A/N: A little early present for Good Friday. Thanks as always for your reviews, which are always much appreciated.

A lesson is to be learned - but, for once, it's not a lesson for the Regent...

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The Ambassador's Wife

Reverend Rawson's homily is upon a verse from the book of proverbs, advising his congregation that the righteous shall not know hunger, though he casts it more as hunger for God's grace than more mundane requirements. Having retained his place as Chaplain to the Queen, rather than to the King, he has been obliged to revise his theological outlook somewhat; but he has not opposed reform, and seems content to accept the changes to the practice of faith in the Chapel Royal - perhaps in the knowledge that he shall likely lose his preferment if he does not.

His words are carefully rendered, however, for not all present in the Chapel are of a reformist bent. While there is an Ambassador's chapel, out of courtesy to those who represent Catholic Princes, today's festival is a great celebration of Pentecost, and thus all are invited - and present. It does not do to suggest that one's guests are unwelcome in the sight of God.

The congregation are seated - a new innovation - and all listen dutifully until Rawson descends from the pulpit to prepare for the sacrament of communion. Once, Henry and Anne would have been served communion in either the King's or the Queen's closet, depending upon whether they were together, or apart. Now, however, she prefers to be present with the rest of the Court. Even now, after nearly eight years, she does not feel secure to worship separately, for fear that people might claim that she does not worship at all.

It has been nearly a year since she was last at Hampton Court, and she emerges from the Chapel ahead of the rest of the congregation, as the primary entrance leads into a covered passage that would not normally be traversed by one as elevated as she. Margery is with her, while George and Jane saunter behind, arm in arm and showing a degree of affection that warms Anne's heart, though there are tinges of envy too - for they share a love that she can barely remember from her own marriage, so long has it been since its end.

Elizabeth walks ahead, talking quietly to Mistress Champernowne about her forthcoming marriage to John Astley, while Lady Bryan walks behind with several newly appointed ladies from a number of noble houses, though Jane Radcliffe is at the forefront, reflecting her friendship with the Queen.

Nan escaped from the Chapel as soon as the Grace had been spoken, and has organised a basin of scented water for Anne to wash her hands. She resides in the quarters she once occupied when married to Henry, while Elizabeth has now taken up residence in her father's accommodation with a household of her own. While it is a natural progression as the young Queen leaves the earliest days of her childhood behind, it is hard for her mother, who has become accustomed to sharing her apartments with her daughter.

"Mr Cromwell is without, Majesty." Nan reports as Anne dries her hands, "Shall I ask Michael to admit him?"

She nods, "Thank you, Nan." Their discussion is not essential, but she is grateful for it, as she is unfamiliar with Florence, and is keen to learn at least something of use before she meets her new Florentine Ambassador. Having lived there for a while in his youth, he seems a helpful source of that information.

She smiles as he enters and bows, "Thank you for coming, my Lord Treasurer." She indicates a chair for him, "Please, be seated. Have you met Signor Conti at all yet?"

Cromwell shakes his head, "Not yet, Majesty. He has not presented himself at Court in person - but he has asked that he be permitted to present his credentials accompanied by his family, and hopes that - perhaps - his daughters might be considered to serve her Majesty - though they are both grown. I think it likely that he hopes to find English husbands for them, for they are certainly of a marriageable age."

Anne smiles, "I would not object to that, Mr Cromwell. While I cannot make promises, for the appointment of ladies to her Majesty is now as much her province as mine and she may prefer younger attendants, Signor Conti is welcome to bring his wife and daughters to Court."

Cromwell nods, "I shall ask Mr Sadleir to send a messenger to advise him. I believe he has taken a house a short distance from Richmond Park for the duration of the Court's residence at Hampton."

"I look forward to meeting him." She admits, "It is always a pleasure to meet a new Ambassador."

Returning to his desk to deposit his papers before the midday meal, Cromwell thinks over the matters that are currently occupying his attention. The organisation of the Progress has been taken up by Rich and Rochford, who have developed an excellent ability to work well together on such matters, while the last works to complete the closures of the Monasteries is in Wriothesley's capable hands. He has received a letter from the Ambassador to Sweden reporting that Queen Mary was most grateful for her sister's kind words upon the birth of her son, and she seems to have found a completion in motherhood that was lacking in her quiet existence in England. Whether or not she shall resume her quest to claim Elizabeth's crown remains to be seen - but at present, it seems unlikely.

Rich is not present, which does not surprise him - for no one would normally attend the offices on a Sunday. He is present only briefly, before returning to the hall, where his colleague has saved a place for him at the table reserved for the councillors, "I have set aside the papers that are current, Mr Cromwell." Rich advises, as Cromwell sits alongside him, "Mr Paget has agreed to look after my work in my absence."

