Chapter 21 #2
When he came to Greys Court in May, he brought startling news.
“The Queen Dowager has remarried!” He threw his riding cloak across the settle in the solar.
“Already?” Kate was shocked.
“She’s been married since March.” Francis’s expression was disapproving.
“But King Henry only died at the end of January…”
“Indeed. But that rogue Thomas Seymour, or Lord Sudeley as we must now call him, apparently laid such siege to her virtue that she was compelled to accept his suit. His brother the Protector is furious. The Queen seemed such a sensible woman. I cannot understand why she has acted so rashly.”
Kate could have told him why. What woman, having endured marriage with that terrifying, obese monster, would not have sought love at the first opportunity?
But she kept quiet. Looked at dispassionately, the Queen had behaved foolishly.
Surely, she could have held Seymour off for a little while?
Or maybe he was too handsome and ardent for her to resist him!
“The councillors are up in arms,” Francis was saying, taking his seat by the hearth. “She could have jeopardized the succession. Had she become pregnant immediately, there would have been the possibility that it was by the late King.”
Kate sniffed. “Hardly, given what I’ve heard of the state of his health toward the end. But is she with child?”
“Not that I know of. So the word is that the Protector has forgiven them. He had to, because somehow Seymour tricked the young King into giving the marriage his blessing.”
Kate had a sudden thought. “What of Elizabeth? In March, she went to live with the Queen at Chelsea.”
“She’s still there. The word is that the Lady Mary urged her to move in with her because she was worried about the poor moral influence of the Queen’s example.
But Elizabeth refused to budge. She’s shrewd, that one.
She knows that Mary will never give up her faith or her Mass, and that it’s wise not to be associated with her. ”
“And she is enjoying life at Chelsea. She has said so in her letters. And she has said nothing about the Queen remarrying.”
“Maybe she did not know.”
Kate knelt at Francis’s feet and leaned her head against his leg. “She wants me to visit her at Chelsea.”
“No, my dear. You shall not go. Or not until this scandal has died down. But you could invite the Lady Elizabeth to visit you here. It would be most suitable at this time.”
“I am not sure that she would come, but I will write and ask.”
The answer was a polite no. Elizabeth was engrossed in her studies.
She mentioned that she had been joined at Chelsea by Seymour’s ward, her cousin Lady Jane Grey.
“He looks to marry her to the King,” she wrote, “and they will be well suited, for she is as zealous for the true faith as he is, and as studious. But I wish she was more congenial company. I wish you were here. It would please me greatly if you could come to Chelsea.”
Kate sighed. Elizabeth wanted their friendship to be on her own terms. She wanted no rivals for Kate’s attention.
She was disappointed. She would have loved to show Elizabeth Greys Court and have her share in her life here, if only for a short while.
She would have gone to Chelsea, had Francis allowed it.
But he was right. She could not let herself be tainted by scandal.
She wrote back, saying that she too was busy, but hoped to visit at a later date.
In the meantime, they could write to each other.
—
September found Kate at Greys Court, fretting herself silly because Francis had gone to Scotland with the Lord Protector’s army.
She was pregnant again and feeling very vulnerable.
What would become of her and the children if Francis was killed?
Hal, now a boisterous six-year-old, would inherit, but she would have to be in charge until he attained his majority.
With that in mind, even though she shrank from the thought, she immersed herself more fully in estate business, learning from Bilkins and others how Francis’s lands were administered.
They were plainly impressed by her grasp of things and were not too proud or hidebound to make light of her questions or her decisions.
She was determined that Francis should feel that he could leave everything in her hands during his long absences—or when he was here no more.
Tears welled up at the thought, but she resolutely refused to shed them.
Too many people relied on her; she could not show weakness now.
In October, she received a letter from Francis, addressed to “My Lady Knollys.” What could that mean?
Excitedly, she tore off the seal and read that the English had won a great victory at Pinkie Cleugh, near Musselburgh, and crushed the Scots.
Afterward, at the camp at Roxburgh, the Lord Protector had knighted Francis in reward for his bravery during the battle.
Her heart leaped. He was safe, her beloved, honored as he deserved, and surely, he would be home soon. She went about singing.
When he did arrive, later that month, she gathered their children and the whole household in the Base Court to welcome him, herself presenting the stirrup cup.
“Sir Francis!” she said, looking lovingly up at him.
“Lady Knollys!” He grinned, then downed the wine in one gulp, slid from the saddle, and enveloped her in a bear hug, as everyone cheered and the children danced excitedly around them. He smelled of sweat and the open road and himself, and she drank him in greedily.
Much later, when they lay together, drowsy after lovemaking, she told him how proud she was of him. “You have come home a hero,” she whispered, “and now you will be even more in favor—and gain in prosperity.”
“That is as well,” he grinned, “since I have a growing family to support. Last year, if God had taken me to His mercy, I would not have left four nobles in yearly revenue. Our boys would have had to take to crime and risk the gallows for lack of living! No, my sweet, I am jesting. I am sure that, if I had died then, I would have left them such an example of a happy, yet poor, life that they would have been content to live within their means.” He kissed her.
“That is the price of having a large family.”
“Well, if you will be so lusty…” she teased.