past

Mary walked the gardens, lost in thought and utterly oblivious to the beauty surrounding her. Her hand rested absently on her still flat belly, as thoughts brewed restlessly in her mind. There was only a minimal chance that she would be able to escape detection.

It had already been a few months since she'd spoken to her father and sister about her condition. Henry had been looking at her contemplatively lately. Not to mention that Wolsey was already regarding her with suspicion. At the thought of the King's main counselor, she shivered.

The man had far too much power and was considered more of a King by the populace than Henry was.

As always, the thought of Henry made her giggle and smile foolishly. Even her darker thoughts couldn't keep her from such fondly foolish feelings. To her eyes, he was far more a man than her accommodating husband. The center of her existence and reason for her being so happy and content with her lot, that was the King.

In the distance, she could hear the hounds and paused, turning towards the sound. Perhaps she would see the King ride by, looking magnificent on his black stallion. The horse had been a gift from one of the foreign principalities and was far wilder than the advisors cared for. Henry had loved if, much to the dismay of the courtiers.

Thomas Boleyn saw his daughter and frowned. The stubborn chit was going to cost them everything with her vain and ridiculous hope that Henry would keep her on as Royal Mistress, even Bessie hadn't been that stupid. How the girl could be from his loins, he wasn't sure – save that his wife wasn't one to play with him.

"Mary, we need to talk," Thomas gave her no warning. She turned, staring at him in shock. "Do you have any sense of family duty? Of respect for your father and his wishes?"

"Of course, father," she stammered, heart racing in her chest.

"Then why do you continue to disregard my advice? Why ware you ignoring everything I tell you to do? You are not going to be an exception in the King's eye if you have this child. Then what will you do? Does the idea of poverty, of living in squalor appeal to you?" He leaned closer to her, looming over her.

"Your husband is a fool with little sense of money or the way to make it. As for you, what little talent you possess will never keep food on the table. Nor will it last for men want young women in their beds, not old hags. Of all my children, you are an intellectual waste, a disappointment. Though seeing how stupid Anne become, puffed up in her own mind as to her true purpose, I'm not sure if your stupidity is a bad thing. At least you know to open your legs when told to."

Jane squirmed uncomfortably in the shadows, wishing she had the courage to interrupt or leave.

Anything was better than listening to Sir Boleyn rag on Mary. She couldn't believe that any father would be so cruel to his flesh and blood – no matter what they had done wrong. Nor did she understand his crudeness towards a gently bred lady, no matter what her behavior said of her. Mary may have been many things but she certainly did not deserve to be treated so badly.

Even though Edward was far harsher to her than their father had, he was never this horrid to her. He'd only hit her that once and had apologized for it, albeit grudgingly. Still, the fact remained that he realized his error and owned up to it.

Hearing Mary's soft sob, she rose to her feet, walking shakily around the hedge towards them. Her hands were clasped before her and she bowed respectfully. Thomas glared at her, suspicion in his dark eyes. "Please, forgive my interruption but the Queen has need of you, Lady Mary."

"Of course," Mary composed herself rapidly. Though there was some effort behind it, she looked as if tears had never fallen upon her cheeks. "Thank you, Jane. Father, if will excuse me?"

Thomas waved her off, knowing that he had no grounds to keep her from the Queen. Studying the blond girl in white critically, he felt that he should know her. There was nothing very attractive about her, all washed out and colorless in that dress. But he'd seen her attending Anne, so she was obviously of high quality. "Have we met?"

"Not formally, sir," she murmured, rising from her curtsey. It took reserves of strength she didn't know she had inside to remain motionless as he drew closer to her. Uncomfortably close, she noted with a hitch in her breath.

"Well, gel? Have you no tongue?" he demanded.

"I do, sir," she replied, eyes downcast.

"Then introduce yourself," he ordered.

Jane shivered, "I only came to find the Lady Mary. As we are quite alone, sir, it is unseemly for me to remain even to grant your request of knowing my name. Propriety speaks against it unless you have shown honorable intentions towards me. You will learn my name when we are in proper company, sir."

"How dare you offer me cheek?"

"I did no such thing by pointing our something a gentleman such as yourself ought to know," she demurred, sounding almost as composed as Anne would. With another curtsey, she stepped back. "Please, excuse me for I have other ladies to gather for the Queen."

