“Your Grace! I cannot express my gratitude enough,” I said with deep affection. “I shall never forget this favor; I have never received anything so dear. I am so very glad that you are back in His Majesty’s good favor.”
“I too,” she said afore sighing deeply.
I finally have a mother who loves me. I cherished the thought, in the quiet or lonely moments, along with wistful longings for Jamie, his laughter, his jesting, his hand upon my back. His lips upon my own.
Early in August, the lords Hertford and Lisle were back to claim their rightful places in the privy chamber, and a celebration was being planned to honor the French admiral who would be visiting London. The queen’s brother, William, would hold a prominent place in the welcoming ceremonies.
Thomas Seymour would attend. Would he put the queen in danger? I had still not forgotten my vision of him and the Lady Elizabeth. Now that the vision with the scroll had come to pass, I felt more certain than ever that the garden prophecy would too.
Prince Edward and the queen had kept up their warm correspondence. The prince was particularly desirous of making a good impression, as his father had arranged for him to play a large role in greeting the French admiral when he arrived at Greenwich. The prince wrote a tender letter to the queen asking for her advice. Prince Edward, who, at the king’s behest, would remain under her care after the celebratory events, was reassured that his Latin was excellent, his presence was royal, and he had nothing at all to fear. Rather, the French admiral would note that England’s future king was someone to be reckoned with and would therefore very carefully abide by the treaty.
Her Grace signed the letter, had me sand and seal it, and sent it off. Like any mother preparing her son for a challenging future, she built him up at every occasion.
“The king named me his regent in 1544 when he took Boulogne,” Kate said, “the very war we are signing an agreement over now. And he has not rewritten it since.” She felt confident, especially after her rekindling of affection with the king, that she would guide Edward and his realm into adulthood even though it appeared that her dream of having a child of her own would not be fulfilled.
The young prince, a lad of only eight, performed admirably, and after greeting his guests with a retinue of two thousand on horse, escorted them to Hampton Court Palace, where the king, and Kate, and all the courtiers and households awaited. There was no one Henry desired to impress so much as the French, excepting the Holy Roman Emperor, and he had spared no expense for this lavish event. There was banqueting and hunting and masks every night.
Though I knew it could never again be as it had been, I rather wished I had Dorothy with me; I missed her companionship. Lady Fitzgerald Browne must have noticed that I looked out of sorts and included me in her circle.
On the third evening of celebrations I had eaten of roasted hare in French mustard sauce and was drinking a delightful wine that the French had brought with them from the Benedictines when someone came and touched my shoulder from behind.
“Juliana.”
I turned around, nearly spilling my wine. When I saw who it was, I had to stay myself from throwing it upon him. “I have naught to say to you, John Temple.” I denied him the title of sir, as he was in no manner chivalrous.
“Do not draw gazes that stay upon us, unwelcome attention, and gossip,” he said. “I only wanted to share that I find you as lovely as ever. And as you are alone perhaps you’d like to join me—”
“I would most certainly not like to join you in the gutter from which you slithered,” I interrupted. I did not bid him good-bye, I simply walked away. My hand was shaking and I set my goblet down lest I spill it. I felt an acid rise in my throat reminiscent of the taste of the hare I’d just enjoyed. To the far side of the room I spied the welcome face of Sir Thomas Seymour, who was providentially alone. I had not had occasion to speak with him since the event began but he was at least someone I could approach as I fled Temple, so I made my way to him.
“Juliana!” he said, his face lighting with real joy. “You look lovely. Beautiful. Your mother would be most pleased and proud.”
It was clear he did not know my mother well. I could not even get her to respond to my infrequent correspondence.
“And”—he held up his hand—“before you ask me, Sir James Hart is not with me this time.”
I smiled warmly but did not allow my face to betray any emotion. “Thank you, Sir Thomas, but I was not going to ask after James Hart. I was about to ask after you, your interests.” I lowered my voice and whispered. “Outside of the queen, that is.”
He laughed aloud and led me to the dance floor. “She is as lovely as ever, isn’t she?” he asked, holding me so close I could hear his voice above the music, dance, laughter, and loud repartee in both French and English. “I have been asked many times why I have not married, not even once, though my brother be married twice with many children. And I shall tell you the reason, Juliana. ’Tis because I desire to marry only Kate, have ever desired only Kate. And soon, I shall have my wish.”
I pulled back from him and, before others could notice that I was agog, he drew me back to him. ’Twas treason to talk of or predict the king’s death, which is what he had just done. I knew that Sir Henry Norris had gone to the block because someone had mistakenly whispered that Norris hoped to replace the king in Queen Anne Boleyn’s affections once the king were dead.
“Now, Juliana, you know how to keep a secret,” Sir Thomas said.
“I do,” I said, though I was tiring of keeping so many.
“Then I shall tell you another,” he said, waiting for the music to strike up afore continuing. “Sir James Hart will be back to London for the coronation.”
I unwillingly smiled.
“Aha! I have caught out one of your secrets, mistress,” Seymour said, jovial and charming. It was hard not to like him.
“Sir James is a friend,” I replied. “I shall be glad of his visit … whenever that may be.” I was certainly not going to be heard talking about a coronation that must, by treasonous definition, happen after the king’s death.
“Perhaps you’ll be more interested in seeing Sir Matthias and his family, from Marlborough, who will certainly be in London for the festivities as well.” He grinned. “’Tis fine for an old sea dog like myself to remain long unmarried. ’Tis not becoming for a mistress, especially at court.” He glanced up at Elisabeth, firmly attached to Sir William Parr, the queen’s brother.
“I shall be glad to welcome them all.” I sidestepped the talk of my marriage potential since I felt there was little if any possibility of a wedding happening. “Whenever they may visit. I wish my mother would visit, too, as Hugh is here as well. Alas, she will not.”
“She may change her mind,” Thomas said. “’Twill be an event not many shall want to forswear; we Seymours shall see to that. And then, mistress, there will be decades of plenty.” He led me from the dance floor and availed me of a fresh goblet of the bubbling wine. “Are you well contented here?” He seemed to genuinely care. “I have spoken with your brother, Hugh, and he does well with Cecil.”
“I am contented,” I replied carefully. I should not have liked him to think that I was ungrateful, or that there had been some falling out between Kate and myself.
He smiled. “Do not allow the sheen of the court to become a shell, mistress.” After a few more pleasant words he kissed my hand and took his leave.
I danced with a few others that night, but I thought carefully upon his words. Had I become sheathed in a shell? Whom had I shared my feelings with completely since Dorothy and I had been estranged? Whom did I trust? Whom could I hold on to and laugh with unreservedly?