Chapter Ten
Yet saw I him refrain, and also his wrath assuage,
And unto her thus did he say, when he was past his rage…
'Cruel! You do me wrong, to set me thus so light;
Without desert for my good will to show me such despite.'
~Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey
“How goes it with the king? Do you think you might be with child yet?” I asked Jane, my hand nervously coming to rest on my belly until I realized what I was doing and removed it. Thankfully, Jane was so engrossed in her own thoughts she did not notice.
“He comes to my bed but only twice a week.” She walked to sit on one of her chairs, her head down. “I cannot seem to entice him more than that. My courses came a week ago.” Her voice was far-off, disappointed.
“Twice a week could still work, but perhaps you might try persuading him more often?”
Jane nodded. “I have yet to ask him myself. I am trying to live up to his ideal of me. Pure, virginal.”
“It is good of you, Jane. Let him feel like he is in control. A man is always best to mold when he thinks he’s in the lead.”
She smiled up at me and laughed lightly. “Anne, you are so dear to me. I do not know how I would survive all this without you.” She swept her hand out, and then fingered the sapphire and diamond necklace she wore. Another gift from the king.
“May I inquire of something of a personal nature?”
“At your leisure.” Jane stroked the brocade fabric of her gown, her fingers tracing the floral patterns.
“Does he…finish?”
At this, Jane’s head popped up. “Truthfully, Anne, there are times I do not think he does, for there does not seem to be much…moisture afterward.”
Dear God, save us if the man is unable to father a child. “Does he appear angry or frustrated?”
“No.” Jane shook her head adamantly. “He is always most kind and solicitous. He caresses my hair, tells me how much he loves me. He stays the night, and sometimes in the morning, he will…” she twirled her hand in the air and blushed, “…again.”
How unlike a man to remain so jovial and gratuitous if he was not enjoying himself, and especially for the king. Henry VIII was known for violent fits of temper, and yet to be so kind to his wife... There must have been another explanation. I was no doctor, nor even very versed in medicine, but common sense pointed to perhaps he was able to climax without spending.
“Do you think I shall ever conceive?” Her eyes pooled with tears, and I rushed forward to hand her one of my own embroidered handkerchiefs.
“Oh, Majesty. I do wholeheartedly. You have only been married a short while. Give it time. The king was able to get Katharine with child at least six times, the witch Anne at least two or three times, and you know his mistresses are likely to get pregnant just by breathing in his air. It will happen, I am certain of it.”
“I pray it is soon, Anne. I fear with the pressure I am under, I am hindering the process. And, honestly, I know it is a sin to say, but sometimes I am thankful that he does not come to me more often. His leg…festers, and a stench emanates from it.” Her head fell into her hands.
I came forward and sat beside her. “You are very courageous and strong, Jane. I have no doubt you will succeed in your duty to king, country and family.”
Jane looked up, pressed her lips together, but said nothing, no doubt perturbed at my subtle mention of her familial obligations. It was time for me to change the subject matter of our conversation.
“Well, Jane, this is what we must do to help the king with his own conjugal duties. Order special food and spices to be used with all meals. Artichokes, asparagus, truffles, turtle’s eggs, oysters, honey, figs. Tell Cook to use pepper, cloves, ginger, saffron and thyme liberally. These things will boost both of Your Majesties’ fertility and raise his desire, so he might visit you almost every night of the week.”
“I will see that it is done.” Jane stood and clasped her arm through mine as we started to head back into her main presence chamber, where a few of her ladies awaited us to depart for the great hall. The rest had already gone ahead as Jane had instructed. But then she stopped and whispered, “Is Edward terribly angry with me for the other night?”
“The other night, Majesty?” I asked, not wanting her to know Edward had in fact raved nigh on an hour about her rash behavior a fortnight ago.
“You are too kind to me, Anne. You know of what I speak. My requests of the king.”
I patted her hand and shook my head, and watched the tension visibly recede from her eyes, her shoulders relaxed. At the root of it all, I had to remember that Jane had much riding on her position. She was the third wife to a king who had no qualms about setting his spouses aside, or even having them executed. And there were plenty of people at court who would do his bidding, and not one who would naysay him. She deserved my empathy, and I would make certain in the future she got it.
When we walked into court, a large crowd had gathered in a corner, laughing. Queen Jane and I, being curious, walked closer to hear their words.
