Taming The Tempestuous Tudor

Her cousin Aphra, with whom she had visited the Royal Wardrobe, was invited to stay with them that week. Greeting her, Etta quipped, ‘I think I need some moral support.’

‘Do you, Ettie? Why?’ Aphra held a special place in everyone’s hearts as the sweetest and kindest of women, fair and slender, graceful in thought and deed, serene and as steadfast a friend as anyone could wish for. Everyone knew that, one day, she would find a wonderful husband and Etta looked upon her as an elder sister. ‘They’ve found a husband for you, haven’t they?’ Aphra said. ‘Don’t look so surprised. Your expression gave it away. Come on, it may not be as bad as all that.’

‘I think it may be worse, Affie.’ It was nothing new to Aphra to be the recipient of Etta’s woes, but this time the only help she could offer was in her calming influence and companionship, and the advice to speak with her parents about her concerns. Predictably, the conversation was brief.

* * *

Knocking on the door of her parents’ bedchamber, Etta entered at her mother’s call, taking in the sweet aroma of last year’s lavender and burning applewood. Half-dressed, they were both being pinned and laced into the various items of clothing, looking oddly lopsided. ‘May I speak with you a while?’ she said, sitting on the oak chest at the end of their bed.

Discreetly, the servants left the room. Her father’s demeanour had not changed all morning from the determined expression he now wore and she knew that this time they would insist. ‘Father,’ she said, catching the anxious glance her mother sent in his direction, ‘this time you’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘We’ve made our choice, Etta,’ he said, tying the last of his points. ‘You cannot expect us to change our minds. You must trust us to know what’s best.’

‘But if you thought love was the best reason for you and Mother to marry, then why not me, too?’

‘Love?’ Both parents’ eyebrows lifted as they stared at her. ‘Love?’ her mother repeated. ‘Etta, have you done something foolish?’

The temptation to pursue this line was almost overwhelming. ‘No, Mother, I haven’t. I just want some say in who I spend the rest of my life with. As you did.’

‘As it happens, Etta,’ said her father, ‘that’s what we want, too. You may not have given it much thought, but fathers don’t usually give dowries along with their daughters to any man who declares his love for them. There’s a lot of money at stake here and any father who throws that away on a young man’s declaration of love is a fool. Your mother and I had got beyond that stage when we agreed to marry. I’m sorry if that sounds mercenary, my dear, but these are important considerations that parents must take very seriously. We’ve found a man with enough wealth to make that unlikely. The love will develop as you get to know each other. I expect.’

‘Now go and finish your dressing,’ her mother said, ‘and try to take this with a good grace. We expect you to make yourself agreeable to our guest.’

There was no more she could say to them. All her personal preparations had been accomplished, hair washed and braided, skin scrubbed and perfumed, dresses chosen, pressed and mended, frills starched and gathered to perfection. She had chosen to wear a high-necked gown of deep-pink satin over a Spanish bell-shaped farthingale, the bodice making a deep vee at the front, stiffened by whalebone. Sitting down was only achieved with care, so now she stood with Aphra at the mullioned window of her room that gave them a view of the gardens with the great river beyond and the jetty where a small barge was coming in, its four oarsmen steering it skilfully against the tide.

‘He’s got his own barge,’ said Etta, ‘and his boatmen have liveries. That’s serious wealth, Aphie. That’ll be him, climbing out.’ The small diamond-shaped panes of thick glass made it difficult to see any details, only that the manly figure leaping out of the barge did not quite fit Etta’s mental image of a middle-aged aristocrat.

‘He’s tall,’ Aphra said. ‘Can’t see any more. Shall we go down?’

Purposely, they took their time, lingering to catch sounds of greetings and laughter, Etta readying herself to show a confidence she was far from feeling. Her mind slipped back to her meeting in that dim storeroom with the man who had made her feel womanly and desirable, when there had been no talk of wealth, dowries, bargains or filial obedience. Those had been moments she had kept safe in her heart, not even sharing them with Aphra. Now, she might as well forget them and face her real future.

