Betrayed, Betrothed and Bedded. Juliet Landon

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Betrayed, Betrothed and Bedded - Juliet Landon Mills & Boon Historical

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emerged with faces both happy and curious, their breath like clouds in the freezing air, puffing with laughter.

      Always content to stay at home rather than at court, Lady Agnes D’Arvall was nevertheless eager to hear from her daughter every detail of the life there, unbiased by the accounts of husband and sons. Politics, rivalries and appointments were far less interesting to her than what the ladies were wearing, doing and saying, information that Ginny was soon happy to supply across a white cloth spread with trenchers of warm bread, cheeses, roast pigeon and wild duck, apple-and-plum pie, spiced wine, nuts, and honeyed pears. Good homely fare, Ginny told her mother, that she’d missed at court.

      ‘What, with all that variety and every day different?’ said Lady Agnes. ‘I doubt your father and brothers miss it so much. I think that’s one of the things that keeps them there.’

      From what Ginny had seen and heard in her month of the queen’s service, the main attraction of the court for her older brothers had less to do with food than with women—more varied, more attractive and easily obtained. ‘You know full well what keeps them there,’ Ginny said, closing a hand over her mother’s wrist. ‘Father believes that, with enough of the D’Arvalls in the king’s service, he’ll be in line for promotion. Heaven knows, the king puts people down and sets others up so fast these days, I dare say Father could find himself Lord Steward one day.’

      Lady Agnes leaned forwards so that one of the long black-velvet lappets of her headdress flapped onto her bosom. ‘No, I really don’t see that happening. Yes, Sir Walter is ambitious, and I believe the king regards him well, but commoners don’t make leaps of that kind, my dear. Well, apart from Thomas Cromwell, of course. Tell me about the king’s new wife, Queen Anna. Does he like her any better now?’

      ‘No, Mother. I fear not. He rarely comes near her except at night.’

      ‘After only a month? Poor lady. Then what? Has he taken a mistress?’

      Delivered lightly, the question held more interest than Lady Agnes had intended and her daughter’s ears were quick to detect it. Since King Henry had first noticed Ginny during his brief stay at D’Arvall Hall late last year, Lady Agnes, as ambitious as her husband, had recognised what might result from his mild flirtation, for that was how he had wooed and won his second and third wives, Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymour. His summons to her daughter, just after the New Year wedding to the Lady Anna of Cleves, had been no great surprise to Sir Walter and Lady Agnes, or indeed their sons, even disguised as a temporary position in his bride’s new household. Now the seemingly innocent question about mistresses demanded more than a simple denial when the king’s amorous intentions were rarely simple.

      ‘Flirtations, Mother,’ Ginny said. ‘That’s all he can do, I think. Several of Queen Anna’s ladies were with Queen Jane before her death, and some go even further back than that. He flirts with most of them. It’s almost expected of him. All the men do it.’ It was a fact of court life. It meant nothing.

      But if Sir Walter was ambitious for his sons, his wife was equally ambitious for her daughters, and any suggestion of interest from Henry would raise her expectations sky-high. ‘And you?’ said Lady Agnes gently. ‘He still flirts with you, does he?’

      Ginny turned a shelled walnut over and over in her fingers, studying its contours. ‘That’s why I’m glad to get away,’ she replied, aware that her mother’s two ladies were listening to her reply. They had known her since she was a babe. They were also aware of the king’s methods in pursuing women he wanted. ‘I’ve grown to admire Queen Anna,’ said Ginny after a pause. ‘She’s a lovely lady.’

      ‘Lovely, dear?’ said Lady Agnes. ‘I thought they said she was not.’

      The elder of the two ladies interrupted. ‘Men,’ she whispered, angrily. ‘They’ll say black is white if it suits them. Our Good King Henry will do whatever he pleases to get himself out of a situation he doesn’t much like, even slandering a good woman.’

      Again, Ginny’s hand came to rest and comfort her mother, understanding that this particular reference was not to the king’s present dilemma, but to his first wife, whose life was made a misery after his affections had changed. She had been much beloved by everyone, unlike his second. Ginny continued, ‘Queen Anna’s only fault is that she didn’t fit in with Henry’s expectations. She’s taller than he thought, for one thing, and Master Holbein’s painting made her look sweet and demure, which she is. But Master Holbein and she could converse in their native German so he was able to see much more of her inner loveliness, and that was what he portrayed. And then there was that awful fiasco at Rochester when she landed and Henry rushed down to surprise her without any warning. That really was the stupidest thing to do. What woman likes to be seen when she’s not looking her best, I ask you?’

      ‘Well,’ said her mother, ‘I’m pleased to know you like her. So what does Sir Walter think about all this? Is he—?’

      ‘Oh! I almost forgot. I have a letter for you. Wait, Mother, I’ll go up and get it from my pouch. He’ll tell you what’s happening, I expect.’

      With a space cleared on the table before her, Lady Agnes smoothed the parchment out, adjusted a pair of fragile spectacles on her nose and frowned at the words underlined by her moving finger, words she had clearly not expected. In summer, perhaps, but not in February. ‘He’s bringing the king,’ she murmured. ‘Again. Oh, my lord!’

      ‘Where? Here? Why could he not have told me himself?’

      ‘For two nights, for some hawking. With a few friends, before the court moves to Whitehall.’

      ‘With the queen? Does Queen Anna come, too?’

      ‘Er...no, dear. Not the queen.’

      ‘Hah!’ said the lady who’d spoken before. ‘What’s that all about, then? Not hawking, you can be sure of that.’

      ‘Hush, Joan,’ said Lady Agnes. ‘You’ve said enough already to land you in the Tower. He’s bringing with him...a husband...for our daughter Virginia.’ Her finger moved on, then reversed its direction, Lady Agnes repeating, ‘...a husband...for...Virginia.’

      ‘I don’t want a husband, thank you, Mother,’ Ginny said firmly, ‘and I certainly don’t want one of the king’s choosing. Send a message back. Thank you, but no.’

      Lady Agnes pushed the finger farther along while her two ladies, one useful for her wisdom, the other for her energy, leaned in to read the astonishing words in silence. ‘One of his gentlemen of the bedchamber, no less. Oh, Ginny! That’s a great honour. One of his own personal friends.’

      ‘Oh, good gracious, Mother! One of that crowd. I’d rather...’ The words of denial froze on her lips as the picture formed in her mind of yesterday’s little scene in the stable yard at Hampton Court Palace when a certain gentleman of the king’s bedchamber had appeared at her father’s side for no very good reason. At least, that was how it had seemed. What had he been doing there? ‘Who, Mother? Does Father say who it is? And does he say why the king is involving himself in my future?’ Unconsciously, a hand crept up to rest over her heart, pulsing to the heavy thud beneath her stiffly boned bodice.

      ‘Yes. He says the king regards you highly for your comeliness and charm, and for your assistance to Her Grace the queen, and...’

      ‘Oh, I don’t mean all that flummery, Mother. I’ve done no more than anyone else would have. Who does he propose as a husband and what’s the deal? I’ve learned enough in my short time at court to know he doesn’t give

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