Cromwell nods, remembering that Rich has secured a month's leave from Court to attend to his properties in Essex, "If there is any matter outstanding, I shall take care of it."

The pair rise with the rest of the assembly as the door from the watching chamber opens to admit the Queen and her mother with their ladies. The Rochfords are with them, and they take their seats at the high table, though there is a space left for the new Ambassador once he has presented his credentials - an honour that Anne has taken to reserving for all newly arrived Diplomats upon their arrival.

"Did he not bring a family with him?" Rich asks, quietly, as they wait for the Ambassador to make his entrance.

Cromwell nods, "He did - but they shall be introduced in private this evening, so that they can talk more freely. I shall attend, along with the Lord President - and, if you are not too engaged in packing for your journey, you are welcome to be present."

Rich looks cheerful, "I suspect that the supper shall be more enjoyable than any victuals that I can secure for myself. I shall most certainly attend."

Cromwell snorts with mild amusement, then straightens slightly at the sound of a fanfare, and a loud voice proclaims, "Your Majesties, My Lords! His Excellency, Signor Francesco Conti, Ambassador for the Florentine Court of Duke Cosimo!"

All crane their necks to see the man who enters. He is richly - but soberly - dressed in beige velvet with a dark sable trim and his selection of jewels is tasteful. His expression seems kindly, and remarkably honest; a rarity compared to the wily men who represent the Empire and France. Bowing with careful precision to ensure that he is polite, but not florid, he approaches Elizabeth, and presents the document from his master that confirms his appointment, and requests that he be afforded the appropriate protections from his hosts.

Rochford accepts the document to pass to his Queen, and she receives it with a smile that charms the new arrival, "Thank you, Signor Conti. I am pleased to accept your credentials from his Grace of Florence. Welcome to my Court; please, be seated." She looks back to Rochford, who bows and escorts the new arrival to his seat.

The Pentecost feast, once presented, is a magnificent array of victuals. Such a display is rare in Elizabeth's Court, for profligacy remains a vice in Anne's eyes, and unwarranted expense is still to be avoided as much as can be managed. Today, however, the dishes are extensive and carefully presented, sides of beef, flocks of mutton, gaggles of capons and mountains of the finest manchet bread for the sauces that coat the meats. Equally, the second remove consists of clear, glistening broths, sugared fruits in wine jellies and sweetened breads that draw appreciative comments from all present. Cromwell is not surprised to see that Rich is looking rather unwell by the end; he has never been able to resist gingered bread.

By late afternoon, Anne and her daughter have returned to the Queen's apartments, where Elizabeth is now learning to play Primero - and proving to be as skilled at the game as her mother. Margery is looking most dismayed after a mere hour of the game, while Jane appears rather smug, as she is the best player at the table, and is doing very well out of it.

Their discussions are of light matters and foolish gossip, centring mostly upon the gowns that Elizabeth shall take with her on progress, and the hours pass quickly, causing the four women to look up in surprise as Matthew enters discreetly, "Majesties, my Ladies, the Lord President, Lord Treasure and Lord Privy Seal are without."

"Are they not early?" Elizabeth looks very startled at their failure to notice the time, despite the presence of a rather pretty ornamental clock upon the mantel of the fireplace.

"No, Majesty." Matthew confirms, "They have arrived at the appointed hour."

Embarrassed, Elizabeth looks to her mother, who merely smiles, "Go with Margery, my precious. I shall supervise the clearing of the table while you prepare yourself to meet Signor Conti and his family. They shall not be here for another quarter hour."

"Yes, Mama." Hastily, the girl rises from the table and follows Margery through to her dressing chamber to change into the gown she had planned to wear.

The three arrivals smile collectively at the sight of frantic tidying, "Might some assistance be welcome, Majesty?" Cromwell asks, facetiously.

"Most certainly." She agrees, standing to one side as the three Councillors advance to assist with the removal of the table back to the side of the chamber, "Though I am wondering if it might have been better to welcome the Ambassador and his family in the Presence Chamber rather than in here."

By the time they are done, Elizabeth has returned, having exchanged her russet overgown for a magnificently embroidered garment in a fine dark green that is complemented by the same fabric upon her hood. In spite of herself, she is still slightly embarrassed to receive the bows of her Councillors, but smiles as they do so nonetheless.

Thanks to the hasty work by Anne and her Court Officers of State, they are prepared for the arrival of the Ambassador, and both Anne and Elizabeth are seated as Matthew shows in Conti and his family. He has changed since his appearance in the hall, and is dressed now in a fine crimson doublet with a sable-trimmed simarre, "Your Majesty," he bows with that same economical courtesy, "I am most grateful to be invited into your presence."

His English is impeccable, and Elizabeth accepts his bow, "You are most welcome, Excellency. I am pleased to meet your family."

He steps back to join the three women who have entered with him, "Allow me to introduce my daughters, Francesca and Anna."

