Takes place between Anne being invested as the Marquess of Pembroke and the trip to Calais in 1532. Not at all historically accurate.
Grafton Manor, October 1532
"Given birth?" Anne asked in a whisper, "Given... birth?"
"To a son," her uncle agreed mournfully, sitting down heavily into his chair and pushing the message towards her along the table. "And a prince, by all accounts, considering His Majesty's joy." Anne gaped at him, glancing down at the letter as if it was about to leap up and bite her. "The boy is strong and healthy, apparently the very image of the King."
Anne shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "But... The trial... Blackfriars..."
Norfolk sighed. "Forgotten; the child has been interpreted as a good omen, surely a sign from God that the marriage between Henry Tudor and Katherine of Aragon is a blessed and valid union." His tone clearly showed his distaste and annoyance at recent events, but he too was powerless. "The Queen is already churched; the babe christened Prince Edward of Wales, and is even now on progress to London from the More. That is not to say that all is well between their Majesties – as a married man myself, I doubt it will ever be as it was between them - but the Queen has been restored."
"Then I am ruined," Anne replied softly, a stray tear trickling down her cheek. "The King..."
"May still wish for you to be his mistress," her father said, hopeful yet for his family's ambitions. "He did offer you the position of maîtresse-en-titre, once."
Again, Anne shook her head. "It won't matter, not now. His Majesty will not displease the Queen by allowing me to remain at Court. He will have to send me away."
"Your daughter is right," Norfolk agreed with a nod, exhaling roughly. "The Queen's position is stronger than ever. She has given his Majesty a legitimate prince, one who looks likely to thrive, disproving the King's argument surrounding the disillusionment of their marriage. She will have the support of the Emperor, not to mention the King of France and the Pope. If Katherine's insistence is not enough to have Anne removed from court, the demands of her nephew will. We must assume that Anne is all but ruined."
Thomas Boleyn made a disgusted noise of disapproval. "What is to become of Anne?"
Gesturing to the unopened letter in his hands, Norfolk shrugged. "I would assume that the King will do his upmost to preserve what is left of her reputation. But the future appears bleak, as of yet. I do not hope for much. Anne is an unmarried lady and was the King's public mistress for a long time: without a husband to return to, she has no prospects to speak of. The King may offer to dower her handsomely, but no man would willingly marry a woman that the King still loves."
"Open it," Anne breathed, smoothing down her stomacher and swallowing her rising feeling of nausea. "Please."
Sparing his niece a pitiful glance, Norfolk nodded. His eyes focussed on the words and his brow furrowed, mouthing the contents as he read. He looked up sharply, staring bewildered across at his niece.
George Boleyn - previously silent - stood up. "Uncle? What is it?"
Norfolk tapped the parchment. "His Majesty allows you to retain your title of Marquess of Pembroke and further raises you to the dignity of a Duchess."
Her father gasped, resisting the urge to grab for the letter. "A Duchess?"
"Of Calais," Norfolk said, narrowing his eyes at the interruption. "You are to become the Duchess of Calais, the Marchioness of Buckingham, the Countess of Devonshire and the Baroness of Kent."
Anne looked up sharply. No woman had ever been raised so high in her own right, and it would seem now that Anne would outrank every woman at court, save the Queen herself. "Uncle..."
Shaking his head in disbelief, Norfolk went on, "He awards you lands and a property in Calais, a new London house, lands and Eastwell Manor in Kent, lands and Salcombe Castle in Devon, Thornbury Castle in Gloucester and lands in Ludlow, Pembroke and Carmarthen, as well as a further four hundred and fifty thousand pounds a year in pension." He stared at his niece in amazement. "The King has made you the richest peer in all of England; richer even than me." Norfolk shook his head again. "Unbelievable: Lady Anne Boleyn, my niece; owner of half of Wales and a great deal of England."
Thomas Boleyn sat down at the table. "We must take advantage of this," he began, turning to Norfolk, "As your Grace mentioned, it would have been difficult to find Anne a husband in our previous circumstances, but now..."
"I have no intention of marrying," Anne interjected coolly.
Her father glared across at her. "You will do as you are bid."
"No," she replied with a tight-lipped smile, "I have no need of a husband," Anne said again, "If the King truly means to make me a Duchess, then surely I have lands and houses and an income that will comfortably support me for the rest of my life. The last thing I want is to marry a man who cares naught for me, and only desires to steal what is mine."
