Betrayed, Betrothed and Bedded. Juliet Landon

Hall, they still looked remarkably fine and free from the dust that, in summer, would have covered them from head to toe. Around her, the swish and rustle of rich fabrics mingled with excited chatter as skirts were lifted, cloaks trailed, and feathers waved like so many bright birds in an overcrowded aviary. The sheen of silver and gold woven into the silks caught the mellow light from the hall, though Ginny herself would never have ridden a horse wearing such costly garments. She was glad, however, that she’d taken time to dress with care in the pink velvet with the square neckline, the loose outer sleeves edged with her mother’s honey-coloured squirrel fur, the undersleeves of pale cream brocade. To her mother she had pretended not to care that her hair was of the same paleness, but a glance in the mirror had confirmed the radiant confidence that came with looking her best, no matter how dire the situation. ‘I shall give you Mistress Molly,’ her mother had said in an attempt to thaw the frostiness between them. ‘You’ll need a maid now and Molly knows your ways better than anyone. She can dress your hair.’

      Ginny had thanked her without a smile, suspecting that Mistress Molly would be well rewarded for keeping Lady Agnes informed of all that happened, or did not happen, to the new Lady Virginia Raemon. So the sensational hair had been taken into plaits at each temple, then joined at the back to lie over the top of the rest. Now she felt, as well as saw, the looks directed her way from many of the courtiers she knew and who, until now, had thought her too innocent to include in their worldly conversations.

      Her mother’s efforts had paid off: gleaming silver and glass on the tables, white napery, liveried servants, musicians up on the gallery, and the delicious aroma of food wafting through the openings of the elaborate wooden screens where tapestries made a splash of colour on adjacent walls. ‘Well, little sister?’ said a familiar voice behind her. ‘You’re going to take us all up in the world, are you? Can’t say I’m surprised. You could give young Kat Howard a run for her money any day. And the Basset girl, too.’ It was Paul, her brother, wearing a doublet of brightest yellow.

      Before she could reply to his typically facile remarks, Sir Jon forestalled her with a more apt put-down than she could have devised. ‘Your sister is not in competition with Mistress Howard,’ he said, ‘nor will she ever be. As for going up in the world, that rests with His Majesty alone. Better get that straight, lad, before you get any more fancy ideas.’

      Paul D’Arvall’s indiscretions had landed him in trouble more than once during his year at Henry’s court where he was tolerated for a particular aptitude for mimicry that had been known to take away the pain of Henry’s badly damaged leg. Time and again he had been forgiven and excused by Henry for misdemeanours that had had others banished, locked in the Tower, or worse, and others suspected that young D’Arvall felt himself perfectly safe as long as he could keep Henry amused. No reprimand from his father had made him more circumspect, and though his mother could see no fault in him, the rest of the family felt distinctly uncomfortable whenever he was around.

      His brother-in-law, Sir George Betterton, was one of the few people to whom Paul would listen, occasionally, and now he happened to be standing with Sir Jon, his neighbour. ‘Best keep your opinions under your bonnet, D’Arvall,’ he said. ‘Such loose talk can get even you seen off with your tail between your legs.’ He winked at Ginny. ‘Hello, sister-in-law,’ he said kindly. ‘Maeve’s looking for you. Been hiding?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘What would you do?’

      ‘Oh, I’d certainly hide from this great brute.’ He laughed. ‘Come and talk to me and your sister. We’ll tell you how to handle him.’

      But Ginny had seen her other brother, Elion, and her greeting was warmer by far than it had been for Paul, the younger of the two. ‘Dear one,’ she said. ‘Can we talk?’

      ‘Yes, love. But not until after supper, I fear, for here comes Father with that “now you listen to me” look on his face.’ He lifted his cap as Sir Walter approached. ‘Want me to stay, Ginny?’

      His question was answered for him by the quick tip of Sir Walter’s head that usually left his subordinates in no doubt about what he intended. Even Sir Jon could only watch as Ginny’s arm was taken and she was steered towards a shadowy corner away from the bustle. Foolishly, in retrospect, Ginny hoped she might be allowed to have the first word. ‘Father, I know you mean well, but I did not agree to—’

      Sir Walter knew immediately what she referred to. ‘So your mother tells me, Virginia,’ he cut in brusquely. ‘But what has that to do with anything? I agreed to it. So did His Majesty the king, and so did Sir Jon. Isn’t that enough? Who else is there to ask? God’s truth, lass, if we went round the countryside asking for opinions, you’d still be unmarried by Domesday. My duty is to find you a suitable husband and I’ve been lenient with you till now. But I shall not be here for ever and the king’s offer is as good as it’s going to get. You must accept it, for all our sakes. It means everything to your mother and me.’

      ‘Whether I like it or not.’

      ‘Yes. Whether you like it or not, young lady. And no more discourtesy towards Sir Jon, if you please. I could hardly believe you and he have not spoken in this last month at court. Have you no thought to the future?’

      ‘Yes’, she replied, she had, she did, ‘but—’

      ‘But nothing!’ Sir Walter snapped. ‘There are no buts in this business, Virginia. Men make the conditions, not women of your age. Just remember that, will you?’

      ‘Yes, Father,’ she responded as he walked away. He did not want answers, reasons, or opinions, only blind obedience, for this was not just about her, but about all he stood to gain by it. In one way or another, a man had to fight for his own advancement by any means open to him, for Henry had grown fickle, unpredictable, and not to be relied on for his favour. Whatever he offered must be snatched up with both hands before someone else benefited; families were at each other’s throats, seeking dominance and influence with a king who wanted those around him to agree with every word, to fawn and flatter, to pander to his monstrous ego. Those who were not prepared to do this had no place at court, and no place at court meant no share of the spoils being handed out almost daily, whether positions, titles, or one of the eight hundred or so monastic properties that had been closed down over the past five years. What were the preferences of a young woman worth compared to this?

      Nevertheless, it seemed to Ginny that all this fuss simply to have her near the king at court as a married woman was completely ridiculous when he could command her presence at any time, married or not, and to enjoy her company whenever he wished. As he had done since she’d been with Queen Anna, his new wife, walking in the gardens, partnering him at bowls, riding out with hawks, sharing these pastimes with others of her own age until the queen from Cleves could converse in English to his satisfaction. Was this really worth the rewards her mother had told her of? Was there something more she might be expected to do? Was she being used by her family in the same way that plain Jane Seymour had been by hers? Evidently not, for Jane had taken no husband except the king himself, and now he had ‘a new wife he didn’t care for’...and rumour had it that the dear lady was still a virgin.

      The hairs along Ginny’s arms prickled. Her scalp crawled. No...no, not that! Were her parents so insensitive that they could subject her to that? With an ageing king? And Sir Jon, too? Had he agreed that, for his rewards, he would allow his wife to be used? Her head reeled with the onrush of questions. She felt nauseous as a wave of cooking smells assaulted her nostrils. Where was Elion? Maeve? They would explain.

      From above her, a fanfare of trumpets blasted out across the hall to tell them that supper was about to begin, for however much the king pretended that his informal visits needed no pomp or ceremony, he would not have been impressed if his hosts had taken him at his word. It was too late for Ginny to explore the details of the matter that would affect her for the rest of her life.

      Amongst those who had come with the king that day, there were few who were unaware of the coolness between Mistress D’Arvall and Sir Jon Raemon, and now some had even placed bets on how long it would take him to thaw the lady who must have some very serious reasons for her dislike. She must rate herself very highly, they thought, to place herself