Chapter 215: Time Does Not Pardon Cruelty
"Your Majesty?" Livia questioned, glancing at their joined hands.
Henry leaned slightly toward her, his voice lowered for her ears alone. "Oblige me."
Her brow furrowed.
"Be my strength as I walk through Whitehall," he murmured. "I do not want my mother knowing about the shooting."
Livia nodded and together they began to cross the courtyard. Behind them came Lionel, watchful as ever, his hand never far from his weapon. Stephen followed. Tabitha walked near the servants carrying Livia’s cases from Covent Garden, her eyes moving over Whitehall as if she were already measuring where danger might hide.
The court saw them, of course. How could it not? The king of England walking through Whitehall with Livia’s hand held openly in his own. It was a declaration.
A foreshadowing.
The king walking beside his queen. Livia drew a breath and lifted her chin but as they proceeded deeper into Whitehall, Livia began to suspect that the king holding her hand had nothing to do with support. His thumb was rubbing across the back of her hand as he held it.
When Livia looked up at him, Henry’s gaze remained fixed. His thumb continued its absent stroke across the back of her hand.
He was doing it without thought. He guided her through galleries and corridors until they reached the lodgings prepared. A servant opened the door, and Livia stepped inside.
The rooms were vast. Sunlight poured through mullioned windows, falling across floors, carved furniture, and hangings worked with flowers. Beyond the windows, the Thames glimmered, busy with barges, wherries, and boats.
It was beautiful. Livia had occupied rooms in which one could cross from bed to door without taking a full breath. Here, she suspected a person might require directions and a horse merely to find the dressing chamber.
Stephen and Tabitha entered behind them and began directing the servants carrying Livia’s cases from Covent Garden.
Between them, they took command so efficiently that Livia wondered whether Henry ruled England or merely occupied the throne while Stephen and Tabitha handled the practical details.
Henry finally released her hand. He turned to face her. "I hope this is to your liking."
Livia glanced around. "It will take some getting used to."
His mouth curved. "You will grow accustomed to it."
She looked toward the river. Every beautiful object seemed to whisper that her life had shifted beyond recognition.
"Tabitha may inform Stephen of whatever you require," he said. "Once I am finished with the Privy Council...we have somewhere to be together."
Livia turned back to him. "Where is that?" she asked.
"Your friends from Beaumont’s have all been taken into custody," Henry said. "They are being held in the gaol. You do not have to face them," Henry continued. "You need only give a formal account of what happened. Once your statement is recorded, the matter may be brought before the court."
"Why?" Livia asked. "What they did happened a long time ago."
"Time does not pardon cruelty."
"They cannot hurt me now."
"They already did. Their actions did not end with you," Henry said. "Another young woman died because of what they set in motion. I will not allow that to go unanswered. I carry enough sins of my own...I do not intend to add theirs to the collection by doing nothing." He spoke like a man who kept an inventory of every failure. She wondered how many names lived inside his guilt. How many decisions followed him into sleep.
"Of course," she said softly.
Henry gave a small nod. He stepped forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead then drew back. "Make yourself at home." He turned and left with Stephen following him.
Livia spun toward Tabitha. "Tabitha, we are supposed to be resisting the king’s will together. Why did you want me to take his hand?" Livia asked as she slumped onto the chaise in the large room.
"Because people need to see that you have the king’s affection," Tabitha replied without looking up from the gown she was arranging. "It may keep you alive longer."
Livia straightened on the chaise. "What?"
Tabitha sighed, the answer ought to have been obvious to anyone who had spent more than five minutes among nobles. "People will talk...The servants will whisper to the guards, the guards will whisper to their officers, and by supper, half of Whitehall will know. By breakfast, London." Tabitha folded the gown and placed it inside a chest before turning to her. "Once word spreads that you are important to the king, anyone with sense will hesitate before crossing you."
Livia stared at her. "Tabitha, all I am to the king is a pretty face. Rank is what protects a woman in a place like this," Livia continued. "A title, wealth. I have none of those."
"You have the king."
"I do not have him."
"And yet he brought you into Whitehall." Tabitha abandoned the cases and crossed the room. She sat beside Livia. "People will want to know who you are...They will ask where you were born, who your parents were, how you came to England, and why the king cannot seem to let you out of his sight."
"Your name will spread through court and beyond it," Tabitha continued. "They will uncover Beaumont’s. A storm is coming, Livia...You may not see it yet. The king may suspect it. But your arrival at Whitehall, housed openly beneath the king’s protection, will raise more than eyebrows—especially when the bishops hear of it."
"That is a good thing, Tabitha." Livia sprang from the chaise with sudden enthusiasm. "Perhaps if enough people object to my being here, the king will finally be embarrassed into releasing me."
"I admire your optimism."
Livia began pacing across the chamber. The apartments were so large that one could properly pace without reaching the opposite wall too quickly.
"Surely, eventually Henry will realise keeping me here is more trouble than it is worth."
"Perhaps." Tabitha returned to the open chest and adjusted a folded gown. "But even if the king allows you to leave, the same trouble will follow you to the Duke of Kingsmere, assuming you still intend to return to him."
