Her Highness, the Traitor - By Susan Higginbotham Page 0,60

in a way he had not done in some time. “Let me remind you of how an earl makes love. Then you will have a fresh basis for comparison when I become a duke.”

***

On October 11, my children and I joined the press of courtiers in the king’s presence chamber at Hampton Court. John’s younger brother Andrew was not present, as he was serving as captain of Guines, but Jerome was there, dressed in his finest clothes and agog at the sight of the king sitting under his canopy of state, surrounded by noblemen. Next to our family stood Frances Grey, Marchioness of Dorset, and her three daughters, the youngest so tiny at age six that a servant had been deputed to hold her upon his shoulders.

With a flourish of trumpets and a burst of color, the king’s officers of arms processed into the great chamber, followed by the Garter herald, who bore the patent creating Harry Grey the Duke of Suffolk. Lord Cobham, bearing a golden verge, the Earl of Rutland, bearing a cap of estate and coronet, and the Earl of Bedford, bearing a sword, followed. Behind them walked Harry Grey himself, wearing the crimson velvet, ermine-trimmed robes of estate of a duke. He was flanked by the Duke of Somerset and the Marquis of Northampton.

Harry Grey knelt before the king. Impulsively, I squeezed Frances Grey’s hand as the king vested the new Duke of Suffolk with his sword, coronet, and rod. She turned to smile at me.

Crimson robes trailing behind him, Suffolk moved to stand on the right side of the king as Frances wiped a tear from her eye and her daughters gazed at their father. Even Jane Grey, who had struck me as a girl who could not easily be moved, appeared to be impressed by the ceremony.

Then the officers of state and the attendant lords left the chamber. With another flourish of trumpets, they returned, this time with John walking between an expressionless Somerset and a smiling Northampton. John’s face was solemn, as befitted the occasion, but his eyes glowed with pleasure.

Robert put his hand on my shoulder as John knelt before the king, his head bowed low. Already, tears of joy were streaming down my face, and the king hadn’t even placed John’s coronet on his head yet. “Happy, Mother?”

I turned my tear-stained face to Robert and smiled. “Beyond words.”

***

Five days later, the Duke of Somerset was arrested and imprisoned once again in the Tower.

“Four dukes in England,” said Jerome, who had become somewhat obsessed with the topic since his brother had been raised to his new status. “Two in the Tower. Two out.”

18

Frances Grey

November 1551

What on earth are you doing to your hair?” demanded Harry.

My serving woman withdrew an iron from my hair and wound out a perfect red-gold curl. When all was done, my French hood would be covering a mass of ringlets. “For Mary of Guise, we ladies are dressing in the French style,” I said mildly. “One wouldn’t want her to think that Englishwomen are dowdy. Especially English duchesses.”

“Haddon—”

James Haddon, Harry’s chaplain, had made it his mission to improve us all, reminding us in his sermons about the vanity of dress and the evils of card playing for money. While I accepted that this was his duty, I could not help but find it annoying, especially since I had always been rather lucky at cards. Haddon had found even Jane wanting, much to her amazement. “He will just have to live with us tonight,” I said, nodding at my woman as she prepared to put a touch of color on my cheeks. “Trust me, the Duchess of Northumberland will be just as splendid. Why, even Jane has consented to wear that lovely gown that the lady Mary gave her.” She was also sporting a head of wanton curls, I started to add, but decided against it. Harry would find that out for himself shortly.

Mary of Guise, dowager queen of Scotland, was the mother of Mary, Queen of Scots. Having paid an extended visit to her native France, where her daughter was living, Mary of Guise had decided to visit the English court on her way back to Scotland. Jane and I were among the ladies who had been appointed to greet her, and as Mary was a member of the powerful Guise family and had been used to the luxurious courts of France, it would be unthinkable for us to meet her in anything less than the highest of