Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,45
a tournament,” I said coaxingly.
Jane looked unimpressed, but Kate, coming up in the middle of our conversation, said, “A grand wedding? Whose, Mother?”
“Anne, the eldest daughter of the Protector—”
“Frances,” Harry prodded.
“The Duke of Somerset,” I corrected myself. I had found it hard to break the habit of calling him by his former title. “She is marrying the Earl of Warwick’s eldest son, Lord Lisle.” Somerset had been freed from the Tower in February and, after a brief period of house arrest, had been restored to the king’s council, albeit in a position subordinate to Warwick, who as head of the king’s council was now known as the Lord President. “This marriage is proof of their good will to each other.”
“I can come, can’t I?”
“Of course you can, and Mary, too. The entire family has been invited.”
“Good,” said Kate. “The Earl of Hertford will be there, don’t you think? He’s good-looking.”
“Is that all you think of, Kate?” Jane asked. “At your young age?”
“He is a good-looking boy,” I said of Somerset’s oldest son. “It is no harm to say so.”
“Perhaps as proof of good will between the Duke of Somerset and our family, a match could be made between one of us and the Earl of Hertford,” Kate said. “Preferably me, as Jane is above such things.”
“It is not your place to suggest matches for yourself,” said Jane.
“Jane—” I began.
“Well, why not? That way, Jane is saved for the king, and I can marry an agreeable boy.”
“There is no intention of marrying Jane to the king, or any of you girls to anyone just yet,” Harry said. “Negotiations are afoot to marry the king to a French princess. As for the rest of you, Jane is correct. All of this speculation is unbecoming for maidens.”
Behind her father’s back, Kate stuck her tongue out at Jane, who magnificently ignored her. I should have reproved Kate, I suppose, but I did not.
***
“They can marry off all of Warwick’s boys to all of Somerset’s girls if they like, but does Warwick really think that Somerset’s going to be content with being a humble member of the council?” Katherine Brandon, Duchess of Suffolk, asked as we waited for the king to appear at Sheen, which he had offered for the wedding. “Like it or not, he’s still a duke, and the king’s only living uncle. He can’t forget it. Neither should Warwick. And where is Warwick, by the way?”
“Perhaps he is ill. Poor man, having to miss his son’s wedding.”
The Duchess of Suffolk was about to snort a reply when a quiet voice said, “My husband is ill, my ladies. He regrets his absence keenly, but his health has been so uncertain these past few months, I begged him to keep to his bed.”
I stared at the Countess of Warwick before I caught myself. Though not unpleasing in her appearance, she could not be called anything but ordinary looking, but today, dressed elegantly in wrought velvet, she looked almost pretty and a couple of inches taller. She almost showed up the Duchess of Somerset herself. Was her transformation a temporary one due to her son’s wedding, or was this a consequence of her husband’s elevation? “I am sorry that your husband was not able to come,” I managed.
“Well, we have Robert’s wedding tomorrow. I hope he will be able to attend that.” The countess smiled as we glanced in the direction of a handsome, tall young man who was strolling arm in arm with a very pretty blonde of whom no one in London appeared to know anything but her name. Harry and the rest of our household (including me, I am ashamed to admit) had amused ourselves on the barge, trying to figure out her possible origins. “A love match,” the countess said simply. “It happens.”
“I daresay your husband will make the best of it,” said the Duchess of Suffolk. Even I recognized the acid in her voice.
Jane Dudley heard it, too, but chose not to let it spoil her good humor. “Yes, as a matter of fact he has. He will establish Robert in Norfolk, though of course I imagine he and Amy will be spending much of their time in London.” She glanced around. “Ah, the Duchess of Somerset. I must speak to her about the musicians.”
“My, that little woman creeps up on one,” muttered the Duchess of Suffolk after the Countess of Warwick had hurried away. “I wonder if the Earl of Warwick is absent because he doesn’t share his wife’s