As the King's hounds approached them, Thomas had no choice but to let her flee. He had a nasty suspicion he should have figured out who she was by now. There was nothing for it, he would ask Anne who the gel was. Or George if need be, though the idea of having his son seek the gel out did not sit well with him. The little blond did not feature into his plans at all.

The King had shown a definite predilection towards curvy, blue eyed, blonds – that girl fit the description almost perfectly. If Anne's exotic manners and flair for style were adopted by that gel, he'd lose the King's favor. There was no way he was going to allow that. With little regard, he'd crushed that little child Percy's suit.

It would not take him much to find a way to stop his daughter from harvesting a viper in her bosom.

He'd come to far to allow her to destroy things now.

654321

Mary made a quick stop in Anne's room, "Father's here."

"When did he arrive?" Anne sat up, face vexed even though her voice remained calm, dignified.

"I don't know," she admitted, entering and shutting the door behind her. "He startled me when I was walking in the gardens. Your Jane spared me a longer interview with him by telling me that the Queen wished to speak with me.'

"She's not my Jane," Anne absently corrected, her mind already on other matters. If what Mary said was true – and she had no reason to lie – then Jane had brought herself to Thomas' attention in the worst possible way. While she was thankful that she was showing some backbone, this was not how Anne wanted her to go about doing so. The implication of her father focusing on Jane did not bear thinking about. "I hope you thanked her. She lied to save you from father."

"How do you know?"

"If Queen Katharine had wished to speak to you, she would have asked me to get you once our interview was concluded. To be blunt, she wants me to talk to you about your baby," she said, watching her sister sink into the chair, pale as the clothes the younger ladies wore.

"She knows?" Mary's voice was a whisper of sound.

"How could she not when she's been in that condition several times?" her question was ironic – and condescending. As much as it galled her to agree with her father on any point, Mary's naïve stupidity irked her. It was utterly beyond her how she and George could be related to Mary when she was less than averagely intelligent.

Even Jane wasn't this stupid.

Mary's eyes were frantic, darting about the room. "What am I supposed to do? Father's never going to let this matter drop once he finds out that she knows."

"If you don't calm down, you won't have to worry," she quickly warned, remembering one of the times when Claude was pregnant. How the Queen Mother had recommended – meaning bluntly and stridently ordered – her to stay away from all excitement and activity. It had been a lonely, rather boring time, for her ladies for they had to remain in confinement with her.

"What does it matter? I'll be sent away," she dropped her head into her hands. "Not that I expect you to care of understand. Father's little golden girl who can do no wrong, even when she spits in the face of the King. It is no small matter what you've done. Father believes you'll come around to his point of view in time. You always do."

Anne felt taken aback by the biter words and envy in Mary's voice. Jane's words were recalled to her mind and she wondered if the girl could be right. Would her sister help her in exchange for Anne's help? Could she help her sister remain in the King's favor?

Thereby pleasing their father – and not losing her honor. "I haven't done anything yet, Mary. It is my hope that I never will have to do anything," she gentled her voice as much as she could.

It was not as easy as she thought for this was a subject matter that was distasteful to her. "I know that you find it a privilege and a joy to serve the King as you have. I suppose you have a point in thinking of it as an honor. But it is not the time to speak of me, the Queen wishes to have a hand in your child's life."

"Why?" though sullen, her voice held a note of curiosity in it.

"I'm not sure," Anne admitted. "She mentioned something about the Roman Emperors and heirless unions. As Maria exists and both Princess Margaret and Princess Mary have children, it makes no sense that there is such unrest about an heir for the throne."

Mary shook her head, "For a bright girl, you are rather ignorant. The Kind wants his own seed to sit on the throne, another will not do. The lack of a son – at least a legitimate one – is a mark against his manhood. Why do you think the Queen was so worried when King Henry gave his son by Bessie all those titles and honors, she feared he was trying to replace the Princess Maria as rightful heir."

"Men are so complicated," Anne complained, wondering what had changed in Katharine's heart.

"Not really," Mary shrugged. "They want their needs met, children to show off their virility, and to be told that they are right about everything – even when they are clearly in the wrong. About the only male I've met that this hasn't applied to is Sir Moore."

She scowled, "Men aren't babies."

"To a certain extent, they are – and we women can be the same way," she admonished her. "This need to be taken care of and pampered to the point of selfishness is not one sided."

She could concede the point. As much as she admired King Francis' mother, the woman was a dominating, commanding, virago. Louise held onto her beliefs in the face of all else, browbeating others into believing as she did. She was scarily efficient but often stole the voice of another in her actions.

