tried to entice him into visiting one of the finest brothels in Southwark. There was no harm in a little paid pleasure, he said, and it would only improve the enjoyment of the marital bed.