"Even when we are apart, we will still be together-always!" Jane declared in a voice filled with unshakable confidence, as solid and strong as the bond between us.

And I felt better, with their words I truly felt the weight and strength of the invisible chain forged between us, a wonderful set of unbreakable shackles binding us together forever that not even marriage, motherhood, or death could sever.

The next morning, Kate and I helped Jane dress her stiff and aching body in a plain, high-necked black velvet gown and quilted dove gray petticoat and held her hands as she hobbled bent-backed between us out into the Long Gallery to enact the ritual we knew so well. Each time one of us was punished, the next morning we must crawl on our hands and knees the full length of the Long Gallery to where our parents sat waiting and humbly beg our lady-mother's pardon. By the time we reached them, our arms would be aching, our palms smarting and red from the hard stone floor, and our knees sc.r.a.ped raw despite our skirts and stockings. Sometimes our lady-mother would bestow her forgiveness right away, like a queen graciously granting a pet.i.tioner some bounty, and raise and kiss us once on each cheek; other times she would fold her arms across her chest, frown, and shake her head emphatically, and the ritual would have to be repeated each morning until she deigned to give it. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Sometimes she would instantly forgive the most grievous offense and deny it for the most trifling. I remember when I pilfered some bright yellow embroidery silk from our lady-mother's sewing basket, I had to crawl the length of that gallery seven mornings in a row, but when a curious Kate, at the time aged eight, charmed one of the kitchen boys into showing her his c.o.c.k, and with an obliging smile returned the favor by lifting her skirts and displaying her cunny, our lady-mother instantly forgave her the first time she asked. And poor Jane, when she dribbled gravy on that white and gold gown, her first adult raiment, she was forced to crawl the Long Gallery and crave forgiveness a full five weeks-one for each stain that the laundress could not remove-before our lady-mother finally gave it.

This particular morning, seeing what pain our sister was in, Kate had "a brilliant idea" and ran back to her room and s.n.a.t.c.hed two small cushions from the baskets where her puppies and kittens rested, and two lengths of wide satin ribbon from her sewing basket. She knelt before Jane and bade her hold her skirts up high and then with the ribbons bound a cushion around each of Jane's knees.

"There now"-she smiled up at Jane-"now it will not be so bad."

And at first it didn't seem to be. Kate and I held hands and watched anxiously as Jane crawled slowly down the gallery's great length to where our parents waited, our lady-mother clearly impatient to be off hunting, slapping her riding crop against her leather-gloved palm and dangling a leg so that the golden spurs on her leather boots jangled.

It seemed as though whole hours crept past, but at long last there she was, kneeling, a humble supplicant before our lady-mother.

Head bowed, she softly intoned the requisite words: "I most humbly crave your pardon, my lady-mother."

Compa.s.sion lighting his face like a candle within a gourd, Father whispered, "Dearest girl," and reached out a hand to stroke Jane's hair, but our lady-mother slapped it away with her riding crop. Poor Father started and s.n.a.t.c.hed back his smarting fingers, raising them to his mouth to suck away the blood welling from his knuckles.

Supremely cool, our lady-mother lifted one finely plucked Tudor red brow. "Will you marry Guildford Dudley?" she asked.

There was a moment of lengthy tension in which I could feel the war raging within Jane, but at last she surrendered, and with head hung low and shoulders sagging in sad defeat, did what was expected of her and answered, "Yes, my lady-mother."

With a brisk nod and a smile of triumph upon her lips, our lady-mother reached out to clasp Jane's shoulders and bent to brush her lips against each of my sister's cheeks, then, sitting back, gestured with her riding crop for Jane to rise.

It was then that disaster struck. As Jane struggled sorely to her feet, the ribbons securing the cushions slipped. Jane stood there mortified, staring down at the plump little cushions of plum purple and cherry red puddled at her feet, and the pink and blue satin ribbons snaking out from beneath her skirts.

Our lady-mother's whip shot out, to whisk Jane's skirts up and reveal Kate's "brilliant idea."

With a nervous glance at our lady-mother, Father began to laugh and clap his hands, hoping against hope that his wife would see the humor of the situation rather than fly into a rage.

But our lady-mother was not amused. Two slaps, one to each of the cheeks she had just kissed, sent Jane toppling backward, barking her palms painfully against the floor when she tried to break her fall.

I tried to restrain her, but Kate broke away from me. "My lady-mother, no, please no, it was my idea!" Tearfully, she flung herself at our lady-mother's feet, bruising her own tender knees, and grabbed our lady-mother's hands and kissed and pressed them to her own tear-dampened cheeks, and said, "I most humbly crave your pardon, my lady-mother."

"This was your idea?" Our lady-mother flicked her riding crop at the cushions and ribbons lying in a guilty heap upon the floor. When Kate, still kneeling, nodded, a bright smile spread across our lady-mother's face and, beaming, she swept Kate up into her arms, nigh smothering her against her ample bosom. "My darling, you are almost as clever as you are beautiful! That kind of thinking will serve you far better at court than Plato ever will." She sneered at Jane. "Come, my love." She took Kate's hand. "Walk with me to the stables and you may pet the spotted hunting hounds and feed a carrot to my horse. Come, Hal!" she called back over her shoulder to Father, and he s.n.a.t.c.hed up his feathered cap, gloves, and riding crop and ran after her, obedient as a dog himself.

