The Boleyn Reckoning by Laura Andersen Page A

sat in her rooms, waiting. She was to meet Dominic and Elizabeth in William’s privy chamber at ten. No point trying to write in her diary, she was too fidgety and would blot the ink even if she could calm her thoughts enough to be coherent.
    It was half past nine when Carrie came into her presence chamber with a guest: Lady Jane Grey. Minuette blinked with surprise. Jane was the daughter of a duke and the granddaughter of the late king’s sister and she had never sought Minuette’s company before—why did she do so now?
    No matter what she wore, Jane always looked subdued, like a spring garden after a rainstorm. However elaborate her gowns or hair or jewels, something in her very nature made her look wise and almost otherworldly. She wasn’t plain, but she behaved as though she were, or as though her appearance was far too trivial to deserve attention. Although Minuette was a year older, Jane always made her feel young and very frivolous.
    “Forgive my intrusion,” Jane said in her quiet manner. “If it is not convenient, I can come another time.”
    As it was not inconvenient to pass the time with an unexpected guest, Minuette replied, “You are quite welcome, Lady Jane. Was there a particular conversation you wished to have?”
    For all her soberness, Jane showed a flash of ironic humour. “My wishes so rarely enter into anything these days. It is my mother,rather, who wished this conversation to occur. And I thought you might prefer me to her.”
    Minuette most certainly preferred Jane to the shrewd, formidable Duchess of Suffolk. Frances Brandon had spent her eldest daughter’s lifetime positioning her as the only choice for William’s queen. The French betrothal had been a great irritation. No doubt Minuette’s sudden elevation had sent the duchess into a Tudor rage.
    “And what is the subject of this conversation?” she asked Jane.
    Beneath her submissive manner, Jane had a streak of stubborn honesty that manifested itself occasionally in bluntness. As now. “Are you and the king quite serious in your intentions?”
    Minuette picked over her words cautiously. “Have you ever known William to be less than serious in matters touching his kingdom?”
    “He truly intends to marry you?”
    “I have not the slightest reason to doubt his intentions.”
    “You will not persuade him otherwise?” Jane eyed her coolly.
    “Lady Suffolk is niece to the late King Henry. Does she really think Henry’s son is open to persuasions that oppose his will?”
    “My mother is capable of thinking that whatever she wishes must be so, rather like my cousin William.” Jane flashed a rueful smile. “I think she will be disappointed in this.”
    “Does that trouble you?” Minuette’s conscience pricked her unexpectedly. Was she injuring Jane’s sentiments by stealing away William’s love?
    The assessing gaze Jane turned on her was, for a moment, a disconcerting echo of Elizabeth’s sharpness, and Minuette was reminded that they were all cousins—even Dominic, with his Boleyn mother and royal grandmother. Only Minuette truly stood on the outside.
    Finally, Jane said, “The greatest disappointment is my mother’s,that I will not be the queen she has always wanted me to be. As for myself, my ambitions have never been so grand. I prefer contemplation and study to the rush and pomp of court. I would be quite content to pass my life in a quiet manner. If I must marry, I would prefer it to be a country gentleman far removed from politics.”
    “Do you have a particular gentleman in mind?”
    “No. But it would not matter if I did. If I am not to be queen, then I must be a duchess. Which leads me to a question on my own account. You are well acquainted with Lord Exeter. He seems a serious-minded man. I wonder only …” Jane let her gaze wander around the chamber, flitting from the portrait of Elizabeth of York to the blue and gold curtains at the diamond-paned windows to Minuette’s modest jewelry casket. Clearly