Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,5
Sir Anthony.”
***
I supposed it was an honor that the queen, usually the most self-contained and dignified of women, thought highly enough of me to include me in the small circle of ladies who were privileged to hear her rant like a fishwife. “The nerve of my husband! Letting me think for months—nay, years—that I would be regent for King Edward in case of a royal minority, and what does he do? Changes his will without a word to me.”
“The king mentioned Your Grace in his will with great affection,” I said.
“Dry bones!”
“It was not ingratitude, Your Grace, I am sure of it, or lack of natural affection. The king merely wanted a man—men—to have the guiding of the kingdom.”
The queen scoffed. “Say ‘man,’ Jane. The Earl of Hertford seems to have grabbed all for himself.” The queen flicked her elegant hand, adorned with a mourning ring in the shape of a death’s head. “Oh, they had the right to elect Hertford as protector, I suppose. But that’s not what the king planned. If he had wanted a lord protector, with a council to guide him, that’s what he would have created in the first place. And I am not the only one who has been treated shabbily in this business. Sir Thomas Seymour is every bit as much the king’s uncle as Hertford, and just as capable, I daresay, and he is not even a councilor! Only an advisor to the council. He might as well be a stick of wood.”
A knock at the door sounded, and the stick of wood himself was announced.
Thomas Seymour, dressed more somberly than was his wont, entered the room, measuring his usually buoyant steps to the solemnity of the widow’s bereavement. “Your Grace, I wanted to give you my condolences on the king’s death,” he said, brushing his lips against the queen’s hand. “I know my brother will do his utmost to be of service to you, as well.”
“On the contrary, the Earl of Hertford—or the Lord Protector, as we must call him now—has been of no service to me whatsoever,” the queen said. Resentment lit up her face, making her appear rather younger than her five-and-thirty years. “He sent his man to inform me of King Henry’s death only the night before the news was proclaimed to the public. Two solid days after he died. He should have told me and the lady Mary immediately, as a courtesy.” She nodded at the lady Mary, who had joined her in her seclusion, which would continue until the old king was buried. “After all, the lady Elizabeth was told at the same time as King Edward.”
“My brother moves in mysterious ways,” Thomas said. “Much like the Lord, and trust me, the comparison is not one that would displease him.”
The queen let out a sound much like a snort of laughter and clapped her hand to her mouth.
Mary was not so easily amused. She said, “It does not auger well, if those who have the keeping of the kingdom cannot be bothered with the common courtesies.”
“I could not agree more,” Thomas said, inclining his head.
“Why, you have been treated shabbily yourself,” said the queen. “We were just saying.”
“Well, I am to be a baron.” He glanced at me with more interest than was his wont. “By the way, my lady, I understand congratulations are in order.”
“My lord?”
“You mean your husband hasn’t told you?”
“I have been attending the queen over the past few days, and have not seen or heard from him.”
“Oh, yes. Well, it’s known by all and sundry now—except here, I suppose. There was a clause in King Henry’s will stating that gifts which had been promised but not perfected were to be fulfilled. Well, lo and behold! Lord Paget came before the council, and what do you think he announced? He announced that the king would have doled out new titles and lands if he had lived a little longer to amend his will. I myself am to be Baron Seymour of Sudeley—so I can hardly complain, I suppose. Your Grace’s brother is to be Marquis of Northampton.”
The queen blinked. “Why, he has told me nothing!”
“It has only just come out. And as for you, Lady Lisle, your husband is to be an earl.”
“An earl?”
“Old title, dating back to Anglo-Saxon times,” Seymour said cheerfully.
“I believe Lady Lisle knows the origin of the title,” said the lady Mary, who had a certain literal cast of mind.