I stood there, longing to run to Jane, but cowardly not daring to move lest I somehow incur my lady-mother's wrath. I stood there, staring after them, my heart beating as though it might at any moment burst through the wall of my chest. Please, Lord, don't let our lady-mother turn round, I prayed. Let her forget about Jane.

But it was not to be. In the doorway, our lady-mother paused and looked back.

"Mrs. Ellen!" she called to Jane's nurse, who through it all had stood back, an un.o.btrusive presence in her crow-black gown and hood, silently observing the scene. "Fetch some pins! You are to secure Lady Jane's skirts above her knees and then remove her shoes and stockings." Then she turned to Jane and directed sternly, "You are to crawl back and forth the entire length of this gallery on your bare hands and knees until we return from the hunt." Then she was gone, spurs jingling, the feathers on her hat bouncing, without waiting for an answer, confident as a queen that her will would be obeyed.

As soon as she was gone, I rushed to Jane, but she sat up and held out her hand to stay me. "No! Stay back, stay away, Mary, or she'll punish you too!"

All through the morning and long into the afternoon Kate and I sat, holding each other and sobbing, helplessly watching our sister, weeping all the harder when we saw the trails of blood that marked her slow progress up and down the Long Gallery as the day wore on. Kate pleaded for Jane to stop and rest a while, imploring Mrs. Ellen with tear-filled eyes to lie and say Jane had enacted her punishment exactly as described.

"My lady, I cannot, I dare not," Mrs. Ellen said sadly as she gently unclenched Kate's fists from the folds of her black skirt.

And Jane would not stop until, as the sky glowed orange through the windows, our lady-mother appeared in the doorway and spoke a single word: "Enough!" And Jane fell fainting, face-down, flat upon the floor.

If memory doesn't deceive me, it was the next day that we were called again to the library and the portraits, gifts from our betrotheds, were unveiled before us.

For me there was a lush, sable-bearded likeness of Lord Wilton in all his former glory, a big, handsome, burly bear of a man, towering and overpowering in a suit of satin-slashed buff brocade and golden breastplate and feathered helm, armed with a sword and shield like a war G.o.d. For the life of me, I couldn't rightly say whether I found him more frightening before or after his battle scars. He did not have the look of a kind or patient man, but the sort who would order his household with military precision. I only knew, in my heart, I didn't want him; he was not the man for me. But I also knew it was my duty to obey and futile to resist; no one cared what I thought; like all n.o.bly born girls, I truly had no say in the matter. And so I praised the portrait, calling it "a handsome picture," and retreated into silence.

For Kate there was a miniature of Lord Herbert with a bail at the top of the round gold frame so that she might wear it upon a golden chain, jeweled necklace, or a rope of pearls. Lord Herbert had thoughtfully sent along a dozen of these as a betrothal gift so that no matter what gown she was wearing Kate would have something to suit and thus his likeness could always be with her until the day he took his place at her side, he gallantly explained in the accompanying letter. Kate squealed with delight. "How handsome he is!" she enthused again and again, dancing around the room as our lady-mother bent to examine the necklaces with the practiced eye of a p.a.w.nbroker, alert for any flaws or duplicity.

Her inspection done, and apparently satisfied with both the quality and workmanship, our lady-mother laid down a rope of pearls and ruby beads and smiled at her favorite daughter's girlish enthusiasm and pointed out that the miniature she was holding was ringed with diamonds. "Particularly fine diamonds, daughter; take note of them and measure any jewels that come after against them and you will always know exactly where you stand in your husband's affections. There are ways of managing a man," she added pointedly, "and the important thing is that you never wear anything that is not first-rate. Never settle for anything inferior, for once you do, he will never bring you the best again."

Kate clasped the picture to her bosom and breathed, "But he is so handsome; I am certain I would love him even if they were gla.s.s instead of diamonds!"

"Then you are a fool," our lady-mother stated simply, "a beautiful simpleton, nothing more, and you shall never amount to anything."

Kate gave a wounded little cry, and her lips began to tremble as her eyes filled with tears and she stared, hurt and uncomprehending, at our lady-mother.

"Now, now"-our lady-mother pulled her close-"it is good to see you so excited and eager to love your husband; you need only temper your exuberance with a little wisdom, daughter, and all shall be well."

"Yes, my lady-mother, yes, I promise, I will!" Kate vowed, all sunny smiles again. "I shall see to it that Lord Herbert gives me the best of everything, for I shall ensure that I am worth it by always giving my best to him!"

"That's my clever girl!" our lady-mother beamed and patted her cheek. "There are brains behind that beauty after all!"

Lastly, for Jane there was a full-sized portrait of Guildford Dudley. Its ornate frame of carved gilded gillyflowers and the Dudleys' heraldic bear and ragged staff was so heavy that it took two men to carry it in. When our lady-mother removed the gold-fringed yellow velvet that covered it, we all gasped and stepped back.