Mostly Claude had born the brunt of such actions, always appearing weak in the eyes of others. "What are you going to do?" she asked, bringing them back to the more important topic at hand.

"I don't know," she sighed. "What should I do?"

"I wish I could give you some advice, but I'm at a loss."

Mary shook her head, "That's not what I asked. What would you do if you were in my place?"

Anne had to still her tongue to keep from saying that she'd never be in Mary's place. "I'd see the Queen. Not only because she can protect me from father but because she is smart enough to come up with a good solution to the dilemma before me."

"She didn't help Bessie, nor does she approve of all that Henry's done for her son," she pointed out.

Anne hesitated before offering an explanation, one that made sense to her. "I think that may have been more to do with the situation involved. As you pointed out, she feared that the King was trying to replace their legitimate daughter with this boy. Plus, he surprised everyone with his actions. If I'm not mistaken, the only one who probably had any inclination about the way things went was Wolsey. And even he seemed surprised by all that was done.

"How would you feel to, not only have a strange boy thrust up into prominence but made a rival to your child – the legitimate heir?"

"I still don't see what this has to do with me."

"Go see the Queen," she advised. "Give truth to Jane's lie. You know that father will question you about it, even if he thinks it just has to do with your regular duties."

Mary looked at Anne, really looked. For the first time, she saw her not as a rival to the King's affections but as just another young woman struggling to find her own happiness in the backstabbing world of the Court. A happiness that had been stolen from her by their father. There was something about the way she spoke and the kind light in her eyes was one she'd never seen before.

At least, not directed at her. "You really like this girl, this Jane, don't you?"

"I do," Anne was slow and quiet to admit. Her head tilted to the side as she explained. "She's such a peculiar little thing, so different from the others at Court. There is no artificiality about her. It's rather refreshing to deal with someone who has no ulterior motives."

"Then you should be on guard against father finding out. He's hardly likely to take it as a good thing, your friendship with the child of his rivals," Mary warned.

Anne was puzzled. "Sir Seymour is not a diplomat and is rarely, if ever, to be found at Court. Why should it matter to father?"

Mary sighed. "For all your worldly ways, you are such an innocent. Father would see her as an obstacle to gaining what he wants because her father would have similar plans for her. Perhaps he will not reach as high as the King but should she catch his eye, he will not refuse the opportunity.

"There are also her brothers to consider. While our George is an amiable fellow, he is not as ambitious as father – nor as ruthless. Should he not get what he wants, George would be content. He can make his own happiness in whatever situation he finds himself in.

"Not so with the Seymour brothers, even though they are different in nature and personality, Edward and Thomas are ambitious to a deadly fault. Thomas even more than Edward for he has a pleasant nature that disguises his ruthless determination. Having a sister at Court, one who was placed so high, they would jump at the opportunity it presented to them."

Anne paled, recognizing the truth in Mary's words. She had not thought at all about Jane's brothers for they weren't at the English Court. As they were not in constant view, they had ceased to be something she was constantly on the alert for. By becoming friends with Jane, she was inviting her father to take notice of the young girl, perhaps to her own danger.

"I had not thought of that," her reply was soft. "Thank you, Mary, for reminding me that I need to be more cautious than I have been."

Mary was surprised. For all their squabbles over the years – and all their agreements – neither had ever said thank you nor did they apologize. Considering their father, she wasn't sure that was such a good thing for Anne to start developing. For Thomas would see it as a weakness, not as a strength. Perhaps Jane's influence upon Anne should be stopped before damage could be done.

But looking at her sister, she wasn't sure she could bring it up.

Anne looked…different, more centered in her skin. France had changed her, had changed them both if she was being honest. But while she had been able to adapt and be happy in France, Anne had often been unhappy there for she had truly loved the Court of Lady Margaret.

The expectations of the French Court she could live up to but the other factors…the other girls that surrounded her, they were another matter entirely. She knew that Anne had often sought refuge in books. Some of which were of a more questionable nature.

And just when she was finding her feet, she had been brought home to make a suitable marriage. Anne had been uncomfortable in the more structured English Court. Though she had adapted as best as she could, it was obvious that she wasn't able to fully fit in.

She stuck out and carried it off brilliantly but never relaxed.

And the other ladies didn't relax around her.