His ire rising, Thomas Boleyn pushed himself from the table, his fists clenched against the wood, glowering at his youngest daughter. Behind her, her sister Mary was silent and pale, and George looked unsure of where to put himself. "You are my daughter; a Boleyn girl, a Howard girl. You will do as you are bid." Thomas glanced at the Duke of Norfolk, expecting him to agree, but the Duke remained impassive.
"The girl is right, of course," Norfolk commented, "A marriage would only weaken her position at Court, and she would lose the remainder of the King's affections if she willingly agreed to such a thing."
Thomas looked at the Duke in horror. "Anne is my daughter, and if I say that she is to marry, then she is to marry. If she does not agree, I will simply go to the King and-" Upon seeing the small, satisfied smile on Anne's face, Thomas went quiet. "Why are you smiling?" He hissed, the veins in his forehead starting to bulge.
"Papa, do you really think the King will allow you to force me into marriage?" Anne stood up, calmly meeting her father's gaze. "The King loves me, father. The last thing that his Majesty will agree to is my marriage to another. He has given me the means to live independently because that is what he desires. He does not wish for me to marry."
In an attempt to placate his brother in law, Norfolk nodded. "We cannot know if these gifts are conditional to Anne remaining an unmarried woman, and it would be immoral to enquire about such a thing. She cannot afford to offend the King. Would you have your daughter married to a lowly noble only for her to lose her own ennoblements? Your family has been raised high, your daughter raised higher still - perhaps above even myself. She has been made the first lady at court, behind only the Queen herself, and I have no doubt that with such a generous pension, Anne's wealth would surpass the Queen's. Take what the King offers you and hold your tongue; the Boleyn's have broken cover – all of England knows that Anne aimed for a crown at your behest and missed, and you have been most fortunate that your daughter still has a head on her shoulders for trying to supplant their beloved Queen. To do otherwise would be foolhardy and immeasurably ignorant on your part."
Norfolk glanced at Anne, who looked quietly confident that she had won her argument. "No doubt you wish to be away from the court for a time, niece. Where will you go? To Pembroke, perhaps? Or to Devon? It is quite lovely in the summer months."
Anne shook her head, staring at her father even as she spoke in reply to her uncle. "To Calais, Uncle. And I shall take Mary and her children with me."
Predictably, her father exploded. "Out of the question! You will not go to France without my permission and I do not grant it. And you will certainly not be taking your sister anywhere."
"I do not need your permission," Anne replied, "I have my independence, now, and I intend to use it. Father, you have forced Mary to live in obscurity ever since her husband died; she was the King's mistress, as you bid, and still you punish her for faultlessly losing his favour. I will write to the King, if it pleases you, and obtain his permission for Mary to accompany me, wherever I may chose to reside. I can comfortably provide for her."
"Independence?" Thomas Boleyn spluttered, ignoring her sentiments towards her sister, "You are an unmarried woman of nineteen, you have nothing without my say so!"
"I have sacrificed my dignity, my reputation, my heart and my virtue for the elevation of this family," she said with barely contained rage, "I have surely earned the right to choose my own future, for my independence is the only thing I have left. You cannot take this from me, father. I will not allow it. It would do you well to remember that a Duchess is ranked above an Earl, regardless of the circumstances that have passed. I still have some standing with the King - I am sure he will not deny me my desires."
Outflanked by his daughter and unsupported by the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Boleyn turned away from the table. "So be it."
Whitehall, November 1532
Her investment as a Duchess happened in a hastily arranged ceremony at the Palace of Whitehall.
Henry insisted upon an informal, private audience with her first, in the gardens. He wore a doublet and hose of charcoal grey satin, as close to black as he dared. Anne had yet to change from her green riding habit, but the sadness in her eyes matched his own.
He found her sitting by the fountain, staring unseeing at her reflection. Her fingertips trailed in the water, her sleeve damp. She was sans an escort, but she saw no harm in this, for surely she had no reputation left to protect.
"Anne..."
She stiffened at the sound of his voice, but stood up and curtsied. "Your Majesty."
He approached her cautiously, grasping her hands between his. "Anne, please, look at me." His voice was pathetically desperate, and when she did raise her eyes to his, he was taken aback by the exhaustion there. "I am truly sorry..."
He trailed off, and Anne gently extracted her hands from his. "Your Majesty, your son is already very handsome."
Henry pulled a face. He had expected her to be angry, had anticipated one of her famous tantrums. He half-wanted her to shove him away, to shout and flail her arms around, at least then he would be able to react, but he had no defence against tired indifference. He gazed at her sadly, his heart clenching when her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away and stared at the ground, expressionless.
