Bound to Obey and Serve: A novel of Jane Seymour

Summer 1522 - Chapter 3 [first love]

True to his word, William sends to me just two days after our meeting in the forest, asking me to meet him in that same clearing. The early flame between us does not wane and die, but burns brightly the whole summer long. We manage to see each other at least three times a week, often more frequently when we can get away with it, and I have never been happier.

This is a charmed summer. I’ve bribed my maid to tell Mother that I’m doing charity work in the village. Safe under the cover of the trees, William and I walk, talk, debate, exchange opinions... I think he has been surprised to discover that a lady can have a lively mind, that my head is not just full of embroidery patterns. Not entirely. For my part, I have been delighted to find a man interested in my thoughts – Heaven knows that is a rarity at home. What began as a rebellious walk has ended in me really falling for William. Maybe I even love him. My heart leaps every time our hands brush.

We swap love tokens – William gives me a beautiful little wooden horse, carved by his own hand; in return, I make a gift of my favourite thimble – a pretty brass thing engraved to look like a bell.

We spend lazy summer days picnicking, wandering through the forest, or just lounging in the shade of the trees. William turns his horse loose to graze, and we lie there – he with his head on his saddle, me with my head on his stomach. He reads to me and tells me stories, and sometimes composes scraps of appalling poetry to make me laugh.

I don’t know what I shall do when he has to return home. The thought fills me with despair and pricks my eyes with tears. I push it back, burying the inevitability under our present happiness.

Perhaps William is tormented by the same thoughts – we’ve been meeting like this for two months, but there’s something different about him today. He’s filled with a kind of charged, restrained energy, like a hunted stag, poised and ready to flee. He takes my hand in his as we walk, but I cannot draw him into conversation, despite my best attempts.

I fall silent, chewing my lip anxiously. What have I done to offend him? He’s working up to tell me something, and his demeanour doesn’t bode well.

We come to our clearing. He stops – gazing off into the distance, taking deep breaths. My heart hammers – I’m sure he can hear it pounding in the silence between us.

‘William?’ I touch his arm, ‘what’s wrong?’

He looks me straight in the eyes, and asks abruptly, ‘Jane, will you marry me?’

I inhale sharply. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t that.

There’s a surge of joy at my very core as his question sinks in – he wants to marry me! At last, a man sees a future with me. And a man that I am attracted to, body and soul.

He is not quite the grand match that I thought I wanted as a child. He is certainly no duke. He will never whisk me away to a life of luxury in a palace. But, looking into his earnest, honest brown eyes, I can suddenly imagine nothing better than to be the country wife of this man. Mother left all the grandeur of court behind to be with Father, so love must be preferable to glamour.

I’ve looked into his genealogy – yes, I admit I have made discreet enquiries wherever possible this summer – and he is descended from the royal house of Luxembourg through Jacquetta Rivers, Edward IV’s mother-in-law, and grandmother to Edward V. He is not such a low match, and certainly the best I could ever hope for with my poor dowry. I’m certain my parents could not object.

A life of security, safe with a man who loves me... how could a girl like me ever ask for more?

‘Yes.’ I answer simply, a smile lighting me from the inside.