Jane Rochford stood in the middle, in her hand a crumpled parchment from which she read, her free hand moving violently in the air. Her face was flushed, eyes wild and bright blue.
Her gaze connected with mine, and she sneered. “Sith that a Lion's heart is for a Wolf no prey. With bloody mouth go slake your thirst on simple sheep, I say.” At this she grasped a great cup of wine and gulped it down, wine dribbling onto her chin. The crowd grew more enthusiastic as she continued. “With more despite and ire than I can now express, which to my pain, though I refrain, the cause you may well guess. As for because myself was author of the game, it boots me not that for my wrath I should disturb the same.”
The Earl of Surrey came to stand behind Lady Rochford. His lip curled in male satisfaction, and his eyes locked with mine. What was I missing? Why had they both looked at me?
“Lady Rochford, where did you get such a piece?” a courtier in the crowd shouted.
“It’s mine,” Surrey answered with a cocky tilt of his head, his eyes not leaving my own.
When I heard that, I knew exactly what had transpired. The man had written a poem defaming me. Would anyone realize it? Anger raked its nails along my flesh. If I’d had a sword, I would have tried with all my might to sever his head from his neck.
“Well done! Who is the dame?” the same courtier asked.
His lip curled even further, and I had to use great control not to swipe the parchment and burn it.
“No one of consequence,” he replied, eyes fastened on mine.
At his last insult, I’d had enough. Luckily, I spotted Edward starting a game of cards. I needed his strength and nearness to calm the tidal waves roiling inside me. Unfortunately, Sir Anthony was at his side. He had not spoken to me in days. Anger filled his eyes whenever he saw me. No doubt, he felt I had cuckolded him with my own husband.
I looked around for another alternative to sitting with Edward and Anthony. My brother Michael was nowhere in sight. Elizabeth, Edward’s sister, was engaged in a rather flamboyant conversation with the queen and king. My mother and Sir Richard Page scowled at me from across the room. They started forward. The last thing I wanted was a confrontation with them in the middle of the great hall. The humiliation of Surrey’s poem was enough. Their descent on me pushed my decision. My only choice was Edward and Anthony.
I approached to a winning smile from Edward and a scowl from Anthony.
“Will you play with men, my lady?” Sir Anthony asked as I slipped into an empty seat at the table.
“My lady wife is quite adept at cards,” Edward answered before I had the chance, which worked perfectly fine for me as I was still unsure of the strength of my own voice with my near-lover and husband sitting so closely and amiably to one another.
“Fascinating,” Sir Anthony said, his voice lighthearted, but when I looked at him, his eyes gave away his true feelings. Jealousy, anger, desire. “Shall you play then?”
As it turned out, I was quite in the mood to gamble.
July 13, 1536
Jane Rochford was going to see the rough side of my tongue this morning.
I swept into Queen Jane’s presence chamber, my head held high, shoulders back, chin up, skirts in hand, perfected a curtsy to my mistress, and then turned my eyes on the vile Lady of the Bedchamber.
Lady Rochford openly winced and turned away to avoid my gaze, but she would not get away with eluding me.
“Majesty, if it pleases you, might I have a private word with Lady Rochford?”
Queen Jane lowered her embroidery and eyed me warily. I smiled indulgently, and she nodded.
Lady Rochford literally shook in her satin slippers. Her hands trembled as she curled them in her gown. I inclined my head toward the door and walked into the corridor. Lady Rochford followed. She had grounds to be nervous. Edward and I were both closer to the royal couple than she was, and our power at court was only growing, while she was an unmarried widow of a traitor. Most people of the court despised her, and the rest endured her.
The corridor was empty, save for a few guards posted, who effectively kept their gazes straightforward, their eyes almost glazed over from staring at some certain spot on the walls for the entirety of their watch. Sconces with torches were lit up and down the corridor. Even though it was morning, no natural light lit the way. The door gently clicked closed as I shut it. I took a few moments to analyze Jane’s appearance, my agenda twofold: one, to make her more nervous, and secondly, I was looking for something— a mark of Surrey. From experience I knew the man could not have a woman without branding her in some way. Her light hair was in a perfect coiffure, covered by a delicate silk and pearl-encrusted gable hood. Her gown was a light yellow silk, with embroidered pearls on the bodice. Jade earrings bobbed at her lobes. And there it was, a purplish bruise of a lover’s kiss hidden, but not well enough, beneath a pearl and jade collar necklace.
