The last thing he wanted was to spar with the Lord Chancellor just now. “Can it wait?” he asked, more abruptly than he’d ever spoken to Rochford before.
“If it could wait, I would not have asked.”
Dominic folded his arms. “If it’s to do with France, the privy council is scheduled to meet in two days. I’ll report then.”
Apparently more amused than irritated, Rochford replied, “It is to do with Mistress Wyatt.”
Dominic waited for more. It was never wise to anticipate what Rochford might be going to say; better to be certain of the specifics first.
Rochford obliged. “What did the French make of her?”
“The French find every female charming.”
“You know what I mean.”
Dominic sighed. He wanted to run his hands through his hair in frustration but wouldn’t allow Rochford that sign of discomfort. “As far as I could tell, the French are content with the English respect offered their princess and expect her marriage to William to be celebrated in due course.” He left out Renaud’s hints about Minuette; he was not going to stand here and debate with Rochford the nuances of French opinion on Minuette as William’s mistress.
“What do you expect?” Rochford asked.
“Why are you asking me?”
“Because you are the only man who might have some idea of how to stop the king from his disastrous plans.”
Dominic laughed bitterly. “If I knew how to stop William doing as he chooses, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I know England needs the French princess. Do you think I haven’t told him that?”
Rochford tipped his head thoughtfully, as though he’d heard something more in Dominic’s tone. “Tell me honestly, Courtenay—despite your personal friendship for the Wyatt girl, would you rejoice to see her crowned queen?”
Dominic met Rochford’s unblinking eyes and, as he’d been bid, answered honestly. “No.”
“Then I suggest you find a way to make William listen to you. The king has a brilliant mind and his father’s instincts for political survival. But he also has his father’s stubbornness. Of all his advisors, you are the only one to whom he might listen. You must remind him, as many times as necessary, that he is meant to look to England’s interests.”
Rochford nodded once, as though setting a seal on his orders, then strolled away. Dominic would have sworn after his retreating back, but he couldn’t summon the strength.
Definitely time to leave court. Tomorrow he would ask William for permission.
As summoned, Robert Dudley arrived at Nonsuch Palace the morning of August 15. He had been summoned by Rochford, not William, and as he was led to the Lord Chancellor’s private apartments, Robert wondered what the king would have to say about his return. At least he would have the chance to see Elizabeth—he had missed her desperately the last six weeks.
Lord Rochford was not alone when Robert was shown into his privy chamber. The room itself was dominated by a square desk of English oak and, as always, there were clerks and attendants coming in and out with papers to be signed, reports to be made, and orders to be issued. But unusually, Lady Rochford was also there, turning her hard, assessing gaze on Robert from the seat across the desk from her husband.
With a flick of his hand at his wife, Rochford said, “You must excuse us, my dear.”
“Of course.” She rose and offered her hand to Robert, who kissed it. “Lord Robert, you are looking very well.”
“Thank you, my lady.” But don’t think your position is enough to entice me into an affair, he thought. You’ll have to find another young man to absorb your jealous fury at your husband. Not that Jane Boleyn was unattractive—her pale skin remained smooth, her hair thick, her figure untouched by childbearing—but there was a restlessness behind her tightly held control that made Robert wary.
As if she could sense his reservations, Lady Rochford withdrew her hand and gave him a rather chilly farewell. When she left the privy chamber, Rochford indicated that Robert should take the seat she had vacated.
A public conversation, Robert thought with interest. That’s new. The Lord Chancellor’s men were well-trained, of course; not one came near enough the desk to be a serious threat to privacy as long as they kept their voices down.
“I’m afraid,” Rochford began, “that the young lady about whom I have been concerned is more of a threat than I first thought.”
“Yes?” Robert said neutrally. Playing politics with the Catholic powers was one thing—meddling with a king’s affections was far more dangerous. Besides, he rather liked Minuette.
“I need you to speak directly to the young lady. Make it clear that she is on treacherous ground. I do not particularly wish her ill, but I will not let England be ruined by a simple girl of no particular talent or ability.”
And how many men said the same of your sister?Robert wanted to ask. But he knew better than to attract Rochford’s displeasure. Also, he had a favour to ask.
“I’ll speak to her,” he agreed. “In return, might I be allowed to visit my brother, Guildford, in the Tower? It would ease my mother’s heart to know I have seen him.”