The two young women are clearly well grown in age, but still marriageable. Both seem to share the kindly countenance of their father, and each curtseys with grace, "Majesty."

Smiling indulgently, Conti turns back to the last woman present, "And my dear wife."

The woman who steps forth was clearly once very beautiful, and traces of that beauty remain in a gentle face from which a pair of beautiful eyes look out. Eyes of a most remarkably vivid green - a sea-green that sings of sun kissed waters and far-off climes…

Beside her, Anne hears a sudden, sharp intake of breath. Bemused, she turns briefly, to see Cromwell is standing remarkably rigidly, as though attempting to conceal a great deal of emotion. He is good at it - and she turns back to see that no one has noticed his behaviour.

"Your Majesty," even the woman's voice is beautiful - a musical lilt that is richly seasoned with an accent, "thank you for your kind hospitality." She curtseys exquisitely, despite a mild stiffness owing to her age.

Blissfully unaware of the odd moment of shock behind her, Elizabeth smiles happily, "I am very pleased to meet you. Please - there is sweet wine ready for you, and comfits. Shall we all be seated together? I would be delighted to introduce you to my Court."

There are smiles all round, and Elizabeth, with Jane at her side, ushers the arrivals to a gathering of chairs near the fire. Behind her, Anne beckons to Cromwell, and takes him to one side, "What is wrong?"

For a moment, he seems unable to speak, "Forgive me Majesty; I was not prepared for…" he looks across at the group, where the Ambassador and his family are seating themselves alongside the other senior councillors.

"What?"

"Her…" his voice is a mere whisper, "I thought her lost forever…entombed in a convent."

Anne's eyes widen as she begins to understand.

"She is my lost love." He murmurs, very softly "Benedetta."

Busy at his desk with a long list of possible hosts for Elizabeth on her progress, Rich looks up only occasionally to see across the large office chambers to see that Cromwell seems not to have made any attempt to work upon the papers set before him. Instead, he is seated in his chair, lost in thought; and has been so for more than an hour.

There would once have been a time when he eyed his colleague with annoyance for such behaviour, in spite of its uncharacteristic nature; but those days have long passed, and their partnership has long since evolved into friendship. Concerned he rises to his feet and crosses to find out what the problem might be. Mindful of the watchful eyes of the clerks, who gossip as freely as old women, he carries some papers with him, "Forgive my intrusion - there is a matter pertaining to the progress that I wish to discuss; might we adjourn to another chamber?" Sometimes he thinks it would be more helpful if Cromwell had a private chamber in which to work.

He frowns slightly at the lack of a vocal answer; instead, Cromwell rises and the pair leave in search of a quieter place in which to talk. It is immediately clear that he knows precisely why Rich has asked him to depart the main offices, as he does not hold out his hand for the papers.

Rich looks slightly uncomfortable, but forges ahead, "Forgive me if it is not a matter upon which you wish to speak; but the clerks are beginning to comment amongst themselves at your silence and inaction. What has happened?"

Cromwell does not reply at first, instead crossing to a chair and sitting rather heavily. Frowning, Rich grasps another chair and sits opposite. Whatever is wrong - it is clearly more than a minor matter.

"I would prefer not to discuss it." He admits, after a moment, "But I am troubled by a challenge to my assumptions and faith - for I believed something to be so, only to find that it is not."

Bemused, Rich does not answer.

"When I was a youth," Cromwell resumes, "a sequence of events caused me to all but abandon my faith, for I believed that God could not countenance that which had been done in His name - or, if He could, that he was not a good and kindly Lord. I regained faith with Him again in time, for I found the reformed faith. But - until yesternight, I thought myself to be fairly grounded in my anger. But now…" his voice trails off.

"I assume that this challenge has occurred through the arrival of the Florentine Ambassador?"

He nods, "In doing so, he showed me that the incident that caused me to turn upon the Roman church was not as I had supposed, and that I had based my entire anger upon a foundation of sand." Cromwell pauses, "Though nonetheless, the actions of those who led me to that belief were reprehensible and thus I would not exchange my faith for that which is now mine. It seems, however, that their motives might have been entirely more worldly than religious."

"It sounds to me as though you are speculating." Rich muses, "Is it not better to speak to his Excellency to determine the truth of the matter?"

Cromwell smiles slightly; such is his reputation that it has not occurred to the Lord Privy Seal that the matter of contention concerns a woman. Perhaps that is better: while he has now learned to trust Rich, who has responded to that trust with altogether more loyal trustworthiness, it remains a matter of deep personal pain, and he has no wish to share it with any. Only the Queen is aware of it - and he wishes it to remain that way, "Indeed, Mr Rich. I think that to be the best course. Forgive me - I shall endeavour to apply myself to my work for the rest of the day, thereby depriving the clerks of a matter upon which to gossip."

