Welcome to the new reviewers,AnnaRegina1533andTheDarkLadyKira.So sorry for not having this chapter out sooner!
Chapter Four
Spring 1529
On a bright spring afternoon, when I could be outside in the green gardens around the castle I frequented, I was in a stuffy court room next to my brother and father again discussing the annulment.
Thomas Boleyn walked in as Cardinal Wolsey started, "My Lords," and Ladies,I thought, "In the absence of the Queen herself, from this tribunal has pronounced consummations since she does not appear when summoned, we are trying to determine whether or not her first marriage to Prince Author was in fact consummated in carnal copular. Let me call a witness. Sir Antony Willoughby." A normal looking courtier stepped up and sat down in front of Campeggio and the other Cardinals.
"I understand you were the one who escorted the Prince to the marriage bed," Campeggio said.
Willoughby nodded, "I was Sir. My father was at the time steward of the King's household so I was present when the Prince was…inserted into Lady Catherine's bed." Men began to laugh and even my brother chuckled a bit. I elbowed him and he stopped. Immature. "Also when he woke in the morning," Willoughby went on.
"And did the Prince say anything to you when you saw him in the morning?" Campeggio asked.
"Yes sir, he said 'Willoughby, I'm thirsty, bring me a cup of ale. Last night I was in the midst of Spain'," he boasted and I scowled in disgust. Most likely the marriage was not consummated…
"Anything else?" Campeggio asked, annoyed.
"Yes sir, later that day he said, 'Masters, it's a good pastime to have a wife.'" I rolled my eyes as the people began to laugh again.
"I believe we have the blood stained sheets to corrupt my Lords story," Wolsey said with a frown.
Campeggio nodded, "That would be most useful my Eminence, most useful…"
Summer 1529
The English court is at its summer pursuit of hunting, traveling and flirtation. The King starts and ends his day in prayer but rides out like a carefree boy for the rest of the day and on some days appears at the court meetings about the annulment dutifully and readily. Francis and I attend the king as companions and friends; we hunt, dance, play at the summer sports, and join with the court. The only time I am out with the King is when Anne is there. We are the only two ladies that ride with the King and his friends and I feel powerful when doing so although Anne only says a few words to me as I ride next to my brother, not next to her or the King. I have been widowed for a year, and the king's advisors should be considering a new marriage for me and so is my family, but they cannot seem to find anyone quite yet. I suggest Seymour to my father and brother, but they both just shake their heads with laughter as if I am a fool to care for a man such as Seymour. But I do predict that I will be married off by Christmas.
I have heard rumors that Wolsey should have had the annulment by now, but I cannot stand it any longer. Waiting for my time as Anne's lady-in-waiting is unhealthy, I swear. After the speaking of Willoughby I decided abruptly not to attend again with my brother and father, but instead stay in the great hall and make good use of my time by conversing with other courtiers, making friends and a name for myself.
Sometimes I see Anne since she has decided not to attend the court meetings herself. Once I caught her looking at me and smiling as if knowing some sort of secret of mine.
One day, when I was in the court hall, both my brother and father stormed in looking directly at me. I turned fully around as my brother said, "The Duke of Suffolk's wife is dead."
I cannot help, but to wonder why they are telling me this with such grins on their faces and I say, "God bless her…the poor King."
My father gave a slight nod as he said, "Yes, the King is quite distressed…"
"Yes, pray for her, but do rejoice as this would be a lucky and good match for you dear sister," my brother said with his toothy smile.
I frowned, "The Duke…?"
Francis nodded, "Don't you see the way he looks at you? He wants you, Colette, but it could not happen since he was with the King's sister…if Brandon was caught with another woman the King would have his head."
I gave them a scowl and mumbled, "As he should…frolicking with a woman other than his wife is inexplicable," I say, remembering my William's old unsent letter.
Francis chuckled, "You see it happen every day sister," he shook his head, "But either way, with her dead, the Duke has more time to look at you," he said with a wicked grin.
"We want you to make advances to him, Colette," my father said, "for the sake of our family and your son. If you marry the Duke our family will be cherished for a long, long time. In the beginning be soft spoken to the Duke for he has just lost his wife, but then…when he has gotten over the loss, take him."
XXXXX
I attend the funeral of the Duchess and frown as I see the poor Duke trail at the back of the line of the proceeding behind his wife's casket. We bow our head down in prayer as the priest speaks a few sad words and then it is over and everybody goes back outside to what they were doing before as if nothing has happened.
