The Fallen Queen. Emily Purdy

giving Kate’s cheek a pat and popping a candied violet in her mouth. He then went on to explain that since the wedding was to be held at Durham House, the Dudleys’ opulent London residence, Northumberland had decided to make it a triple affair and join their Catherine in wedlock with the young Lord Hastings.

      Kate immediately began to fret, weeping and worrying that the Dudley girl’s gown would be grander than her own. But Father was quick to assure her that even if it cost him the last coin in his coffers it would not be so. And with a kiss and more sweets he sent her off to await the dressmaker’s arrival, her head full of all the dreams that money can make come true, spinning rich, extravagant fantasies of cloth-of-gold, swirling, fantastically patterned cream and gold brocade, pearls and lace, and emeralds green as envy. That was our Kate; the storms never lasted long.

      While Jane did her best to ignore it all, immersing herself even deeper in her studies, Kate drove our poor tutor, Master Aylmer, to frustration, ignoring the assignments he set her and instead filling page after page of her copybook with graceful, flourishing renditions of the name that would soon be hers—Katherine, Lady Herbert, and someday, upon her father-in-law’s demise, Katherine, Countess of Pembroke; she even wrote it in the French style, Katherine, Comtesse de Pembroke, though as far as I knew she had no plans to cross the Channel and neither did Lord Herbert.

      When Master Aylmer complained to Father, Kate pouted and said that since she was soon to be a married woman she didn’t see why she still had need of a tutor; Master Aylmer really wasn’t teaching her anything useful at all that pertained to court etiquette, housewifery, or, she added just to make him blush, amorous disport and what her husband would expect of her behind the bedcurtains, nor had he offered any sage advice pertaining to midwifery and child-rearing either. “And not all the Latin verbs in the world will save me when I am in the agonizing throes of childbirth.”

      At these words, Father smiled indulgently, patted Kate’s bright curls, and said at least it was good practice of her penmanship, and turned to pacify Master Aylmer. “Be a good fellow and leave things be,” he cajoled, offering him a sweet from his ever present comfit box, which he had taken the precaution of stocking with sugared and honeyed nuts beforehand knowing that they were Master Aylmer’s favourite. “And I doubt very much that the future Lady Herbert will have much need for Greek or Latin,” he added, “just a pretty bit of French and perhaps a dollop of Italian and a smattering of Spanish for songs and poetry and such.” Whereupon he settled down beside Kate with his comfit box open between them on the table to admire the signatures that filled her copybook while I stood apart, watching my two sisters, swallowing down my tears, and keeping my fears to myself.

      I could do nothing for Jane; she did not want my help, and I could do nothing without her willingness and cooperation, but she would not even meet me halfway or reach out a hand toward common sense. She would treat Guildford Dudley like an enemy until the day either she or he died, whichever came first, and by that time that is exactly what he would be—her enemy, when he might have been a fond, or even loving, husband with a little kindness and encouragement from Jane.

      And Kate … Kate was so happy! And, truly, I didn’t want to spoil it. But I was so afraid for her. She had already persuaded herself that she was in love with the bridegroom she had yet to meet, a man whose face she had beheld only in a miniature portrait—and who knew how accurate that likeness was? It has been commonplace since the art of portraiture began for the painters to flatter their patrons. Though she had never heard his voice, she could already hear him whispering sweet nothings in her ear and reciting poems about her beauty and comparing their love to an immortal flame. Every night, until she drifted off to sleep, Kate would lie abed whispering the names that filled her copybook over and over again like pearls on a rosary—Katherine, Lady Herbert;