Read Online The Boleyn King by Laura Andersen - Free Book Online

William realized he had expected to be lectured about his partisanship of Mary. But despite his age, Norfolk was quick and had ears everywhere. “You speak of young Giles.”
    “You will see to his removal at once. He may return to the country while I …” William tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “… consider his punishment.”
    “Yes, Your Majesty,” Norfolk answered, not anxious to expend political capital on defending a son of minor importance. Once before he had stood by a son, and he had been condemned to death for it. His eldest son had been executed, and only the death of William’s father—the day before Norfolk’s scheduled execution—had saved the duke. After languishing in the Tower for the first two years of William’s reign, Rochford had suggested a pardon and a restoration of Howard’s title. Northumberland had also been made a duke at the same time, in order to balance any Catholic sentiment on Norfolk’s side.
    “Also,” William continued, “you’ve held the patrimony of Mistress Genevieve Wyatt since her mother’s death. After the grave insult offered her person, I will not subject her to any dealings with your family in future. I have sent a messenger to her estate at Wynfield to apprise them that I claim her holdings for the crown.”
    That did not sit well with Norfolk, property being more important than sons, but he managed to bow stiffly. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
    After just four hours as Elizabeth’s principal lady, Minuette was exhausted both physically and mentally. Elizabeth was not a decorative princess. She was a serious scholar who kept up a voluminous correspondence with Continental philosophers and religious figures, a powerful landholder who knew every animal and outbuilding in her control, and a primary avenue of royal influence. She had secretaries and ladies and clerks in plenty, and she threw Minuette straight into the fray without blinking.
    “The only way to learn is to do,” Elizabeth commanded. “Hastings won’t you let stray too far.”
    And so with her own secretary from Elizabeth’s household (Minuette had known Oliver Hastings since childhood), by midafternoon she had dictated two dozen letters in answer to the most pressing complaints, ranging from a boundary dispute on one of Elizabeth’s farms to abased pleas for preferment at court. It had barely touched the surface of what waited. As Minuette separated letters into appropriate stacks for future work, she directed a steady stream of commentary at Hastings.
    “Another request for a place at court from a friend of a friend of a relation,” she sighed. “Do these people really think a princess royal has nothing better to do than look after their candidates for sheriff or priest or clerk?”
    Beneath his formidable graying eyebrows, Hastings’s eyes met hers levelly. “As long as the king is unmarried and childless, the princess is next in succession. People will take of her what they can.”
    Minuette sighed and placed the last letter on the smaller stack, those she would write herself. Handing over the larger stack, she said, “Be polite, Hastings, but firm. Make it clear that she is more likely to respond favorably to their requests if they refrain from making them quite so shrill.”
    “I know my business, girl.”
    Minuette smiled at the secretary, who had always treated her with a sort of fretful indulgence, as one would treat a puppy that could be trusted only so far.
    “And I know mine,” she said briskly. “You can trust me to compose my own replies to the diplomats. Discretion is best hidden behind the mask of candor,” she said, repeating a favorite maxim of his.
    He eyed her with mock gravity and shook his head. “Yes, well, mind you keep your wits about you. There’s many looking to take advantage of the princess, and their eyes are upon the newest—and most influential—lady in her household.”
    A sharp voice cut in. “Don’t go flattering her, Hastings.