“I think I looked for you, too. I admired you… and George, of course. You were the heroes—we girls your minions. I loved your sister Mary. She was comforting to be with…but the excitement came from you and George.”
“If they had not sent you away…it would not have happened. I should have stood out against it. It was advantageous, you see. My father thought it an ideal match. I was careless, forgetful …I thought it had to happen some day. What I am trying to tell you, Anne, is that I have a wife.”
“Thomas! You!”
He nodded somberly.
“When?” I asked. “And who?”
“Just over a year ago. She is Elizabeth, daughter of Thomas Brooke, Lord Cobham.”
“Congratulations. A worthy match.”
“My family considers it to be.”
“And you…are happy?”
He looked at me sadly and said: “There is only one who could make me happy… completely.”
I did not answer. I was rather moved by Thomas; I was certain that I could easily have fallen in love with him and I felt a bitter disappointment that he was married. If it had not been for the political elements in this Butler affair, Thomas Wyatt might have been considered a worthy husband for me. I pictured weeks of exhilarating courtship—Thomas would ride over from Allington to woo me. But my father had risen beyond Sir Henry Wyatt in the King's favor and would, no doubt, in accordance with Boleyn tradition have wished for a greater marriage for his daughter even though the Wyatts were old friends, good neighbors and of excellent family. But what was the use of thinking thus? Thomas was married and I was destined for Sir James Butler.
He repeated then: “Oh, why did you not come back earlier?”
“Where are you living now?” I asked. “At Allington?”
“I am mostly at Court. I have a post there.”
“What post is that?”
“I am one of the Esquires of the King's Body.”
“Then you know Will Carey well?”
“I do.”
“And you must see my sister frequently.”
He nodded.
“You know, of course.”
“That she is the King's mistress? Everyone knows, but no one refers to it. The King likes to keep his little peccadillos secret and as you know we must all bow to his wishes.”
“Life is lived more simply in the country,” I said.
“But you would not want the simple life. You would soon grow tired of it. The intrigues at Court … the excitement… the fighting for one's position and the even harder battle to keep it… that is what we enjoy. There are the masques which I help to devise… The King loves nothing better than a masque in which we wear disguises. No disguise could hide his identity, of course, but he likes to think it is possible, and he has great delight in revealing himself: ‘It is your King!’ he cries and everyone gasps with feigned astonishment, pretending to try to remember if they had been guilty of lèse majesté … knowing full well they have uttered nothing but what the King wanted most to hear, being aware all the time to whom they were speaking. It is a farce…a game of pretense; but it gives me a chance to hear my verses spoken and sung. You should come to Court, Anne. Your father must find a place for you.”
“He has found a place for me…in Ireland.”
“It must be delayed as long as possible.”
“I fear it will not be. They have brought me home for this, but I shall not let it happen. I will not be told whom I am to marry. When I marry I shall choose my husband.”
“Anne… would you have chosen me?”
I drew back from him. “You chose to marry…so how could I?”
“If you had been here…”
“It is too late to take that view. What does it matter what I should have done if it is not possible for me to do it?”
He shook his head sadly. Then he said: “I have a son, Anne. He is not yet a year old.”
“Again congratulations. That must be very gratifying.”
“I admit to a fondness for the child.”
“I must come to Allington to see him and to meet your wife.”
My brother was coming out into the courtyard.
“Oh, so you are there, Tom,” he said. “What do you think of my sister?”
“A very grand lady with Frenchified airs.”
“Exactly my view. Have you caught up on old times?”
Thomas nodded. “I have been upbraiding her for staying away so long.”
“Come in,” said George. “My stepmother heard your arrival; she has some of her own wine to offer you. Now, Tom, you must let her know you like it. She is proud of her brews.”
And as we went into the house I was thinking of the old days and Thomas and what might have been.
When my father arrived at Hever, I expected the storm to break.
George had gone back to Court and so had Thomas Wyatt. I had been over to Allington and renewed my friendship with Mary Wyatt. I had found a certain peace in our gardens which I had always loved in the past. I rode out quite often. I should have had a groom with me. My stepmother worried about this but I assured her I was quite able to take care of myself, and she was always anxious not to impose her authority upon me.
She used to busy herself in the kitchens. I think she was not yet accustomed to living in a house like ours. She came of good yeoman stock; her father was a landowner, but we had become very grand since my father was doing so well at Court—and, I thought bitterly, since Mary had found such favor in the very highest place.
My stepmother never referred to that aspect of Mary's life, though she had grown fond of her as she had of us all.
From my window I saw my father arrive. He traveled in some state, as became a gentleman of his importance. He was on terms of friendship with both Cardinal Wolsey and the King. He had kept the French wondering which way England was going to turn and he had completed a successful mission at Oudenarde with the Emperor Charles. He was rich; honors had been showered upon him. That made me angry. Could he not forget the Butler revenues for the sake of his daughter's happiness? Apparently not.
When I heard of his successes and his growing wealth, I was more determined than ever to stand firm against his attempt to use me to add to them.
I was expecting to be given instructions as to what I must do and was amazed when there was no mention of this—until I understood the reason.
There was one thought in his mind at that time and he could give no attention to anything else. The King was doing us the great honor of paying a visit to Hever Castle. It was for this reason my father had come home. He wanted to supervise preparations. We must all realize what an important occasion this was. There was so much to be done. It was one of the greatest honors which could be bestowed upon a subject. It was an indication of the rising fortunes of Thomas Boleyn.
He greeted me in an absent-minded fashion. I had seen him once or twice during my stay in France when he had been on embassies there and he had no doubt thought that he must spare a little time to see his daughter; but those visits had been of a perfunctory nature. I had been too young to interest him then; it was only when his daughters were of marriageable age that he took notice of them.
I was surprised to see the affection between him and my stepmother. It set me wondering about the strangeness of human nature. Somewhere in that granite-like exterior was a softness, and my humble countrified stepmother had somehow managed to find it.
I felt a little kinder toward him, though not much—considering his plans for me.