Livia bit her lip. She had seen what the courtesans did. It was impossible not to, living under the same roof. Sometimes Nicholas sent her to carry ale upstairs, or fresh linens, or candles.
Sometimes the doors were not fully closed. Sometimes she caught glimpses. The sound of creaking furniture and breathless voices, naked bodies tangled in ridiculous poses.
From what Livia had seen, it mostly looked like the men were the only ones enjoying themselves.
The women performed. The men consumed. It was not something she envied. And certainly not something she dreamed about.
Yet Jane's advice sat stubbornly in her mind. If someone paid her dowry… If someone took her away from Nicholas Beaumont's house…
Her fingers tightened slightly on the broom handle. Freedom had a price. And apparently that price involved men.
*****
King Henry walked through the quiet halls of Whitehall Palace. He rarely visited the palace library himself.
Kings had people to fetch books for them. But today he had a very specific request in mind.
The library sat in a quieter wing of the palace, far from the endless traffic of courtiers. Tall windows allowed pale afternoon light to spill across rows of shelves filled with manuscripts and leather-bound volumes.
It smelled faintly of dust, ink, and old parchment. Henry stepped inside. The librarian, who normally had very little to do after dusting the shelves and organizing the manuscripts, sat at a table near the window.
He was deeply absorbed in a large illustrated book. So absorbed, in fact, that he did not notice the king enter.
Henry approached quietly, curious. When he glanced down at the page, he raised an eyebrow.
The book was filled with drawings of naked women—rather enthusiastically drawn naked women.
Then he cleared his throat. The librarian jumped so violently he nearly knocked the book onto the floor.
"Your Majesty!" he gasped, scrambling to his feet.
Henry folded his hands behind his back. "Well," he said mildly, "that appears to be… educational."
The librarian flushed an impressive shade of red. "I—I assure you, Sire, it is a study of classical anatomy—"
"I am certain it is," Henry said, suppressing a smile.
The poor man looked as though he wished the floor would swallow him.
Henry decided mercy was appropriate. "I require a book," he said.
"Of course, Your Majesty," the librarian replied quickly, grateful for the change in topic.
"Something by Francesco Petrarch."
"Petrarch, Sire?"
"Yes." Henry glanced toward the tall shelves lining the walls. "Preferably Canzoniere. Do you have copies?" Henry asked.
"Yes, Your Majesty. My king," the librarian answered quickly, still looking faintly embarrassed from being discovered studying his… anatomical illustrations.
"May I have a copy?" Henry asked.
"Of course, Your Majesty." The librarian hurried away at once, nearly tripping over his own robes as he disappeared between the tall rows of shelves.
Henry was left alone at the table. His gaze drifted downward. The book of nude illustrations still lay open where the librarian had abandoned it in his panic. Henry stepped closer, curiosity winning over royal dignity for the moment. He placed his hands lightly on the table and glanced down at the page.
The drawings were clearly inspired by classical art. A scholar somewhere had likely insisted it was for the study of the beauty of the human form.
Henry suspected the librarian enjoyed the research a little too enthusiastically. He flipped a page.
Then another. The drawings did not particularly amuse him. Being king had a way of dulling the novelty of such things. He could summon companionship whenever he wished. The court was filled with ladies eager to gain favor, and he already had a mistress whose presence was convenient.
There were also a few "favorites" at court whose role was understood by everyone without ever being openly discussed.
Pleasure, for a king, was rarely difficult to obtain. He paused on one particular drawing. The figure depicted a woman standing in a graceful pose, her body sculpted with exaggerated symmetry.
Henry tilted his head slightly. It was not the same woman, of course. But something about the figure stirred a memory.
When he had pulled the girl into the alley to hide her from the mob, he had caught only brief impressions. The quick rise and fall of her breath. The way she pressed back against the wall just the same position as the woman in the drawing.
He remembered how her dark brown eyes had locked onto his. While she had been distracted, she had not seemed to notice how close he had been. His hand had been firm at her waist to steady her against the wall, his arm braced against the top of her cleavage.
A moment later the librarian returned, clutching a carefully bound volume.
"Here it is, Your Majesty," he said breathlessly. "A fine copy of Canzoniere."
Henry accepted the book. "Thank you." He turned it in his hands thoughtfully.
Perhaps he truly did want to read Petrarch again. Or perhaps… He simply wanted to understand why a servant girl in Cheapside had been willing to risk a beating to steal it.
"Enjoy your art," Henry said mildly.
The librarian flushed again, bowing so quickly his spectacles nearly slipped off his nose. "Your Majesty."
Henry tucked the copy of Canzoniere beneath his arm and walked out of the library before the poor man could expire from embarrassment. He had intended to return directly to the throne room. There were always petitions waiting.
Being king was, in many ways, the grand art of listening to people complain. But halfway down the corridor, he paused.
He turned away from the route to the throne room and instead headed toward the private chambers reserved for Lady Bella.
Henry's mother sat in a high-backed chair, while Bella stood beside a cradle where their infant son lay wrapped in fine linen.
The baby stirred slightly at the sound of the door. A smile curved Henry's lips as he approached.
"Ah! He grows bigger every day," he said, lifting the boy carefully into his arms.