Free Innocent Traitor by Alison Weir Page B

may be put to good use.
    Sir Thomas was not in love with Lady Latimer, we all knew that, but he had certainly realized that she was a rich widow with a good reputation, who would make a desirable wife for any aspiring nobleman. It was also obvious that she was ripe for the picking. And no doubt he thought that, after being married to two old men, she would appreciate having a lusty young one in her bed.
    It was only two months ago, when Kate—or rather, the Queen, as I must shortly call her—and I were sitting in her lodgings at court, that she told me herself how she had fallen so wildly for Thomas Seymour.
    “I had to fight him off—he would barely take no for an answer, Frances,” she confided. “And I…well, I wanted him. What woman wouldn’t? He’s so handsome and charming. But when he realized I wasn’t going to let him have his way with me, he spoke of marriage. Oh, Frances, you can’t imagine how happy I was. After two old graybeards, to whom I was nurse rather than wife, I was to have a young and virile husband. And then the King made known his interest, and Tom told me he had no choice but to withdraw. Soon afterwards, he was sent abroad on a timely diplomatic mission, and then His Majesty began to press his suit in earnest.”
    He’s no fool, my uncle. Unlike Kate, poor, virtuous matron, who was beguiled by the blandishments of a self-seeking scoundrel.
    “When the King proposed marriage to me,” Kate went on, “I was reluctant to accept. I did not want the burden of queenship. Truly, I feared it. With respect, Frances, for I know he is your uncle, His Majesty has not had a happy matrimonial career.”
    “You speak truth there. But it has not all been his fault.”
    “No, no,” she hastily agreed. “But revere him as I do, as my sovereign lord, I did not love him as I love—loved—Tom. God forgive me, but when the King asked me to marry him, I told him I would rather be his mistress than his wife.”
    Her reluctance was understandable. The position of queen consort in this realm has indeed become fraught with hazards. It is now high treason for a woman with a dubious past to marry the King without first declaring that she has led an impure life. And once she is married to him, she must take care that, like Caesar’s wife, she remains above suspicion. With two of my uncle’s wives having gone to the block already, few ladies at court aspire to the honor of becoming his queen.
    Yet here Kate is, standing by my uncle, receiving the congratulations of their guests, and merrily clasping his hand as he leads the way from the chapel, he staggering manfully on his ulcerated legs, broad and magnificent in his gem-encrusted short gown and feathered bonnet, with Katherine, a diminutive figure in crimson damask, leaning on his arm. In the privy chamber, where the wedding banquet is laid out ready, bride and groom are smiling broadly, in high good humor, extending their hands to be kissed as the lords and ladies, like so many peacocks, bob up and down before them.
    “My Lady Dorset, we are pleased to welcome you,” says the new Queen as I rise from my curtsy. “I should be grateful if you would attend me tomorrow. I have need of ladies like yourself in my household.”
    “I feel highly honored, Your Majesty,” I say, as my husband looks on approvingly.
    “Frances will have you well organized, Kate,” chimes in the King, smiling. “Quite a formidable lady, my niece!” He grins at me as he says this, and I laugh.
    “Your Majesty is too unkind,” I retort. I have a great affection for my uncle, whose character is in so many ways like my own. I know that many people are terrified of him, but he has always been kind to me, and I believe that, because I deal with him directly and approach him in the right way, I bring out the best in him. I can remember him as he was in the years before he was soured by constant matrimonial trials and his fears for the succession, and I can still detect something of