There were so many things that she wanted to ask, and yet she could not find the strength to summon the words from her throat. It was no longer her place to command answers from the King, and she was not a fool. To anger him now would be fickle – what would it achieve her? She had been lucky to receive such bountiful rewards for being his mistress, and as such would be afforded a life of luxury in which she would no longer have to pander to the whims of others.
She had fallen in love with a King who was not hers to love, and these were the consequences. Banishment, exile, disgrace... and yet, she had escaped with her life, and she found herself ludicrously grateful for Katherine's mercy. She wasn't sure she would have allowed Henry to bestow titles on a mistress, if she had been in Katherine's place.
"It didn't mean anything," he said, sitting down in the space that she had vacated. "It was a few weeks before she left... I never thought..." Anne inhaled sharply, and Henry looked up. "I am sorry. I beg you, Anne, my love... forgive me."
She closed her eyes and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, willing away her bitter tears. A moment passed, and then she cupped his cheek with a shaking hand. "There is nothing to forgive, your Majesty."
He wanted to shake her, to make her see that he never had a choice. Katherine had given him a boy, a healthy boy – what else could he do but return to her favour? He was already embarrassed and ashamed, because of his actions in the first place and because of his cowardice in restoring Katherine to her rightful position without even a word of warning to the woman he had pledged to marry. He wanted to kiss her, to plead for her mercy, to beseech her to stay at court... but he knew, without asking, that she could not. "Anne..."
"Your Majesty," he hated her formality, loathed the cool detachment, "I implore you, if you ever cared for me at all... Please, do not ask to see me again."
He froze at her request, suddenly furious, standing up and starting to pace. "How can you say that to me?" He demanded, "I love you."
"You have a wife and a Queen," she pointed out softly, her chin falling onto her chest, her eyes demurely averted, "There is no longer a place for me here. Indeed, I find myself rather excited to see my lands, perhaps travel Europe awhile." The words sounded false even to her ears, and her face crumpled. She did not fight as Henry pulled her into his arms, seating her on his lap and burying his face in her hair. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, beg him to deny Katherine's wishes. She longed to wrap her arms around him, to sob into his doublet, to say that she was happy to be only his mistress even if she was to be hidden away like a dirty secret, but she could not. Her mouth opened, and she let out a quiet sob. "Your Majesty..."
"I am sorry," he whispered in anguish, "Truly."
Anne nodded, wiping away her tears. She loved him, regardless of the politics and the ambition of her father, and it genuinely hurt to think that she might never see him again. "You have been most generous, your Majesty. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me and for my family. It is more than I had hoped for." She allowed the embrace to continue for a moment longer, and then she stood up. "With your permission, your Majesty, I will take my leave of you."
"You do not have my permission!" Henry cried, losing all grasp on his dignity now, "It is my desire that you remain here, with me. I love you."
"Your Majesty..."
"Henry," he corrected, "Katherine isn't like you. She isn't you."
Anne took a step away from him and curtsied, desperately seeking to be excused from this impossible situation but not daring to leave without his approval. "But she is your wife. She has your son."
"You should be my wife," Henry insisted, "Anne, please..."
"Henry, what would you like me to say?" Anne asked him, exasperated and exhausted. "I cannot stay here and endure the shame of being cast aside. There is no place for me at court. There is no marriage to be made for me, no women to befriend. Your affections have raised me so high that all I can do now is fall, and you cannot be there to catch me. You are like a fire, your Majesty; one mustn't get too close for fear of being burned. I have been burned, badly... and I find I cannot bear the pain." She shook her head. "It is a man's right to be with his wife, but you promised... You swore that there was nothing intimate between you anymore, and then nine months later the Prince was born. And that's wonderful – I am happy for you, truly, for you have an heir and a Queen beloved by the people. But do not expect me to remain here and be mocked by the Court for loving you. I must go, Henry, don't you see? There is no other choice, no other way for me to survive."
"Go then!" He spat, gesturing wildly, "Go, and see if you can find another man to love you as I have!"
Anne sighed. "Your Majesty..."
"Go!" The King thundered, "Get out of my sight!"
...
The entire court was in attendance to witness her defeat. The majority were unsmiling; some seemed sympathetic, others unmoved. Only the Queen, the Princess Mary, and the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk seemed pleased.
Anne Boleyn - regardless of her insufferable grasping father and his immoral intentions - was one of the jewels of the English court. Beautiful, witty and educated. Her presence would be missed by many, even those who didn't much like her. It was evident that she was being both rewarded and punished; rewarded for truly loving the King, punished by the Queen for daring to think she could ever replace her.