He was standing with his back to the door as Etta and Aphra entered, accepting a glass of wine from his hostess, his tall frame matching Lord Jon’s as only a few other men did. He had obviously taken great care to make a good impression, for his deep-green sleeveless gown was edged with marten fur worn over a doublet and breeches of gold-edged green velvet, slashed to show a creamy white satin beneath. As he turned to greet them, they saw gold cords and aiglets studded with seed pearls, and in his hat was a drooping peacock feather like her father’s. He smiled, creasing his handsome face, making his eyes twinkle with mischief. ‘Mistress Raemon,’ he said, softly, ‘your prediction was correct. We have met again, you see?’

A hard uncomfortable thudding in her chest made words difficult. ‘Father, there’s been a mistake. This man is not who you think he is. He was at the Royal Wardrobe when Aphra and I went there. His name is Master Nicolaus.’

Why were they all smiling?

Looking slightly sheepish through her smiles, her mother came forward to lead Etta by the hand. ‘Yes, dear. He is also Baron Somerville of Mortlake. We know you have already met. That was intentional. Shall you make your courtesies?’

‘No, Mother. I shall not. There is some deception here. Why did he introduce himself to me as Master Nicolaus? What is it that he’s not told me that he should have? Be honest, if you please.’ Her voice was brittle with anger and humiliation, and anything but welcoming. She had tried to make him understand that he was not the kind of man with whom she would form a relationship. She thought he had accepted that.

The smile remained in his eyes, though now tinged with concern. ‘I have been honest with you at all times, mistress,’ said Baron Somerville, reminding her of his deep voice and seductive tone, the reassuring words. ‘My name is Nicolaus Benninck, from Antwerp. Recently, the Queen honoured me with the title of baron. I am one and the same person, you see. I believe you were kindly disposed to the one, so it stands to reason that you will feel the same about the other. How could it be otherwise?’

But the colour had now blanched from Etta’s face as she made it plain what she thought of such reasoning. ‘It may have escaped your notice, sir, that I am a grown woman, not a child of six to join in this kind of game. What is it you wished to gain from this deceit, exactly? Do you try the same nonsense with everyone you meet? Does your new title embarrass you so that you could not have spoken of it?’

‘Henrietta!’ her father barked. ‘That’s going too far. You are being discourteous to our guest. You should apologise at once.’

‘The discourtesy is to me, Father. Tell Baron Somerville his journey is wasted. If a man is not honest enough to tell a woman of his status, on two separate occasions, then one must wonder what else he will keep from her. If I did the same, Father, you would have me locked in my room on nothing but bread and water.’

‘You’re taking this quite the wrong way,’ said Lord Jon, crossly.

‘On the contrary, Father. I find it patronising in the extreme to be fed misleading information as if I could not manage the truth. But that’s not all, is it, my lord? Didn’t you also tell me you were a mercer?’ She turned to her mother, her eyes blazing with scorn. ‘A mercer! I ask you, Mama, is it in the least likely you and Father would expect me to marry a mercer? Really?’

Her father’s eyebrows twitched. ‘Henrietta, you had better say no more. Baron Somerville is one of London’s most successful mercers, a merchant of some standing, a freeman and alderman of the City of London, and the owner of several shops on Cheapside. Your mother and I have always had the greatest respect for mercers, otherwise we would not have been invited to their banquet last month. The mercers are one of the most influential companies, and one of the wealthiest. You yourself were impressed by the event.’

Still white with shock, Etta listened to this list of distinctions with a growing confusion, trying desperately to link what Master Nicolaus had told her about himself, which was very little, with what he might have said if he’d been trying to impress her. ‘You didn’t say you had spoken to my parents on that occasion,’ she said to Lord Somerville. ‘Why could you not have told me?’

‘Because, mistress, I did not speak to them. I said I’d seen you there with them, but there was no opportunity for us to be introduced. Your father and I have spoken since then, and...’

‘Yes, I see,’ she retorted, ‘and decided on a clever little plan to deceive me. The peacock feather. That was a sign, I suppose? Carried by me to my father. What a jest! How you must have laughed up your sleeves at that, both of you.’

‘Etta,’ said her mother, ‘you have already said far too much. We expected some resistance to whomever we chose for you, but this is as much to do with names as much as anything else, isn’t it?’

