Free The Secret Bride by Diane Haeger Page B

direction, not seeing his sister. Everyone by now knew Henry was in love with Katherine. This, whatever it was, could only bring Jane heartbreak.
    “Leave it be, child,” Mother Guildford counseled as Mary moved again to go to her friend.
    “But I—”
    “Some things are better left unseen.”
    “But I have seen it! Jane will need my counsel.”
    “Best to wait, child. She shall need your shoulder more.”
    Suddenly, as Mary looked back, Jane did see her. The eyes of the two friends met, neither of them able to remember any longer being without the other in their lives. The only sound in that awkward instant was of the splashing fountain, and a soft breeze as it stirred the fabric of her small headdress.
    Was it pure girlish rebellion that had led Jane to something so foolish? Or did she really believe that Henry could actually care for her? They said physical attraction was strong enough to make a young girl believe it was love, but Jane had always seemed wiser to Mary than to have given in to that—a girl more certain to find a future of her own making. Would Jane Popincourt, with the sweet laugh and the vulnerable smile, ever be content as a royal mistress when she had yet to find her own true love, the way the two of them had always dreamed? They were yet all so untested by life, Katherine, Jane, Henry and herself.
    “Why would he do that to her?” Mary heard herself ask, without turning back.
    “Men are a different breed, child. And a prince who shall be king is something altogether different even from that.
    They are entitled.”
    “As he believes he is entitled to with Katherine?”
    “That as well. He will need that strength one day to rule.
    So do not be too hard on him.”
    “And will he need the hubris that goes along with it?”
    “I suspect he shall indeed.”
    “But what of Jane?” Mary pressed, her heart aching for her friend.
    “She is expendable. As are we all. Except, perhaps, you.
    No one shall ever be able to use you in that way. Remember, your father is king.”
    “My life is not my own to make.”
    “No, you have been raised to know that well enough,”
    she answered patiently. “But if you listen well, mistakes are not yours to make either. There will be people to counsel and guide you in every aspect of your life. You should find some comfort in that.”
    And boredom in it, Mary thought. Having other people guide her life all the way through, at this moment, seemed like the very worst thing in the world.
    They walked slowly back into the house, the servants they passed dropping into perfunctory curtsies and bows as they passed. Mary rarely noticed the required business of life. It just had always been there. Like the rules. And she had broken so few. Only now had the reality of that begun to seem the littlest bit stifling to her after having watched Jane do something on her own that was entirely, utterly wrong.

    Jane stood washing herself until the bare skin of her breasts were red and raw, and her hand began to ache from how tightly she held the cloth within her fist. She could wash away the feel of his touch, but never the memory of it, nor the knowledge that when he had the power to do so, Henry would marry Katherine of Aragon. She had seen them together only moments after they had left the maze, and the reality of the place Katherine had in his heart ripped through Jane, searing and lethal. He had told Jane he loved her, and even though the words were spoken in passion’s heat, Jane had allowed herself to believe him. Foolish, foolish girl . . . what everyone else thought was what she now believed. She was a fool. When he was king, Katherine would share the best parts of him—his crown and his heart.
    She had had not one prince of England, but two. How could one girl have fortune smile down upon her in so grand a way when another marched in the darkness of love’s shadow?
    She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling violated and empty. It is your own fault . . . you allowed it to