“I like not those who disregard my wishes.”
I thought then that he was probably thinking of a greater punishment than exile. He was really angry with me.
And still nothing happened.
Then one day he sent for me and I was prepared for the worst. We were alone in a small chamber. His mood had changed. He was no longer angry, merely sorrowful.
“I am the King of the realm, am I not?” he asked.
I lowered my eyes. Such a question was obviously rhetorical.
“I have given my life to the comfort of my people, and yet there is one among them who would cause me great pain.”
I raised my eyes and looked at him in surprise.
“Have done,” he said. “You know to whom I refer. It is you, Mistress Boleyn. You have plagued me ever since the first moment I set eyes on you.”
“Your Grace, I meant no…”
“I know now why I have been so patient. I have been lenient. You have flouted me. In your father's garden you mocked me… then you pleaded a headache to avoid my presence. I should have commanded you to appear. I should have confounded you. But what did I do? I said, ‘She is but a girl. Let be.’ And I was tender toward you, was I not? And did you show me gratitude? No, you prate of your principles. You could have gone off to the wilds of Ireland, but I stopped that. You might have married that sniveling Percy, but I saved you from that, too. And why? Because I could see that you were different from all others, and where I wanted you to be was at my Court. I could see that you were saucy… haughty, too. I like that not in my subjects… and I let you go. I said I would forget the feelings you had aroused in me. And now here you are, back in my Court, and I can no longer hide from myself… nor from you… the true state of my heart. I am in love. By the saints, I never felt this for any other. I want you, and when you are mine I promise you I will forsake all others.”
I was surprised, but I was not unprepared for I had thought often of what I must do if confronted by such a situation. True I had not expected him to be so definite or vehement in his protestations, but I was ready, and I knew what I must do and do it quickly.
I said: “I think, my noble and worthy King, that you speak these words in mirth, to prove me, without intent of degrading your princely self. Therefore to relieve you of the labor of asking any such question hereafter, I beseech Your Highness most earnestly to desist and take this my answer—which I speak from the depth of my soul—in good part. Most noble King, I would rather lose my life than my virtue, which will be the greatest and best part of the dowry I shall bring my husband.”
He could not believe he was hearing all right. I wondered how many times he had been repulsed. Surely this was the first.
He must be furiously angry to be so rejected. I was really rather surprised to see the softness of his expression. Later I learned of that sentimental streak in his nature which so oddly mingled with the cruelty of which he could be capable. His character was such a mass of contradictions, which was why he was such a dangerous man to deal with. He could respect virtue while he was planning an onslaught upon it.
“Rise,” he said, for I had knelt as I spoke.
I did so, and for a few seconds we stood looking at each other.
Then he said: “You speak with conviction.”
“I mean every word I have said.”
His mouth hardened. “I shall continue to hope,” he muttered.
With great daring I replied: “I understand not, most mighty King, how you should retain hope. Your wife I cannot be in respect of mine own unworthiness and also because you have a queen already. Your mistress I will not be.”
He looked at me as though I had struck him. Then abruptly he left me.
I was in a terrible quandary. I could sense danger all around me. I was amazed that I could have spoken so boldly to him, but what else was there for me to do? The only way I could please him was to submit; and there would be the story of Mary Boleyn all over again.
I tried to reason with myself. Was I attaching too much importance to the matter? He had had mistresses before and although he was not as promiscuous as François had been and liked to conduct his affairs with a certain secrecy, it was well known in the Court that he was attracted by women.
It was only my determination not to be one of them which had given me the courage to speak as I had.
Perhaps he would accept my refusal and put me out of his mind. François might have tried some trick if he were really eager; I did not think Henry would. I thought his pride was such that he would dismiss me from his mind. If he would only do that and allow me to continue with my life at Court, I should be greatly relieved.
I decided I must confide in someone, and there was no one I could trust as I did George.
I sought him out as soon as possible.
“You look disturbed, George,” I said when I saw him, as indeed he did.
“As I might well be,” he answered.
“You, too!”
“You mean you are also. What ails you?”
“Tell me your trouble first.”
“It is Jane, of course.”
He was referring to his wife. I knew their marriage was a stormy one. I had never liked Jane Parker and had always thought it was a pity he had married her. So did he. It had been considered a fairly good match— otherwise my father would not have agreed to it. Jane was the daughter of Lord Morley; they were a noble but impoverished family and Lord Morley had been unable to meet my father's demands for the dowry. The King had actually come to the rescue and made up what Morley could not afford. It was a sign of the King's favor toward the Boleyns at that time—and all due of course to Sister Mary. What a pity it had worked out as it had!
Jane was as different from George as one person could be from another. She was dull and stupid; she could not understand his wit and she was very jealous. I think she loved him passionately but, being Jane, did not know how to attract him. Her possessiveness made her repulsive to him, and it was true, of course, that he was not the most faithful of husbands.
“Another of her jealous outbursts?” I asked.
“If only she were not so stupid, it might be worth while reasoning with her. She never understands anything. She gets an idea in her head and goes on repeating it.”
“Has she discovered you in some misdemeanor?”
“She does not need to discover. She invents. She says that I care more for you than for her.”
“For me?”
“Yes, you, sister. She says I am dancing attendance on you like Wyatt and the rest of them, and she reckons I should have married you instead of her.”
I burst out laughing.
“Did you tell her that a man may not marry his sister?”
“You cannot tell Jane anything. Now tell me what is bothering you.”
“It is the King.”
He stared at me.
“He has made a proposition to me.”
“And you?”
“I have told him it is impossible.”
“I knew, of course, that he was interested in you.”
“How?”
“It was obvious. He watches you all the time. Mary has been dismissed. He has not been interested in her for some time. It had to wane, but, being Mary, so easy and always ready to placate, he must have found her soothing. She became rather a habit with him, and the affair dragged on… almost like a marriage. She was so undemanding. But since you have been at Court, he has been rather unnaturally abstemious.”
“I can't believe this is because of me.”
“He has a sentimental streak. He has romance in his nature. He has changed quite a lot. He is quieter… thoughtful. It seems to me that he must truly be in love.”
“Kings don't fall in love like ordinary mortals. They just look at the object of their desire and say, Come.”
“And you?”