I smiled cruelly, having ammunition now to mortify her. Jane Rochford was rollicking herself in an affair. Queen Jane would not be pleased, because she required her ladies to maintain an air of decorum and chastity. “Might you explain the spectacle you made yesterday?”
Lady Rochford’s icy blue eyes connected with mine in challenge. “Spectacle, my lady?”
My smile widened when I saw how much I disturbed her. She shifted on her feet. Trying valiantly not to spit at me, I speculated.
“Do not play coy with me. Unless you imbibed a quart of strong French wine, I am certain you will recall your recitation of Surrey’s poem last eve.”
Jane lifted her chin and pursed her lips. “A lovely poem,” she bit out.
“Did you help your lover to write it?”
Jane’s hand went immediately to her throat, shifting the collar around.
“No need, I already saw it.”
Jane’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. Her pupils dilated, and her skin paled a shade.
“You might think you know the games courtiers play, the wickedness behind closed doors, secrets whispered.” I stepped closer to her, invading her personal space. “You might even believe yourself clever enough to behold such dealings and wield the perpetrators to your liking.” I leaned in, my face only inches from hers. Jane held her breath, her eyes only slightly widened as she tried valiantly not to show a trace of reaction. “But I warn you now, Lady Rochford, I shall beat you at your own occupation. I shall hang you out to dry, and see to it you never step foot in this court or any other again, if you dare to cross me. Watch your steps.”
Jane stepped back and bowed her head, but not before a flash of hatred marred her features.
“My lady.” She curtsied, and although she returned to the queen without my permission, I allowed her that much. With luck, I would not have to deal with her again, at least not for a while. For certes, the woman was spiteful, abhorrent, and would seek recourse for my threats.
July 15, 1536
Fallen leaves and sticks crunched under the heavy hooves of the horses as we raced through the forest out onto fields and back again in search of the stag the hunting dogs had alerted us to.
Jane kept her seat well beside the king, and I held back a little, my purpose to capture something besides a deer. As the minutes continued to pass, I slowed my horse more and more until no one seemed to notice I was well behind. No one except, Sir Anthony, the object of my diversion.
“My lady, is all well with you?” He pulled up next to my horse, his sweet eyes roving over my form and that of my horse. But I must stop this! I could not think of his eyes as sweet, especially when anger and hurt still filled their depths. The way he’d looked at me over the card table… Our near-tryst had been short-lived and could never happen again. I would only get myself into trouble, and I’d only started on this sordid affair to glean information, not attain another man to flap his jaws at my backside.
“Come,” I said hastily, and turned my horse in the opposite direction of the other riders.
At a discreet pace, Anthony followed until the sounds of the other riders could no longer be heard.
“What is it, Anne?” he asked, his voice filled with concern and irritation.
“Oh, posh, Anthony. ’Tis nothing all that bad. I just needed a moment to speak with you alone, and now that my Lord Beauchamp has returned, private speech has been impossible. And, I daresay, you’ve been avoiding me, at any rate.”
“Well, get on with it then.”
Anthony had never been so curt with me before. I pursed my lips and gave him a reproving look. “I wanted to make it clear that what happened between us two weeks ago was a mistake. I think we should no longer be seen together.”
“Seen together? Why? All of court has seen us together. What difference does it make?”
“You understand my meaning. Do not act as though you do not. ’Tis important we no longer indulge ourselves. If we kept on, Edward would suspect. My brother could have easily been any other courtier.”
Anthony looked away, his lips pressed thinly together. I could tell he was angry. I reached out to touch his arm, the muscles of his forearm thick and hard beneath my fingertips. He pulled his arm from my grasp, and cold, hard eyes fastened on mine. Our horses pranced with irritation at our own raised emotions.
“Do you think me a green boy? Some stable whelp? I am not stupid, Anne. I serve a fiercely smart and volatile master. Think you that I do not know how to keep my indiscretions a secret? Think I might burst into your apartments and ravage you on the dining room table as Lord Beauchamp sups? F*ck you while he watches?” His voice was raised, and he looked down his nose at me like I was an imbecile.
I was taken aback by his speech, his anger. My reaction was just as violent as his words. I was at once swiftly angry, and I leaned forward and slapped him hard on the cheek. The resounding crack was audible throughout the trees.
