A Rose for the Crown Read online

  Couples were singing and dancing in a spirited estampie, and Kate’s foot tapped to the music. Unable to join in the revelry, she felt trapped in her widow’s garb, but it gave her time to think more on George’s extraordinary behavior. She toyed with a goblet of hippocras, sipping the sweet spiced wine and letting the aromatic flavors swirl around in her mouth. Her eyes wandered over the brightly clad gentlefolk intent on milking Richard’s fine hospitality to the last candied orange peel and tun of malmsey. Anne had insisted that following the feast, the servants were to be allowed to join in the revels, and their presence lent a somewhat raucous note to the affair. She caught sight of Geoff kicking up his heels with a serving wench at the kitchen end of the hall and smiled to herself, happy to see her brother so much more at ease at the Mote now that Elinor’s threatening presence was gone. She had heard he was even excelling in his studies with Brother Francis.

  Richard was standing by the stairway door, smiling benignly over the company and nodding occasionally to George, who was in earnest conversation with him. Kate imagined George was reporting on her forward behavior in the garden. She turned her attention to Will, who had begun a love song for the newlyweds.

  Long after the sun had set, Anne and John rose from their seats, and the guests turned their attention to the young couple. With much whooping and applauding and many lewd gestures, the company ushered them out and up to bed. Kate gave Anne a tiny wave and hoped her eyes did not betray the worry that Anne, too, might be disappointed in the act of love. John was somewhat tipsy, and Kate was well aware of the futile attempts a man might make under the influence of drink. But Anne seemed calm and happy, and after kissing Richard on both cheeks, she preceded her doting husband upstairs.

  “WED KATE!” Richard spluttered, eyeing the arrogant young man standing in front of his desk in the office the next day. “What gives you the notion Kate would marry you, Master Haute? She is her own mistress now, ’tis true, but I must still guide her in her choices while she is still young, as requested in her late husband’s will.” He paused. “Ah, now I do understand why you did bend my ear last evening with your talk of family position in Suffolk. I love your father well, young George, he is a fine soldier and carries our name with honor, but you are his second son and not likely to inherit a goodly sum upon his death, am I right?” George had the grace to look sheepish but wisely allowed Richard to continue. “And I was mightily surprised to see you here for the wedding feast, being that you are henchman to John Howard. Did he give you leave to travel?”

  George bristled. “Aye, sir. My master sanctioned my visit here when I did tell him the wedding was for the daughter of the Princess Elizabeth’s own carver.” He hoped flattery would help him ingratiate himself with Richard. “He knows you for a loyal servant of his grace, the king, and bade me stay at my leisure.” Before Richard could interrupt, he hurried on, “I think the widow Draper is as attached to me as I am to her, sir. She would not gainsay the match, I dare swear, if I have your permission.”

  “What about your father, sir? Do you have his permission to marry a girl with no family background?” Richard frowned. He had no reason to dislike the handsome young man, son of a distant cousin and member of a fine household. Sir John was cousin and right-hand man to the duke of Norfolk. Yet . . . there was something hard about the lad, something dark lurking behind those indigo eyes. He resolved to call Kate to him and see for himself if George was telling the truth. He motioned to the chaplain, who was sitting at the other end of the table.

  “Brother Francis, I would be obliged if you would find Mistress Kate and bring her here.” The silent chaplain bowed stiffly and left the room. He found Kate in her favorite spot in the little courtyard behind the hall, talking to her brother. Geoff started when he saw his teacher and bowed himself away as fast as he could. Francis smiled after him.

  “Your brother is showing real promise as a clerk, Mistress Kate, but he still disavows the voice of authority. Master Haute is pleased with him and I have no doubt will place him in a suitable household when the time comes. But enough of Geoffrey. I am here to tell you that Master Haute would speak with you privately. He is in his office.” Kate followed him inside and knocked on Richard’s door while Francis climbed the stairs to the chapel to ready himself for matins.

  “Come in, Kate. We have something to discuss that must be of interest to you.”

