Free The Secret Bride by Diane Haeger

Countess of Richmond was a powerful force with which to be reckoned. No one had ever changed her mind once she had made it.
    As two of the king’s guards moved a step nearer, Jane rose and excused herself to keep Mary from embarrassing herself more than she had done already. As Jane stumbled out onto the steps, the countess called out a final directive.
    “And you are to advise Lady Guildford that Mistress Popincourt is to be soundly enough flogged so that she shall not again speak so vulgarly.”

    After the jousts, Mary attended the banquet meekly as she had been expected to do. She waited what felt like an eternity for her grandmother to drink enough wine, then begin dancing with the Earl of Northumberland so that she could slip away undetected. By the time Mary found Jane, she was alone in just her shift and stockings, lying on her bed in the small chamber next to Mary’s own. There was darkness but for moonlight that shone like a beacon through the window. Still Mary knew Jane would be awake. She lit a candle lamp and set it down onto the table beside Jane. Her face was red and swollen from weeping and her wide blue eyes were brightened with tears as she lay on her back looking blankly up at the ceiling.
    “I am so sorry,” Mary whispered, aching for her friend.
    “Not half so sorry as I. I’ll not be caught again. I’ll be more careful because I mean to live my life at court by my own rules. I believe I shall begin by seducing your brother the first moment I have a chance.”
    “I would rather you didn’t.”
    “I shall make my own happiness in this world. And so should you!”
    “All right,” Mary said. But she did not mean it. At least not back then.

    Mary spent her days that first year of 1509 at court primarily in the company of Jane and Katherine, the three of them being heavily supervised in embroidery, dancing, French, cards, etiquette and music, by the Countess of Richmond. While Katherine never spoke of her feelings for Henry during those long, mainly mild winter days, heading toward spring, both she and Jane could see them in her every look and glance.
    The sad romance of it all made them pity Katherine, knowing that if something did not happen soon, she would be forced to return to Spain, and the king could not be bothered even to be civilized toward her.
    “What is it between you and Katherine?” Mary asked Henry one mild afternoon as they strolled together beneath a clear broad sky. They moved evenly out through the privy gardens, between the neatly clipped hedgerows, where the yew trees had been formed into the fanciful shapes of animals for the king’s pleasure. They were with a large group of Henry’s friends, including Charles Brandon, Thomas Knyvet and Jane, who ambled a few paces behind them, giving brother and sister a moment of privacy.
    “Katherine is my good sister, as you are, and she is in need of kindness just now. That is all,” he equivocated, glancing back at her, but she saw him catch Jane’s eye instead.
    Mary turned around as well and saw Katherine, who had seen the little exchange. But she only turned and spoke in a whisper to Dona Elvira—too proud to acknowledge it.
    “That is all?” she repeated on a note of disbelief.
    “Very well. You always could see through me,” he con-ceded a moment later, with a toss of his head and a crooked half smile. The pale sun highlighted the red-gold strands in his tousled golden hair, and his eyes glittered at her with absolute sincerity. “I do care for her, Mary. I care for her a great deal. And she cares for me. But the king is immovable on the notion of our marrying now. And he means absolutely to see her returned to Spain.”
    “You actually wish to marry one who was, for a time, chosen for you?”
    “Peculiar as that seems.”
    “Then it is a great tragedy.”
    “Rather, it shall be a gloriously romantic tale if I can think of a way to stall her return.”
    She understood then. Her brother was stubborn and, like her,