What was I to do? I could not turn my husband away, and that was the truth of it. I was married. Edward was my husband, and not Anthony. He had no claim on me the way Edward did, and despite having slipped up with Anthony, I was still loyal to my husband and would not risk our marriage. Nor the damning of my soul.
Birds scattered, branches rustled, and in the distance, cheers and shouting could be heard. The stag had been downed just as I struck Sir Anthony. If the shouts could be heard that closely, the beast must have turned around, the crowd heading back our way. I needed to leave soon before someone was upon us, if they weren’t already. King Henry had his spies everywhere, just as my husband, Norfolk and Cromwell did, and any other nobleman high up enough for it to matter.
“How dare you speak to me that way?” I asked. “I came here to warn you, so you would not feel that I backed out of our alliance, or that my affections for you were so shallow as to change overnight. But perhaps you are right. I am the one who’s been na?ve. To think I actually harbored some attachment to you, and thought maybe you might have felt something for me in—”
Sir Anthony cut off my tirade with his hands thrust around the back of my head, hauling me forward, his mouth claiming mine in a fierce, almost violent kiss. I struggled against his kiss, memories of Surrey attacking me rushing to the surface. I pulled back and slapped him again. I felt eyes on me. Although a cursory glance showed me there was no one visible, someone’s eyes bored into the back of my head. Without another word, I turned and galloped back to the castle.
The corridor to my rooms seemed longer and darker than I’d ever remembered. A chill swept through the narrow passage despite the warm temperatures outside. The air felt damp, stirred, alive. And yet, I was alone. Or was I? I hurried along, knowing all the people I would have been interested in running into were outside with the king. Anyone lurking in the shadows did so only for some nefarious purpose.
“Anne.” My name was spoken in a low, condescending tone, too low for me to distinguish whose voice it was. “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Out of the shadows walked Thomas Seymour, Edward’s brother. He shook his head back and forth and wagged his finger. The air left my lungs, and my stomach lurched.
“You’ve been a naughty lady.”
Oh, God! What does he know?
My knees grew weak, and despite the sickness I felt in my belly, I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. “What do you want, Thomas?”
He came closer, his face within an inch of mine. “What do I want? I want a great deal. I want to know why my brother, who is made a cuckold by one wife and made a dog by the other, continues to gain succor from the king. I want to know why I, a real man, remain a groom of the privy chamber, while my brother is made a viscount. I work hard for my king. My sister is a queen. I want my title, too.”
I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest, tapped my foot. “Thomas, you are a younger son. You’ve done little to bring Jane up in the king’s eyes. You also are a fool.”
He bared his teeth at me. “A fool? A fool, you say? I would not stand by and let a second wife make a cuckold of me.”
“Are you accusing me?” I stepped forward, my fists now at my sides, ready to do battle with the jealous whelp.
“I saw you in the forest with Sir Anthony.” His eyes were accusing, and he did not back down.
“Did you? How wonderful for you. Perhaps you heard me tell the man I was ill and to relay this message to Edward?”
“I heard no such thing. I saw him kiss you. I’ve caught you two before. I warned you then, but you have not heeded my warning.”
“He was overcome by the heat, and if you saw him kiss me, surely you saw me slap him.”
“If Edward knew, he would make Sir Anthony call seconds.”
“A duel would settle nothing and only ruin Edward’s chances at a future within this court. Edward is levelheaded, cool, calculating. He thinks before he acts. He is not brash. Perhaps, Sir Thomas, that is why he has risen so high above you.”
Thomas clicked his teeth at me. His hand reached up to cup my breast, pinching my nipple hard. I slammed the heel of my slipper down on his foot and was satisfied with his pained grunt.
“Thomas,” I whispered in his ear. “If I wish a man to touch me, he’ll know it. Do not presume to lay hands on me again. Ever.”
“Your ladyship.” He bowed lightly, pain still registering in his features. I swept past him, toward my rooms.
I now had yet another enemy at court, and this one hung more scandal over my head than I held over his.
July 20, 1536
“Please deliver this message to Sir Thomas Seymour,” I said, confidently handing the note to a groom.
My note to my brother-by-marriage was simple. After spending nearly a pound silver, I had been able to dig up quite a few intriguing rumors regarding dear Thomas. Seemed the man had a penchant close to that of Lord Surrey, yet his forceful ways with the ladies had yet to become knowledge to Edward. Indeed, once his affinity for a certain married and noble woman—Catherine Parr—was made public knowledge, Thomas would be ruined. In my letter, I threatened to expose him should he bother me again.
