Chapter 229: I Shall Not Leave Whitehall
Lionel straightened at once. Henry noticed the strain in his face but attributed it to the abandoned wedding.
"You are dismissed from duty for the remainder of the day, Lionel," Henry said. "I shall not leave Whitehall, and you look as though sleep has become a distant acquaintance."
Lionel’s fingers closed around the paper. Henry gave him a brief nod and started to walk out of his apartments without another word. "Your Majesty..."
Henry stopped and looked back, impatience already tightening his face. "What now, Lionel?"
Lionel’s fingers closed around the folded warning hidden in his palm. He nearly confessed everything. "Nothing, Sire." he lowered his eyes. "Only... I hope you are certain."
"I have never been more certain."
Lionel bowed. Henry walked away, his steps carrying him towards Livia’s apartments. Theodora swept from the privy chamber.
"This is your fault, you great fool!"
Lionel straightened as the Queen Mother descended upon him.
"What were you thinking, taking him to a bawdy house?"
Lionel accepted the attack without protest. "I acknowledge my part in it, Your Grace."
"You placed that woman before him. You introduced them. This will be the end of England," she declared.
Lionel inclined his head. "That may be overstating the matter."
"He will put a common harlot on the throne. What do you intend to do about it?" Theodora demanded.
"What would you have me do, Your Grace? He is the king. In the end, we bend to his will."
"You may bend," Theodora said. "I do not intend to."
Lionel glanced towards the corridor Henry had taken. "With respect, now is not the moment to wage war against your son. Do not drive him into making an even bigger enemy of you."
Theodora’s eyes narrowed. "You presume to counsel me on how to manage my own son?"
Lionel exhaled. He was tired, and increasingly aware that reason was losing badly to everyone in Whitehall. "Your Grace, listen to me."
"I have heard enough from you."
Lionel stepped closer and lowered his voice. "Calm the fuck down and use your head, not your thunder."
The silence that followed was holy. Theodora’s expression became a masterpiece of outrage. Her arm drew back and delivered a slap to his face.
Lionel’s head snapped sideways.
"How dare you?" Theodora hissed.
Lionel slowly faced her again. "Now that Your Grace feels better, perhaps you might listen for once."
Her hand twitched, considering a second attempt.
"There is a woman in the gaol," he continued. "Her name is Jane. She is to be tried in connection with the death of another young woman from Beaumont’s."
Theodora’s fury shifted into attention.
"Miss Valenti’s identity is being concealed in the proceedings," Lionel said. "His majesty wishes to prevent her past from becoming public."
"And this concerns me how?"
"Find a way into the gaol. Speak to Jane before she is brought to trial. Something your thunder can use to your advantage, I believe."
Theodora’s anger cooled with remarkable speed. She turned away from Lionel. Then another problem rose before her.
Tabitha.
The maid armed with a secret. Before Theodora could move against Livia, she needed to know who else shared her knowledge.
"Lionel," she called. "Do you remember the circumstances of the night the late king died?"
Lionel looked back slowly. "Your Grace...do not mistake this morning’s agreement for allegiance. Our interests may briefly meet where the king’s recent folly is concerned," he continued, "but I owe you no loyalty. I am not your ally, your servant, or your weapon. I serve the Crown." he stepped past her.
"My sole purpose is to protect the throne," he said and walked away, leaving Theodora staring after him
*****
Tabitha was arranging a tray in Livia’s outer chamber when the doors opened. Henry entered. She sank into a curtsy. "Welcome, Your Majesty."
Henry glanced towards the heavy curtain separating the sitting room from Livia’s bedchamber. "Mrs Crowe...Is she awake?"
"Yes, Sire."
"Has she heard?"
"Most of Whitehall has heard."
Henry moved towards the bedchamber entrance, then paused. He looked lighter than he had that morning, yet beneath the relief lay nervousness. Apparently, rejecting France had been easier than facing one eighteen-year-old woman who had every reason to refuse him. "Would you give us some time?"
"Of course," Tabitha said. "I shall go and gather every improper detail from the ladies’ attendants who were at the Abbey."
Henry smiled and motioned towards the door. "Enjoy yourself."
"Oh, I fully intend to, Sire." Tabitha dipped into a curtsy and departed.
Henry remained alone in the outer chamber for a moment, looking towards the curtain that separated him from Livia. He entered the bedchamber.
Livia was already standing. The instant she saw him, she sank into a curtsy. "Your Majesty."
"Livia," he said, smiling.
She rose, smoothing her skirts with hands that were not quite steady. They stood several paces apart.
Henry had imagined this moment repeatedly on the journey from Westminster Abbey. In every version, he entered with confidence, explained himself perfectly, and watched her realise that he had chosen her.
Livia did not know what to say. Henry did not know what to say. He tried to read her expression. There was surprise there, certainly. Fear.
Henry’s confidence faltered. Livia drew a breath.
"So..." she began.
"So..." Henry said at precisely the same moment.
They stopped. Henry gave a brief smile, relieved by the smallest crack in the tension. He lifted one hand and gestured for her to speak.
"What are you doing?" Livia asked.
"At present? Standing in your chamber." His gaze moved over her face with such open affection that Livia felt exposed. "I am looking at the most beautiful work of art I have ever seen," he continued, "and at the only woman I have ever loved."
"Please." Her voice tightened. "Do not say it."
Henry stopped. He seemed to understand that love from his position could feel very much like another command. "I will not...Not until you are ready. I... I..." He cleared his throat. "I promise."
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