Royal Mistress by Anne Easter Smith Page B

those vows, too. I want to have my own babes, Sophie, otherwise why would I have agreed to marry such a dull man as William Shore.”
    Sophie did not like to mention that living under her father’s roof, Jane had had no choice but to do her father’s bidding. She clucked her tongue instead and offered, “You are right to be sure, Jane, but you have fine clothes and a household of your own at least, vich you have always vanted.”
    Jane nodded sulkily. “But I wanted children, too, Sophie.” And she hugged the baby to her breast.
    “It has been three months only, dear friend. I have no doubt you vill interest him yet. You seem to have had no trouble attracting men to you ever since ve vere young. I used to be jealous, but now I know what it is they vant, I must say I am happy they avoided me.” She made a face to express her disgust of men’s lusts.
    Jane had to laugh. “Certes, Sophie, it cannot be so bad or there would be no more than one child born to a couple. And”—she lowered her voice for the children’s sake—“why would there be so many whores?”
    “Godallemachtig!” Sophie exclaimed, raising her eyes to heaven. “Is it not clear? They get paid to bed a man. Mayhap if Jehan paid me, I vould be more villing.”
    Jane’s warm, low-throated laughter woke the baby, who began to fret and want freeing from his swaddling bands. “Poor little Pieter. Are you hot, sweeting?” Jane quickly unbound the soft, pink body. Liberated, Pieter exercised every limb with burbling delight. “That is better, is it not?” Jane cooed while Sophie sadly watched her friend, who so obviously wished the baby were hers.
    “You have not answered me yet. Vat vill you do?”
    Jane shook her head. “I suppose I can wait a few months in case, as you say, William has an ailment he has not told me about. But after that, I shall seek the help of a priest in the matter of an annulment.”
    Sophie drew in a breath, shocked. “Annulment? You would seek annulment? That vould cause a scandal, vould it not?”
    “It might cause William some embarrassment, but not I,” she said, irony evident in her voice. “I am certain no one would think it my fault. Why, even my father thinks I am too forward with men.”
    Sophie shook her head. “Do not say such a thing, Jane. Your father may not pay you much heed, but he cares about you.”
    Jane was not so sure, but she said nothing and continued tickling little Pieter’s bare midriff.

    T hose small faults that Jane had seen in William’s physique when they had first met—his gangly legs; the lank, dull hair; his nervous sniff; his nearsighted peering at people’s clothes, for William never bothered looking at the people themselves—all began to magnify in her mind each time she was with him. That night was no exception.
    He was picking at his supper of pickled eels, cheese, and wastel bread with one hand and holding the shop’s account roll open with the other, peering at the figures in the light of a candelabra, and Jane was at liberty to study her husband from the other end of the table. A large silver saltcellar separated them, and their trenchers were set upon spotless table linen. Soon William would roll up the accounts, push away his food, and down his wine. Jane did not approve of William’s indulgence with wine at supper. It was not that she did not enjoy a cup or two herself, but she resented that he said it made him sleep better. Aye, she thought, and probably dulled the senses he needed to get her with child.
    “The king is already returning from France,” William suddenly said, not lifting his head from the paper. “It seems there was a treaty signed ere a shot was fired.”
    Jane was astonished. She had witnessed the departure of King Edward at the end of May when he had ridden with his retinue through the streets to London Bridge to take boats to Greenwich. This expedition was supposed to have regained some of the territory lost during the war against France that had