"My, my," Father said, patting his heart as he looked the painted likeness of his soon to be son-in-law up and down.

Head to toe, the spoiled and decadent darling of the Dudleys was like a gilded idol; all that was missing was a pedestal for him to stand upon and a throng of adoring minions kneeling at his feet. Each perfectly arranged golden curl adorning his head shone as though it had been sculpted by a master goldsmith, his lips were arranged in a perfect, petulant, pink rosebud pout, and his green eyes were the exact color of gooseberries; they made me shudder and think of snakes and pale emeralds all at the same time. His lavish yellow brocade vestments were woven thickly with golden threads in a pattern of gillyflowers accentuated with diamond brilliants and creamy gold pearls. His long, shapely limbs were encased in hose of vivid yellow silk, and he held one foot pointed just so that we could see the bouquet of golden gillyflowers embroidered over his ankle, and upon the toes of his yellow shoes, golden gillyflowers bloomed and twinkled with diamonds that made the ones that ringed Lord Herbert's portrait look paltry and dull in comparison. Even the rings on his fingers and the heavy golden chain about his neck were bejeweled golden gillyflowers; clearly Guildford considered this his flower. The artist had even painted a ma.s.s of them, yellow of course, blooming about his feet. Before our astonished eyes, this radiant young man held out his arms, golden wrist frills gleaming, as if to say to the world, "Here I am-worship and adore me!"

"With all those diamonds sewn upon the yellow, he makes me think of sugared lemons!" Father observed. "Mmmm . . . sugared lemons!" He shut his eyes and sighed. "So tart and yet . . . so sweet! It's like . . . love in contradiction!"

"Precisely"-our lady-mother nodded-"if he were entirely sweet, it would be much too decadent, too soft, and perhaps even effete, but that tartness beneath the sugar denotes strength and thus masculinity, though if one is not careful it can elude the eye. You don't know how fortunate you are, Jane; you are such a stubborn, ungrateful girl you can't see it. You know, Jane, I actually envy you! Look at him. He is a sugarplum for the eye, like a gilded marzipan subtlety come to life!"

"Yes, indeed he is! Mmmm . . . marzipan . . . gilded marzipan!" Father sighed rapturously, shutting his eyes again as his tongue savored the words as if the syllables themselves were sweets. "Guildford is just like gilded marzipan! So rich, so decadently delicious, as divine as a gift of sweetmeats straight from Our Lord's confectionary kitchen in Heaven served on golden plates by angels!"

Jane rolled her eyes and wondered sotto voce, "Where in the Bible does it say that the Lord has a confectionary kitchen in Heaven?"

"Ah well!" our lady-mother sighed. "One cannot have everything, and often carnality has to ride outside up beside the driver instead of inside the coach where the quality sits. Such are the cruel vagaries of life! But, no matter, I shall be this fine young man's mother-in-law, and he shall reap the full benefit of my advice; that is the important thing! He will go far; I shall make it my business to see to it."

"But I don't want to marry a sugared lemon or a piece of gilded marzipan either," Jane said softly.

I crept a little closer and reached up and squeezed her hand, and she gave me a grateful but oh so sad little smile.

"Mmmm . . . sugared lemons!" Father sighed again as a ribbon of drool trickled down his chin.

Our lady-mother rolled her eyes and with her own handkerchief wiped it away. "Enough of that, Hal, we shall plan the menu for the wedding banquet later! Naturally it shall include both sugared lemons and gilded marzipan as a tribute to our beautiful new son-in-law."

"Yes, dear." Father nodded and agreed as he continued to stare, rapt and transfixed, at the portrait of Guildford Dudley. "My G.o.d, I never saw anything so beautiful in my life!" I heard him murmur after our lady-mother had gone and only my sisters and I remained, but they were too caught up in their own thoughts to take note of Father's curious behavior, and besides we were all so accustomed to hearing him sigh rapturously over sweets . . . I tried to tell myself it was nothing, and that it was lewd to link it with Guildford's portrait, and yet . . . I couldn't quite convince myself.

After that the bustle never seemed to cease. From the break of dawn until we laid our weary heads down upon our pillows at night we were all caught up in a feverish mad maelstrom of wedding plans that had grown from an elegant double to an ostentatious triple event with the Greys and the Dudleys, though they would ostensibly be united by marriage, each vying to outshine the other. The Earl of Northumberland, Father informed us, also had a daughter named Catherine, aged twelve like our own Kate, but "a shy, sallow la.s.s, nowhere near as pretty," he added, giving Kate's cheek a pat and popping a candied violet in her mouth. He then went on to explain that since the wedding was to be held at Durham House, the Dudleys' opulent London residence, Northumberland had decided to make it a triple affair and join their Catherine in wedlock with the young Lord Hastings.

Kate immediately began to fret, weeping and worrying that the Dudley girl's gown would be grander than her own. But Father was quick to a.s.sure her that even if it cost him the last coin in his coffers it would not be so. And with a kiss and another candy he sent her off to await the dressmaker's arrival, her head full of all the dreams that money can make come true, spinning rich, extravagant fantasies of cloth-of-gold, swirling, fantastically patterned cream and gold brocade, pearls and lace, and emeralds green as envy. That was our Kate; the storms never lasted long.

