Chapter Two
Upon the gentle beast to gaze it pleased me,
For still methought he seemed well of noble blood to be.
~Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey
May 20, 1536
Whereas yesterday barely a sound could be heard throughout the long halls and the evening meal had been quite somber—echoes of Anne’s jovial and vibrant laughter had almost seemed deafening in the silence—today was anything but. This morning, Henry had announced his betrothal to Jane to his Privy Council at Hampton Court, and we Seymours and more than half the court had sighed with relief.
Laughter, music, talking could be heard in all directions as I headed toward the king’s chambers with Edward, the most important courtiers and ladies having transferred here from Greenwich. Excitement raced through my blood, as the second piece on the chess board was moved and showed in our favor. The muscles of my face felt strained from having to keep a stoic countenance rather than smiling widely as I wanted to.
I had heard from Edward that Sir Francis Bryan had delivered the news to Jane about Anne Boleyn’s death, while she’d waited on the Strand last eventide. He’d also said that Henry, dressed in white mourning clothes, had hopped onto his barge and rowed quickly to Jane’s side, where he had had dinner with her before retiring to Hampton Court. I’d spent the remainder of yesterday in bed with a headache—although I suspected it had more to do with my sick conscience over Anne Boleyn.
Plain Jane. My sister-by-marriage was perhaps the opposite of everything the king’s previous wife had embodied. Where Anne had been bold and vibrant, Jane was meek and quiet. Where Anne had questioned religion—even persuading the king to reform!—Jane was pious and humble. Where Anne had been dark and beautiful, Jane was pale and plain. Dark versus light. Anne had been outspoken; Jane was docile. Anne had ridiculed Katharine of Aragon’s existence and had had the Princess Mary stripped of her title and declared a bastard, Jane was sympathetic toward them, held great respect for Katharine and compassion for Mary.
Anne had been accused of witchcraft, but already people said that Jane was full of goodness. It was an opinion held by many, except for the ambassador to Spain, Chapuys, who had been saying there was no way Jane could still be a virgin. The man had been spreading heresy that at age five and twenty, having spent so much time at the English court, which was rife with immorality, her maidenhead had certainly been in jeopardy.
Chapuys needed to be silenced. Perhaps I would have to be the one to see it done.
“My lady, have you heard?” I turned to face Jane Rochford, shaking her grasp from my arm. I felt as though her devil’s touch burned right through the fabric of my gown.
Although I could barely tolerate the woman, whenever she had a rumor on her lips I felt it my personal duty to listen, if only to stifle the words from her mouth.
“Go on.”
“The Princess Elizabeth has been taken to Hatfield, the king having ordered her from Greenwich and away from his sight.”
I nodded and kept moving forward, Jane Rochford on my left, Edward on my right. We skirted our way around painters and workers. Jane Seymour had arrived after the sunrise, early enough to not be noticed by those at court, and now, at nearly nine o’clock in the morning, we would soon have her formally betrothed to the king. It sickened me that Lady Rochford, a woman full of venom and deceit, would be allowed to attend Jane.
Already, servants at Henry’s various palaces had begun replacing Anne’s falcon badge with Jane’s own emblem, a phoenix rising from a castle amid flames and red and white Tudor roses. Initials that had been painted throughout the halls and monogrammed on linens with A and H were now being hurriedly covered to present J and H. Jane’s motto was modest and most appealed to the king: “Bound to obey and serve.”
She was wise enough to take my advice on this motto, and I was glad for it.
We arrived and greeted the king and future queen very formally. The betrothal ceremony was over within minutes, and Henry urged us to take Jane back to Wulfhall, which we agreed to most readily as the wedding ceremony was set for ten days’ time.
Ten days until the Seymour name would be forever linked with Tudor.
Monday, May 29, 1536
We returned to Whitehall Palace, all the wedding preparations complete. Jane’s apartments, although slightly altered, still shouted Anne Boleyn. Jane fingered some of the bright purple and maroon upholstered chairs.
“We must have these changed to more muted colors. I am thinking sage and gold might do.” She turned in a circle, her blonde hair delicately swishing against her back, her eyes filled with the same emotions I felt—fear, guilt, sadness.
