The Boleyn Deceit Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Laura Andersen
thinking about balance, does that mean you would invest Surrey with the Norfolk title and lands?”
“An almost-Catholic duke against two Protestant ones? I think I shall have to.” With a grin, William added, “And perhaps another title as ballast against my uncle and Northumberland. We shall see.”
Dominic seemed uninterested in William’s hints. “Then I’ll speak to Surrey.”
Christmas at court was an exercise in furious revelry and exhausting entertainment. Dominic had never cared much for the masques, those exuberant displays of costume and dramatic theme and over-the-top allegory, though he had been forced to participate in several in earlier years. But this Christmas he had flatly refused when pressed by several comely court ladies to join the play. Minuette did not press him, though he knew she was part of it. In fact, from the accounts of the Master of Revels, it appeared she was planning the masque single-handedly. Orders had been given for multiple lengths of black fabric, both velvet and muslin; for red velvet headdresses; and for a machine that would produce thunder and lightning. It all seemed silly to Dominic. These days everything seemed silly that wasn’t directly connected to the present security of the state or the secret betrothal of Minuette and William.
But before the Christmas debauchery came Christmas worship. This part Dominic did enjoy, if only because everyone, even William, sat still and he could slip his gaze sideways almost as often as he liked and glimpse Minuette next to Elizabeth. The view of her was one he knew well and never tired of: caught in profile, the line of her brow and throat, the spill of her hair onto her shoulders beneath her sheer black hood … Dominic haddone little enough praying in church these last weeks, unless God counted it worship to devour Minuette with his eyes.
She didn’t seem to mind. Although she glanced his way rarely, there was a wealth of pleasure in those flashes.
William, naturally, assumed those glances were for him.
Today’s Christmas service was full of gratitude for the nation’s safe delivery from the hands of evil councilors and the whore of Babylon who looked to enslave all the world. Dominic caught William’s brief frown as the archbishop hinted at the whore being not only the collective Catholic Church, but the individual person of William’s half sister, Mary. Though he might not have cause to trust her, the Tudors were very clannish, and William believed he alone had the right to chastise his sister. But Archbishop Cranmer deftly brought his words around to England’s king as the champion of true Christianity, and then the choir was singing and the soaring alleluias brought a shiver to even Dominic’s religiously conflicted heart.
If anyone had asked his beliefs, he would have said he believed in honour, his king, and God. In that order. Unlike his mother (who had longed to join a religious order when young), Dominic did not follow Rome and would fight to keep England from returning to the sway of papal power. But he also disliked Martin Luther and the other Continental firebrands who thought a new Earth could only come on the blood and destruction of the old one. What use was any religion, he wondered, that demanded blood? That was the Old Testament. This was the world of the New Testament—did not Christ himself command, “Ye shall love one another”?
These arguments almost never made it out of his closed mouth. He preferred to serve to his strengths, which would never be debate and theology. He was a soldier. He was sworn to his king and country and he would not dishonour that.
Except by loving the woman his king wanted.
Dominic distracted himself from that uncomfortable thought by focusing on the chapel’s choirmaster—another man who had once loved Minuette. Jonathan Percy had proposed to her just six months past, and Dominic had never been so glad as when he’d learned she had refused him. Percy had taken
“An almost-Catholic duke against two Protestant ones? I think I shall have to.” With a grin, William added, “And perhaps another title as ballast against my uncle and Northumberland. We shall see.”
Dominic seemed uninterested in William’s hints. “Then I’ll speak to Surrey.”
Christmas at court was an exercise in furious revelry and exhausting entertainment. Dominic had never cared much for the masques, those exuberant displays of costume and dramatic theme and over-the-top allegory, though he had been forced to participate in several in earlier years. But this Christmas he had flatly refused when pressed by several comely court ladies to join the play. Minuette did not press him, though he knew she was part of it. In fact, from the accounts of the Master of Revels, it appeared she was planning the masque single-handedly. Orders had been given for multiple lengths of black fabric, both velvet and muslin; for red velvet headdresses; and for a machine that would produce thunder and lightning. It all seemed silly to Dominic. These days everything seemed silly that wasn’t directly connected to the present security of the state or the secret betrothal of Minuette and William.
But before the Christmas debauchery came Christmas worship. This part Dominic did enjoy, if only because everyone, even William, sat still and he could slip his gaze sideways almost as often as he liked and glimpse Minuette next to Elizabeth. The view of her was one he knew well and never tired of: caught in profile, the line of her brow and throat, the spill of her hair onto her shoulders beneath her sheer black hood … Dominic haddone little enough praying in church these last weeks, unless God counted it worship to devour Minuette with his eyes.
She didn’t seem to mind. Although she glanced his way rarely, there was a wealth of pleasure in those flashes.
William, naturally, assumed those glances were for him.
Today’s Christmas service was full of gratitude for the nation’s safe delivery from the hands of evil councilors and the whore of Babylon who looked to enslave all the world. Dominic caught William’s brief frown as the archbishop hinted at the whore being not only the collective Catholic Church, but the individual person of William’s half sister, Mary. Though he might not have cause to trust her, the Tudors were very clannish, and William believed he alone had the right to chastise his sister. But Archbishop Cranmer deftly brought his words around to England’s king as the champion of true Christianity, and then the choir was singing and the soaring alleluias brought a shiver to even Dominic’s religiously conflicted heart.
If anyone had asked his beliefs, he would have said he believed in honour, his king, and God. In that order. Unlike his mother (who had longed to join a religious order when young), Dominic did not follow Rome and would fight to keep England from returning to the sway of papal power. But he also disliked Martin Luther and the other Continental firebrands who thought a new Earth could only come on the blood and destruction of the old one. What use was any religion, he wondered, that demanded blood? That was the Old Testament. This was the world of the New Testament—did not Christ himself command, “Ye shall love one another”?
These arguments almost never made it out of his closed mouth. He preferred to serve to his strengths, which would never be debate and theology. He was a soldier. He was sworn to his king and country and he would not dishonour that.
Except by loving the woman his king wanted.
Dominic distracted himself from that uncomfortable thought by focusing on the chapel’s choirmaster—another man who had once loved Minuette. Jonathan Percy had proposed to her just six months past, and Dominic had never been so glad as when he’d learned she had refused him. Percy had taken