Winter 1529
Grabbing Gabrielle's hand I pulled her quickly as I fled to my rooms to get ready for dancing the day away with the Christmas festivities.
Gabrielle made my hair flow down my spine nicely and weaved small ornamental flowers into it nicely. I put a dress on made of rich burgundy velvet, the gown's sleeves and front are dressed with rich gold material and both the sleeves and the waistline are accented with a trim of beadwork making this one of the most beautiful gowns I have ever owned.
Biting my bottom lip nervously, I was excited for the first time in a long while to actually go to court. As soon as I got to the source of the music I was whisked away by a man and as he twirled me around to a composition the King himself created I laughed in pleasure. When I looked at my partner I saw that it was the Duke of Suffolk, Charles.
As much as I wanted to enjoy this moment, I couldn't. His wife had just died. The King's sister in fact. If I was seen dancing with him…well I didn't quite know what would happen. She was dead after all. Perhaps I wouldn't have to try at all to get the Duke to marry me. The King seemed happy tonight although he still did not get his divorce yet.
When he turned me I spun myself out of his reach and out of the dancing courtiers into the laughing crowd surrounding them. I heard Charles come behind me as I made my way to the outside corridors gasping for breath. Did I really just turn away from a Duke, a powerful one close to the King at that?
"My Lady Colette," Charles called, "Why do you run away from me so?" I felt his fingers grasp my arm as he pulled me towards him, "I finally find my golden one…" he whispered as he played with a strand of hair that fell out of my braid and then traced his fingers down to my cleavage with a grin.
I slapped his hand with a soft hiss, but being the strong man that he is he didn't recoil. He just grinned down upon me as if in wonder. He bent his head forward and nuzzled it to mine kissing me on the neck and right at that moment I didn't care if his wife just died or not. I didn't even care if anyone saw us. My body loosened in pleasure as I let out the smallest of moans and pulled him closer to me.
"My Lady…" he murmurs into my ear.
I fall silent at the intensity of his tone. "Yes?"
Charles pulls away and takes my hand and tucks it under his elbow and starts to walk speedily. I follow him through the gallery and corridors until we reach a room that is reserved just for the King and his friends. There are only two guards. One raises a brow and Charles says, "Thomas, it's me. Can I please go in with the beautiful Lady Weston?" He didn't say Compton…I liked it.
The guard nods and says, "Fine." And let's us in.
The Duke's fingers are burning as if he has a fever and we enter a room with a large bed in the center of it.
He let go of me and said strongly, "I cannot know what the future will bring us. I cannot know where you will be given in marriage, nor what life might hold for me. But I can't let you go without telling you—without telling you at least once—that I love you."
I snatch a breath at the words. "Charles-."
"At this point I can offer you nothing, but only my trust and love. And I wanted you to know that, I love you and I want you, and I have done since the day I first saw you."
"I should-."
"I have to tell you, you have to know: I have loved you passionately as a man might a woman; and now, before I leave you, I want to tell you that I love you, I love you—," He breaks off and looks at me desperately. "I had to tell you," he repeats.
I feel as if I am becoming golden and warm. I can feel myself smiling, glowing at these words. At once I know that he is telling the truth: that he is in love with me; and at once I recognize the truth: that I am in love with him. And he has told me, he has said the words: I have captured his heart, he loves me, he loves me, dear God, he loves me. And God knows—though Charles does not—that I love him.
Without another word he takes me in his arms in one swift irresistible movement. I raise my head to him, and he kisses me. My hands stroke his shortly cut handsome head to his broad shoulders, and I hold him to me, closer and still closer. I feel the muscle of his shoulders, the prickle of his short hair at the back of his neck.
"I want you," he says in my ear. "Not as a Lady and not as a mistress. I want you just as a woman, as my woman."
He drops his head and kisses my shoulder, where the neck of the gown leaves my shoulder bare for his touch. He kisses my collarbone, my neck, up to my jaw line. I bury my face into the crook of his neck, and he gives a little groan of desire and thrusts his fingers through my hair, so it falls down my shoulders, and he rubs his face in it. "I want you as a woman, my woman," he repeats breathlessly, pulling at the laces of my gown.
