The Virgin's Daughter, page 1
PRAISE FOR LAURA ANDERSEN’S AWARD-WINNING
BOLEYN KING TRILOGY
The Boleyn Reckoning
“Powerful…action, intrigue, star-crossed lovers, and all the drama period fans have come to expect…thrilling.”
—Booklist
The Boleyn Deceit
“Detailed and quick paced, [The Boleyn Deceit] will have series fans devouring it and emerging eager for the last book. An excellent recommendation for Philippa Gregory fans.”
—Booklist, starred review
“This novel is recommended for all lovers of historical fiction.”
—Historical Novel Society
“This entertaining work of alternative history offers plenty to savor for both fans of historical romance and those whose passion is political intrigue….Perfect for fans of Philippa Gregory and Alison Weir, Andersen’s novel admirably takes artistic license with history while remaining true to many aspects of real-world history…Foreshadows a mesmerizing conclusion to the trilogy.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Elaborately threaded with historical details…the second in Andersen’s Boleyn family saga will appeal to fans of historical fiction….This is an intriguing reimagining of Tudor England and the treacheries of court life.”
—Kirkus
The Boleyn King
Winner of the 2013 RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Awards for Best Historical Fiction
“Andersen’s novel, alive with historical flair and drama, satisfies both curious and imaginative Tudor aficionados…her multidimensional characters are so real that readers will wish it was history and eagerly await the next in the trilogy.”
—Romantic Times (4.5 stars, Top Pick!)
“A surprising gem and a thoroughly enjoyable read….Andersen has given Anne Boleyn fans the happy ending we desire.”
—Historical Novels Society
“An absolutely gorgeous manifestation of that urge to bring an intriguing story forward….This is history-plus-more….The first in a trilogy, so brilliantly conceived and richly executed, fans of bold, historical dramas are likely to gobble them up as soon as they appear.”
—January Magazine
“A glamorous royal drama—but The Boleyn King offers a refreshingly offbeat, counterfactual take on the familiar story….The first book in a trilogy that promises to be inventive and entertaining.”
—Shelf Awareness
“High-court intrigue, romantic passions, and danger surround the four central characters of Andersen’s gripping first novel….This first entry in a planned trilogy highly entertains with fine pacing, plot, and detail. Perfect for Philippa Gregory fans.”
—Booklist (starred review)
“A fascinating journey into what might have been, this novel of alternate history will keep you turning the pages and leave you hoping for a sequel.”
—KATE EMERSON, Royal Inheritance
“From the intrigue of the Tudor court to the battlefields of France, you will be entranced by the power, emotion, and sweeping romance of this spell-binding novel. I loved it and can’t wait for the next book in the series!”
–SYRIE JAMES, bestselling author of The Lost Memoirs of Jane Austen
“ ‘What if…’ With these tantalizing words, Laura Andersen creates a fresh and vividly realized alternative world where not only does Anne Boleyn live, but also gives birth to a healthy son who will become King. With the introduction of Minuette, Princess Elizabeth’s lady-in-waiting, we meet an extraordinary young woman who embodies love and loyalty, and who fights to find the humanity at the heart of the most glamorous—and dangerous—courts in Europe.”
—SUSAN ELIA MACNEAL, author of Mr. Churchill’s Secretary
“The Boleyn King is a riveting page-turner of a tale. I could not put it down. Laura Andersen’s splendidly imagined novel provides a fresh take on an era in history that’s been done to death. For historical fiction fans and Tudor aficionados, The Boleyn King is a must-read.”
—SHERRY JONES, author, Four Sisters, All Queens
“This terrific debut brings to life a fascinating page of Tudor history, vividly reimagined with a crucial twist: What if Anne Boleyn had a son who lived to become King? The Boleyn King deftly blends compelling characters, flawless social history, and courtly romance into an enthralling tale that’s impossible to put down.”
—STEFANIE PINTOFF, Edgar Award–winning author of Secret of the White Rose
“Full of intrigue, conspiracies, and the accurate details so essential to good historical fiction, The Boleyn King is the ultimate game of What if? Anyone who has even the slightest fascination with the Tudors will want to devour this deletectable novel in a single sitting—and not only to see what might have happened to England had Anne Boleyn kept her head.”
—TASHA ALEXANDER, New York Times bestselling author
The Virgin’s Daughter is a work of historical fiction. Apart from the well-known actual people, events, and locales that figure in the narrative, all names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to current events or locales, or to living persons, is entirely coincidental.
A Ballantine Books eBook Edition
Copyright © 2015 by Laura Andersen
Reading group guide copyright © 2015 by Penguin Random House LLC
Excerpt from The Virgin’s Spy by Laura Andersen copyright © 2015 by Laura Andersen
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
BALLANTINE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
RANDOM HOUSE READER’s CIRCLE & Design is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book The Concubine’s Daughter by Laura Andersen. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Andersen, Laura.