Additionally, the young Seymour had a bit of a debauched side, gambling away his fortune in local taverns while indulging in sexual congress with whores and blacking out from too much drink in horses’ stalls.
I smirked. All in a few days’ good work, and money well spent. My secrets would stay just that. Yet, it had not solved the problem of having an enemy. That would continue until one of us met our maker, or else we made friends.
There was nothing more abhorrent to me on a hot July day than when I was served a bowl of steaming squash stew for the nooning. It was already dreadfully hot, and to ingest a hot meal only served to make me more miserable. Luckily, a loud knock on our door interrupted the chore of sloshing soup in my bowl.
“I am not expecting anyone. You?” Edward asked.
I shook my head slowly and darted my gaze to the door, my gut clenching in fear.
Edward waved one of the grooms to answer, and we both stood from our table.
My mother, Page and my half-sister, Elizabeth, entered the room.
“A surprise, we weren’t expecting you,” I said, a subtle hint of hostility in my voice.
“My lady, my lord,” my mother and Page murmured, ducking into curtsies and bows. Lizzie pouted as she curtsied but said nothing.
“Shall I have a groom fetch you something to eat? You are more than welcome to join us at our table.” Edward held out his hand, indicating they should sit.
Mother and Page both hungrily eyed the table but ultimately declined, much to my relief.
“No, we have not the time for a lingering social call, my lord. In fact, we only wanted to come by and express our thanks for finding us lodgings at court. Our room is adequate, if small.” Page sneered and eyed our rooms, which were larger and no doubt much more opulently decorated.
My breath caught in my throat. So their pleas had finally been heeded. Did this mean they would leave me alone? That their threats would be no longer? I fervently prayed it would be so.
Edward nodded. “Very well. Good day to you, then.”
Mother and Page looked a little taken aback at being dismissed but said nothing as they dipped again in reverence and left the room.
I returned to my soup, which had cooled considerably. “Thank you, Edward.”
“Do not thank me, my lady wife. The king would like to keep an eye on Page. He’s apt to bring trouble to the foreground.” He wiped at his mouth with a napkin. “Did I mention to you that your brother Richard has somehow managed to become a groom to the king?”
My eyes widened in surprise. For even though I’d had an idea something of the sort would occur, that Anthony would make sure of it, to keep my brother’s silence about our near-tryst, I was not confident it would happen so quickly. “How fortuitous for him.”
“Yes…” Edward squinted his eyes at me, my guess trying to read my thoughts. Eventually, he looked away and continued to eat his soggy, now cold, squash stew.
July 25, 1536
The Duke of Richmond was dead. Several days now.
He’d died suddenly, unexpectedly, and some say, unnaturally. There was no injury from an accident. There was no long, drawn-out illness. Healthy one day and on death’s door the next. Fear raced through every Seymour in the kingdom.
We now had no more fear of him taking the throne over one of Jane’s own children—but, instead, a fear of who murdered him—and if we’d be blamed for it.
People were suspicious, as was I. Walking up and down the corridors, from the great hall to the queen’s rooms, to the gardens and beyond, everyone stared at one another, their eyes casting doubts.
Poor Mary Howard. She had my sympathy in being a widow, especially when it was well known about court that she and Richmond had never been allowed to live truly as husband and wife. But as the Howards were my enemies, I wouldn’t allow myself to mourn with her long. The girl would bounce back, and her family would suck her back into their ring and thrust her back out. A pawn she’d be once more.
Rumors rippled across the court. How had Richmond died? Who was to blame?
Because no Howard would end their affiliation with the king, courtiers turned their eyes to us Seymours. We stood to gain from the young duke’s death.
Richmond had been healthy but a few weeks ago. Now dead, and interred in secret, too. Supposedly, he’d died of consumption, coughing and spitting up blood. The sickness had come on quickly and abruptly ended his life. They said he had been poisoned, but by who? And why, from the rumors, it sounded as though he had indeed died of consumption.
Rumor had it, the king ordered Norfolk to make the funeral arrangements. The body of Henry Fitzroy was to be wrapped in lead and taken in a covered wagon for burial. But whispers abounded that Norfolk’s lazy servants had tossed the body into an open wagon and covered the poor boy with straw. Only two servants had attended his burial.