Charles looks at my face for a moment and sees that I am just the slightest bit worried, mostly of his position compared to mine and his wife. He quickly eases me by saying in a pulse of desire, "I don't care about anything else."
His mouth is on mine again, his hands are pulling at the neck of my gown, unfastening it. He shrugs out of his jerkin and draws me towards him. The moment when he enters me I feel a searing pain. But I do know, even as we move towards ecstasy, that it is loves pain, a woman's pain, and I am no longer a helpless girl.
Summer 1530
Anne Boleyn, the lady-in-waiting who betrayed her mistress, now walks down the beautiful allees and admires the roses in the garden as if she were already Queen. And I walk behind her respectfully, now one of her many cohorts.
I am lulled like a fool by my happiness. I observe Anne Boleyn and in many ways adore her and bear her no malice after the court meetings. I include her in the dazed pity I feel for everyone who is not me, who is not loved by Charles Brandon. She does not sleep next to the man she loves; she does not know his touch as the early summer dawn turns the windows to pearl; she does not know the whisper in the cool morning, "Oh, stay. Stay. Just once more." I think nobody in the whole world knows what it is to be in love, to be so beloved. The summer days go by in a haze of desire. But the summer must come to an end. My father is getting worried with each passing day, waiting for Charles to finally marry me. The King's advisors are considering a new marriage for me.
Charles is well aware of this new danger, and as each dreamy warm summer day goes by, we know that we are closer to the moment when we may have to part, or face the danger of confessing to the King. Charles torments himself with his fear that he will be the ruin of me and that I am the woman that is taking Margaret's place. He says the King may ruin me if he declares his love, and he will be destroyed if he does not.
XXXXX
One day as I walk through the gardens with my brother, Francis, I notice that he looks quite disappointed and upset. Worried for my brother I ask, "What is wrong?"
With his shoulders slumped he says simply, "I am to be married."
I do not understand why he is so disappointed, "To whom?"
He looks up at me and says, "Anne Pickering…her family is a bunch of nobodies, Collie! Dear Lord, how do you become the lucky one?" I have never heard my brother speak so feverishly and Francis looks so saddened by this…and then I remembered a talk we had long ago about Anne Boleyn and how Francis fancied her.
I said, "If you don't like it, and I'm sure father doesn't like it that much either, perhaps you can marry one of Sir John Seymour's daughters, Jane or Elizabeth? They are Lady Anne's cousins, you know."
Francis furrows his brows for a moment and then he smiles saying, "You're brilliant, Collie! Jane isto be one of Anne's ladies. Anne told me herself."
I nod as I see a brighter look in his eye. As I bite my bottom lip I realize I have to tell something to Francis too. He is my brother after all and I have not told anyone else yet. He looks down at me curiously and I blurt out, "I'm with child."
Francis stops abruptly and I go a few steps ahead of him and then turn around to face my paused brother as he looks down at the ground with his mouth hung open, processing it. Finally, he looks up at me and his jaw clenches, "Who did this to you? This can destroy you!"
I step back, surprised at the ferocity in my brother's words as I hiss at him, "Who do you think?"
His face drops and he says almost in disbelief, "Brandon…" I nod and he goes on and asks, "How long have you been seeing him?"
"Since Christmas…" I look at my brother nervously as if I am in the wrong, which I am. I have sinned.
Francis carefully chooses his words as he asks, "You love him, don't you? He's not telling you to do what he wants…?"
I shake my head furiously and reassure him, "Yes, I love him with all my heart. He wouldn't tell me to do something like that."
He nods with a small smile and says, "I'm glad that you're happy, sister. But if you want this to fall through the way that you want it, you're going to have to get married to Charles, soon."
I nod, "I know, and you're going to have to tell father you're displeased with Anne."
The King's advisors seem to accept Francis' suggestion of Jane Seymour and during the King's progress they get married. Jane is the most pleasant and kindest person I have ever met. She's so genuine and hugged me when we first saw each other. She was very pretty and when I saw Francis and her together they looked very happy and the way that he looked at her…he was falling in love, I could see it. At the wedding festivities afterwards, Edward Seymour looked at me from across the table intently as I conversed with Jane who was at my left next to my brother and Charles who was at my right, slowly making his hand up my leg. I felt sorry for him almost, but I knew that I loved Charles with all my heart.
XXXXX
I wait a month, two months, then quietly, at midnight, at the end of summer, Charles lets himself into my room, and I slip into his arms.