The virgin’s daughter : a Tudor legacy novel / Laura Andersen.
pages cm
ISBN 978-0-8041-7936-2 (paperback)—ISBN 978-0-8041-7937-9 (ebook)
1. Elizabeth I, Queen of England, 1533–1603—Fiction. 2. Queens—Great Britain—Fiction. 3. Inheritance and succession—Fiction. 4. Great Britain—Kings and rulers—Succession—Fiction. 5. Great Britain—History—Tudors, 1485–1603—Fiction. I. Title. II. Title: Tudor legacy novel.
PS3601.N437V57 2015
813′.6—dc23
2014049230
eBook ISBN 9780804179379
www.randomhousereaderscircle.com
eBook design adapted from printed book design by Caroline Cunningham
Cover design: Susan Zucker
Cover photography: Jeff Cottonden
v4.1
a
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Prelude: June 1568
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Interlude: September 1568
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Interlude: August 1572
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Interlude: September 1574
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Postlude: September 1580
Dedication
Acknowledgments
By Laura Andersen
About the Author
Reading Group Guide
Excerpt from The Virgin’s Spy
PRELUDE
June 1568
Elizabeth Tudor—Queen of England, Ireland, and France; Supreme Head of the Church of England; estranged wife of King Philip of Spain; warrior savior or bastard heretic depending on one’s point of view—walked the grounds of a quiet country manor in company of the woman once her dearest friend, and allowed herself to be at ease.
Or relative ease for, of course, a queen could never entirely unbend. Not when there were so many eager to relieve her of her crown.
But today was not a day for such concerns. Elizabeth would once have linked arms with Minuette Courtenay, Duchess of Exeter, as they walked, but that was many years and even more choices ago. But their steps still matched and so did their thoughts.
“The boy is besotted with you,” Elizabeth noted drily.
Minuette’s amused laughter rang as clear as childhood. “Julien LeClerc is sixteen years old. He’s besotted with every female he lays eyes on.”
“Does Dominic take his infatuation as lightly as you do?”
“Are you implying my husband has cause for jealousy?” There was the slightest edge to Minuette’s teasing question. She had always been highly protective of Dominic.
“I am implying only that your husband’s sense of humour has never been highly
Even a queen occasionally slipped in her choice of words; a shiver passed between them and Elizabeth was grateful when Minuette neatly changed the subject. “It is good of you to allow Anabel to come this summer, despite our French guests in residence.”
Only a handful of people used that particular name, for Anabel was properly Her Royal Highness Anne Isabella, Princess of Wales and only daughter of the Queen of England and the King of Spain. At six years old, Anabel was already a precocious mix of Elizabeth’s cleverness and Philip’s cold-blooded practicality. She had her own household mainly based at Ashridge, but for the last three summers Elizabeth had sent Anabel to the informal Courtenay household at Wynfield Mote. She wanted her daughter to have some warmth in her childhood, and no one better to provide it than Minuette. It also provided Anabel with friends, for Minuette had four children of her own, including twins born the same month as the young princess.
Elizabeth dismissed her generosity with a wave of one hand. “I owe Renaud LeClerc a debt for his care of you. And I can use every possible ally wherever they are placed. A French general and vicomte is a useful friend for England just now.”
They had reached the practice yard, a cleared section of fields by an indolent river where today Dominic and Renaud supervised a training bout of swords between Renaud’s sons. Julien, the sixteen-year-old whom Elizabeth had watched turn bright colours every time he looked at Minuette with what he thought was studied nonchalance, was already taller than his eighteen-year-old brother, Nicolas, but he was less disciplined. Julien scored hits more by virtue of luck than skill, something that Renaud pointed out to his younger son in caustic French. The smaller children were ranged round the outside of the yard, cheering indiscriminately both young men, who in age and privileges were almost godlike to those ten years behind them.
Minuette’s sons followed every move of the older boys and their swords with rapt attention. Eight-year-old Stephen and six-year-old Kit were as different in temperament as in looks, but they shared an affinity for weapons and tactics. From the boys, Elizabeth’s gaze skipped over her daughter hand-in-hand with Kit’s twin, Pippa—the girls in nearly matching shades of blue gowns, Anabel’s subtly more splendid and artful—and rested where it most often did whenever she saw the Courtenays.
Ten-year-old Lucette Courtenay was the eldest of the younger group, a curious, intelligent girl with dark brown hair underlaid with tones of red. From the time she could walk, Lucie’d had a restless, impatient air, as though she could not drink in the world fast enough.
There was something poignantly familiar about that impatience.
But it was Lucette’s eyes that Elizabeth dwelt on. Where Minuette had hazel eyes, and Dominic’s were deep green, their eldest daughter surveyed the world from eyes of the brightest sea blue, a stunning combination with her dark hair and pale skin.