Thus, she was isolated and unhappy, and father's plans did nothing to ease that sense of being an alien. Mary nodded and rose, noting that Anne did the same thing. Opening the door, she almost made a comment before merely smiling and making her way down to the Queen's chambers.

Anne sat down, contemplating the deep blue coverlet. This was the second time she'd been afraid for her future friendship with Jane. Afraid of some unknown, unnamed threat to what she shared with the other girl. But what was she to do about it? What could she possibly do?

Jane was far to important to her. She couldn't cut her out of her life without an explanation. Not after initiating lessons and gaining the Queen's approval of them. It wasn't fair to her.

And she owed Jane more than a sharp dismissal. It was their friendship that had caused dissention in the Seymour family. While Thomas seemed willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, Mary had been right. There was something slightly unhinged about the man that set Anne's nerves on edge. It might have had something to do with his association with her unsavory cousin, Frances, but she felt it was the man himself.

He just seemed to openly concealed to be trusted.

654321

Jane entered her room, sighing when she saw the new paper on her desk. Sitting down with a vague sense of relief that Anne had not given up on her after their harsh words, she still felt a sense of dread. It would be more work she had to find room for in the free time allotted to her.

The shortness of the lines surprised her – especially when she recognized that two of the five words were their names. Finding that peculiar, she took out her quill and carefully wrote her own name down. Then, she worked on the other three words there, finding the first was an easy I.

Recognizing the a, she turned to the second letter of the word. It was like the letter n, but had an extra hump – that made it an m. This was the strangest assignment she'd had so far. And that was saying a lot for Anne had been fond of starting with one subject and then suddenly switching to another. An s, followed by an o, two r's, and a y, I am sorry.

What?

Jane sat up as the meaning of the sentence sank in. Anne was apologizing, to her? She found it odd. After all, she'd heard from her Anne's own lips that one should never apologize for anything. So, why was she now? But these questions didn't matter for she wasn't the only one who was sorry. Getting up, she walked down the hall and knocked on the door, smoothing down her dress nervously as she waited.

"Come in," the voice was distorted by the wood but she could hear the saddened sound in it.

Opening the door, she curtsied and asked, almost jokingly, "Should I have brought flowers?"

Anne sat up, "Shouldn't that be my line? I am the one at fault."

"Kind of you to admit your error, but I also should apologize. I shouldn't have yelled," she stepped in, shutting the door behind her.

"I gave you good reason," Anne admitted, warily watching her.

"I didn't have to give in," Jane replied, as nervous as the older girl. Neither of them had ever been in this situation, and never before with each other. It was hard to know what the next step should be. But staring at each other didn't seem to be the way to go about things. "Are we going to be all right?" she asked, voice tentative for she hardly could believe her own temerity.

Anne smiled, relieved to not be the one to break the ice. If she had her choice, she preferred being the voice of wisdom over the voice of uncertainty. "I hope so. Jane, sit down – by me, please. There's something else I need to speak to you about."

Jane approached her and sat down after making doubly sure that she wouldn't get leaves or grass on the covers. "Is this about your father?" her question was quiet.

She nodded, resting her hand on Jane's. "You have to be more careful. My father is not one to be trifled with – especially when it comes to his plans, Jane."

"I got the feeling upon meeting him, my lady," she admitted. "He's rather cold and focused."

"And if we're not careful, he'll turn that upon you. I don't know how to fight him, Jane. As much as it looks like I do, that's all a front. I cannot lose you. You really are the first, true friend I've ever had outside of George," she quietly admitted, as if it was something to be ashamed of.

"Lose me?" Jane repeated, finally meeting her eyes. "Anne, I don't know what to say."

"Say that you'll be more careful in the future," she ordered her, almost harshly.

Jane was silent, thinking.

"Jane?" she pressed.

Blue eyes locked on black, tightly. "All I can say is that I will be wary. But Lady Anne, I have already come to his notice. This may be a situation of too little, too late."

There was a twisted smile at that. "You could be right. Still, it does no harm to try an evasive maneuver. Jane?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"Would you please call me Anne?" she asked, exasperated with her continued formality. "I much prefer it to the distant Lady you are fond of using."

"It is your honorific," she pointed out.

"But not to my friends," Anne corrected.

"How about my lady of intelligence?" she teased.

"Jane!" she objected, but couldn't help the smile that twitched her lips.

"Gracious Milady Anne?"

"Oh, don't you start!"

Laughing, she yielded, "All right, Anne."