Introduction

Jane Lambert, the quick-witted and alluring daughter of a silk merchant, is twenty-two and still unmarried. When Jane’s father finally finds her a match, she’s married off to the dull, older silk merchant William Shore. Marriage doesn’t stop Jane from flirtation, however, and when the king’s chamberlain, Will Hastings, comes to her husband’s shop, Will knows King Edward will find her irresistible.

Edward IV has everything: power, majestic bearing, superior military leadership, a sensual nature, and charisma. And with Jane as his mistress, he also finds true happiness. But when his hedonistic tendencies get in the way of being the strong leader England needs, his life, as well as those of Jane and Will Hastings, hangs in the balance. Jane must rely on her talents to survive as the new monarch, Richard III, bent on reforming his brother’s licentious court, ascends the throne.

This dramatic tale has been an inspiration to poets and playwrights for five hundred years, and, as told through the unique perspective of a woman plucked from obscurity and thrust into a life of notoriety, Royal Mistress is sure to enthrall today’s historical fiction lovers as well.

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Excerpt

Chapter One

London, Winter 1475

Wrapped in warm woolen cloaks, their faces and animated conversation hidden in the folds of capacious hoods, Jane and Sophia rounded the corner of Soper Lane and the Chepe and collided with a man equally cocooned against the bitter January wind.

“God’s teeth, look where you are treading, sirrah!” Tom Grey barked, his hand on his dagger. But upon realizing he had almost been knocked down by two young women, he immediately bowed. “My pardon, ladies. It was I, Tom Grey, who was at fault,” he apologized. His practiced eyes roved from one face to the other and settled without hesitation on the prettier of the two. “Are you hurt?”

Jane met his admiring stare with the certainty of one used to attracting male attention and was struck by his youthful good looks. While Sophia bent to pick up the silks that had fallen from her basket, Jane was left to assure the admiring young man the fault was entirely theirs. “I am afraid our chatter was too lively,” she said, hoping he had not heard her describing her latest conquest as a puling brat. “We were not paying attention. However, Master Grey, if we have done you no hurt, we must go on our way to the cordwainer.”

“Allow me to accompany you, mistresses,” Tom answered, his eagerness telling Jane that he was serious about the offer.

Sophia began to protest, but Jane dug her elbow into her friend’s ribs and thanked the young knight--for certes, from the cut of his cloth he must be gently born, she decided. Smiling, she took his proffered arm. “We accept with pleasure.” Without thinking to ask her companion, she told Sophia to take the other. The timid Sophia touched Tom’s arm as if it were on fire but did not demur.

And thus the trio made their way down the cobbled street to Cordwainer’s Row, Jane having no inhibitions about engaging Master Grey in conversation. Sophia, on the other hand, glanced warily right and left hoping no one she knew would tell her husband she was on the arm of another man. Jealous Jehan Vandersand could be abusive for no good reason whenever he returned from the Pope’s Head, and here she was on her way to deliver some of the silks she had spun to the weaver and should only be about her business. She should have never let Jane be so bold, she rued. Although she had admired Jane’s fearlessness from the first day they had met as children, it had got the two friends into more trouble than Sophia had ever anticipated over the years. She began to count the steps to the weaver’s workshop, where she could safely make her escape.

“My father’s establishment is behind us in The Mercery, Master Grey,” Jane was saying, avoiding a puddle of drying piss from the contents of a jakes thrown earlier from an upstairs window. “He has the finest Venetian silk in London, does he not, Sophie?”

Sophia nodded and Tom laughed. “I do not think Mistress Sophia approves of me.”

“Sourface Sophie!” Jane cried, grinning at her friend. “That’s the name I gave her when we were girls,” she explained while Sophia blushed. “I was always the naughty one, and she was always trying to save me from landing in hot soup.” Seeing Sophia was now mortified, Jane hurried on, “But we are the best of friends, and I cannot think of life without Sophie in it, even though she is married now and must be a dutiful wife and mother.”

Tom smiled encouragement at prim Sophia, her long Flemish features offering no hope of beauty, and turning back to Jane he could not imagine his luck. He had left his mother at her townhouse not an hour earlier in search of a tavern after arguing with her over how little time he had spent with his wife in their six months of marriage. He had stormed out determined to wash down his woes with strong ale in the anonymity of a city drinking establishment, when he had encountered Jane and her companion. Now he was drinking in the sensual beauty of the young woman beside him, which was every bit as intoxicating to the hedonistic young man as any cup of ale. And, what was more titillating was that the young woman returned his interest.

“Good day to you, Master Grey,” Sophia said, withdrawing her arm and bobbing a curtsey. “Jane,” she said meaningfully, “do not forget your errand. Your father needs his shoes.” With relief, she crossed to the conduit in the middle of the Chepe, then to the other side of the busy thoroughfare and disappeared through the doorway of the weaver’s house as the couple watched.

Without Sophia as chaperone, Jane suddenly felt exposed. “Forgive me, sir, but Sophia is right. I must attend to my errand or my father will have yet another reason to chastise me.” She reluctantly reclaimed her hand, which Tom had taken to his lips, and she tucked it into her coney-lined muff. “May God give you a good day, and my thanks for your escort.”

“But mistress, you have not told me your name.”

“‘Tis plain Jane, sir,” Jane said with a twinkle. “Although I was christened Elizabeth. And I work at my father’s shop under the maiden’s head.” She laughed when his eyebrows rose in astonishment. “He is a mercer, sir, as I told you. John Lambert is his name, and you would know the guild’s insignia is the head of a maiden if you lived in London. She is well known in London; you’ll see her swinging from every mercery. Ah, perchance you are from the provinces?”

Tom nodded but chose not to take her hint and reveal any of his personal information. Let her think he was Master Tom Grey and not Sir Thomas Grey, marquess of Dorset, oldest son of Queen Elizabeth and her first husband; he was enjoying himself. “And are you always so bold, mistress?” he laughed. He was determined to see this engaging, sensual young woman again; she was such a pleasant change from his dull, though young and very rich, wife.

“Until we meet again, Jane Lambert,” he said, pulling up his hood and covering his thick chestnut hair. “For I am certain we shall.” He turned and walked back the way they had come.

Jane felt as though she was floating down Bread Street. She wondered if Tom Grey had experienced the same exciting rush as she had when he had kissed her hand. This man was different from all the others she had dallied with, she was certain.

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Discussion Questions

Did Jane Shore have any choice in becoming the king’s mistress?

Bearing in mind, her life ended in penury, which of all the men she is associated with was the best match for Jane?

Do you believe Richard of Gloucester had designs on the throne all along or was he forced into becoming king?

How much does fact matter to you in historical fiction?

What impressions of marriage in medieval time did you gain from ROYAL MISTRESS?

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