‘No, Mama. It isn’t. But never in all my born days did I imagine you would choose a mercer for me to live with, over a shop in Cheapside. I thought you had higher hopes for me than that, knowing of my ambitions. How on earth...am I...to...oh!’

Covering her face with her hands, she turned and ran to the door, fumbling with the latch until Aphra opened it for her, following her out and calling after her up the stairs, ‘Etta! At least come and talk about it!’

But the door to Etta’s room slammed and Aphra knew, as they all did, that her cousin felt betrayed. To Aphra’s relief, their guest showed none of the signs of consternation one might have expected. As he smiled at her, she noticed that his teeth were white and even, his skin still glowing after the river breeze.

‘We have not been introduced,’ he said to her, ‘but I hope you will take Mistress Raemon’s place until she re-establishes contact with us.’

‘Aphra Betterton,’ she said. ‘Sir George’s daughter.’

‘Ah, of course! You were there...’

‘I was, my lord. And if I had known you then, none of this would have happened, would it? I blame my father for not doing his duty on that day.’

‘He was busy, Mistress Betterton.’

‘Blame me, Aphra,’ said Lord Jon. ‘I thought it might work. Indeed, your aunt and I were convinced it would. A bad start, I fear. But come, let’s go into the parlour for some refreshment. Ginny, shall you go up to her?’

* * *

In the privacy of her bedchamber, Etta berated herself for a fool. Unable to see their plan as anything other than a ploy meant to deceive her, Etta was effectively blinding herself to any of the advantages. Knowing what the reply would be, Lady Virginia did not ask for admittance, but walked straight in. ‘Etta darling, this won’t do,’ she said. ‘Lord Somerville is a very attractive suitor.’

‘Well I’m not attracted to him,’ Etta said, keeping her back to her mother. ‘Any man who can deceive me in such a manner is profoundly unattractive to me and I want no more to do with him and I’m ashamed and hurt...yes, hurt, Mother...that you and Father could think to marry me to a mercer. A tradesman.’ The words fell out of her mouth in a torrent and ended in a squeak of fury, and Lady Virginia saw now that tears were getting in the way, a typical Tudor response that Lady Virginia had seen time and again in the five-year-old Princess Elizabeth. It would be interesting to hear, she thought, how the new Queen would react to anyone who tried to impose their will upon her in matters of the heart.

‘Dry your eyes at once, Etta,’ she commanded. ‘This kind of behaviour will cut no ice with your father. You are a grown woman and this is most unbecoming. Whatever you feel, Lord Somerville is our guest and you must act accordingly out of courtesy to us all. Come now, mop your face, come downstairs with me and be civil.’

Etta realised that there would be more to it than civility. ‘Mother,’ she said, turning to show brown eyes sparkling with tears of anger, ‘is he...are you...so determined on this...this union? Is this really the way you wish to make an arrangement?’

‘Etta, the way we’ve made the arrangement is neither here nor there. All women must accept their parents’ choice unless they are widowed and even then marriages may be arranged for them. It’s what happened to me and it will happen to you, too.’

‘You always told me that you and Father were in love when you married.’

‘We were, in a way. But that didn’t mean I was given any choice in the matter.’

‘So you mean that Father will insist on it?’

‘Yes, dear. There is no good reason to prevaricate any longer. Lord Somerville and your father have already entered into negotiations. That’s all there is to it.’ Her heart softened towards her beautiful stepdaughter, so intelligent and sensitive, brimming over with vitality and expectations.

* * *

To have continued the talk of dishonour and treachery over dinner would have been unthinkable, for Etta had been well schooled in good manners and the arts of hospitality. Even so, she could not pretend that nothing had happened to change how she felt about the man, his deceit, his profession. Her deeply felt anger at the deceit overpowered the meal to such a degree that she tasted nothing of the roast meats and savoury sauces prepared with such care, and it was only because Aphra was there to converse with their guest that the diners managed without Etta’s usually bright contributions. Politely, she spoke when she was spoken to, but since Lord Somerville made no attempt to coax her to say more on any subject, she found the meal miserably tasteless and tense.

There was still an hour of daylight left, though it was only mid-afternoon when they rose from the table. Etta had it in mind to excuse herself immediately, but her father had other ideas before she’d had time to speak. ‘Henrietta, I think our guest would like to see the gardens with you before it gets any darker.’

