Free Royal Mistress by Anne Easter Smith Page B

transport this decent family to more luxurious accommodations. “I have just seen Tom Grey, and this time must be the last,” she admitted, picking up a stray thread of silk from the floor and winding it around her finger.
    “But, Jane, I thought you vould not see him again after he told you he was vedded to another. Bad man. Slechte man, ” she repeated, the Flemish translation emphasizing her disdain. “I hope he made penance for lying so to you.” She reached out and patted Jane’s fidgeting fingers. “Vere did you see him? I hope he did not force himself with you?”
    Jane smiled. “Nay, my good, prim Sophie, he did not. He did not even see me.” Her face fell again. “He was riding in the king’strain. And ’twas only then I knew how truly foolish I had been to believe we could be lovers. You see, my sweet little flamande, I discovered today that Master Tom Grey is King Edward’s stepson—the queen’s son.”
    Sophie’s horrified expression made Jane laugh out loud, and the noise must have woken Pieter judging by the wail that emanated from the loft where all the Vandersands slept. And then the baby began to whimper and fuss, bringing the women’s conversation to a close.
    “Ach, dearest Jane, it is indeed the last of Thomas Grey. I am sorry for you, but soon you vill forget. You like to valk in the sunshine too much.”
    How wrong you are, pragmatic Sophie, Jane wanted to say, but she kissed her friend and the baby and shut the front door quietly behind her.
    As Jane sauntered home, the procession long since gone, she tried to push the memory from her heart of Tom’s seductive smile, passionate caresses, and gentle words. But he lingered there, reminding her constantly that the romantic love she had always yearned for had existed for her, if only for a few weeks.
    Jane was fortunate, as her friend Sophie often said, that she never felt downhearted for long. And so perhaps one day, Jane mused, she would find love again with someone new, and the thought buoyed her homeward steps and took her mind off her unfulfilled life with William Shore.

FOUR

L ONDON , W INTER 1475–1476
    W ill pulled down on his short jacket, a fashion that tended to ride up and reveal too much of his buttocks for his liking. Then he ran his fingers through his thinning brown hair before replacing his bonnet at a jauntier angle and walking into William Shore’s well-stocked shop on Coleman Street. The first person he saw, helping a young woman choose bed linens, was Jane.
    But faster and hungrier than a flea finding a dog, William Shore was at the new customer’s elbow. He bowed low, recognizing Lord Hastings.
    “Good morrow, my lord, and indeed you are right welcome in my establishment. May I help you find something?” William saw he had not held the nobleman’s attention, and his eyes followed Will’s gaze to Jane. At first annoyed, he surmised his bold-eyed wife instantly attracted this noble lord with her seductive smile, but then a profitable thought overtook his resentment as he more rightly assumed this prominent customer, having noticed Jane at her father’s window two weeks ago, had been thus lured to her husband’s shop. How right he had been to insist Jane flaunt his wares for the king’s train, for it had brought no less than the king’s chamberlain to his door. For once he thanked God for his attractive wife.
    “Lord Hastings, I am honored.” William groveled.
    “Master Shore, I give you God’s greeting,” Will said, bringing his attention back to the awkwardly tall mercer; it was as though the man had outstripped his boyish legs before he had learnedhow to use them. “I am certain I have come to the right place, as I saw the lady yonder seated in a window above Master Lambert’s mercery while the king rode along the Chepe. I was immediately taken with her beauty . . . I mean, beautiful . . . gown,” he corrected himself. “I knew I must seek out the same cloth for Lady Hastings, and Master