“No.” Minuette interrupted Elizabeth’s musings.
Though they did not even look at one another, Elizabeth knew that Minuette had heard the unasked question. It was the same question—and answer—they had been tossing between them for years.
Have you told her?
“You cannot keep it from her forever,” Elizabeth pointed out, as she so often had. “There is no mistaking those blue eyes. When once Lucette is introduced at court—”
“Who says she will come to court?”
“The eldest daughter of the Duke of Exeter? She’ll be at court.” Elizabeth spoke with the confidence of a monarch accustomed to obedience. “People have long memories, Minuette. And when they see your daughter’s eyes, she will hear the stories. Do you not prefer she hear it from you?”
Minuette turned her back, a rudeness that only Elizabeth’s oldest friend could get away with. “She is my daughter, and it is not your concern, Your Majesty.”
Elizabeth watched her friend walk away and thought, The niece of the Queen of England is very much the queen’s concern.
ONE
Nonsuch Palace rang with merriment and music on this long winter night, for 21 February 1580 marked the birth of Anne Isabella, Princess of Wales and Queen Elizabeth’s sole heir to the English throne. This year was a particularly grand celebration, for Anabel, as she was known to her intimates, had reached the age of eighteen. The courtyards, ballrooms, and corridors of Henry VIII’s delicately wrought Nonsuch Palace bubbled with not only celebration, but speculation. Elizabeth had always kept her daughter closely guarded and at one remove from her court. But now that Anabel was eighteen, surely the queen must begin to give serious thought to her daughter’s future consort.
Lucette Courtenay had wished Anabel well earlier in the day and did not feel compelled to fight her way through tonight’s flatterers simply to lay particular claim to her childhood friend. Anyway, Pippa and Kit were both at her side. Lucette’s twin siblings would be eighteen themselves within the week and they had always taken Anabel as one of their own, a trio adept at going their own way and charming themselves out of trouble when necessary. At twenty-two, Lucette felt herself much more than four years their elder.
Her brother Stephen caught her eye as she turned away. “Leaving already?” he asked, his deep voice so much like Dominic’s that it always startled her.
“You know I’m not interested in festivities as such. Besides, I’ve been summoned.”
“A private assignation?” He might have been teasing. “Should I follow at a discreet distance to guard your honour?”
“I’m quite capable of guarding my own honour,” she retorted. “Not that Dr. Dee is likely to threaten it.”
He laughed softly as she left.
Slipping through palace corridors that became decreasingly populated the farther she moved away from England’s royals, Lucette did not bother to wonder why Dr. Dee had sent for her. John Dee had been her tutor and mentor since she was fourteen, and Lucette was accustomed to his unusual demands. He might have anything to say to her tonight: from a debate on whether “algeber” or “algebar” was the correct term for that field of mathematics to a request to sight the stars with him. She hoped it wasn’t the latter. It was really very cold outdoors, and not that much warmer in the tower room up the four flights of spiral stairs that she climbed now. She was resigned to nearly anything.
But when Lucette knocked and was told to come in, she found herself very surprised indeed. Dr. Dee awaited her, as expected, but so did another man, one who stood with his back to the fire so that his figure was outlined in hazy light. She knew that figure, as did everyone at England’s court and many outside it: Francis Walsingham. Queen Elizabeth’s principal secretary and intelligencer.
Severe in his black clothing and somewhat devilish with his pointed beard, Walsingham said, “Welcome, Lady Lucette. And thank you for coming.”
“I didn’t come for you,” she replied, only realizing her rudeness as she spoke. She pressed her lips tightly together, determined not to be shaken.
Amusement ghosted through Walsingham’s eyes as John Dee said mildly, “Don’t let’s stand on ceremony, my dear. Be seated, and hear Sir Francis out.”
What else could she do? One did not flout the requests of Francis Walsingham. Besides, she trusted Dr. Dee, as much as she trusted anyone, and knew he would not be involved in subterfuge if he did not think it necessary.
Lucette let her amber-coloured skirts bell around her as she sat. She was accustomed to simpler gowns and adornments, but one could not grow up Minuette Courtenay’s daughter without learning how to use even fabric to one’s advantage. Not that she had ever acquired her mother’s instinctive grace.
“What may I do for you, Master Secretary?” she asked coolly.
“You do not consider that perhaps I may be interested in doing something for you?”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “You do not engage with those who cannot be useful to you in some way. And as I have never yet done you any favours of which I am aware, then there is nothing that you could owe me.”
Walsingham inclined his head, again with that faint air of amusement that managed to highlight his intensity rather than diminish it. “You are your mother’s daughter,” he murmured.
There had been a time when that would have been the highest praise Lucette craved. But now she heard only the unspoken corollary: Your father’s daughter, on the other hand…
