Free The Boleyn Deceit by Laura Andersen Page A

have kept your own counsel since my mother’s death at Hever last summer.”
    Minuette remembered it well—the burning shame of being found by Elizabeth in William’s arms, lost in much more than a kiss in the same room with Queen Anne’s corpse. It was with real remorse that she replied, “I am sorry, Elizabeth. It’s never been about shutting you out. It is only …”
It is only that I don’t want to marry Will. It is Dominic I love. And I can’t tell you that because William mustn’t know, not until I figure out how to get all of us out of this without pain.
    She couldn’t say any of that, so she said, “It’s a complicated situation. I am doing my best to keep my head and behave well.”
    Unusually affectionate for her, Elizabeth took Minuette’s hands in hers. “I know, and you are. But we are alone here, and I miss you. You know more of Robert than anyone living. Can you not speak to me of William?”
    Minuette could feel her barriers cracking, and she let some of her heartfelt trouble come through. “I was, of course, astonished at his proposal,” she answered Elizabeth. “I had never dreamt such a thing. I know he is impulsive, but this … my immediate thought was that he wanted to make amends for what occurred at Hever. Not,” she added hastily, “that he needed to make amends. We were equally complicit. But you know how generous he is in his affections. I do not believe William has thought this through.”
    “But you do love him.” It was not quite a question.
    “You know I do. And because I love him, I would never hold him to an offer made in the heat of the moment.” She could hear the sleet hitting the window with a hiss that sounded disapproving, as though even the weather could see through her half-told truths.
    Elizabeth let go of Minuette’s hands. She sat back, once again coolly assessing. “You expect that he will have to retract his offer?”
    “He cannot afford to alienate the French now, and with the debts and tax burden from last year’s war, that will not change anytime soon. William’s affections run hot, but for how long?”
    “I don’t know,” Elizabeth said, frowning, “but my father’s affections ran blazingly hot for a good six years before he married my mother. Don’t underestimate William’s devotion to you.”
    “I would never do that. But I also don’t underestimate his devotion to England. And even you must admit that making me queen would be an exceedingly bad idea for England.”
    Elizabeth shrugged. “It is true that the nobility is not prepared for the elevation of another minor Englishwoman to the throne, even if you come without the burden of an ambitious family, as my mother did. And William is wise enough to know he cannot make his intentions public without causing an outcrygreater than any since my father’s break with Rome. He will be patient—we must also ensure he is discreet.”
    “People are talking.” Minuette said it flatly.
    “Only a little, but that will change if William continues to favour you so openly. As long as he was sleeping with Eleanor, no one thought twice about his friendship with you. But with no other woman to distract him—”
    “Are you suggesting we arrange a mistress for William?” Minuette could not decide if she was outraged by Elizabeth’s practicality or respected it. And she could not begin to unravel how she felt about the thought of William in the bed of another woman like Eleanor.
    “I am suggesting that it might be wise to remove ourselves from court whenever possible. If I am not here, neither can you be here. Perhaps we will visit Mary. My sister has been left in solitude long enough—no doubt she would welcome visitors from court. Or, at least, endure them.”
    Minuette thought of facing Lady Mary after that last, disastrous stay at Framlingham. It didn’t excite her, but Elizabeth was right. It would be better for everyone if she and William were separated.
    She tried not to dwell on the