Only Anne and Henry knew how close she had been to truly supplanting Katherine, and only the wistful sadness in the King's eyes gave away his true feelings at his current situation. He finally had the son he had so longed for, but in the process he had lost the only woman he had ever genuinely loved; had he been consulted beforehand, he wasn't sure he would have made the trade.
In the hour that had passed between their conversation by the fountain and the ceremony, Anne had changed her gown and Henry's temper had cooled into feelings of heartbroken melancholy.
A legitimate prince was better for England – Anne was better for him.
He couldn't look at Anne when she entered his audience chamber, focussing instead on a spot behind her head and staring blankly at it even when she was in a deep curtsey before him.
On his right sat the Queen, triumph oozing from her every pore, her hands clasped in her lap. She smiled down at the lady before her, as if she had never had a fear for her position or her life, ever graceful, ever dignified.
"I thank God for this most surprising and blessed event, your Majesties," Anne offered quietly, keeping her eyes from Henry's face. "And must express my gratitude, for I am surely unworthy to receive the wonderful gifts you have so kindly given to me."
He had hurt her. By God, he'd thought that Katherine couldn't even have any more children, and so his farewell dalliance with her so long ago had been nothing more than him saying goodbye to the woman whom had shared his life for almost twenty years. He had never imagined...
He already loved his son; little prince Edward was indeed a healthy infant, already possessing many of his father's qualities. And there could be no question – the babe had the golden hair of Elizabeth of York, the Tudor chin, Arthur's long toes – the child was definitely his. And Katherine, God, he could hardly bear to be around her. She was polite to him, as she always had been, but there was something else now in her smiles, a danger that had not been there before. His daughter princess Mary was also present, standing to the side amongst the gathered nobles with a secretive grin on her face, revelling in the disgrace of the woman who had sought to supplant her mother.
And Anne... In her sadness, in her defeat, she was more beautiful – more regal - than she had ever been. Her indigo blue gown brought out her eyes, her skin seemed to glow with an otherworldly hue, her dark hair cascading down her back in a waterfall of curls. When he had finally found the courage to look at her, her eyes had been uncharacteristically blank, as if she was unwilling to acknowledge that he had broken her heart, and he had been astonished by her lack of emotion.
She was utterly dignified, resplendent and regal; in this moment, Anne Boleyn looked like a Queen, and was breathtaking in her tragedy.
Henry squeezed his eyes closed, unable to look upon her for a moment longer, but it was his wife who answered. "You are most kind, Lady Anne, as always. And, of course, most deserving."
A murmur echoed around the court at this thinly veiled insult, but Anne didn't flinch.
Unlike when he had made her a Marquess, it was Cromwell who placed the ermine robes around her shoulders, and when Henry removed her Marquess' tiara from her head and replaced it with the heavier diadem of a Duke – again, she was given a man's coronet, making it clear that she was being raised to the dignity of a Duke in spite of the female title of Duchess – Anne maintained her impassive expression.
She curtsied deeply and thanked him for his generosity, her voice calm and steady. She met his eyes only for a moment and then glanced away, as if overawed by his presence.
"With so many lands and properties to visit, you must be overwhelmed with the desire to visit them all. Of course, we grant you the time and the grace to do so," Katherine stated cordially, leaning back in her chair and smiling as if it was a great honour to be banished from Court for an undetermined amount of time.
"I had thought to go to France," Anne reluctantly replied, "Perhaps attend to my new estates; spend some time at the French court. My sister and I did so enjoy it there when we were children."
Katherine's eyes narrowed at the mention of the other Boleyn whore who had also successfully seduced her husband. "Then, we pray that you both find happiness there."
At this, Anne looked up at Katherine, her icy blue eyes meeting Katherine's brown ones, and Katherine smiled, flicking her fingers in dismissal. For so long, she had anticipated this moment, hopelessly praying that she would see her rival sent away, but she found no solace in the actual event.
Perhaps the girl had truly loved the King.
Perhaps the relationship between the King and his mistress had been indeed pure and chaste, as Henry had once claimed.
Perhaps she had genuinely believed in the heresy that she had promoted.
Katherine almost felt sorry her.
Almost.
Anne curtsied again, backing away from the dais with her head lowered. And then, when her back was turned, Anne's lips curled into a small, troubling little smile.
A.N/ I'm aware that Anne was much older than nineteen when she was made the Marquess of Pembroke, probably closer to thirty than twenty, but for the purpose of this story she needs to be much younger. All will be revealed in due course.