  Kate’s eyebrows flew up when she saw George standing by the embrasure.

  “What could that be, Richard?” She was as nonchalant as her beating heart would allow. Since marrying Thomas, she had begun calling Richard by his first name. She looked anxiously at George and hoped he had not disclosed what took place in the garden the day before.

  “Young Master Haute here seems to think you would not be averse to a marriage with him. As you know, I am still responsible for you, and I would hear what you think, Kate.” Richard watched her reaction carefully. He was rewarded by a blush that began at the edge of her bodice and slowly spread to the base of her bonnet.

  “M-m-marriage?” was all she could stammer. “Is it true, George? Do you want to marry me?” For once she was at a loss for a quick retort. Her hands found the elaborate belt around her hips, and she twisted the silver point nervously, staring at that beautiful face and not daring to believe what she was hearing. George smiled charmingly, all haughtiness vanished, and walked forward to take her busy hands.

  “Aye, Kate. I have asked Richard’s permission to court you.” He was pleased with her reaction. “I am certain you are agreeable. Say ’tis true so your cousin believes me.”

  “Not so fast, sirrah!” Richard stood up and scraped his chair back noisily, not giving Kate a chance to answer. “You have no right to court Kate until her period of mourning is over. And that will be nigh on four months, if I be not mistaken.” Richard wanted to postpone making a decision until he found out more about George Haute. The couple nodded their assent. With that Richard had to be content.

  As one of the executors of Thomas’s will, Richard knew full well the measure of Kate’s inheritance. The other executors were guild members in Maidstone, and they must be consulted in the matter of proper disposal of the widow’s property. The business was running smoothly, he had been told, but if George took Kate away to Suffolk, arrangements would have to be made with the guild for the management of the mercer’s shop in Tunbridge. He was worried that George was nothing but a fortune seeker, but seeing Kate’s true feelings for the boy, why should he oppose the match? Kate deserved to be happy. She had given Thomas two years of pleasure and had done her duty, even though, Richard knew, she was a reluctant bride. He sighed and wished his ward were as easy as his daughter to manage.

  Kate went forward and kissed Richard, smiling her answer that she was pleased with George’s proposal. Richard held her at arm’s length and cupped her chin. “I only want your happiness and well-being, Kate. You do know that?” Kate nodded.

  The young couple waited for their formal dismissal and closed the door behind them. Kate’s excitement overtook her shyness, and she moved closer to George, offering her face to his, expectant of a kiss. He obliged with a far warmer version of the previous day’s offering, and Kate’s loins all but melted into her shaky knees. To hide her disquiet, she began to laugh, picked up her skirts and hurried through the hall, calling for George to follow her. She took his hand, and they ran through the courtyard and out into the garden, all the way to the upper lake and the woods beyond.

  “Kate! Pray stop! I am all but winded,” George complained. He took off his dashing hat and wiped his brow. “Where are you taking me? It looks to rain anon.”

  “What do I care?” Kate pulled off her caul and caused her mass of hair to cascade down her back. “You have made me the happiest woman alive, George. I have prayed all these years that you loved me as I loved you, and now I see that it is so. We shall be wed, and we shall be as happy as any in the kingdom.”

  George laughed at her. When she ran to him, expe
cting another kiss, he quickly bent to pick a primrose to present to her. Then the heavens opened and the April shower drenched them in its sweet, warm rain.

  9

  Chelsworth, Suffolk, Autumn 1467

  Kate woke to watery rays of sunshine filtering through the rough drapes around the bed. There had been rain in the night, but the September day promised fair. George was still asleep, his tousled blond head turned from her, cradled on his arm. She listened to his gentle breathing, looked at her husband and marveled at the way the body under the nightshirt aroused her. Her hand stole towards his hair, and she wondered if she could excite him by catching him unawares and sleepy. He must have felt her gaze in his sleep, because he rolled over onto his back and gave her the opportunity to appreciate his handsome profile, strong neck and well-developed chest beneath the fine lawn shirt. Her heart beat faster as she experienced the familiar flutter in her heart and stomach that affected her loins.