Bastard or no, a king’s son deserved more than that. And we Seymours had had nothing to do with his death.
The queen’s chambers were subdued, the older women sewing and mending shirts and the younger maidens making flower arrangements. I was sitting quietly with Queen Jane. She was mending the king’s shirts, and I was embroidering a new linen shift for her.
A sudden commotion at the door made us jump, and I pricked myself with the needle.
“Ouch!” Thrusting my finger into my mouth, I looked up to see two of the king’s grooms approaching.
“Majesty.” They bowed in unison, their expressions grave as they faced their queen.
“Gentlemen.” Queen Jane inclined her head, her voice not quavering at all, the only telltale sign of her nervousness the subtle shake of her fingers.
“We have a message for Lady Beauchamp.”
My eyes widened, and I clamped my jaw tight.
“Proceed,” the queen instructed.
I let the linen and needle fall to my lap as they handed me a rolled parchment. They bowed and backed out of the room, not waiting for my reply. All eyes were on me as I unrolled the parchment to see Edward’s long, scrolling hand in black ink, his letters quivering slightly at some parts. I had to read the note four times before I fully understood. The fourth time, I could barely make out the letters as tears pooled in my eyes. My brother, Richard. Treason. Arrested. My hands shook, and I dropped the paper.
I opened my mouth to ask Jane to be excused, but only a small croak came out.
“Go and tend to yourself,” Jane whispered. I nodded, now completely blinded by tears. I stood and nearly forgot the letter as it fell to the floor. One of the other ladies picked it up and handed it to me, careful not to look at its contents.
I marched from the room as best I could, head held high, and tearful eyes straight forward. Somehow, I made it to our apartments before collapsing in a heap on the floor, my body shaking uncontrollably, my throat constricting as if the hangman’s noose were wrapped tightly around it. I reached up as if to yank at the tethers, but only my necklace was around my neck. I tore at it, ripping it away from me, and flung it as gurgling sounds issued from my throat, my breaths uneven and halting.
One hand at my throat, and another at my heart. I would surely die this minute. The letter must have been poisoned. But in reality I knew that it was not poison of any tangible kind, but the poison of thoughts and fear.
My brother Richard, as much as I detested him, had not deserved the fate the king had given him.
Arrested for treason. Charged in suspicion with Richmond’s death.
If the allegations were founded, he would die a miserable and painful death, his body mutilated and no one to answer the calls of his suffering but God. I would see his head on London Bridge every time I passed. ’Twas a lie! Richard would not do something so loathsome.
I knew he was innocent. My brother, my blood, could die as a scapegoat. For someone must be blamed for the king’s son’s death. Richard was accused of poisoning the king’s child. Blackmail or nay, he was my brother. There was no word on who had told the king of this news, but supposedly there was a witness to his treachery. There was nothing we could do but pray. And pray that someone did not wish a similar fate on me.
Without warning, I retched onto the waxed wooden floor, painful, gut-twisting, throat-burning, until not a drop was left in my body.
News came swiftly, before Richard’s trial was to begin, he was found dead in his cell within the Tower. His death a mystery. Some suspected poison, but they would give us no other news than that. His body had been buried before we were notified.
I couldn’t summon the gumption to speak. The effort to even rise from bed was too much. How easily any of us could be accused of wrong-doing, and then be whisked from life. None of us were safe.
The following morning, Edward moved my household to the north for a much-needed respite. But truly, I should have said, for escape, at least until fall had returned and the whispers of my brother’s treasonous charge were no longer the hot topic amongst courtiers.
I could not be witness to my brother’s death, and Edward was fearful my presence would irritate the king.
My mother tried to come to me, but I would not see her. She sent a note, which I burned without reading. I did not wish for her sympathies. She had always hated Richard and me. Any words she said would only be fabrications and falsehoods to put herself within my good graces so she might extract yet another favor from me.
Michael, my other brother, Richard’s true blood, had been sent overseas to gather information for the king from Brussels, and had yet to learn of Richard’s fate. I did not wish to be the one to tell him, but I knew coming from my lips, the hurt would be lessened. He would be the only Stanhope heir left.
I swallowed hard, my tears dried, but the choking feeling in my throat remained. I looked to the heavens and offered a prayer up for both of my brothers. Let God have mercy on their souls!