While Jane did her best to ignore it all, immersing herself even deeper in her studies, Kate drove our poor tutor, Master Aylmer, to frustration, ignoring the a.s.signments he set her and instead filling page after page of her copybook with graceful, flourishing renditions of the name that would soon be hers-Katherine, Lady Herbert, and someday, upon her father-in-law's demise, Katherine, Countess of Pembroke; she even wrote it in the French style, Katherine, Comtesse de Pembroke, though as far as I knew she had no plans to cross the Channel and neither did Lord Herbert.

When Master Aylmer complained to Father, Kate pouted and said that since she was soon to be a married woman she didn't see why she still had need of a tutor; Master Aylmer really wasn't teaching her anything useful at all that pertained to court etiquette, housewifery, or, she added just to make him blush, amorous disport and what her husband would expect of her behind the bedcurtains, nor had he offered any sage advice pertaining to midwifery and child-rearing either. "And not all the Latin verbs in the world will save me when I am in the agonizing throes of childbirth."

At these words, Father smiled indulgently, patted Kate's bright curls, and said at least it was good practice of her penmanship, and turned to pacify Master Aylmer. "Be a good fellow and leave things be," he cajoled, offering him a sweet from his ever present comfit box, which he had taken the precaution of stocking with sugared and honeyed nuts beforehand knowing that they were Master Aylmer's favorite. "And I doubt very much that the future Lady Herbert will have much need for Greek or Latin," he added, "just a pretty bit of French and perhaps a dollop of Italian and a smattering of Spanish for songs and poetry and such." Whereupon he settled down beside Kate with his comfit box open between them on the table to admire the signatures that filled her copybook while I stood apart, watching my two sisters, swallowing down my tears, and keeping my fears to myself.

I could do nothing for Jane; she did not want my help, and I could do nothing without her willingness and cooperation, but she would not even meet me halfway or reach out a hand toward common sense. She would treat Guildford Dudley like an enemy until the day either she or he died, whichever came first, and by that time that is exactly what he would be-her enemy, when he might have been a fond, or even loving, husband with a little kindness and encouragement from Jane.

And Kate . . . Kate was so happy! And, truly, I didn't want to spoil it. But I was so afraid for her. She had already persuaded herself that she was in love with the bridegroom she had yet to meet, a man whose face she had beheld only in a miniature portrait-and who knew how accurate that likeness was? It has been commonplace since the art of portraiture began for the painters to flatter their patrons. Though she had never heard his voice, she could already hear him whispering sweet nothings in her ear and reciting poems about her beauty and comparing their love to an immortal flame. Every night, until she drifted off to sleep, Kate would lie abed whispering the names that filled her copybook over and over again like pearls on a rosary-Katherine, Lady Herbert; Lady Katherine Herbert; Katherine, Countess of Pembroke; Katherine, Comtesse de Pembroke-savoring them on her tongue as she dreamed of her husband's ardent kisses and bold caresses. She spoke with such confidence, such utter certainty, that it terrified me. What if Dame Fortune overheard and just to be cruel or contrary dealt my sister a different hand altogether? What if Lord Herbert, who was after all only fourteen, was nothing like Lancelot in his shining silver armor and white-feathered helm, riding hard and fast astride a white horse to sweep his ladylove up into his arms and carry her away to Joyous Garde to live in love forevermore? How could he be? Surely that was too much to expect of him. But it would break Kate's heart if he was anything but her dream of love come true. He had to be a hero right out of a storybook! He just had to be, for Kate's sake!

Yet every time I thought of the timidly smiling, slight-shouldered, pale-faced boy whose picture I had stolen a glance at by candlelight as Kate lay sleeping, my heart sank like a stone, and fear and worry gnawed unrelentingly at my stomach. Privately, I was convinced that my sister was in love with love, not with Lord Herbert, but I was only eight years old and didn't have the heart or the nerve to say so. I knew my sister well enough to know that she would deny it and answer me with peppery verve and heated words and demand what did I know of love and did I think my knowledge superior to hers. No, it was better, for both our sakes, that I keep silent and not invite a quarrel to come between us in the ever dwindling days that were left for us three sisters to spend together.

How envious she was when Guildford Dudley came to call on Jane. Why has Lord Herbert not done the same? she wept and stormed. But there was no time for tears then; Jane must be made ready to receive her betrothed. Our lady-mother and Kate made quite a fuss, dressing Jane in a gold trimmed and ta.s.seled carnelian velvet gown, ignoring her heated protests, as they tugged it over her head and laced her in tight and fought to free her struggling hands from the voluminous over-sleeves that almost dragged on the floor, and the long-suffering Mrs. Ellen knelt to roll a pair of gold-embroidered orange stockings up Jane's limbs and thrust her unwilling feet into a pair of golden slippers with rosettes and rubies on the toes. They thrust rings onto her fingers, heedless of the stones' colors, as long as they were large and valuable, and hung gold and jeweled chains about her neck, and slapped down the pale, slender hands with their smattering of freckles when they rose in vain to try to protect her tightly pinned and plaited hair from the intrusive fingers that would determinedly pluck out the pins and brush it out into a ma.s.s of shining ruddy chestnut ripples that fell down to her waist.

