“From the Princess Elizabeth to the Lord High Admiral.”
Firmly she wrote, thanking him for his letter.
“… but,” she went on, “I have neither the years nor the inclination for marriage, and I would not have thought that such a matter should have been mentioned to me at a time when I ought to be taken up in weeping for the death of my father, the King….”
And as she wrote those words her mouth was remarkably like her father’s.
She stared before her, and she was thinking, not of the dead King, but of the charm of Seymour.
Her mouth softened. A Queen, she reminded herself, would choose her own husband. A Queen would not allow a council of ministers to decide such a matter.
Thomas would still be there. She pictured him, calling as often as he dared, and those little scenes when he made excuses to touch her.
She was thrilled at the thought of him; but even more thrilling was the echo of those words: God save the Queen.
THOMAS SEYMOUR, the new Lord Sudley, was angered by that letter from the Princess.
He wanted a wife, and he wanted the Princess, but if she would not have him he would have another. He was a man who could love many women; and a motherly, tender woman, a Queen who had become very rich and was of some importance in the land, was not a bad substitute for a prickly Princess.
He, like Elizabeth, realized that had she accepted his proposals they would have been in great danger. He had been prepared to risk that danger. But since the Princess had refused him, he saw no reason why he should remain a bachelor. The Princess was but thirteen; he might still have her, for who knew what the future held?
In any case, he was piqued by the tone of her letter, and, a few days after the receipt of it, he set out for Chelsea, where the Dowager Queen was in residence. The young Princess, who had been assigned to her care, was now there with her. It was a piquant situation—the two women with whom the Admiral had contemplated marriage, together under one roof—a Queen and a Princess.
But he would call to see the Dowager Queen.
It was not quite a month since the death of the King, and he saw that snowdrops were beginning to appear in the gardens before the cottages which he passed on his way through the villages, and the purple flowers of the butterbur were blooming along by the river.
Katharine was staying in the Dormer Palace of Chelsea (which Henry had built after he had seized the Manor of Chelsea), with its gardens that ran down to the Thames. Thomas approached the palace by the only road through the village, which wound between the meadows. He crossed Blandels Bridge—very pretty now with the hoar frost on the nearby bushes, but so dangerous at dusk on account of the many robbers who infested the place, and who had so often added murder to their crimes that the bridge had become known as Bloody Bridge.
Lord Sudley’s eyes glistened with excitement as they turned from the small turrets to the long narrow windows, while he hoped for a glimpse of a red head.
He wondered if the weather was warm enough to walk in the gardens with Katharine, for those gardens had been made very pleasant with their lawns and miniature fishponds.
Katharine received him rather cautiously, because several of her ladies were in attendance. How fair she looked! She wore her royal widow’s hood and barb with its sable pall as though she did so with great relief—as indeed she must. She could not hide her feelings for him, so he was glad when she dismissed her women and they were alone together.
He took her hands. “At last!” he said.
“Thomas! How I have longed to see you! But is it not a little too soon?”
“It is most improper,” he replied with a laugh.
He knew she was hoping he would take her into his arms, and how could he refuse? He had never been able to refuse such a thing to a woman.
“Thomas… what if we were seen?”
“Ah, my brother Somerset’s spies are everywhere. Somerset now, remember. No longer merely Hertford.”
“And you are no longer plain Sir Thomas.”
He bowed. “Lord Sudley at your service.”
“Always Thomas…my dearest Thomas.”
“Oh, Katharine, how I have trembled for you in these latter years.”
“And yet you seemed not to notice me. How you made me suffer!”
“How I should have made us both suffer if I had looked at you and betrayed my thoughts!”
“You were the wise one, Thomas. I was foolish.”
“Now you understand how greatly I love you. I can even be wise for your sake.”
“You make me so happy.”
“And when, Katharine, my sweet Katharine, will you make me happier still?”
He was carried on by his feelings, as he always was. He owed his successes at sea to this very impetuousness. He believed so firmly in the destiny of Thomas Seymour that he was able to forget that five days ago he had asked Elizabeth to marry him; now it seemed to him that he had always loved Katharine, that during those years of danger he had deliberately forced himself to think of others for her sake.
Elizabeth, that child! It was a pretty joke, a pleasant game. And, oh, what an exciting game! But how could he marry the Princess without the consent of the Council? Besides, she was a child; and here was a warm, loving woman, so earnestly, so faithfully in love with him.