As they rise, Rich knows that he has not been told the real story - but for the first time in his career at Court, he is not resentful over that silence. That he has been trusted with even as little as this is rather more than he has ever deserved - and he equally knows that, should it become necessary to share the confidence, Cromwell shall do so. Besides, with all the work he has ahead of him upon the Progress, he shall be far too busy to speculate.

He smirks slightly at himself; it seems that he is another man who has changed his fate thanks to a change of reign.

Elizabeth is seated at a table, working her way carefully through another passage in latin - this one being translated into Spanish. When she is done, she shall translate it into French, at which point Master Grindal shall compare the two. Sitting nearby, Anne works upon a small embroidery, a detailed piece of white-work that decorates the corner of a fine linen kerchief. If it meets her satisfaction, she might well gift it to one of the ladies of her retinue.

Nearby, Francesca Conti is seated with Mistress Champernowne, and the two are engaged in quiet discussions of her trousseau for her coming nuptials to Mr Astley. Certainly the elder Conti daughter has become a very welcome addition to the small group of women present in the chamber, though the younger, Anna, is far shyer and remains with her mother, for her English is not so strong, and she appears uncomfortable in the presence of Ladies whose conversation she struggles to understand.

The great surprise, however, is the discovery that their mother is the woman who was supposedly immured in a Convent in Florence in her youth. Anne does not doubt the word of her Lord Treasurer, the sincerity of his words evident in the sadness of his tone, and that lone tear that fell to the tabletop when he spoke to her of the matter. It is more than likely that the young woman was indeed dispatched to a convent, but somehow, between that moment, and her expected postulancy, she found a way to escape it.

There is, of course, only one way to discover how that occurred; and that is to ask her. Anne has no doubt that Cromwell is eager to do so - but he cannot without placing them both at risk of scandal. She knows from her own experiences that the Court is a den of gossip, and nothing stays undiscovered for long. In spite of all, her Lord Treasurer still receives a great measure of dislike and distrust from her more highly born Courtiers, and the chance to spite him in such a fashion would be eagerly grasped. If nothing else, it would shatter his reputation - but she is hardly unaware that her Uncle remains in the shadows, equally eager to snatch any opportunity to proclaim her unfit to rule - even one that would not so much as touch upon the fitness of a man to do so. A scandalous liaison between her most trusted adviser and a diplomat's wife would certainly pique his dangerous attentions.

While Mr Cromwell is certainly discomfited by her arrival, it seems that Signora Conti is not aware that the man to whom she was introduced last night was once a youth whom she loved. Either that, or she is highly adept at concealing her feelings; but then, it is an unfortunate woman in such high circles who is not.

"Majesty." She looks up from her hoop to see that Michael is before her, "Signora Conti has arrived with her daughter."

She smiles, "Thank you Michael, please show them in."

In the light of day, it is clear to Anne that Benedetta Conti may have aged in the tens of years that have passed, but nonetheless that beauty that so captured her Treasurer in his youth remains evident in that benign face, and the sea-green eyes are fathoms deep. There is no questioning her demeanour, for she looks upon her daughters with a love that Anne recognises all too well. A love, it seems, that was denied her in her childhood.

Both curtsey to Elizabeth first, and then to Anne. Elizabeth looks very pleased, and immediately addresses them in the Italian tongue, which startles them both, for they had no idea that she is able to do so. Anne conceals a smile; she could have advised them, of course, that Mistress Champernowne has ensured that the Queen is able to communicate in the foremost languages of Europe. She might not have the turns of phrase particular to the Florentine state, but they are equally able to speak the formal version of their mother tongue, and Anna's shyness is quickly dispelled as she is invited to sit with her sister and the Queen. That they are both older than the Queen by some years seems not to matter to Elizabeth - she seems to have a natural talent at welcoming all to her presence as though she has waited all her life to meet them. It is a talent that Anne envies, somewhat, as she does not possess it in equal measure. Perhaps she inherited it from her aunt, for Mary is equally skilled.

"Signora Benedetta, welcome. Shall we walk in the Privy Gardens awhile? The weather is most delightful, and it seems such a waste to spend it within walls, does it not?" Her tone is artful, as though she is creating a pretext to leave the daughters with Elizabeth and her ladies to see how well they might fit with her retinue.

"Of course, Majesty." Jesu, her voice is a delight - almost musical in its tone, the accent more a delectable seasoning than a discord. No wonder Mr Cromwell was so struck by her. Smiling, the lady curtseys again as Anne rises, and the two depart to the door.

Now that summer is almost upon them, the sunlight is bright and warm, and the carefully tended formal gardens are alive with early blooms that fragrance the air with a multitude of perfumes. Bees travel from flower to flower, gathering the precious nectar that they shall return to their hives, while birds chatter in the small box hedges as they seek food for their squalling broods.