"I have news for you," I murmur. I pour him a glass of the best wine from Gascony.
"Good news?" he asks.
I bite my bottom lip and he looks at it with a smile as I sit down and say, "My love, I have to tell you; but now I come to it, I hardly know how to tell you—I am with child."
The glass falls from his hands and cracks on the stone floor. He does not even turn his head to see the damage; he is deaf to the noise. "What?"
"I am with child," I say steadily. "A good month into my time."
"What?"
"Actually, I think she will be a girl," I say. "I think she will be born early next summer."
"What?" he asks again.
The giggle in my heart threatens to burst out, but his appalled expression does not seem to frighten me for some odd reason. "Beloved," I say patiently. "Be happy. I am carrying your child. Nothing in the world could make me happier than I am tonight. This is the start of everything for me."
He drops his head into his hands. "I have been your ruin," he says. "God forgive me. I will never forgive myself. I love you more than anything in the world, and I have been the road to your ruin."
"No," I say. "Don't speak of ruin. This is wonderful. This is the solution to everything. We will get married."
"We will have to get married!" he exclaims. "Or you will be shamed. But if we marry, you are disgraced."
I tell him how my brother and father say that the King does not seem to mourn over Margaret anymore and speaks highly of Charles. I also remind him that the King just made him President of the Council along with Norfolk. I even told him how Anne asks me about him sometimes to keep conversation flowing, as if she wants us to marry. "I cannot marry another man. We were driven by desire to become lovers, and now we are driven to marry."
He shakes his head and says, "I have been so selfish…I should leave right now."
I take a long pause, and then I raise my eyes and give him a look as limpid as a forest pool. "Oh, have I been mistaken in you? Have I been long mistaken? Do you not love me? Don't you want to marry me? Shall you cast me aside?"
He drops to his knees. "Before God, I love you and cherish you more than anything in the world. Of course I want to marry you. I love you heart and soul."
"Then I accept," I say gleefully. "I shall be happy to be your wife."
He shakes his head. "I should be honored to marry you, my love, but I fear for you." The thought strikes him. "And for our child!" Gently he puts his hand on my belly. "My God, a child. I shall have to keep the two of you safe…" He thinks it over and says, "I shall have eight to care for now!" he exclaimed, making sure to include the children of his last two wives and my step-son Peter. I have met Anne, Mary, Frances, Eleanor and Henry and they are all lovely children. Anne, married to Edward Grey, was Baroness Grey of Powys and she intimidated me for a while, but I soon saw that she was just a rebellious young lady who needed her mother and I've comforted her the few times I've seen her when she was unhappy about her marriage to Edward. She does not like him very much. Her sister Mary on the other hand has a bit of a temper, but means well. The first time I met her she smiled at me and we engaged in conversation almost immediately. As Baroness of Monteagle she seems content with her life and has already had one healthy child, William. Seven year old Henry is a rather sickly boy and I worry for him for he is so frail. He likes the toys I give him and is already Earl of Lincoln. Frances, at age thirteen is strong and energetic and we go on a few walks with her sisters here and there. Eleanor, only eleven now is so sweet and kind. As we walk she would surprisingly take my hand. And of course, the dear child growing in my belly.
"I shall be Colette Brandon," I say dreamily, turning the name over, "Colette Brandon. And she will be Elizabeth Brandon."
"Elizabeth? You are sure it is a girl?"
"I am sure. She will be Elizabeth, my first child with many more to come."
When he leaves me that night, he is still torn between delight that we are to marry and remorse that he has led me into trouble. I sit up at my window, my hand on my belly, and I look at the moon. Tonight there is a new moon, in the first quarter, a good moon for new beginnings, new hopes, and for the start of a new life.
"I shall marry your father," I say to the little spark of life inside me. "And I shall bring you into the world. I know you will be beautiful for you father is the most handsome man in England, but I wonder what you will do with your life, and how far you will go when it all becomes clear to you—when you too see the man whom you love, and know the life that you want?"
Westhorpe Hall, Suffolk,
Autumn 1530
Early one morning, before my ladies are stirring, I slip out of my rooms and meet Charles at the stables. He has our horses saddled and bridled and we ride down the little chapel near our home. Charles's sisters are there along with Anthony Knivert, the Duke of Norfolk, Thomas Boleyn and Anne and Mary. My father and brother are also there as witnesses. My father is waiting, face stern and anxious. Charles goes to find the priest as my father steps forward.
