delegation had packed and was leaving Bedford House. I had told William that I would remain there to see them off, and he promised to send a litter for me and my things later that afternoon. I said good-bye to the ladies one by one, feeling especially torn to be parting from Christina Abrahamsdotter and Bridget.
Bridget and I held one another’s hand until she needed to get into a litter to depart. “I shall miss you desperately,” I said. I did not want to let go of her hand. Had I made a grave error? If so, it was not too late to join them for the return journey. I was homesick already. I might never see Sweden again, nor hear my native tongue spoken, kiss my mother good night, or eat of the small strawberries Brita and I collected each June on the hillside near our summer home.
“You’ve rightly chosen,” Bridget reminded me, seeing, I supposed, the fear cross my face. “Karin and Philip are likely already married. And William loves you well.”
I nodded. “Write to me.” She agreed, and I kissed her on the hairline.
The princess came up to me and I curtseyed before her one last time. “Thank you, my lady, for everything you have done for me,” I said, voice trembling.
She nodded, holding her head erect, and then began to walk away. Before she’d taken more than three steps, though, she turned back to me and spoke with no trace of kindness. “Lord Northampton won’t marry you. He can’t. He’s already married.”
FOUR
Spring and Summer: Year of Our Lord 1566
The Palace of Whitehall
Windsor Palace
On Progress
Year of Our Lord 1567
The Palace of Whitehall
Windsor Palace
Stanstead Hall, London
W hat did she mean? She was telling the truth, of that I was certain. I had made a mistake. A terrible mistake. It took all of my strength not to race after them, gown held in my hand, as they departed Bedford House. Instead, I paced the great hall and wandered outside from time to time to see if William approached. He arrived several hours after the delegation left; he rode a fine horse, as all in his stable were, and had a manservant ride another one for me. Another set of horses conveyed a litter for my belongings, such that they were. They were so few that, had it not been beneath his station, we could have carried them in saddlebags instead. The day’s cool mist mingled with hot tears to blur my view of his face as he drew near.
He greeted me with kisses but then withdrew. “What is it?” he asked.
I was not yet a practiced dissembler, though I had come to believe ’twas a skill I must learn. “Come to the great hall,” I said. “The fire is still warm and we can talk there.” I led him in by the hand and we took our seats.
“Have they gone?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes, they have. And on the way out, the princess took care to share a most distressing thought with me, one that I, of course, do not believe but must ask you.”
He shifted his body and his gaze away from me. My heart fell. I knew before I even asked him that it was true. “She says you are married. I know this cannot possibly be true because you told me yourself that your wife died one year ago, last April.”
He took my hands in his own. Although they were smooth and well groomed, they were also a bit frail. I became aware, perhaps for the first time, of the chasm of years between us. Thirty.
“I promise you that I have been honest, but perhaps not complete,” he said. “First, I would have you know that King Henry, the queen’s father, called me his integrity, his incorruptibility. It was true then, and it’s true now. If I can be trusted to be forthright with my sovereign—and I can—how much more will I be with you, my own true love?”
I softened then. “Yes, I believe you.”
“My belief,” he said, “is ‘love does no wrong.’ ”
“But . . .” I sensed there was more.
“I have a wife. Of sorts.”
I forced myself to breathe, uncomfortably aware that theSwedes were too far gone for me to
Bridget and I held one another’s hand until she needed to get into a litter to depart. “I shall miss you desperately,” I said. I did not want to let go of her hand. Had I made a grave error? If so, it was not too late to join them for the return journey. I was homesick already. I might never see Sweden again, nor hear my native tongue spoken, kiss my mother good night, or eat of the small strawberries Brita and I collected each June on the hillside near our summer home.
“You’ve rightly chosen,” Bridget reminded me, seeing, I supposed, the fear cross my face. “Karin and Philip are likely already married. And William loves you well.”
I nodded. “Write to me.” She agreed, and I kissed her on the hairline.
The princess came up to me and I curtseyed before her one last time. “Thank you, my lady, for everything you have done for me,” I said, voice trembling.
She nodded, holding her head erect, and then began to walk away. Before she’d taken more than three steps, though, she turned back to me and spoke with no trace of kindness. “Lord Northampton won’t marry you. He can’t. He’s already married.”
FOUR
Spring and Summer: Year of Our Lord 1566
The Palace of Whitehall
Windsor Palace
On Progress
Year of Our Lord 1567
The Palace of Whitehall
Windsor Palace
Stanstead Hall, London
W hat did she mean? She was telling the truth, of that I was certain. I had made a mistake. A terrible mistake. It took all of my strength not to race after them, gown held in my hand, as they departed Bedford House. Instead, I paced the great hall and wandered outside from time to time to see if William approached. He arrived several hours after the delegation left; he rode a fine horse, as all in his stable were, and had a manservant ride another one for me. Another set of horses conveyed a litter for my belongings, such that they were. They were so few that, had it not been beneath his station, we could have carried them in saddlebags instead. The day’s cool mist mingled with hot tears to blur my view of his face as he drew near.
He greeted me with kisses but then withdrew. “What is it?” he asked.
I was not yet a practiced dissembler, though I had come to believe ’twas a skill I must learn. “Come to the great hall,” I said. “The fire is still warm and we can talk there.” I led him in by the hand and we took our seats.
“Have they gone?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes, they have. And on the way out, the princess took care to share a most distressing thought with me, one that I, of course, do not believe but must ask you.”
He shifted his body and his gaze away from me. My heart fell. I knew before I even asked him that it was true. “She says you are married. I know this cannot possibly be true because you told me yourself that your wife died one year ago, last April.”
He took my hands in his own. Although they were smooth and well groomed, they were also a bit frail. I became aware, perhaps for the first time, of the chasm of years between us. Thirty.
“I promise you that I have been honest, but perhaps not complete,” he said. “First, I would have you know that King Henry, the queen’s father, called me his integrity, his incorruptibility. It was true then, and it’s true now. If I can be trusted to be forthright with my sovereign—and I can—how much more will I be with you, my own true love?”
I softened then. “Yes, I believe you.”
“My belief,” he said, “is ‘love does no wrong.’ ”
“But . . .” I sensed there was more.
“I have a wife. Of sorts.”
I forced myself to breathe, uncomfortably aware that theSwedes were too far gone for me to
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