  Her inner voice told her it was not natural. A man and wife should know each other once they were wed. It has been three weeks and my husband has not even tried to touch me . . . here, she thought, as her fingers found her moist, sweet spot. She quickly pulled them away. Self-arousal was a sin according to Brother Francis’s teachings, and she almost expected to see the Devil draw back the curtains and point accusingly at her. Staring at the canopy above, she tried to fathom what she had done to deserve her husband’s lack of interest. George’s wooing had been ardent enough at the Mote; surely she could not have mistaken his feelings. True, he had never told her he desired her, but his lips were more than eloquent when it came to kissing hers. She thought of the night in the herb garden after he had won permission to woo her, when he whispered his plans for them. Did he talk of love? She could not really remember; all she knew was her own longing for him, her own love. After two years with Thomas, the youthful masculinity of George was like an aphrodisiac. Had she imagined the light in his eyes when she walked into the great hall at Anne’s wedding? No, she had felt his eyes on her several times. Perhaps his desire had been dampened by the delay her mourning necessitated before they could be joined. She thought of their wedding day. He had almost pulled her to the altar of the church in Ightham village. Richard and Anne had been beside her as witnesses, and behind stood John Gaynesford and Geoff with Molly standing at the back of the little church.

  “Now there’s an eager bridegroom,” she heard Richard whisper to Anne, who smiled and put her arm through his in a loving gesture.

  George was shaking when he took her hand and slipped his family ring upon her finger, holding her hand tightly. “And hereto I plight thee my troth,” he said quite clearly—and without hesitation, she was certain—and put his other hand over hers possessively. “You are mine,” she thought this had meant, as he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the mouth.

  So impatient was George to take his bride to her new home in Suffolk—or so he said—that he had eschewed Richard’s kind offer of a small celebration back at the Mote in favor of leaving directly from the church. Kate was disappointed they were not to spend their wedding night in the familiar surroundings of her old chamber, as Richard had suggested, but she was so much in love that she took the change in plan good-naturedly. She had perfect trust in George and was happy that he wanted to show her off to his family as quickly as possible. Indeed, Philippa Haute had sent Kate a fine brooch of amethyst and silver as a wedding token and a message of welcome in her tiny but clear script. “Such small writing for so tall a lady!” had been Kate’s first reaction. George’s father was soldiering in Calais and had blessed the union with a written assent. Martin was furious to learn later that George had not informed Sir John Howard of the impending match. George, who hoped to end his duties at Framlingham before Sir John found out, had purposely chosen to marry Kate while his patron was out of the country.

  Kate was blissfull when they left the church as man and wife. Her jennet and his mount were tethered next to the wagon Kate had inherited from Thomas, which was now piled high with all her worldly goods, including a few valuable pieces of furniture and chests filled with the dresses he had given her, linens, silver and lengths of damask, silk, velvet and broadcloth she had not left in Henry’s care. The guild approved her turning the business over to Thomas’s journeyman—now elevated to merchant—and Richard had helped negotiate a fair percentage that would be paid to Kate quarterly. Thus the young couple would have a regular income, making Kate even more welcome at Chelsworth.

  Richard had given them Ralph’s services as carter for the journey, and he sat patiently while Geoff hoisted Molly up next to him. She seemed content on her high perch and winked at Ralph. He was sitting on her right, so her unfortunate birthmark was not visible to him in profile. She be not uncomely, he thought, as he grinned back at her. Perhaps the journey might be less tedious than he had anticipated.

  George handed Kate the leading rein of her horse and turned to bid farewell to Richard and Anne. Kate’s jennet, a pretty, cream-colored two-year-old, was her wedding gift from Richard. She had immediately named her Cornflower, “because she is the color of corn and as delicate as a flower.”