As soon as our lady-mother had fastened the gold-flowered and fringed orange hood onto her head and smoothed the gold-veined white gossamer veil bordered with golden ta.s.sels down her back and Kate had pinned an amethyst brooch the size of a clenched fist-the biggest in our lady-mother's jewel coffer-onto her breast, Jane bunched up her skirts and bolted from the room to take shelter in the library. Mrs. Ellen was told to follow to provide discreet chaperonage to the couple and to make sure that Jane did not tear the ta.s.sels from her gown or the golden roses from her hood in protest of such adornment, and I tagged along, quietly following the trail of her crow-black skirt. When he arrived, Kate told me after, our parents explained to Guildford that Jane was "a modest and shy young woman, of a most retiring nature," and sent him into the library to meet her "in quietude without a crowd to unnerve her."

A little while later, Guildford strode in, dressed in gooseberry green velvet the exact same shade as his eyes, with puffs of silver-white tinsel cloth showing through his fashionably slashed sleeves. In his arms he carried a big, silky white cat, with a green silk ribbon tied round its neck in a most becoming bow with a gold-framed green stone pinned at its center. Surely not an emerald on the cat, I thought, shaking my head incredulously. He paused halfway across the room from Jane and doffed his peac.o.c.k feathered cap and bowed low and grandly, pausing expectantly and looking around after as though he expected a round of applause from an invisible audience, but there was not a sound except the cat purring in his arms.

Then he came and stood before Jane, staring down at her, studying her as though she were a specimen in a gla.s.s cabinet, tapping his chin, and tilting his head from left to right. Through it all, Jane never looked up from her book or in any way acknowledged him, and I trembled for her knowing full well that our lady-mother would be certain to punish such rudeness. Nervously, I plucked at Mrs. Ellen's sleeve, and when she leaned down I whispered, "Please don't tell Mother; she will beat Jane." At last, Guildford took a step forward and plucked the musty, old, gray black bound copy of Virgil's Aeneid from Jane's hands and, with a fastidious grimace, flung it with a resounding thud into the room's darkest corner. Then he strode over to one of the bookcases that lined the walls, remarking as he did so that "books are so decorative," and selected a gilt-embellished volume bound in beautifully textured orange-red leather. "If you really must read then read this one instead; it matches your dress better," he said as he presented it to Jane.

He sat down beside her and introduced her to his cat, whose name he said was Fluff, and offered to let Jane pet him if her hands were clean as Fluff had just had a chamomile and lemon bath. "His eyes are the exact color of the finest jade," Guildford said proudly, pointing to the gem dangling from Fluff's ribbon.

Guildford made a valiant effort to engage my sister in conversation, starting with music, "my one true pa.s.sion," and then moving on to food; like our father, Guildford loved sweets "like the Devil does stealing souls," but took great care not to overindulge and spoil his figure. He asked her if she had any pets, and when Jane didn't deign to answer, told her about his own. Besides Fluff, he had a white parrot with a great yellow crest atop its head that could catch the grapes and berries he tossed to it in its beak or claws.

After that he tried fashion, describing in detail the magnificent new wardrobe his tailor was making for him to start married life in. Next he tried beauty treatments, after s.n.a.t.c.hing off the rather ostentatious, overdecorated hood and exclaiming, "Why do you attempt to hide such beauty?" as he rippled his fingers through the long fire-kissed brown waves. He went on to suggest several remedies to vanquish Jane's freckles and various washes for her hair-lemons and chamomile to lighten it, walnut juice to darken it, or henna to redden it and emphasize her Tudor heritage, any of which, he said, would be "a novel change," "striking," and "dramatic." He even brought up books and poetry, though he clearly fancied the more frivolous and flowery sort that Jane abhorred and turned her scholarly little nose up at. He even offered to let her kiss him. "We're to be married, so we might as well make the best of it and be friendly," he said, nearly knocking me off my chair as I had not expected such a wise and astute observation to come out of Guildford Dudley's pretty pink mouth.

But Jane only sat there sullenly staring at the pages of the book, though it was one of Father's cookery books containing a number of sweet recipes collected from various parts of the world that he was always begging our cook to try, and thus one my scholarly sister was ill-inclined to read.

In the end, Guildford had to admit defeat, declaring, "I've attended livelier funerals!" as he stormed out, slamming the door behind him hard enough to cause a bust of Caesar to fall from atop the shelf containing military tomes and chip his white marble nose upon the floor.

As soon as he was gone, I ran over to Jane and s.n.a.t.c.hed the book from her to get her attention. "Why did you not talk to him?" I demanded. "He was trying to be friendly!"

"He's a fool!" Jane snorted contemptuously. "A vain, pompous, empty-headed, frivolous fool and I hate him and can't stand to have him near me!" She reached again for the book, but I threw it across the room rather than let her have it to hide behind.