"Forgive me if I am intrusive, Signora." Anne begins, a little tentatively, "If you do not wish to answer my question, I shall not press you."

Rather than demur, or look bemused, Benedetta shakes her head, "I know what it is that you wish to ask, for I saw his face when his eyes fell upon me. I could not have forgotten him - even after so many years."

"As he has not forgotten you."

"He spoke of me to you, Majesty?"

Anne nods, "Once, some years ago - and in confidence. The occurrences of his life in Florence are not known to the rest of the Court. He has not spoken of it again, and nor have I."

"Thank you, Majesty." Benedetta looks relieved, "Do not mistake me - I love my dear husband, for he is a good and kindly man who accepted me as a wife, and educated me. Equally, however, I have retained that first love within my heart - for he was a fine youth who asked nothing more of me than to share my heart."

"As he did with you." Anne admits, "He also took a wife when he returned to England - and retained you within his heart likewise."

"I should like to meet her, perhaps."

"Alas, that is not possible, for she is with God. She was taken by sickness some ten years ago or more. Mr Cromwell has not sought female company again since that day."

"Forgive me - I knew not."

"There is nothing to forgive." Anne says, then stops and turns to the woman at her side, "I shall not ask more - for it is not right that I should know what my Lord Treasurer does not. I have no doubt that you know that all royal Courts are sloughs of gossip and casual innuendo that can besmirch the most innocent of reputations. I shall do what I can to grant you privacy should you wish to confide in him - for I think he would wish to know."

Benedetta's eyes widen, "You would do that for us, Majesty?"

Anne nods, "But I must ask that you do not meet with him unchaperoned; for the sake of you both. Thus I shall be present, as shall one of my most trusted ladies, while a brace of his most trusted colleagues shall be with us. We shall grant you privacy as best we can, and shall take pains to ensure that we shall not overhear your words."

She sighs, "I have lived long enough to appreciate that your precautions are wise, Majesty. I have seen other women of great reputation destroyed wrongly by malicious talk, and thus I accept your conditions - though there is no need for secrecy from my Lord, for he knows of it, though he knows not that the blameless youth that I loved now resides here at your Court."

"He seems a kindly man."

Benedetta's face lightens again, "Oh he is indeed, Majesty. He is kindly and gentle. I have been most blessed in my marriage - for he believed that I was innocent and chaste when others would not, and my life has been most happy."

As I once thought mine. Anne thinks to herself at the innocent mention of the words she had once used as her personal motto.

"Then I shall arrange a meeting, Signora." She smiles, "It shall not be this week - for to invite you to my Privy Chamber twice in one week would be remarked upon by the other Ambassadors. That you are here now is not of interest, for all know that his Excellency hopes to place his daughters in the train of the Queen."

"Of course, Majesty." Her fine face is a mystery - as though she is delighted to know that she shall soon be able to speak to a man she thought never to see again, but also is dismayed to do so in fear of where that might lead.

The two turn their talk to other matters and resume their walk, but Anne wonders, as she does so, whether it might have been better to let sleeping dogs lie. Too late now, though - she has opened the door, and must hope that it shall not unleash a maelstrom.

Standing at the side of the table, Chapuys appears to be giving most careful consideration between a selection of comfits, and a rather fine expanse of decorated marchpane, "And is the usurper interested in either of the two daughters?"

Beside him, Rich has deposited a smear of cottage cheese onto a small wafer, which he then consumes with a look of mild revulsion, "She has given no word yet; though I shall advise you once I am aware of it. God, I despise this vile stuff."

"Then why do you eat it?"

"For my health alone, I assure you. Were I not obliged to consume it, I would hurl it from the nearest window and celebrate its splattering upon the flags of the path below."

"I am told that her Majesty's Embassy is almost ready to speak for her."

"You mean that they have stopped quarrelling between themselves for long enough to make progress." Rich smirks.

"I did not say so." Chapuys's expression is hardly less amused, "Though you are welcome to construe my words as you wish."

"I take it they have utterly abandoned the foolish enterprise of pamphlets?" Rich continues, "Though I think it would amuse them to learn of the expense of the measures employed at the ports to prevent the importation of such cargo."

"Indeed they have - though the funds that his Grace of Norfolk has provided are sufficient to afford to evade such measures, they now concentrate upon appearances. It does not do, after all, to approach a Royal court dressed as a burgher."

"Boleyn shall be pleased." There is a carefully measured hint of spite in Rich's words, "He has never been happy unless covered in jewels."