There was no way out. Much too quickly, Tilda brought her woollen cloak, and since it seemed to have been taken for granted that their guest would soon be one of the family, no escort followed them out on to the paved pathway leading to the herbier. With the intention of walking quickly to avoid any attempt at conversation, Etta marched away down the path between low hedges of hyssop, lavender and thrift, brown-spiked and tangled grey, reflecting her mood. But there was to be no evading the long stride of her companion who, without her knowing quite how it happened, managed to steer her into the trelliswork allée covered with the winter stems of honeysuckle and climbing roses. Shielded from the house, Lord Somerville wasted no time in bringing her contrariness under control, catching her beneath one arm and swinging her round to face him.

Momentarily off balance, all her resentments, hurts and loss of face rose up to the surface and, with all her pent-up energy, she aimed a blow at his head which, if it had connected, would certainly have hurt him. But he was too quick for her. He had noted how her anger had simmered throughout the meal and how that, before too long, something would explode. In the blink of an eye, her wrist was caught and held away into the small of her back, his grip so painfully tight that no amount of twisting or writhing would dislodge him or prevent her other wrist from joining the first.

‘Let me go!’ she snarled. ‘Let me go! I do not want you. Not now or ever!’

‘Yes, I know all about that. Saints alive, woman, I never met anyone with so many preconceived ideas about men as you. And when you find a man you like, you’re prepared to dislike him because he’s even better than you thought he was. What kind of nonsense is that?’

‘It isn’t nonsense,’ she said, pulling against his restraint. ‘I’m prepared to dislike you, sir, because of your deceit and because I told you of the reasons for our mismatch well before this. You lied to me about—’

‘No, I didn’t. I spoke only the truth, mistress. If you put your own slant on it, that’s your fault, not mine.’

‘So why could you not have told me who you were, instead of...?’

‘Shop-owner, ship-owner, mercer and merchant. I am proud of what I do, mistress. I have not lied to you, but nor did I tell you everything, either. What man would be flattered to know that it was his wealth and status that won the heart of a woman, rather than the man himself? Fathers may arrange marriages for their daughters along such lines, but I don’t entirely fall in with that principle. And don’t pretend you were not interested, because I know differently.’

‘In a wily knave like you, my lord? Never. I would rather—’

Whatever her high-flown protest was to have been, it was cut short by his kiss, hard, thorough and long enough to make her forget. Wedged with her head on his shoulder and unable to move away, she could only wonder at the change in him from soft-spoken courteous gentleman to this, as if the sudden revelation of his title had endowed him with an authority of a far more potent kind. If this change had any direct link to the change in her, too, then she conveniently forgot it. It was, however, a side of him she had not expected and one which, if the truth be told, she found exciting, for it suggested that she could protest all she liked but would still be as desired as she was before. ‘Let me go,’ she said, not quite as emphatically as she had intended. ‘If you think I appeared to be interested in you, my lord, you are mistaken. I was more interested in what you had to tell me about the fabrics That’s why I returned—to take another look at them.’

His hold on her relaxed. ‘And look where that got you, mistress,’ he said. ‘Was it worth all the effort?’

‘No, it certainly was not, my lord. How could you ever have believed I would take kindly to being manipulated in this way?’

‘I believed your father when he assured me it was probably the only way, mistress. He still does. But if you’d come down off your high horse, you’d see the advantages rather than the hurt to your pride. Recall, if you will, how you enjoyed talking with me about fabrics and the exotic places they come from, and about the latest trends in fashion. I could show you much more than that: the warehouses, the furriers and cordwainers for your leathers, the shoemakers, the very finest tailors.’

Her stony expression almost softened at that, but there was yet another cause to keep her anger simmering, too good not to use as ammunition. ‘I wish to attend the royal court,’ she said. ‘Of what use would finery be if I could not show it there? I believe the Queen knows of me, my lord, and it is my dearest wish to meet her.’

Placing an arm across her back, he moved her along the allée and out into the knot garden where a tiny wren flitted beneath their feet into the foliage. ‘It’s not quite as rosy as that, mistress. Surely Lord and Lady Raemon have explained the position to you?’

‘If you mean they have doubts about her wish to see me, then, yes, they have done their best to pour cold water on the idea. I’m not at all convinced.’