"I am so proud of you, my dear Colette," he helps me down from my horse and offers me his arm and walks me into the chapel. At the eastern end there is a little stone altar, a cross and a candles burning. Before it stands the priest and beside him Charles, turning and smiling almost shyly at me as if we were before a crowd of hundreds and wearing cloth of gold.
I walk to the altar, and just as I start to respond to the priest's gentle prompting of our vows, the sun comes out and shines through the circular stained glass window above the altar. For a moment, I forget what I am to say. There is a veil of colors at our feet on the stone floor of the chapel, and I think dizzily that I am here now, marrying the man that I love, and that one day I will stand here when my daughter marries the man of her choice, rainbows beneath her feet. The sudden vision makes me hesitate, and Charles looks at me. "If you have any doubts, a moment's doubt, we need not marry," he says quickly. "I will think of something; I will make you safe, my love."
I smile up at him, the tears in my eyes making a rainbow around them too. "I have no doubts." I turn to the priest. "Go on."
He leads us through our vows and then declares us man and wife. My father kisses my cheeks and gives Charles a powerful hug. Charles turns and looks at his sisters, daughters, Knivert, Norfolk and Boleyn and tells them that if he calls on them they must remember the day and the time and that we were truly married in the sight of God, he puts his family ring on my finger, and gives me a purse of gold before them all, to prove that I am his wife, that he trusts me with his honor and fortune.
"What now?" Anthony asks as we come out of the chapel into the sunshine.
"Back to court," Charles says. "And when the moment serves us, we will have to tell the King."
"He will forgive you," Norfolk predicts. "You arehis best friend."
Charles kisses my cheek before mounting on his horse with hiswitnesses while I stay back with mine. My father comes to bid me farewell before he leaves for Sutton Place.
"You will leave your son, Peter, in the care of his advisors at Compton Wynates, now that you're married to the Duke," my father remarks, as if this arrangement has just occurred to him this minute, as I am leaving.
"No, he will come with m. Surely, he will come with me," I blurt out. "He must come with me. He is my son. Where should he be, but with me?"
"It's not possible," he says decidedly. "It is all agreed. He is to stay at Wynates. His advisors will care for him and keep him safe."
"But he is my son!"
My father smiles. "He must stay where his land is. Keep Wynates safe. He is eight years old and needs to learn to keep hold of his own land. The King is sending a troupe to guard him as their own."
"But he is myown! Not theirs!"
My father comes closer and puts his hand on my knee. "You own nothing, Colette. You yourself are the property of your husband. You are now a Duchess. Be grateful, child. Your son will be well cared for, he is not even yours," my hands clench the reins in anger as he says this. I have raised his as my own for the past four years. He has loved me as his mother for the last four years, "and then you will have your own," my father goes on, "Brandon boys, even better."
"Father, before God," I say, my voice shaking with tears, "I swear that I believe that there is more for me in life than being wife to one man after another, and making males."
He shakes his head, smiling at me as if my sense of outrage is like a little girl shouting over her toys. "No, truly, my dear, there is nothing more for you," he says. "So do your duty with an obedient heart. I will see you at court."
XXXXX
The baby is not yet showing through the graceful sweep of my gowns, though I know that she is growing. My breasts are bigger and tender to the touch, and more than anything else I have a sense of being in company, everywhere I go, even when I am asleep. Charles has told the King and the King did not seem at all disturbed and instead told him congratulations. He was relieved and the only thing I could say was, "I told you, dear Charles."
I go up into confinement at the start of the month, Charles demands it. They put up shutters on my bedroom windows to close out the gray autumn light. I do not like it, but the midwife insists that I go into darkness for a month, as the tradition is, and Charles, says that everything must be done to keep the baby safe.
The midwife thinks that the baby will come early. She feels my belly and says that he is lying wrongly, but he may turn in time. Sometimes, she says, babies turn very late. It is important that they come out headfirst; I don't know why. She does not mention any details to Charles, but I know that he paces up and down outside my chamber every day. I can hear the floorboards creak as he tiptoes north and south, as anxious as any loving husband. Since I am in confinement I can see no man. But I do wish I could come out to church. Father William, here at Westhorpe, was moved to tears by my first confession. He said he had never met a young woman of more piety. I was glad at last to find someone who understands me.