"A vice inherited by his daughter." Chapuys adds, with equal malice, though his words are not as accurate as once they were. While Anne certainly bedecks herself in glittering jewellery when obliged to make a Queenly display, her ornaments are far less visible in private. Besides, with so much left of Henry's fine collection, it is far easier to have the jewels there re-set than order new pieces. Indeed - Elizabeth's gifts at Christmastide consisted of several fine sets of jewels, all of which had once adorned her Father. Those items, however, that are too large or ostentatious even for a woman who would be telling untruths if she said that she had no love for fine jewels have been sold to help with the ongoing works to reduce Henry's appalling debts.

Rich's smile is rather thin, though Chapuys assumes that his mild expression of disdain is aimed at Anne, rather than himself, "Speaking of the Queen - have we been advised of her views concerning the future of her realm? It would be of little worth for me to lay the ground for her, only to find that she has no interest in reclaiming her crown."

The Ambassador squints quickly left and right, to ensure that they are not overheard, "At this time, no. If she has been approached, then her answer has not yet been received. She is, however, her mother's daughter - and I do not doubt for a moment that her filial loyalty shall grant her the strength to do what must be done to restore her rightful inheritance, and bring England back to the embrace of Rome."

"Amen." Rich answers, "Forgive me, Excellency: I fear that, should I remain beside this table for too much longer, I shall reach for some fancy or other to remove the taste of that foul cheese; I have no desire to be obliged to consume a second mouthful."

Seated at the high table, Anne watches as the Lord Privy Seal retreats from the banquet table and returns to the general throng of courtiers, "What do you think they discussed?" She murmurs to Rochford, seated to her left. Elizabeth is distracted by a conversation with one of her ladies, and thus she feels safe to discuss such matters.

"I cannot say." he answers, though she does not expect him to know, "Though I imagine it shall concern the progress of the Conti daughters in their hopes to enter the Queen's retinue - and I have no doubt that the progress of attempts to push the Queen of Sweden in our direction might have been raised."

In spite of herself, Anne feels a shudder of that old spite rising in her breast, and fights with herself not to give in to it. The girl is gone - there is no longer any means by which she could sensibly quit Sweden and attempt to invade England. She is now a mother, too; and thus doubly held at Gustav's court. No - regardless of the efforts of Brandon and her own father, she cannot see how, or why, Mary would attempt to overthrow a crowned and anointed Queen. Elizabeth has won the love of her subjects through her youth, beauty and much vaunted accomplishments as a student. She remains 'King Harry's Bairn' and 'Little Queen Bess' for the moment - though as she continues to grow, that shall doubtless evolve to abandon the 'bairn' and the 'little'.

"May I join the dance, Mama?" Her daughter's voice startles her out of her reverie, and she turns, smiling fondly, "Of course you may, my dear one." She turns to her brother, "George, would you?"

"Of course, Majesty." Rochford rises to his feet and extends his arm to his niece, "Come, Majesty, might I be granted the first dance?"

Settling back in her chair, Anne watches as her brother guides her daughter into the throng of dancers preparing to begin a lively galliard. She would love to do the same - but even now, after near-on eight years, she feels uncomfortable with the fear of inciting the Courtiers to gossip of the favour she might offer a man through the simple act of sharing a dance. She might well have ignored the general air of dislike that crowded about her when she was Henry's hunted hind, and convinced herself that it was not truly there when she was his wife; but now she is the mother of the Queen, and she will not - will not - permit the merest taint of scandal to touch her child. But…oh…to be free to share the floor again…

She looks up to see that Mr Cromwell is nearby, awaiting her invitation to approach. Her summons is a nod, and he bows before her, "Majesty."

"Have you spoken to your colleague yet?" She does not elaborate - she has no need to.

"Not as of yet, Majesty. He has not been given the opportunity to do so unobserved. I shall seek him out upon the morrow. I have received word from Archbishop Cranmer - he has been required to return to Canterbury briefly, but hopes that he may present a request to you when he is back at Court."

"A Religious request, I take it?" She smiles.

"Indeed so." They both know that Cranmer's enthusiasm for reform is at least twice as much again as both of theirs combined.

"Then I look forward to it with interest." Then she eyes him, "If it is not too much trouble, I should appreciate it if you would accompany me to the dance floor. I have not danced for some considerable time, and I wish to enjoy a pavane."

His eyes widen in mild horror; though more for his lack of practice than being seen to dance with the Regent. He is considerably older than she, and base-born to boot - no one would even pretend for a moment that he had designs upon her - but his days upon the dance floor ended some ten years back, as his career began to rise. He might once have performed in masques at Court - but that was years ago, "Forgive me, Majesty - I would not wish to embarrass you with my ineptitude."

"Come now, Mr Cromwell, in what way do you think it possible that I could not know embarrassment after the years I spent being despised by all about me? I shall take care to ensure that you do not treat upon my feet, or trip over the train of the dancer in front, I promise."

"As you wish, Majesty." He bows and leads her to the floor. Heedless of the stares, for there are certainly plenty of those, Anne smiles at her daughter, now partnered by Sir John Gage, and waits for the music to begin.