"He's going to be your husband whether you like it or not," I reminded her, "so you might as well make the best of it and try to be friends; you'd do well to make amends with him before it is too late and the insult is beyond repair. Write him a letter, Jane, tell him nervousness and fear got the better of you and made you behave badly and you are sorry for it, tell him that you are accustomed to a quiet life of study, contemplation, and prayer, and fear the loss of all that is familiar and dear to you upon marriage and the responsibilities it will require you to a.s.sume. Tell him-"

"I don't need you to dictate my letters to me, Mary! And no, I will not write to him! I'd sooner strike off my own hand! What will be will be! I am a martyr to the fate our parents have decreed for me and soon the whole world shall know it! Being married to this popinjay is another trial, another punishment I must endure and overcome as best I can, G.o.d willing! And I didn't realize you were so smitten with him. Clearly his pretty face has charmed you; you're just like a magpie diving for a bit of shiny gla.s.s it has mistaken for a diamond hidden in the gra.s.s!" she added spitefully, angrily swiping the futile tears from her eyes as she ran past me.

"It doesn't have to be that way! You don't have to be a martyr to anyone or anything!" I shouted after her. "And I am not in the least bit enamored with Guildford Dudley, but even a blind man could see that he is trying to make the best of things, unlike you! It is you I am thinking of, Jane. You're my sister, and I love you well enough to tell you that if you scorn Love and turn your back on it, Love may turn its back and scorn you."

But it did no good; already I was speaking to an empty room. Jane had fled the library as though it were aflame. How I wished I could make her understand! Though many would laugh and wonder how someone like me could know so much about love, I knew better than most that it was the only prize truly worth winning. I wanted both my sisters to have that, even if I could not. Even though it would mean moments of the utmost sadness, a secret, yearning envy I harbored deep inside my soul that I could never reveal, I wanted to have that experience in the only way I could, vicariously, through my sisters.

With a heavy sigh and a shake of her weary head, Mrs. Ellen stood and followed her angry charge out. "For all her fancy, high-praised book learning, the poor chit hasn't a whit of sense when it comes to the real world," she grumbled as she went, and I had to agree with her.

Though my heart secretly wept, as my eyes did every night into my pillow, at the thought of relinquishing my sisters to husbands and new homes, nothing could diminish my delight during the hours we spent with the silk merchants and seamstresses. As the banners of silk unfurled before my eyes, I dreamed I was in heaven and that I could hear fanfares of trumpets and choirs of angels singing amongst the bright, billowing lengths laid out before us.

"Not another dreary dress the color of a mud puddle!" Kate cried, s.n.a.t.c.hing a bolt of dung brown from out of Jane's hands. "Ugh! Take it away! And not that one either. It's the color of wet moss and can't make up its mind whether it wants to be green or gray, but either way it's hideous! No, Jane, no!" She s.n.a.t.c.hed and kicked away every drab shade our sister touched or even glanced at. "You should have pretty gowns in shades of gold, russet, and red, tawny, amber, yellow, and orange, colors that bring your hair to life and make the red in it glow like embers beneath the brown, colors that seem to dance and wave and cry out like a flirty maid, 'Look at me, look at me!' " As she spoke, Kate began to s.n.a.t.c.h up satins, silks, damasks, velvets, brocades, taffetas, and tinsels of the shades she had just named and wrap and wind and drape them all around Jane until she looked like an overgrown infant swaddled in a rainbow of autumn colors.

"Green and blue, in shades deep or delicate, are also good for Jane," I added, for I knew my sister deemed these brighter hues that Kate favored wanton and garish. I took up a length of lush green velvet and held it up, high as I could, against Jane. And after Kate had laughingly helped the seamstresses unwrap Jane from her rainbow coc.o.o.n, and she stood again, just like Kate, in her shift, I unwound a bolt of shimmering pale green silk sewn in silver with a pattern resembling fish scales and held it up against Jane's waist. "Wear this, Jane, and you will look like a mermaid who has dragged herself from the sea to marry the prince who has stolen her heart."

"What, damp and bedraggled?" Jane asked sullenly.

"Nay"-our lady-mother strode into the room and s.n.a.t.c.hed the beautiful silk away from me-"with her sour countenance, since we cannot trust her to smile upon her wedding day, it will make her appear jaundiced. This will look better on Kate." She draped it around Kate's bare shoulders and brushed her lips against her cheek.

Her rebellious gaze aimed straight at our lady-mother, Jane pointed to a bolt of blue velvet so dark that only the brightest light would prove that it wasn't black. "That!" she said adamantly. "I will wear that. Make the collar high and the sleeves long and close about the wrists, with frills of white Holland cloth, edged in silver if you must, at the collar and cuffs, and a hood of the same velvet, but no other adornments." She stressed each word as her eyes bored into the dressmaker's. "I shall wear my prayer book suspended from a silver chain about my waist; the word of G.o.d is the only adornment I want or need."

"For all your scholarly accomplishments, daughter, you really are a simpleton," our lady-mother declared, kicking the bolt of blue black velvet out the door to land where it would. "You cannot go to your own wedding looking like a nun at a ball! You must put aside your plain garb, and from now on dress to suit your station; you must be like a jewel in the crown of your husband and family. I will not allow you to embarra.s.s and demean Guildford by appearing at his side dressed like a lowly little governess! I have given you a beautiful husband, and you must at all times endeavor to be worthy of him. You must adorn and adore him! Such is a wife's duty! Every time your father and I go out, everyone knows, whether they know my name or not, that they are looking at a person of importance; my jewels and my gowns, my regal bearing, and the proud way I carry myself, with my head high and my back straight, tells them so!"