I am supposed to rest every afternoon, and my lady governess is ordered by my father to take a renewed interest in my health.
The daughter, whom I foretold, is born without difficulty, but with her comes a boy. They are twins.
We call him Lewis, and I find I am entranced to have a boy of my making. He has very fair hair, almost silvery, but his eyes are as dark as the sky at night. The midwife who helps me tells me that all babies' eyes are blue and that both his hair color and his eye color may change; but he seems to me a boy who is half fairy, with this angelic coloring. I hold them both while they sleep. The swaddling cloth is wrapped around their heads and chins to keep their necks straight, and they finish with a little loop on the top of their head. The poor women use the loop to hook their babies up on a roof beam when they are cooking, or doing their work, but these babies, who are the newest in the Brandon household, will be rocked and carried by a team of nursemaids at all times.
I lie them down on the bed beside me and gaze at their tiny faces, little noses and the smiling curves of their rosy eyelids. It is a miracle to think that such things have been made, have grown, and have come into the world; that I made them.
After a little while they wake and start to cry. For such a small object the cry is incredibly loud, and I am glad the nursemaid comes in at a run and takes him from the room to the wet nurse.
I am bound up as tight as my swaddled babies; the three of us strapped tight to do our duty: babies who must grow straight, and a young mother who may not feed her child. Their wet nurse has left her own baby at home so that she can come and take her position in the castle. She will eat better than she has ever eaten her life before, and she is allowed a good ration of ale. She does not even have to care for my babies; she just has to make milk for them, as if she were a dairy cow. They are brought to her when they need feeding, and the rest of the time he is cared for by the maids of the nursery. She does a little cleaning, washing their clouts and linen, and helps in their rooms. She does not hold them except at feeding time. They have other women to do that. They have their own rocker to sleep by their cradle, their own four nursemaids to wait on them, their own physician comes once a week, and the midwives will stay with us until I am churched and they are christened.
I have to stay in my rooms for another six weeks after the birth of my boy, before I can go to the chapel and be cleansed of the sin of childbirth. When I come back to my rooms, the shutters are down and the dark drapes have been taken away. There is wine in jugs and small cakes on plates, and Charles has come to me.
The nursemaids tell me that Charles visits the babies in their nurseries every day. He sits by the cradle when the babies are asleep, he touches their cheeks with his finger, he cups the tightly wrapped head in his big hands. If the babies are awake, Charles watches them feed, or he stands over them when they unwrap the swaddling and admires the straight legs and the strong arms. They tell me that Charles begs them to leave the swaddling off for a moment more so he can see the little fists and the fat little feet
He smiles at me tentatively, and I smile back. "Are you well, my love?" he asks.
"I am," I say.
He nods. "I have a letter from your father for you, and he also wrote to me."
He hands me on sheet of paper, folded square sealed with my father's Weston of the portcullis. I lift the seal carefully and read the letter. My brother and father congratulate me on the birth of my two children and my father writes that the King and Anne Boleyn are expecting Charles and me to go back to court, but I do not want to leave.
Elizabeth and Lewis are sleeping in the Brandon cherry wood crib, and so at night I put them in together, side by side on their swaddling boards like pretty little dolls.
Charles says with satisfaction that I am a woman who has forgotten all about being a wife and a lover and that he is a miserably neglected man. He is joking though, and he revels in the beauty of our little daughter and in the growth and strength of our son.
The King invites me to court for the winter festivities almost immediately after I give birth and I'm a bit disappointed, not wanting to leave my children just yet.
"But won't you be glad to go to London?" he asks me. "You can buy new clothes and shoes and all sorts of pretty things. Have you not missed the court and that entire world?"
I come around the table to stand behind his chair, lean over, and put my cheek to his. "I shall be glad to be at court again, for the King is the source of all wealth and all patronage, and we have three pretty daughters who will one day need to marry well. But no, I have been happy here with you, and we will only go for a little while and come home again, won't we?"
He nods in agreement, "The King needs me, but these are our peers. This is where we should be."
London, November 1530
I told the truth when I said that I was happy at Westhorpe, but my heart leaps with the most frivolous joy when the King sends his royal barge to take us down the river and I see the high towers of Hampton Court. It is so pretty and so rich, I cannot help but delight in coming to it as a favorite of the court and one of the greatest ladies in the land once more. The barge sweeps along as the drummers keep the oarsmen in time, and then they shoulder their oars and the liveried boatmen on the pier catch the ropes and draw the barge alongside.