I nodded my agreement. The toned-down fabrics would suit Jane immensely and change the effect of the room to a more modest state. Anne Boleyn had been outlandish. Jane needed to embody humility.
I waved away the attendants so that it was only Jane and I in the room. She looked at me, confusion in her eyes, and I motioned for her to sit with me by the banked fire.
“Jane, we must speak about an urgent matter.” I paused, taking in the pure countenance of the future queen. No one could be that pure, especially having gained the attention of King Henry, a man known for his amorous appetite. Was there any credit to the words Chapuys had so brazenly spoken? My eyes were drawn to her breasts, pushed to the limits of her gold and ivory bodice embroidered with pearls. If she took too harsh a breath, her nipples would surely burst out. They were quite plush, her breasts… She could not have been so na?ve to display her décolletage in such an enticing way. Perhaps little pure Jane was a bit more knowledgeable than we’d all given her credit for.
“You were saying?” She had a way of looking at me as if she knew all my darkest secrets and still forgave me. I felt almost dirty for what I was about to say.
“It is a matter of some delicacy.”
Jane pursed her lips and turned her head, interested, curious. Her hands were folded demurely in her lap. Jane Rochford took that moment to enter, but my glare in her direction sent her scurrying away. Even still, I leaned closer to whisper. No need for the viper’s tongue to spread more rumors.
“I am certes you know that tomorrow, after the wedding, you will be expected to perform certain duties.”
Jane nodded. I noted the whiteness of her knuckles. She was nervous. Perhaps my thoughts did not have any credence? I must forge ahead as Edward had bid me, as uncomfortable as I was with this conversation. I had a duty to Jane, a duty to Edward and a duty to myself. If I neglected that duty, did not put my fullest efforts into it, then we were all dead. A vision of my own lifeless blue eyes startled me. I quickly composed myself, licked my lips.
“Are you well aware of what happens in the marriage bed?”
At this, Jane laughed. “Surely, Anne, you cannot think I am that innocent. I’ve been at court long enough to witness the act!”
“Have you…” I let my question hang in the air.
She gasped, her hand fluttering to her neck, her blue eyes widening. Could it be she already feared the executioner’s blade? For the glint of sun off his blade was never far from my own mind.
“Dear God, no!” she exhaled.
I took a deep sigh. Virgin blood on the sheets tomorrow night would certainly save this queen. I wouldn’t be surprised if the king waved the bloody stain before all of London. Thank the Lord, my dear Edward had known my own plight and not blinked an eye when our marriage bed had not yielded bloody sheets. “There have been rumors,” I murmured.
Jane sighed. “I’ve heard. Chapuys, I believe. But no matter, I will soon be back in his good graces. He seeks only to reinstate Lady Mary into the king’s good graces, a goal I also have.”
Sweet Jane. It was moments like this, when I saw the goodness in her, that I wished she had been married off sooner to a nice man, a man who would treat her well, love her, cherish her. Were it not for the good of the family, I would not wish King Henry on anyone… well, except Lady Rochford, perhaps. A woman whose devious machinations reminded me of my own, and everything I hated and feared in myself.
I would have been a different woman were it not for Surrey. The moment he attacked me, he robbed me of more than my maidenhood. He hardened me. Transformed me. Embittered me such that I could never give my husband—or any man—the purest, softest part of myself. But to Edward, I could give my loyalty and hard determination. My machinations and deviousness.
And I hoped it would be counted as love, in the end.
So I was not entirely like Lady Rochford.
Certainly, Lady Rochford did not calculate in the same way as I did. I was a woman who planned for how each act I took would cause a reaction, and on top of that another reaction, until a chain of events fell into place like dominoes. But Lady Rochford, she acted out of vengeance and was never more than half a step ahead or several feet behind. She was dangerous for everyone.
“You will be expected to perform your wifely duty often, until you are with child, and most likely soon after you’ve delivered, you will be expected to resume your duties. The king will need at least one prince and will surely wish to have a spare,” I said.
“This I know.” Jane’s face went pale at the reminder of the one thing the king’s previous wives had been unable to deliver.
She was under a mountain of pressure to perform a deed she had no control over. A deed that two previous women before her had not—but there were two sons at least born to the king, though not of his wives, but from his mistresses.