Rochford seats himself at the gaming table, "Do you think the Court has ceased to be astounded by the dance last night?" his expression is amused, but not malicious.

His wife carefully shuffles the cards, "Nan says not; but it has been so many years since the Lord Treasurer stepped amongst dancers that some have never seen him do so. It is no surprise to me that to see him participate so has caused shock and bemusement."

Rich says nothing, though he reddens slightly; he was one of that latter group, and has never seen such a thing as his colleague in the midst of a pavane.

In order to keep matters going as long as possible, the intention again is for a penny stake and a threepence rest; but until Anne joins them, there is little that can be done but light gossiping and the seemingly endless shuffling of cards. Such is the determination to keep matters concealed, that Mary Stafford has taken it upon herself to form a highly visible friendship with Signora Conti, though the two seem to have bonded as it is, and there is no artifice in her behaviour. Thus it is she who shall escort the lady to the Privy Chamber as her personal guest, as she has largely become absorbed into that royal inner circle, and thus none shall remark upon it. Well, not as much as they might have done had Anne issued the invitation.

Anne is not yet present, saying goodnight to her daughter; but Cromwell is at the other end of the chamber, looking out of the window into the darkness beyond. His tension could not be more obvious - for a man so inscrutable such a thing is a rare sight indeed - and he fidgets with a loose thread upon his sleeve unconsciously. How it is that Benedetta is here, he still cannot fathom. She was taken to be immured in the silence of a convent - he saw her being made to enter a litter under the supervision of both her father and the family's priest. They had not noticed him, and thus he escaped danger of reprisals for his own involvement with her, but her anguished pleas for deliverance have fleetingly haunted his dreams ever since.

Forgive me, Liz. I did not bring her into our union…she lived in my heart, but second to you; I swear it.

All eyes turn to the door as it opens, but it is only Anne, who pauses to look across the room at the Lord Treasurer with a sympathetic expression, before joining her fellow players at the table, "Mary shall be here shortly; though her ability to play primero is so limited that I have already forbidden her to participate. She can, however, play the virginals well, and thus I am sure we shall enjoy music to accompany our game."

Her tone is brisk, the very impression of a social gathering with no ulterior motive of any kind. That Mary is bringing her new friend is incidental - or so people are being led to believe. The only certainty of the evening is that this shall occur once - and once only. There shall be no more dealings between the Lord Treasurer and the Ambassador's wife.

Standing across the room, Cromwell sighs to himself; he knows equally that, after this evening is done, he must not so much as speak to Signora Conti either in public or in private - her honour depends upon it, and so does his career.

The door to the chamber is opened again, and Matthew steps in, "Majesty, Madame Stafford is without, accompanied by Lady Conti."

"Excellent," Anne smiles at him, "I am pleased that she has brought Lady Conti, she is excellent company. Show them in."

Mary is, as always, wreathed in smiles, for she has ever worn her heart upon her sleeve, though she looks at the gaming table with some discomfort, "Am I to play, Majesty?"

"Heavens no, Sister." George calls across from the table, "We would leave you penniless, as well you know!"

"I require you to play only upon the virginals, Mary," Anne assures her, "Perhaps you would also like to play, later, Signora Conti?"

Benedetta curtseys deeply, "Thank you, your Majesty. I have played the virginals since I was a girl - if it please you, I should be delighted to do so." Her tone is courteous, but it could not be clearer that her thoughts are elsewhere; her eyes keep flitting to her right, where she can see Cromwell standing at the far end of the chamber.

"Go." Anne whispers to her, gently, "Settle your accounts; we shall not listen, I give you my word as a Queen and the daughter of gentlemen."

"Thank you, Majesty." Almost immediately, she steps back a few paces, before turning to cross the room as Anne resumes her place at the table and warns everyone there with a fierce glare to concentrate upon the game.

The candles are few here, shadowing the room deeply. Dressed in black, Cromwell seems almost to disappear within them, but the glimmer of the lights illuminates his face, and the strained expression upon it. "I thought you lost forever."

He speaks to her in her own tongue, for he knew it well, once.

"My dear Tommaso," she smiles at him, "I thought myself equally lost - for I had turned to God to protect me as an innocent, but instead he had punished me as a sinner. I shall never forget that dreadful day; for, even though I knew that I would never be yours, I held you in my heart."

"You were blameless - and yet still they blamed you." His eyes betray his bitterness.

"Of course they did - for I am a daughter of Eve, and she was the first sinner in the Garden, was she not?" tentatively, her hand rises and rests upon his cheek, "It has ever been thus - and I accepted it, for there was no other choice."

He rests his hand upon hers, "But you are not a nun."

