in principle. Of course, there are things to be decided—property, dowry, jointures, that kind of thing. Financial details. He has promised me a firm answer as soon as he’s able. Maybe in a week or so.’
‘And me, Father? Shall I give him my answer as soon as I’m able?’
Both parents glared at her, detecting a certain facetiousness instead of the grateful excitement they thought due to them. ‘What on earth can you mean, Virginia?’ said her mother. ‘Sir Jon doesn’t need an answer from you. You will do as you’re instructed and think yourself fortunate. Your father has had this in mind for some time. You might thank him, instead of arguing.’
* * *
That night, Ginny had hardly slept for excitement. Sir Jon wished to make her his wife. It was two weeks before they had a message from Sir Jon to say that his father, a prisoner of war in France for the past three years, had died. It was another month before Ginny was told, almost casually by her father, that the hoped-for marriage would not now be going ahead. Sir Jon would be marrying a very wealthy woman, well known at court. Huge properties. Massive dowry. Beautiful wife with good connections, and older by some three years than an inexperienced sixteen-year-old. Sir Walter was disappointed but philosophical. ‘Politics,’ he said unhelpfully, in answer to Ginny’s question why.
Over the past six weeks, Ginny had existed in an unreal world of make-believe, of elation and fright, of overwhelming emotions and mental preparation in readiness for the dream of all dreams, of being wedded to the only man ever to share her wildest fancies of love and possession, and a good many other things too vaguely intimate to dwell on for long. Brought up to regard herself as a good catch for any man, she had almost taken it as a matter of course that, once negotiations were complete, he would come to claim her in person and make himself just a little less forbidding than he had been at their first meeting when her father had talked to him of deals. But Ginny, in love for the first time and so full of hope, was hurt, insulted, and bitterly resentful to have been rejected for someone older, wealthier and more royally connected than herself. The humiliation would not be forgotten or forgiven, and if those were indeed his best reasons, she hoped his marriage would be a disaster and that his crops would all fail, year after year.
* * *
So for the following three years, while Ginny remained at home with her mother, saw her older sister married and bear a child—rather too soon to escape comments about dates—and heard about the death of Sir Jon’s wife in childbirth, her heart ached with a wound that was taking far too long to heal. Had it not been for Ben’s adoration and the chaotic housing of Sandrock Priory’s library, life might have been dull. And had it not been for her parents’ regular attempts to tempt her with possible suitors, much too soon after the first, she might have made more of an effort to recover.
Then the king had come to stay at D’Arvall Hall on a hunting trip and Ginny’s contact with the royal court first-hand had begun a chain of events that opened the old wound all over again. In that autumn of 1539, Ginny was six months past her nineteenth birthday, and if she had been considered lovely before, she was now stunningly beautiful and worthy of the king’s admiration. For him, the sight of the daughter of his cofferer at D’Arvall Hall seemed to soothe his heart as much as his sight, though at the time, Ginny thought nothing much of his interest. According to her information, the king was equally interested in every young woman at court, and flirting was part of normal court behaviour. She had, however, sadly underestimated the situation.
* * *
For reasons that she kept to herself, Ginny did not respond with the expected level of enthusiasm when, just after New Year in 1540, her father sent a message to say that she was to go to court. Immediately. ‘But I’d really rather not, Mother,’ Ginny said, putting down her basket of herbs on the table. ‘You know I have no wish to get involved with that crowd.’
Her mother rarely raised her voice, but this time she could not contain her annoyance. ‘For pity’s sake, Ginny! Will you but listen, for once? The king has a new wife now.’
‘Another one? Who is it this time?’
‘If you took more interest in your father’s news, you’d know. She is the Lady Anna of Cleves...’
‘Cleves?’ Ginny frowned.
‘In Flanders. A small duchy. The king needs an ally in Europe. It’s a good match, but the king wishes you to go and help with her wardrobe. She’s unfashionable. She needs help with her English, too. She has no music skills. No dancing. No card games. You should be flattered to be asked to help.’
‘Commanded, Mother.’
‘Whatever. And take that basket off the polished table.’
* * *
A week later, Ginny was at Hampton Court Palace, not far from London, with a court that contained Sir Jon Raemon, now aged twenty-seven, widowed, a father, and favourite of King Henry. Favourite of just about everyone except, that was, of Mistress Virginia D’Arvall.
Chapter One
1540
‘Yes, Father,’ Ginny murmured for the fourth time as Sir Walter D’Arvall checked every buckle and strap of the bay gelding’s harness. As the king’s cofferer, he lived his life by lists, weights, and proportions, payments, people and accounts, and his new day had begun even before it checked in over the stable roofs of Hampton Court Palace. Watching her father’s hands roam over the well-stuffed bags and pouches, Ginny caught the eye of the two young grooms who would be her escort, waiting patiently for the inevitable criticism.
It was levelled at her instead. ‘It’s all very well you “Yes, Father”, my girl,’ he said with a last push at the bulging pack behind her saddle. ‘If things start to fall off, you’ll wish you’d listened to me. Now, don’t ride on after nightfall. You two hear me?’ he admonished the grooms. ‘Not a step. Get as far as Elvetham and stay overnight with Sir Edward Seymour’s lady. She’ll look after you. You should make D’Arvall Hall by tomorrow midmorning, with an early start. These days are so short. We could have done without the snow, too.’ Turning his lined face up to the grey sky, he blinked at the flurry of white settling on his eyelids. ‘I don’t suppose it will do much.’ He delved a hand into the leather pouch hanging from his belt and withdrew a folded parchment, passing it to Ginny with the command, ‘Take this to your mother. Keep it safe. In your pouch, close to your person. It’s important.’ A blob of green wax from the office glistened in the pale light.
‘Yes, Father. How important? About the boys, is it?’ Sir Walter was ambitious for his offspring. The message would surely be about her brothers.
‘Not about the boys, no. She’ll tell you. Time to be off, Virginia.’
She wished he might have taken her into his confidence, this once, as he did with Elion and Paul. At almost twenty years old, was it not time he could trust her with a verbal message? If Lady Agnes could tell her, then why could he not?
Not that she minded being back home for a while. Hampton Court Palace was a fine place to stay, even in winter, but the bewildering intrigues of the royal court demanded all one’s skills in diplomacy these days and, even with father and older brothers to lend advice, each day had been a challenge that made her glad of her temporary position. To leave, she had needed only the new queen’s permission, and the gentle Anna of Cleves was as easy to please as anyone could wish. What a pity, Ginny thought, that the lady had found so little favour in the eyes of her cantankerous husband, Henry.
At