What was it about being Henry VIII’s wife that made conceiving a male so difficult?
Jane worried her bottom lip with her teeth, her fingers tightening in her skirts. My heart going out to her, I reached forward and clasped her hand—small, cold and trembling slightly—giving her a gentle squeeze. “You will persevere, Jane. You will make the king happy.”
I hoped that at least a small measure of my confidence ebbed through her.
Jane flicked her gaze to me. She didn’t speak, only nodded.
I, too, feared having a child and was blessed with a husband who agreed it was not the right time to start a family. Edward wanted there to be no doubt in whether our first child was his—and not the creation of Surrey’s attack. But then, he’d also not wanted to ask so much of me, knowing I’d been in a fragile state upon marrying. Despite what we’d been taught by the church, I took precautions, albeit rudimentary—and penance for doing so—to prevent our conceiving. But Jane did not have that luxury. She’d be expected to quicken with child within the first year of marriage.
“Jane, we are sisters now. I am here to help you.”
Her eyes, still wide, gazed into mine. She was petrified.
“Anne, should I have a girl…” She swallowed.
“Nonsense. A boy it will be. We shall ensure it.”
Her eyes widened, and I could see the pulse in her throat jump. “How?”
“I have spoken to several midwives, and they have all told me that a woman can track her monthly to figure out when she is most fertile. During your fertile time, intercourse should happen on that day, but not a few days after and not a few days before.”
“How is it possible for them to know this? How can I keep the king from me?”
“If you cannot keep him, there is a remedy. Vinegar. You will use it as a wash.”
Jane fingered her gown, listening to my words. I was not much for potions or planning a pregnancy, and the words the midwives told me seemed true enough. I only prayed they worked…
“You should eat a lot of fruits and vegetables, not so much meat.” I continued to list the advice given me, until Jane looked ready to faint. I myself was starting to feel light-headed. “Why do you not rest? Remember, I am always here for you, and I will guide you, sweet Jane.”
She grasped my hand as I stood. “Would you sit here, read with me for a while?”
It was the least I could do, help this poor soul to settle her nerves. I poured Jane a cup of wine and pulled her Bible from a trunk. We started at the beginning and read for over two hours. Exhaustion seeped into us both, and soon I tucked Jane into bed for a nap, before crawling in beside her to seek my own slumber. Jane had been taken by night terrors as of late and begged me to stay with her should she need comfort.
I did not tell her that I had night terrors of my own, and we might both wake up screaming.
Tuesday, May 30, 1536
The day had arrived. Jane would marry King Henry VIII of England and soon would be pronounced Queen Jane of England.
My heart constricted with trepidation. Literally everything hinged on this marriage.
The ceremony, held in the Queen’s Closet at Whitehall, was small and private, only those pertinent people, messengers and ambassadors attended. Archbishop Cranmer presided over the ceremony. I was overcome with emotions, and they all tangled up inside, threatening to make me go mad. I was happy, excited, terrified, nervous, and my emotions replayed again and again. My hands were clammy, and nausea ruled my belly. My only solace was the virginals played so sweetly, the voices of the choir like angels. Jane, too, looked like an angel, her smile sweet and genuine.
I was struck then, as I watched her gaze on the king with kindness and he in return, that perhaps they were actually in love. Was it possible? I did not believe Henry capable of the emotion, but I supposed I wanted to believe it, for Jane’s sake. Relief was added to the mix of emotions jumbled within me.
Edward squeezed my fingers. “Remember our wedding?”
“Yes,” I whispered. We’d had a small ceremony. And we’d gazed much on each other as Jane and Henry did. It was a happy time. Edward, my savior.
“Everything is falling into place.” He kissed my knuckles and then released me as we listened to the couple exchange their vows.
From across the nave, my attention was caught by a tall, handsome courtier, new to court. His features were reminiscent of Roman statues and beneath his feathered cap, his brown hair curled in a charming way. I swallowed around the sudden lump in my throat. Unwanted sensation wove its way around my ribs. He was beautiful. Stirred something foreign inside me. Disturbed me. His dark gaze connected with mine, holding me captive. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but I could not connect where I would have known him from. Fire flashed in his eyes, causing my stomach to clench. Who was this man? Why did he stare so?