"No!" Jane stamped her foot. "I shall not play the gaudy peac.o.c.k! I am a G.o.dly and virtuous Protestant maid and mean to remain so, and plain dress is most pleasing to the eyes of the Lord! Even Princess Elizabeth has repented her wanton ways. Just as the harlot Mary Magdalene reformed and followed in the footsteps of Our Lord Jesus Christ, she has forsaken her jewels and put aside her finery, and clothes herself in pure white or plain black and always has an English prayer book about her person!"

"You little fool!" our lady-mother sneered. "And more the fool those who think you so brilliantly clever! At book learning, yes, but at life, the things that really matter, no! Princess Elizabeth has survived a scandal. She knows her good name has been tarnished and will do anything necessary to scrub it clean and make it shine again, even if it means putting aside her pretty clothes and giving up dancing and gambling, to curry favor with that insufferable little prig, King Edward, who like you takes these things to the utmost and most ridiculous extremes! But you mark my word, if the day ever comes when Elizabeth is crowned queen, she shall be as splendid as a peac.o.c.k within the hour and never again shall a plain dress cover her back! And, I remind you, Jane, your dear Dowager Queen Catherine was a devout Protestant and she favored gold-embroidered red satin-is that not the Magdalene's color? I'm not as well educated as you are! And her sister and their circle of learned ladies too! I knew many of them from girlhood, and I never saw a one of them without jewels and gilt embroidery; they were not the sackcloth and ashes sort, I a.s.sure you, not even for the sake of their souls!"

Jane hung her head and made no answer to that. Indeed, what could she say? It was true. But I could feel the anger seething inside her. I often thought that denying herself fine clothes was just another step along Jane's path to martyrdom, to make the world marvel at so beautiful a girl denying herself pretty things and praise her all the more for being spiritually above all things worldly and vain. Or perhaps Jane thought if she let her beauty shine people would take her scholarly accomplishments less seriously as beauty doth often blind the beholder?

"Enough of this!" Our lady-mother threw up her hands. "You shall do as I say, daughter, else you go to your marriage bed with your back flayed open and stain the sheets with your willful, disobedient blood as well as your maidenhead!"

Then our lady-mother took charge, and with her riding crop pointing the way, ushered the rainbow of rich materials out the door, to await preparations for Jane's and Kate's trousseaux, since they were proving too distracting, leaving behind only those in shades of white, cream, gold, and silver. They might have all the color they wished in their trousseaux, she said when Kate's eyes pooled with tears and her lips began to tremble, but the wedding gowns must be settled first as they were the most splendid and important gowns they would probably ever wear in their lives. In conference with the Duke of Northumberland, our lady-mother had decided that these hues of pallor and shimmer were the colors the three bridal couples would wear.

When I timidly tugged at her skirt and asked, "What about me?" she said my own wedding gown must wait; time was pressing, and I would not be married for a few years yet and fashions change, so it would be rather foolish to have it made now. "Besides," she added, "your own nuptials shall be a quiet, private affair, so there is no need for a gown as splendid as those your sisters shall wear."

At her words, my face fell, and the sight of my disappointment moved our lady-mother to one of her rare acts of kindness.

"The time is not ripe, my pet.i.te gargoyle, and neither are you, for wedlock, so leave the matter to rest for now. I promise that when the time comes you shall have a beautiful gown. And you shall have a fine new gown of fabric of your own choosing to wear to this wedding, though, of course, you shall not mingle with the other guests; they will be distracted and drunken and likely to mock and trample you. You must hold to your dignity, Mary, never let go, and remember that you are a Grey, and the cousin and niece of royalty. Your grandmother-my mother-was Queen of France, and there is Tudor blood flowing in your veins! Now, turn your eyes upon these woven and embroidered patterns"-she indicated the messy but luxurious heaps of partly unwound bolts of fabric piled haphazardly in the center of the room-"and help me choose the materials for your sisters' under-sleeves and kirtles."

I knelt down and let my eyes feast upon the fine array of figures woven with shimmering gold, silver, and pearly threads into the damasks and brocades and embroidered upon the silks, satins, taffetas, and velvets, caressing and feeling my way through the wonderful maze of arabesques, lattices, lovers' knots, hearts, braids, trellises, and vines, birds, b.u.t.terflies, and bees, flowers, budding or in full bloom, fruit, cherubs, grandiose geometric intricacies as ambitious as they were beautiful, both marvelous and bewildering to the eye, swirls, loops, lozenges, crescents, mazes, stars, and scrolls until my eye fastened upon a l.u.s.trous creamy satin embroidered profusely with an intricate and opulent design of golden pomegranates nestled like babies in a womb amongst the crowded array of exquisitely embroidered blossoms, buds, and leaves, some of them whole and others sliced open to reveal their seeds, which were represented by pearls.

