Chapter Seven #2
“Half the court loathes the other half. That does not lead to murder.”
“Then what does?”
“Self-interest,” Eleanor answered promptly.
“You want to get to the bottom of this, look to those whose interests have been threatened by this girl.” She tipped her chin up and eyed him thoughtfully.
“Which, I suppose, places me on your list. But I assure you, when I want William back, I will not need violence to do it. I am skilled at tricks your precious Minuette would blush to know of. For all his recent infatuation, the king has not forgotten me.”
Not knowing which was worse—her arrogance or her recognition of William’s current passion—Dominic said tightly, “You may go—for now. I shall inform the king that you have been less than cooperative. If I were you, I would start packing. I believe your time at court is drawing to an end.”
Eleanor rose in a silken flutter and stepped near him, until he could not move without touching her. Her smile had a distinctly intimate feel to it. “I don’t know why you keep to yourself, Dominic, but I know frustration when I see it. If you ever wish to seek relief …”
She drew her fingertips across his cheekbone. Catching her wrist cruelly in one hand, Dominic used his other hand to unbolt and open the door.
As Dominic watched Eleanor walk away, he caught Harrington’s unspoken query and shook his head.
This wasn’t quite what William had meant.
He had not been discreet, and he had not been disinterested.
In just a few days back at court, it seemed Eleanor had already divined William’s passion for Minuette.
Even if she did not know the depth of it, she could wreak havoc with the French if she so chose, which was one more reason to get her away from court as quickly as possible.
But even more worrying to Dominic was the thought that, if she could perceive William’s love for Minuette so plainly, might she not also uncover his?
Elizabeth knew perfectly well she was being snappish and irritable and that her temper had nothing to do with those she took it out on. At least she refrained from throwing things as her mother had used to.
One source of her temper continued to be her young cousin’s disastrous marriage.
Margaret Clifford was a very silly girl, and so Elizabeth told her in no uncertain terms when she left Richmond one day to visit Margaret in the Tower.
The girl was cowed but not entirely without spirit—Margaret was a great-niece of Henry VIII, after all—and she absolutely denied knowing Guildford Dudley’s whereabouts.
When Elizabeth asked the child—for she was hardly more than that, despite her obvious pregnancy, “Do you not think less of your husband for abandoning you to take the punishment?” Margaret shrewdly answered, “I may think less of him, but if I were ruled by my head I should not be in this place. Hearts are stubborn things, Your Highness.”
Irritation with the whole of the Dudley family was compounded by William’s clandestine infatuation—which was rapidly becoming not at all clandestine—and Dominic’s mounting concern for Minuette’s safety, which spilled out into tension between him and the king.
Elizabeth felt as though she was surrounded on all sides by the suffocating weight of passion.
She could hardly wait for the French to arrive so that she and Minuette might escape soon after and keep away from all these men.
But her next visitor of note was not a man—it was Jane Dudley, Duchess of Northumberland. John Dudley’s wife and Robert’s mother.
Elizabeth received the duchess in her privy chamber, curious about the nature of this unusual visit.
The duchess was not often at court; she preferred to provide stability from behind the scenes of her ambitious family.
But with her husband banished from court until Guildford showed himself, Jane Dudley was clearly prepared to step in.
“Your Highness,” she began, sinking into an elegant curtesy. “Thank you for seeing me at such a busy time.”
Elizabeth waited for her to rise, and pondered on how well Jane Dudley looked for a woman in her mid-forties who had borne thirteen children.
She was still rather slender and her brown hair was richly coiled beneath the new-style French hood with the heart shape.
The dip in the center of the hood accented her dark eyes, which were Robert’s down to the intelligent gleam.
The duchess dressed well but without ostentation, trusting to expensive fabrics and impeccable lines rather than fripperies to denote her status.
“What can I do for you?” Elizabeth asked kindly.
She expected a plea for leniency, for both Jane’s husband and son, a request for Elizabeth to intervene with the king to bring an end to the matter.
Instead, the duchess answered mildly, “You can do my family the great honour of agreeing to visit our home at Dudley Castle later this year.”
There was a slight change in the air of the privy chamber, as though one of Elizabeth’s attendants had let out a quickly smothered gasp.
She cast a forbidding look at the corner where her women sat with their needlework, to let them know she had noticed and would deal with it later.
Like her mother before her, Elizabeth kept a tight rein on the women who attended her.
Elizabeth turned back to the duchess. She raised a single eyebrow, a trick she had long practiced.
“I hardly think this is the most propitious time for a royal to be visiting your home.” But that was why the duchess was asking, surely—to mitigate the court’s displeasure in the eyes of the people.
The petitioner might be Jane Dudley, but the petition had the Duke of Northumberland written all over it.
“The matter of Guildford’s apology and submission will be resolved this very evening.” The serenity of the duchess’s voice was belied by the tightness of her posture.
“He has finally deigned to answer the king’s summons?” Elizabeth asked drily.
“Of course he would not long leave his bride in the Tower. Guildford is a man of honour.”
“Not honourable enough to seek permission for this marriage. A daring that shows itself rather in the father, than the son.”
Jane Dudley’s face darkened briefly. But then, in a move Elizabeth could never have predicted, the duchess knelt.
Proud, yes, but sincerity radiating from her very stiffness.
This was not a woman to abase herself purely for show—it meant something to her, if only that she loved her husband enough to do as he’d asked. Elizabeth’s irritation lessened.
“Your Highness, my husband’s great sin is that he loves his family. His faults will only ever be those of a father. I swear that my family would never do anything to injure your brother’s throne or his dignity.”
It was impossible not to believe her. Which was perhaps why Northumberland had sent his wife.