More importantly, why did I stare back?
The virginals sounded loudly, ringing in my ears, and bringing my attention back to the event at hand. When I glanced back across the nave, he was gone. A rush of apprehension and fear filled me. Sweat pooled against the dip in the small of my back, and I sucked in a breath, in desperate need for air. Why had I stirred so with this stranger?
No good could come from this.
With the ceremony ended, I forced the incident from my mind, and we followed the royal couple to the great hall, where Jane sat for the first time in the queen’s chair beneath the canopy of royal estate. Henry sat beside her, lifted her hand in the air, and shouted, “My wife! My Queen. Sweet, beautiful, Jane!”
The crowd of courtiers cheered. My heart lurched in my chest, and I did allow one small smile to escape. Servants passed around wine, sweetmeats, cheese, bread, fruits and other delicacies, of which I could only nibble as my stomach still revolted against food. Tension ruled me.
Henry presented Jane with over one hundred manors, forests and an income to support her household. But on a more personal note, he presented her with a wedding gift, a gold cup designed by the reputable Hans Holbein himself. Jane’s motto was inscribed numerous times on the design, and the letters J and H were intertwined with a love knot. Jane thanked Henry with a kiss and then had a footman pour wine into her new goblet and drank from it merrily.
I caught myself looking for the mysterious courtier, praying he was not near, but each time I redirected myself to Jane, the king and my husband, until my mind no longer wandered. And by what could only be considered sheer luck—or divine intervention—he had disappeared. I started to relax. Another move had been made on the chess board, and it was in the direction of our own victory. I should have been pleased, ecstatic that things were going our way. But I couldn’t help but think of those who had come before us, and they too must have looked on with triumph in their eyes, only to find some time later that death graced their doorsteps.
My gaze caught on Secretary Cromwell as he strolled the perimeter of the great hall, looking smug, though he must feel the tension of the king’s displeasure, surely. The man had been shocked when his chambers were taken so swiftly and given over to the king’s new favorites—us—though he hid it well.
I refused to be caught off guard as Cromwell was. I would know beforehand if the king sought to strip us of our entails.
From the court’s lively appearance, it seemed most were pleased with the situation, but I could not help spying the Duke of Norfolk as he glowered in a corner. Wherever the duke was, his son, Surrey, my bitter enemy, was not far behind. A cursory glance did not show him to be present at the moment, but that did not mean he would not arrive. The duke spoke to another courtier, hands moving wildly, most likely displeased with his fall from grace. He’d been seen lamenting about the palace of his love for the king, how he’d been wickedly used by his niece—Anne Boleyn. A ploy, for I am certain he had a hand in the rise and fall of his beloved niece, but the king fell for it all the same. After all, Norfolk was on the committee delegated to investigating her numerous sexual affairs.
I touched Edward’s hand and smiled. “Will you excuse me, my lord?”
He looked toward where I nodded my head and smiled. “With pleasure.”
Since I was merely a woman, men did not think twice to continue their conversations. Spying on courtiers was easy, especially when I jumped into the dancing crowd near Norfolk.
His whispers were hushed, but nevertheless I caught the words he spoke.
“She is a Catholic. We must be wary. The possibility is entirely there that she will convince Henry not to continue with reform.”
“What of Elizabeth? Will our own princess be thrust aside like Mary? Will Mary be put back into the succession and Elizabeth left in the cold?”
“Those are my fears as well.”
No plans were hatched, but their very fears only said more than words. A plot would be put into place soon. Another Howard girl would be thrust under the king’s nose. I was more aware now of what schemes our enemies might seek to play.
When we returned to Greenwich for Jane to set up her household, I was heartily disappointed when Jane Rochford was chosen as Lady of the Bedchamber. I had had hopes for that position to be mine.
I was Jane’s sister-by-marriage after all. But I comforted myself in knowing the queen did not choose her own blood sister, either. I conceded that it was smart of Queen Jane to give the scorpion such a position. Lady Rochford was a major player in Anne’s downfall. Giving her the position knocked out two birds with one stone: a thank you, for now Jane was queen, and a closer eye could now be held on the vicious woman—a duty that was then relegated to me.