A Dangerous Inheritance

But there is nothing twisted or wicked about Mary. She is a gentle soul who strives to be as normal as Jane and me in order to please our parents. I have seen her holding herself as straight as possible, hiding her poor humped back under a shawl, oblivious to the pain it causes her. But my lord and lady mostly leave her to the care of Mrs Ellen and the other nursery attendants. Anyone can see that, given the choice, they would prefer never to set eyes on poor Mary. But I am very fond of my little sister. I worry about her, knowing that I must soon leave her to go to my husband’s house. Yet I know that Mrs Ellen will go on caring for her as lovingly as she always has. She is a sweet, thoughtful lady, very fair and very feeling, and sometimes – God forgive me – I find myself wishing that I had her for a mother. But to think such thoughts is sinful, for I know I owe my love and duty to the mother who brought me into the world.

The truth is that I was so overwhelmed by the prospect of coming face to face with Lord Herbert that I gave my little sister barely a second thought.

At midday, craning my neck out of the open window, I glimpsed the Earl of Pembroke’s barge, ornate and majestic, gliding slowly up the River Thames towards our landing stage.

‘Hurry! We must make haste!’ my mother hissed.

Needing no second bidding, I flew to the door, but then I felt a hand grip my shoulder and heard my lady’s voice again, saying, ‘Slowly! It does not do for a bride to be too eager. It is unseemly. And you do not want to look like a hoyden, ru

I subsided into obedience, as I had done countless times before, and walked down to the jetty as sedately as a lady should, my hands folded over my stomacher, my eyes downcast, looking at the grass – although I was desperate to behold the face of my intended and assure myself that he was indeed as handsome as his picture.

‘You are fortunate, Sister,’ murmured Jane beside me, looking directly at our guests, as we came to a demure standstill behind our parents. And it was then that I dared to raise my eyes.

The Earl of Pembroke, a soldierly, black-bearded figure garbed in fashionable attire that was no less lavish than our own, was making his vigorous way along the gangway between the raised oars of his boatmen, and leaping onto the landing stage. Behind him came a stately woman in a stiff brocade gown, who could only be his wife, the Countess. And then – there he was, my bridegroom, a slim young man with brown curls, wearing silver and blue silk, and his face was recognisably the face in my miniature. I caught my breath.

For the painter, whoever he was, had lied. His brush had not been equal to its task. It had not captured the cornflower blue of Lord Herbert’s wide, dancing eyes, or the manly contours of his face, with its straight nose, broad cheekbones and full red lips. It had not delineated his graceful figure or his long, muscular legs encased in white hose and soft leather shoon.

There were introductions, I am sure, but I remember little of them except this glorious young man gazing down with sincere admiration into my eyes as he raised my hand to his lips and gently kissed it, warmly declaring himself well content with his beautiful bride. His father the Earl was in a jovial mood, clapping him on the shoulder and saying how fortunate he was, and kissing my lips, saying I was even more fair than he had been told; then my father and mother welcomed their ‘son Herbert’, and everyone was congratulating us as we turned and walked back towards the Priory for the betrothal ceremony, the toasts and the cold meats.

The day seemed more than su

It was late, and my candle had burned down almost to the wick, but I could not sleep. I lay abed, reliving the events of that happy, merry day, recalling the converse I had had with my Harry – as he had asked me to call him, saying it was how he was known in the family – and thinking of Jane, who had smiled upon me and wished me every joy in my betrothal. ‘For you are meant for marriage, Kat,’ she told me. ‘You have a su

Poor Jane! I do believe she meant it.

I had not eaten much of the feast provided by my parents. My head had been in too great a spin after looking into Harry’s eyes as we made our betrothal vows and swore to be true and faithful to each other for ever.

‘I thank God it will be but a short time until we are wed, my fair Katherine,’ he had whispered just before we said our farewells. ‘I long to make you mine!’ His words, and the way he squeezed my hand as he said them, promised so much. I had been brought up with horses, pet monkeys and dogs, so I was not ignorant of physical things, but in that instant I began to realise that there was much more to human love than I could ever have dreamed. I blushed and just smiled; I had been brought up to be modest and discreet, and to regard all mention of such matters as proper only for the marriage bed. There was no way I could have conveyed to Harry how much I longed for him too.

After that, I could not expect to sleep, for I had much to dream about while awake. And presently I realised that I was hungry, having eaten so little, and took to wondering if there were any of the leftover cold meats, or anything else, in the court cupboard in the great hall.

I rose from my bed, do

‘I hope Pembroke doesn’t waver.’ It was my mother’s voice that had stopped me in my tracks. Waver? Why should the Earl want to waver? Was it my marriage they were talking about? I held my breath.

‘He, waver? Not a chance,’ my father said. ‘He’s bound himself now, and ca

‘Oh, but he can. This agreement about the marriage not being consummated immediately. I don’t like it.’ My heart began beating fast at that, and it would be pounding heavily before I was finished listening.

My lady was strident. ‘I told you, you should have insisted on their bedding together on the wedding night, but instead you go and agree to the Earl’s condition.’

‘But Katherine is young – she’s just twelve. He said he was being purely considerate of her age, which I rather liked him for.’ My father sounded defensive.

‘Words! Fair, empty words! She’s old enough for wedding andbedding,’ my mother snorted, as I shrank at her coarseness. ‘It’s clear to me that Pembroke doesn’t entirely trust Northumberland, and that he is sitting on the fence to see if my lord Duke can hang on to power after the King dies. It’s well known that Catholic Mary has no love for Northumberland. She’d as soon hang him, given the chance. I wouldn’t give a groat for his prospects with her sitting on the throne.’