“I will beg if you wish me to, Your Highness. I swear to you as a mother—as Robert’s mother—that I wish your presence in my home solely for the honour of it, and for such an honour I would be indebted to you all my life.”
The mention of Robert made Elizabeth purse her lips, for Jane Dudley—like her cunning husband—clearly had more than one purpose to every move.
But did not she herself also? She could match the Dudleys for playing games of power, and the truth was that she liked them.
No matter how vexed she might grow with Robert, she could not imagine removing him permanently from her life.
Who would stand up to her if she did? He was the only man she’d ever met—save her brother—whose will was as strong as her own.
She offered her hand to the duchess, who kissed it. “When Guildford has made his amends and the summer is over, then I will consider coming to Dudley Castle. You have my word.”
Let William rage if he wanted—if he could determine to marry Minuette, then she could visit where she wished.
“He is here, Your Majesty.”
William looked up from the gaming table where he and three others played dice. “Guildford?” he asked his uncle.
Rochford inclined his head once. “Shall I send him away?”
That was one way to play it—make the boy sweat by appearing at court and then being sent away again.
William could drag that out for days, making Guildford wonder every night if he would be arrested before he could even see the king.
As tempting as that was, the French delegation would be here in two days and it would be better to have this matter contained before then.
“Wait ten minutes, then bring him to the throne room. Make sure word spreads so that as many as wish are present to watch.”
He sent a page for Dominic, rolled twice more and paid his losses amicably, then stood and stretched.
He was unexpectedly tense about this encounter.
It was good to see Dominic, who met him outside the presence chamber.
Ignoring everyone else who walked around them, William motioned his friend to match his steps.
“Ready?” Dominic asked.
It was such a relief to communicate in brief phrases and be fully understood. “Royally ready.” Meaning his temper was under firm control and his measures today would not be impulsive.
That did not mean they would be lenient.
The throne room buzzed with more suppressed energy than normal as word leaked that Guildford Dudley had returned to court.
William felt the jostling for position. Courtiers hardly waited for him to pass before they rose from their bows and curtsies.
At his side he heard Dominic mutter, “Vultures,” and smiled inwardly.
In some things Dominic was—not na?ve, but idealistic.
Of course people wanted to see someone else fall.
It meant they themselves were safe. For today.
It took a few minutes with his moderate pace to circle the room and feed the tension, then William took his place beneath the canopy of estate, that decorative cloth that hung above his throne, and seated himself.
He was wearing a coronet of beaten gold and a collar of rubies to emphasize his authority, and although he rested his arms negligently on the throne arms, his pose was anything but casual.
There was no announcement, no warning, just Rochford throwing the far door open, then stepping aside to let Guildford Dudley enter.
Northumberland was a prudent few steps behind his son, and Robert Dudley was nowhere to be seen.
That didn’t surprise William. Of all the Dudleys, Robert had the keenest sense of self-preservation.
It seemed to him that he could read the different silences in the hall. Gleeful, yes, for Northumberland was often abrasive and his arrogance and ambition had earned him many enemies. But there was pity, too, for a handsome young man, and something less easy to define. Wariness, perhaps.
He had to hand it to Guildford, he made a wonderful obeisance.
If the boy (Guildford was actually a year older than William but he seemed a boy in every way) hadn’t been so staunchly Protestant, he’d likely have prostrated himself wholly.
As it was, Guildford knelt on both knees and bowed his head almost low enough to touch the floor.
William let him remain in that position. “Offering your neck so readily? I thought for certain a Dudley would have some fight in him.”
“Your Majesty, I crave pardon for my error.”
“Error?” William echoed softly. “Is that what you call it?”
He thought Northumberland flinched—no doubt the duke recognized the silken tone of fury that William knew was so like his father’s.
Guildford prudently did not rise, but his head came up enough for him to meet William’s gaze. “I call it love, Your Majesty. A sin, to be sure, but motivated by love alone.”
“If you love Margaret Clifford so much, why did you hide away and let her be taken to the Tower in your stead?”
Was it his imagination that Guildford’s eyes flicked to the side, toward his father? “I am young. Perhaps I listened to counselors I should not have.”
William rose and gestured impatiently for Guildford to do the same.
Warily, the boy stood and waited while William stepped near enough that he might have whispered if he’d wanted.
Instead, he let his voice carry to every avid listener in the throne room.
“I too am young, and I know what it is to have competing counsel. Do you know what the difference is between us, Dudley? I am not stupid enough to follow evil counsel straight to my own destruction.”
Northumberland moved in protest as guards stepped through to seize his son by the arms.
“You will have time to ponder on the difference between youth and stupidity while I ponder what to do with you,” William said coldly.
He gestured to the guards. “Take him to the Tower—and on no account is he to see his wife.” He almost spat the last word, and everyone in the room averted their eyes. Except Dominic, who watched William with that familiar hooded expression that disapproved without ever having to say a word.
William remained in the throne room after Guildford was taken away—his father went after him, to try to pick up the pieces, no doubt—mingling with the crowd to show that he was not shaken, to show that he knew what he was doing, to show that he had the pulse of his court and knew his people well.
Dominic also remained, but he did not so much mingle as stand in one place and reply briefly to whoever attempted to speak with him.
It would have exasperated William if he hadn’t found it so amusing.
Dominic had to be the most reluctant duke in English history.
Where any other man would be avidly building his power base and making alliances with every breath, Dominic appeared indifferent.
Was there nothing that could move that aloof temperament?
William wondered. He might have to get serious about finding Dominic a woman.
And yet, as different as they were, it was a relief to leave the throne room behind and walk out with Dominic. However frustrating his friend might be as a political player, at least with Dominic one always knew exactly where one stood.