She ignored that. “We are to keep Tournai and Thérouanne.”
Another nod acknowledged those terms. This time the expression on his face was a smirk.
“And I am to be delivered to Abbeville in France at your expense.” She sent a ferocious scowl in her brother’s direction. “Like a parcel!”
“That is the way such things are done.” The king had gained a modicum of control over his anger and now attempted to cajole his sister into cooperating. “Come, Mary, all will be well. Old King Louis will not live long.”
She’d have none of it. “But while he lives, I am his to command.” A moue of distaste showed her opinion of that!
“Women are chattel under the law,” the king reminded her. “The property of their fathers first and then their husbands.”
“You are my brother.”
“I am your king!” Temper building once more, he took a menacing step toward her.
My heart in my throat, I stepped between them. “Your Grace, I beg you be calm. No purpose is served by quarreling.”
“I suppose I have you to thank for her knowledge of the treaty.” King Henry gave me an ugly look that promised retribution.
“The terms are common knowledge, Your Grace.” My voice dropped to a tremulous whisper. I cleared my throat. “The Lady Mary has a proposal for you, Your Majesty.” Deliberately, I used the form of address just coming into fashion. King Henry was said to secretly prefer it to “Your Grace.”
“Speak, then.” He made an impatient gesture. “Your delay has already caused too much speculation among our guests.”
“My request is a simple one,” the Lady Mary said. “I will marry the king of France, I will be a dutiful wife to him, and I will bring honor to England by my every action…if you will give me your word that when King Louis dies, I may marry to please myself.”
The king stared at her, momentarily taken aback by the demand. Then his eyes narrowed again, this time in suspicion. “Has any man had you? By St. George, if one of my courtiers has dared—”
“Do you think me a fool!” the Lady Mary snapped. “I value my honor as much as you do. More, mayhap, as I am loath to waste my maidenhead on an old man.”
“Louis is only fifty-two,” the king said with calculated nastiness. “He could easily live a decade more.”
“Then I will be his faithful helpmeet for those ten years, but when I have done my duty, I want my reward.”
In the distance, a bell rang the hour. A pained look on his face, the king regarded his sister, seeing in her stance, in her eyes, a reflection of his own stubbornness. Did he realize, I wondered, that it was his friend the Duke of Suffolk Mary thought to one day wed?
“Very well,” the king said at last. “You have my promise.”
His sister threw herself into his arms, kissing both his cheeks. Radiant with joy, she turned to me next. “You have borne witness, Jane. I am to be permitted to choose my own husband when I am widowed.”
Although he seemed resigned to the bargain he had made, the king’s impatience returned. “Now that we have settled your distant future, may we move on to present duties?”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
Her laughter was infectious. Even the king smiled faintly. He had always been fond of his younger sister. I was certain he hated the thought of sending her away forever, even as he gloated over the success of his negotiations with the French.
A short time later, I slipped into the back of the great banqueting hall, hung with cloth-of-gold embroidered with the royal arms of England and France, to join the others gathered to witness the wedding. All the principal noblemen of the realm were there, along with numerous foreign dignitaries invited by the king. I recognized several ambassadors and two papal envoys. The Spanish ambassador was conspicuous by his absence.
Heralded by fanfare, the king and queen entered. Queen Catherine, serene in her pregnancy for all that she still despised the idea of a French alliance, wore ash-colored satin and a little gold Venetian cap. The king’s clothing matched hers for color but was patterned in checkers of cloth-of-gold and satin. The whole was liberally appliquéd with jewels.
The Lady Mary came next, attended by several noblewomen of the realm. They were followed by the French delegation. The duc de Longueville’s robes matched the bride’s, as was the French custom. I remembered that from my childhood. The king and queen were supposed to appear in public as “a pair of brilliant jewels.” I had more than once, though from a distance, seen King Charles and Queen Anne clad in identical colors.
Longueville’s face was solemn, his expression a trifle strained. He must have guessed that something was wrong to cause such a long delay. I had not dared to warn him about what my mistress had planned. Neither did I intend to tell him anything of what had transpired in the Lady Mary’s apartments. In this matter, I had only one loyalty, and that was to my princess.
The archbishop of Canterbury presided over the wedding ceremony, giving a long Latin address that few understood. One of the French envoys made a formal reply, after which the bishop of Durham read the French authorization for the proxy marriage. Then, holding the Lady Mary’s hand in his, Longueville spoke King Louis’ vows in French. She replied in the same tongue, her voice calm, clear, and sure. Longueville placed a ring on the fourth finger of her right hand and they exchanged a kiss, thus sealing the bond.
Once the marriage schedule had been signed, the formalities should have been complete, but Longueville’s insistence that no way be left open to renounce this marriage had resulted in the addition of one more element. The whole company proceeded to a bedchamber. There, behind a screen, I helped the Lady Mary change into her most elaborate nightdress. When she was ready, she climbed onto the bed.
Longueville had also changed his clothing and now wore naught but a red doublet and hose. He rolled the latter up far enough to bare his leg to the thigh. That done, he positioned himself alongside his new queen. Delicately, she plucked at her skirt until one foot and ankle emerged. Carefully and deliberately, Longueville touched his bare leg to her naked foot. A shout of triumph went up from the witnesses as the archbishop declared the marriage consummated.
Smiling broadly, Longueville rose from the bed and led the crowd of spectators from the chamber. Only I remained behind to help the queen of France resume her checkered gown and a cloth-of-gold cap that covered her ears in the Venetian fashion. As soon as she was dressed, the celebrations resumed.
The Lady Mary had kept me awake most of the night before. Worried about her coming confrontation with her brother, she’d needed someone to talk to. The result was that I felt too exhausted to face the remaining festivities. I sought the peace and privacy of my own lodgings instead.
On my way there, I had to pass the duke’s rooms. I could scarce fail to notice the unusual amount of activity within, nor could I stop myself from entering to investigate. I found Guy bent over a huge traveling chest, checking the contents against a list.
Curious, I came up beside him and peered inside. “These are Longueville’s clothes!” I recognized the slashed taffeta doublet and the leather cape with the collar of marten.
“Why are you surprised? You knew he would leave when his ransom was paid.”
“But…but I assumed he would accompany the princess…the queen, to France.”
Guy refolded a black satin doublet and a pair of black hose and tucked them in around a casket covered in green velvet. “This evening the king will come here to drink French wine and sign the remaining legal documents, including one that states that the duke’s ransom has been received. We leave for France tomorrow.”
I could not take it in. I had not expected to be separated from Longueville and Guy so soon. I had assumed, foolishly perhaps, that they would remain with us during all our preparations and leave for France when we did.