"This one!" I breathed, holding it up for our lady-mother to see. "It is perfect for Kate! It is the pomegranate, which symbolizes fertility. The late King Henry's first wife, the Spanish one, Catherine of Aragon, made it popular when she chose it as her personal emblem. I think it a fine, and mayhap even a lucky, choice for a young bride, especially one who is eager to become a mother," I added with a knowing smile directed at Kate. With an exclamation of pleasure, she dropped the cloth-of-gold with which she had been draping herself and ran to embrace and smother me with kisses.

"A perfect choice," our lady-mother purred. "You have a fine eye for such things, Mary, though I think"-she turned to the dressmaker-"that we should put more pearls and some diamonds on it."

"Yes, m'lady"-the dressmaker bobbed an obedient curtsy-"it shall be exactly as you wish!"

"I know it will." Our lady-mother nodded, as though it had never even occurred to her to doubt it, and turned back to Kate. "For your gown, my darling, you shall have cloth-of-gold just as you have always dreamed of wearing on your wedding day, trimmed with diamonds and pearls of course-it is just foolish superst.i.tion that a bride should forsake them on her wedding day as they invite tears and sorrow-and the sleeves shall be furred in purest white, and you shall have a crown of gilded rosemary with pearl and jeweled flowers for your hair. And you may wear my emeralds-the big ones so green that gra.s.s would envy them," she added, laughing as Kate hurled herself into her arms, crying out her thanks. "I remember when you used to sneak into my room, you dear, naughty mite." She chuckled fondly, reaching down to caress Kate's curls. "You would creep in while I was out hunting and take out my gold gown, spilling crushed lavender all over the floor. Even though it was far too big for you, and you always stumbled and tripped and bruised your chin upon the floor, wear it you would, and parade solemnly up and down the Long Gallery, as though you were trying to wade through a sea of gold and in dire peril of drowning, so engulfed and overwhelmed were you by that great gold gown, pretending you were a bride upon your wedding day and that your father's suit of armor was your bridegroom waiting at the altar for you. Now, my beautiful little girl has grown up, and she will wear a wedding gown of gold and there shall be a handsome young man who is truly worthy of her waiting at the altar to make her his wife."

"My lady-mother, I am so happy!" Kate cried.

"As you deserve to be." Our lady-mother smiled. "Beauty such as yours should never know what sorrow means."

Jane gave a loud, derisive snort, and our lady-mother whipped around to impale her with a daggerlike stare. "Jane," she said severely, "you shall wear silver."

At those words, my heart sank. Our lady-mother was playing favorites again, and sending a silent message, giving Kate the full glory of gold and making Jane appear second best, and the lesser valued, in silver. Kate would be dazzling and radiant in gold, with her sunny, vivacious smile and laughing, loving jewel-bright eyes, and Jane standing glum and serious, sulky and silent, in silver beside her, with her downcast eyes and frowning mouth, would make a poor showing in comparison. With the gilded idol of Guildford Dudley as a bridegroom the effect would be even worse. They would all outshine Jane; even if they were naked, their smiles alone would do it! It wasn't fair!

Even worse, Jane didn't care, even though she should; she who would rather wear plain black, dung brown, or dull gray would never fight for gold. But Jane needed gold, she deserved it, just as much as Kate did! Gold would bring out the red and gold embers hiding in her brown hair, like coals glowing beneath wood and ashes, and make the green, blue, and hazel sparkle like jewels against dust and eclipse the harsh gray of her eyes. I had always a.s.sociated gold with warmth, like sunshine, and silver with cold and ice, and even though Jane's personality was in truth better suited to chilly silver, and I had long ago given up my childish hope that if Jane wore gold these golden qualities would be magically and miraculously absorbed through her skin and she would smile and laugh and be merry just like Kate, I still longed to see her arrayed in gold on her wedding day. I wanted Jane herself to see when she stood before her looking gla.s.s that there was no sin in beauty, only in the vain att.i.tude and condescending pride that often accompanied it, and that she could have her precious books and be beautiful too.

I swallowed down my tears and fears and steeled to do battle on Jane's behalf since she would never fight for a cloth-of-gold gown. Timidly, I gave a tug to the skirt of our lady-mother's crimson velvet riding habit.

"Please, my lady-mother, let Jane wear gold too. It is such a special day, and I would like to see both my sisters gowned in the full glory of gold on their wedding day. Let the Dudley girl wear silver if she will, but please garb both the Grey sisters, through your ill.u.s.trious person kin to royalty, in gold."

"Your point is well taken, Mary; appearances are everything, and it is imperative that we present an image of importance, solidarity, and regal grandeur. Very well then, let it be gold for Jane as well as Katherine. And Jane can wear the ruby necklace Princess Mary so thoughtfully sent her for her birthday; that bloodred shall look splendid against the pallor of her skin and help coax out the red in her hair, and we shall wash it with my own mother's recipe for a saffron rinse with just a hint of henna the night before the wedding so the effect will be even more striking. Now, what pattern would you suggest for Jane's kirtle and sleeves? Thorns and acanthus leaves or thistles perhaps, to suit her unpleasantly sharp and p.r.i.c.kly personality?"