  As she thought on all this, lying on her back and staring at the canopy over her, she remembered that as she waved good-bye to Richard and Anne, she had suddenly felt frightened. She had looked on Richard as a parent and Anne as her sister. They had been in her life now for seven years, and she knew them better than her own family. Saying good-bye this time had a finality to it that filled her with misgiving. With Thomas she had been only two hours’ journey from Ightham, and she had returned there often. Chelsworth was four days away in good weather. Tears blinded her as she took her last look at her family. How she would miss Richard’s loud laugh and even his infrequent fits of ire, which he had never directed at her. He had been kind to her, given her a home and raised her social status higher than her dreams. Then there was Anne, her beloved companion all those years at the Mote. Who would she confide in now, she wondered, forgetting that she had managed quite well by herself in Tunbridge. She told them she would miss them all beyond imagination and promised to write as often as her duties would allow.

  “Does that mean once in a month of Sundays, Kate?” Anne laughed at her. “I will not hold my breath, my dear friend. I have seen too many of your feeble attempts to expect miracles!”

  Kate laughed, too, and hugged Anne. Tears quickly followed as the two young women embraced. Husbands gently pulled wives apart, and George helped Kate into her saddle.

  Anne turned into her husband’s arms to hide her weeping. She lifted her face and called, “I shall miss you, Kate. With all my heart.”

  “Me, too,” Kate whispered back.

  “Come now, girls,” Richard said. “Let us be happy for Kate. In truth, she has a fine, handsome bridegroom and a good home to go to. She has Molly to look after her. She should have not a care in the world.”

  Turning north at the bottom of the lane and moving out of sight, the little cavalcade had given one last wave to the group standing in the churchyard and then was gone.

  Her eyes were brimming over now as she remembered Richard’s parting words, and a tear escaped and dissolved into the pillow. Not a care in the world, Kate scoffed, wiping her eyes, her thoughts tumbling back to her present predicament. There is no one who would believe we have not consummated the marriage, and there is no one I can tell.

  Again she turned her attention to George lying there innocently enough, and again she was aroused. Enough shilly-shallying, she said to herself. Maybe he is shy and needs my help. She carefully untied the ribbons of her shift, drew the cumbersome garment over her head and dropped it on the floor. She looked down at her pink nipples, hard with desire, and experienced again the aching between her legs. She lay on her side and then, inching the bedsheet from George’s body, began caressing his thigh. With her other hand she gently picked up one of his and placed it on her breast. The feeling was excruciatingly exciting, and she smiled to her
self.

  Awakening slowly and unaware of his surroundings at first, George smiled as well, and Kate had the satisfaction of seeing the shirt around his groin lift, seemingly of its own accord. But then his eyes flew open, and when he saw Kate naked beside him and knew it was she touching him, he flung her from him. Leaping out of bed, he tripped on the bedcovers and landed unceremoniously in a heap on the floor.

  “Harlot! Jesu, I am wed to a harlot!” he spat.

  He picked himself up and crouched in a fighting stance, his fists clenched. His derision shocked Kate into silence—but not for long.

  “George, George, I am no harlot!” She pleaded with him. “I am your wife, and I love you. Is it not natural to want to lie with my husband? Why do you not touch me? Am I so ugly? Do you not love me?” Kate instinctively reached out her arms to him.

  But her questions were not answered. She was kneeling on the edge of the bed, her hair covering her nakedness, and she saw George give a shudder as he looked at her.

  “In truth, you do find me ugly.” Her lower lip trembled, and so that he would not see the tears welling, she reached down and retrieved her nightgown, holding it to her. Then she hid behind the bed curtains to dress.

  George’s face was a closed book. He put on his doublet over his shirt and pulled on his hose roughly. “Gareth! God’s teeth, where are you when I want you! Gareth, I say!” he barked loudly for his servant while attempting to tie his points with his fingers all thumbs.

  Molly appeared and helped Kate dress, and Gareth came running into the room. Nothing more could be said in the servants’ presence, and the silence crackled.

  “Molly, follow me. I would tell you our tasks for the day.” Kate attempted some dignity by stalking to the door and leaving the room.

  George glowered at her back. “Ouch! By the saints, have a care, man!” he cried, when Gareth pinched his skin while securing an obstinate point.