Benedetta turns and crosses to the chairs that have been set for them, "I thought that would be my fate - but I did not appreciate that there are those who see a woman such as I as the victim, not the sinner. The Reverend Mother of the convent of Poor Clares looked upon me with kindness, for she saw - is my family did not - that I was innocent of any sin against my chastity. Both she and the priest agreed to accept me as a postulant, but did not admit me. Instead, they granted me a roof atop my head and sought to find me a good marriage. I remained within those walls for a year, where I was treated as a good daughter of God, and granted learning to occupy me." She pauses, "I think that I was fortunate, for I came to know of other young girls such as I who were indeed admitted as postulants in spite of having no vocation."

"Then you were fortunate indeed." He admits, taking her hand again.

She looks up at him, "That is true; for the husband that they found me was my dear Francesco. He knew all - but loved me nonetheless. I thought it impossible that any man could wed me, for I was tainted by sin."

"No. Not you; never you." Cromwell's eyes are pained, "You were unstained, and you looked upon a meanly dressed youth of no prospects with kindness. It grieved me to see you treated so; nay, it tore me from my faith - for I saw an innocent soul condemned by the very Church that should have protected and defended her."

Her eyes grow a little distant, "I think, while I wept in that litter, I also thought myself to have lost faith in God, and in the Holy Mother too, for why had She not defended me? I knew not that She had other plans, and instructed the Reverend Mother of the Poor Clares to do so upon Her behalf. Thus I prostrated myself before Her in contrition, and knew myself to be comforted."

"And now you are the wife of a great Ambassador, and friend to a Queen." He finishes.

"Rewarded for my forbearance and faith." She smiles at him. She lifts her free hand and sets it upon the hand that has captured her other, "Even so, I did not forget you - for I saw your helpless anguish that you could not save me. But I knew also that I would not see you again - yet you are here. How is that so?"

"For a man of such low birth?" he asks, smiling slightly, "Ah, that was, I think, a mixing of hard work and great good fortune. I returned to England and entered the legal profession and the cloth trade. When I married, I was a man of reputation and wealth, though I had little land to my name and thus none saw me as a gentleman. I entered the Court through the auspices of the late Cardinal Wolsey, and made myself useful to a King who appreciated men of skill and intellect in Government."

"And your wife?"

He sighs, "She died." He is surprised at the pain that the admission causes him, even now.

"I am sorry." Benedetta says, quietly, "Forgive me, for I knew of that - but it seemed important that I ask it. I hope that you know that it was not my intention to pain you."

He shakes his head, "There is no need to be sorry. We lived fourteen years together, and I loved her - and love her still, I think, for no woman has ever captured me since. There is no other." Then he pauses, "There was no other."

"I am married Tommaso. There can be no love between us." She reminds him, gently, "Moreover, I love my dear Francesco, and would die rather than give him cause to be offended by me, as you would not wish to give your late wife's soul cause to be saddened by you, for I think that is the reason why you have never taken another wife, is it not?"

He nods, sadly, "Forgive me, Benedetta; I would equally rather die than besmirch your honour. It stayed my hand when I saw you last in Florence, and it would stay my hand now. You have ever lived in my heart - but I know that it is a gilded vision built by a besotted youth who thought himself to be witnessing a martyrdom of his beloved. Our love was chaste, for it was a childish trifle of calf-love. I am grateful to God that I have learned of your true fate, and thus I am content."

"As am I."

He does not kiss her; to do so would be in contradiction of all that they have said, but instead raises her hand to his lips as though she is a great lady to whom he grants obeisance.

"I shall not stay in London, Tommaso," she continues, "I came in hopes of securing a place for our girls in her Majesty's retinue, as it shall be a great education for them. It seems that they shall succeed in winning such places for themselves, and thus I must return to our estates. Thus I shall depart from here by the end of the month - and shall not return."

Cromwell does not object, but instead smiles, "Then know that you depart from here with my regard and the knowledge that I have prospered, as have you - and thus God did not look upon our foolishness unkindly."

She rises and curtseys to him, before withdrawing to the other end of the room. As she does so, she looks back - and again it seems almost that the shadows have swallowed him up.

He remains apart from the group for the entirety of the evening, so concealed that it seems to those who surround the gaming table that he is not there at all. It is only after all have departed that Anne turns, "Come from your hiding place, Mr Cromwell: you cannot live within those shadows."

Finally he emerges, and she feels a stab of sadness at the expression upon his face - though she cannot be sure whether it is over the departure of the woman to whom he has just spoken or that of a woman to whom he can never speak again.

"It is for the best." She reminds him, gently, "It would serve neither of you to pursue this."

"Yes." He agrees, dully, "It is for the best." His eyes are brimming.

She says nothing, but instead leads him back to the shadowed end of the room and seats herself as he gives into his grief, sinks to the floor, and sobs into her skirts.

Yes. In spite of all, it is for the best.