I am stepping down the drawbridge when I look up and see that the royal party has been walking beside the river in there furs and is now strolling to greet us. In front of them all is the king, he comes confidently forwards and kisses me, as a kinsman, on both cheeks, and gives his hand to my husband. I see the company behind him surprised at the warmth of his welcome, and then they have to come forwards too. First George Boleyn, whom my first husband said would bear watching, and behind him comes Anne Boleyn. She walks slowly towards the pier, a woman exulting in her own beauty, but I do not see a dazzle of vanity. I am so distracted by her that I let George take my hand and kiss my cheek and whisper in my ear, without hearing a word he says. As Anne, the future Queen, comes close, I find I am staring at her, and when she steps forwards to kiss me I step forward into her warm embrace and smiles as she smiles: knowingly.
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As the days go on, I see that I am close to becoming a lady-in-waiting to Anne Boleyn. She is everywhere at court; she is the first lady of the land, the queen in all but name. When the court is at Hampton, she lives in the queen's apartments and wears the royal jewels. In procession she is right beside the King. She treats him intimately. Certainly, as a duchess of England, I am constantly in her company. When we go to dinner, I walk behind her; during the day I sit with her ladies, and she treats me the most kindly for she believes she will soon become like me: married to the man she loves. I believe it too.
She makes an entry into London, accompanied by the lords and nobles of her special favor, as grand as if she were a visiting princess. As a lady of the court I follow in her train and so hear, as the procession winds through the streets, the less flattering remarks from remarks from the citizens of London. I have loved the Londoners since my own state entry into the City and I know them to be people easily charmed by a smile, and easily offended by any sign of vanity. Anne's great train makes them laugh at her, though they doff their caps as she goes by and then hide their smiling faces with them. But once she has gone by, they raise a cheer for me. They like the fact that I married a English nobleman for love; the women at the windows blow kisses to my husband, who is famous for his good looks, and the men at the crossroads call out bawdy remarks to me, the pretty duchess, and say that if I like an Englishman so much I might try a Londoner if I fancy a change.
The citizens of London are not the only people to dislike Anne. Queen Catherine is no great friend, and she is a dangerous woman to have as an enemy. She does not care that she offends her; she is to be married to the King and she can do nothing to change that. Indeed, I think she is courting trouble with her, wanting to force a challenge to decide once and for all who rules the King. The kingdom is dividing into those who favor Anne and those who favor the Queen; matters are going to come to a head. In this triumphal progress into London the Lady Anne is staking her claim.
That very next night, when Charles and I are dining at her table with her, her brother and Norfolk my husband asks, "What did he say?" Talking about the King.
"Only so many words," Norfolk replies, "He tells me he is inclined to pardon Wolsey and restore him to royal favor," he said in distaste.
"What did you say?" Anne asked, looking intently at her uncle.
Norfolk looked nervously at her and said, "I agreed with his Majesty and said the Cardinal had many talents."
Anne furrowed her brows and asked in anger, "You did what?"
"I agreed with the King that his Eminence had many talents."
She looked at her brother for a moment and then looked at me as I frowned and she said, "I cannot believe this," underneath the table I place my hand on top of my husbands, "Have you not spoken yourself of the terrible vengeance he would enact on all of us if he ever again had the power!" They stared each other down and she said, "Or perhaps you don't believe that vengeance is one of his many talents…"
"I do indeed," Norfolk replied steadily, "Which is why I cultivate the King's good graces."
Anne glanced at Charles and I then back at Norfolk and threw her napkin in anger.
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The King invites us to a masque and the only thing I can think of is my home and my children. During the masque depicting the Cardinal going to hell, when the actor playing Wolsey comes out a man shouts out from behind me, "Hypocrite!" And everyone laughs heartily at the masque.
The actors dressed up to be demons kill Wolsey and circle around the people in the front of the crowd, including Cromwell, whom I'm guessing is rising to power at this point. Finally they bring the Cardinal to the mouth of hell and savagely everyone applauds. The Cardinal is already dead to the most of us and we are silently waiting for the next one to be brought to the mouth of hell in this rein of Henry VIII.
TBC
