“Would it surprise you to learn that the Emperor and Ferdinand are now making a treaty with my King, while professing friendship with you?”
“I perceive,” retorted Henry, “that you believe yourself to be the ambassador of the King of France. I must perforce remind you that you occupy no such post. You are the prisoner of the King of England.”
Longueville bowed his head, but a sly smile played about his mouth. He knew that he made Henry very uneasy.
As he was given the freedom of the Palace, Longueville did not find it difficult to speak a few words to the Princess Mary, and one day he presented himself at her apartments to ask for an audience.
Lady Guildford was inclined to forbid it, but Mary heard the Frenchman talking to her lady-mistress and idly asked what he wanted.
He begged to be allowed to speak to her, and Mary told him he might. Lady Guildford hovered in the background while he did so.
“My lady,” said Longueville, “I have news which I think you should know. As you will guess, I receive letters from France and I know what plots are afoot. Prince Charles, who is betrothed to you, is now being offered a French Princess, and his grandfather, Ferdinand, has actually declared that if he does not take her and abandon you, he will leave his Spanish dominions to Charles’s younger brother, Prince Ferdinand.”
Her eyes widened and lost a little of their melancholy.
“Is this so?” she said thoughtfully.
“I thought you would wish to know, for you are too proud a lady to think of marriage where you are not wanted.”
“My lord Duke,” answered Mary, “I thank you, and I beg of you, keep me informed, for you are right when you say I have no wish for such a marriage.”
He left her, satisfied; and when he had gone she ran to Lady Guildford and began to shake the startled woman.
“Did you hear that?” she demanded. “Charles is being offered to a French Princess, and his grandfather Ferdinand wants him to abandon me. This is a happy day.”
“You must not excite yourself.”
“Not excite myself! Are you mad? Of course I shall excite myself. This is the best news I have heard since they betrothed me to that idiot. I’ll not marry a boy who does not want me.” She was laughing hysterically. Then she stopped and said: “Poor French Princess!”
Henry tried to shut his ears to the rumors. It was too humiliating. He had been duped by Ferdinand; could it be that he had met the same fate at the hands of the Emperor?
He refused to believe it. He thought of the man humbling himself before him, coming to him in black frieze, a widower mourning for his wife. “I will serve under you … and I must be paid as you would pay your generals. We will take these two towns. …” He had not said that they were the towns
Henry would want absolute proof before he believed it.
Charles Brandon returned from the Netherlands where Margaret had been friendly, but cool. Clearly there could never be a question of marriage between them.
“All my plans are coming to naught,” grumbled Henry.
Mary sent for the Duke of Suffolk.
“Have a care, my lady,” warned Lady Guildford. “Remember the Duke’s reputation. He is not a man to be lightly invited to a lady’s private apartments.”
“You may leave this to me,” Mary retorted imperiously. “And when he comes I wish to be alone with him.”
“But my lady …”
“Those are my orders.”
He came and stood before her, and when Mary had dismissed Lady Guildford, who went most reluctantly, she put her arms about his neck and they stood for some seconds in a close embrace.
It was he who took her hands and withdrew them from his neck; they stood looking at each other.
“Charles,” cried Mary, “Margaret has refused you and Charles is going to refuse me. Was there ever such great good fortune?”
He looked at her sadly, and she shook her head in exasperation.
“You despair too easily.”
“Tell me for what you think we may hope,” he asked.
“I am eighteen and marriageable. I must be given a husband from somewhere. And if a Duke is worthy of Margaret of Savoy, why not of the Princess Mary? That is what I shall ask my brother.”
“He thinks you far more precious than Margaret of Savoy.”
“He must be made to see reason.”
“I beg of you, be cautious for both our sakes.”
She threw herself against him: “Oh Charles, Charles, who ever was cautious in love?”
“We must be … if we wish to survive.”
Her eyes sparked. “Do not think I spend my days sitting and dreaming. I have made a plan.”
He looked alarmed; she saw this and burst into laughter. “You will soon discover what it is. Very shortly you