‘Then I don’t suppose I shall be any more successful, mistress. But I think you should be aware of the problems that would arise. The young Queen will not tolerate any competition, especially on a personal level. She has sent most of the late Queen Mary’s women home and now retains only six maids. Her ladies are either personal friends or women the late Queen didn’t like. What’s more, even if I did attend court regularly, she would be unlikely to accept you simply because you were my wife. I understand that she enjoys having men around her, but she doesn’t make any accommodation available to their wives. Nor will she feed them.’

‘She would accept me. How could she not like her own half-sister?’

Their stroll along the gravel came to a halt as he turned her to face him. ‘Listen to me, Henrietta. In many respects, you are alike and from a distance you could be taken for her, but anyone who’s seen her at close quarters would see that she doesn’t have your beauty. And that’s the first thing she’d see. I shall not be taking you to meet her. That would be asking for trouble.’

‘That’s as roundabout a compliment as ever I heard,’ she said, beginning to walk away. ‘You paint a harsh picture of her, my lord, and a fulsome one of me. I refuse to believe she and I are so very different.’

Again, his hand caught a fistful of her fur cloak, pulling her back to him. ‘You have a lot to learn then,’ he said, ‘and one is that I don’t flatter women as other men do to soften them up. The second is that your obstinacy and wilfulness are on a par with hers and that when I said it could be tamed, I meant it. You would do well to take my advice, Henrietta, if only to keep out of trouble.’

Etta glared at him with all the indignation of a thwarted young woman seeing for the first time that she would have to deal with a man as obdurate as herself. ‘Tamed, my lord? You would prefer a pliant and obedient wife, then?’

‘Yes, woman,’ he said, holding her still by her elbows. ‘I would prefer a pliant and obedient wife to a shrew. What man would not?’ He bent his head to hers, looking deeply into her eyes with a piercing glare that made her blink. ‘But you will not be twisting me round your little finger as you have been used to doing with your father. Your relationship to the Queen will not help you as much as you think. In fact, you may discover that you’d rather not be related. And, yes, you may glare at me like a tigress, Henrietta, but with me you’ve met your match. And tomorrow, we shall discuss our wedding plans.’

‘No need to wait for tomorrow for that, my lord,’ she said sharply, shaking his hands off her arms. ‘That can be arranged in one word. Simple! The shortest possible ceremony with the fewest possible witnesses. There, how does that sound?’

She did not fully expect to be taken at her word on this, when everything she had said so far had been countered with some argument, and she had anticipated that publicity, grand guests and a show of his good fortune would be essential requirements for a man of his considerable standing and wealth. So when he agreed with her that a simple ceremony was very much to his taste, she realised with a nasty thud under her ribs that her retaliation had rebounded on herself instead of him.

‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘I shall go ahead and buy a special licence to avoid all that time-wasting, if that’s what you prefer. It’s not cheap, but probably cheaper than feasts and dresses and all the trimmings. Worth it, to get things over and done with.’

Etta tried out what she hoped might be an impediment. ‘But what about the Queen?’ she said, frowning at his eagerness to comply. ‘As a relative, surely I shall need her permission?’

‘I don’t see that that will be necessary, mistress, when she has not yet recognised you as her relative. Has she?’

‘No. Not yet.’

‘Well then, the sooner we get the formalities out of the way, the better. She’s very unlikely to go searching for beautiful young female relatives, is she? In fact, quite the opposite, I’d say.’

This was not at all what she had wanted, or expected, but to say so was now impossible. By pretending to oblige her, he must know that he was acting to the contrary. And whose fault was that? ‘It will take a while for you and Father to complete the formalities,’ she said. ‘There’s the matter of dowries and jointures.’

‘That’s already in hand,’ he said, setting off towards the house. ‘Our lawyers are already drawing up draft agreements. I’m not difficult to please.’

‘Already? What do you mean, already? When?’ she yelled.

Ahead of her, he stopped and turned, his face a picture of merriment. Shaking his head with laughter, he came back to her. ‘When?’ he repeated. ‘As soon as I saw you, Henrietta. At the Mercers’ banquet. I spoke to your father the very next day. I know my own mind, too, you see.’