“Mayhap by marrying I advance the Wyatt name.”
My mother nodded. Pain had not clouded her vision. “It would be best for you to remain often with Alice until the time that you are married.”
In other words, after her death, I should get away from my father. I kissed her cheek and a short time later she fell back into the laudanum of sleep. I left, taking my prized dress box back to my own chamber and thankful not to have met Edmund still skulking in some dark corner.
My servant, Edithe, made a show of smoothing my bed over and over, and just as I was about to remark on her odd behavior I saw the scroll. “Thank you, that will be all,” I said softly, and she grinned at me as she left.
Meg was tenderly etched along the side, above the smooth wax that I knew had been sealed by Will. I slid my finger underneath, relishing the knowledge that his finger had touched this very same paper.
THREE
Year of Our Lord 1520
Hever Castle, Kent, England
My father had purchased a fine new litter, so even if he wasn’t attending Mary’s wedding party we arrived in style. Lord Cobham’s sister—I must learn to speak of her as Elizabeth—sat close to Thomas. He recoiled slightly, as someone does when sitting near a sweating sickness victim, though she was perfectly healthy and hale. I understood. I kept a distance from my brother Edmund, who pressed his leg into mine in a menacing manner, taking two-thirds of the bench to my third. I dug my foot into the floor to brace myself from sliding into him.
We pulled in front of the castle and one of the Boleyns’ men let us out. I held up the hem of my new dress so I wouldn’t soil it in the mud and horse muck, both of which steamed into the cool evening air. We four navigated the crowd, quickly making our way on the cobblestone path. The yard was alight with torches and music escaped from the new upstairs great hall, which was very great indeed. Anne’s father prided himself on his entertainment and it was justified.
The minute we got in the door Edmund headed for the mead as he often, and noticeably, did. I scanned till I found Anne, busy acting the part of co-hostess with her mother. I stood to the side and observed her for a while. Her manners and conversation were now those of a French woman: smooth, subtle, wry, sophisticated. She made her way to me.
“Meg! I must attend to the guests with my mother, as Mary is the guest of honor and unable to assist.”
“Of course,” I reassured her. “We’ll have the evening to talk after the party; our serving men are instructed to bring us home in the morning. Your father has kindly offered his hospitality.”
“Marvelous!” She squeezed my arm.
“You look beautiful,” I told her, and it was an understatement. She wore her hair long and free, as an unmarried woman is allowed to do, an overflow of black silk with teal string threaded through it to match the teal green of her gown. Her skin shone in the candlelight and when I looked more closely I could see she had powdered herself with something that glimmered.
“You look beautiful,” she said. “I’ve never seen a gown that color before nor a cut quite so enticing and modest at the same time.” She turned her head and I followed her gaze. “Rose Ogilvy has arrived. Why don’t you go and talk with her?”
Then she slipped into the crowd effortlessly, like a swan floating on the Thames, moving yet seeming not to move, her long neck and graceful beauty drawing the eye of both men and women as she walked.
The tables had all been arranged, but of course the food could not be served till the king arrived. I made my way toward Rose and she greeted me warmly. “Good evening,” she said. “My brothers are here, both of them. And my father. And my…. intended.”
“Rose!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know. Who is the fortunate soul?”
She turned her eyes downward but I saw a pleased smile cross her face afore she took cover in humility. “My Lord Blenheim’s son.”
She was too reserved to say it: the heir of Earl Blenheim, the only son of Earl Blenheim. But this was a coup indeed. Her father had noble aspirations for his family and he’d wasted no time, apparently, in placing Rose well. “Congratulations,” I told her. “I wish you the most happiness.”
She lifted her eyes, suddenly more adult-like now that her marriage was settled, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a bit more sure of herself. Mayhap a bit too sure of herself. Her nose had an upward tilt that I hadn’t detected in the many years I’d known her, and without a word, she quickly took her leave of me to greet one of Queen Katherine’s ladies-in-waiting. She seemed warmly welcomed.
I took a goblet of watered wine from a liveried servant and spoke with my mother’s cousin. As I did, I caught sight of him as he entered the hall from the terraces outside.
Others may have been waiting all evening for the king to arrive, but I had been waiting for Will.
He stood there, a man now, with his brother, Walter, his father’s heir and pride. I watched with, I’ll admit it, relief as Lord Asquith, his father, forcefully steered Walter toward some of the highborn young ladies in attendance, but not Will. Will looked up, caught my eye, and grinned ere he could stop himself. I lifted my pomander to my nose to hide my smile. Fortunatissima!
“Look, Meg!” My cousin took my elbow and directed my attention to the courtyard. A great stomping of horses could be heard and the musicians stopped their songs. A loud herald of trumpets drowned out the clatter and clank of the carriage wheels.
“The king!” A general murmur went through the crowd. I first thought of my poor mother, who had so longed to see the king again, and then had the puniest of kind thoughts for my father, who had stayed home rather than attend without her. Those thoughts were soon gone, though, as I lifted my eyes and looked for the sovereign himself.
Of course I had been to court a time or two, for jousts and for pageants, but that had mostly been when I was younger. My sister, Alice, had taken me to court with her a few times as well but we’d mostly stayed in the ladies’ quarters.
The king.
He strode in, a great, ruddy bear in wine-colored velvet trimmed in gold cord and slashed in gold silk. Sir Thomas, Anne’s father, followed the king around in the most attentive way. I must say, the king didn’t act as I’d expected he would, dignified and quiet. He threw his arm around Sir Thomas, took a great mug of ale and gulped it, threw his hand toward the musicians, and shouted, “Play on!”
He was the height of handsomeness, he emanated power, he completely dominated the room. One could not imagine him anyone but the king. My knees automatically dipped as he walked. He went to the dais, the table set up for himself and, at his insistence, for the bridal party.
Anne’s father indicated that we should sit and eat, and we went to find our places.
Will came alongside me. “I have been looking forward to dancing with you,” he said, and that sent a shiver of reassurance through me. I’d been worried, because the tone of the note he’d sent me through Thomas had been cooler than the others he’d sent, some of which had fairly singed the paper they’d been written on. In the most courtly, appropriate way, of course.
The servants brought out great platters of swan and eel—the king’s favorite. Whole roasted hares were set on each table, as were minced loin of veal with great platters of fat to spread upon them. Bowls of hard-boiled eggs were passed. Though I loved them, I did not take one, not wanting my breath to smell of egg after the evening’s events, though my brother Thomas took three. I shot him a warning look and he popped one more in his mouth, to the dismay of one of our more proper cousins. I did take some spiced wafers, which I also loved. They’d been cunningly made in white and red, cut in the design of the Tudor rose. I heard the king voice his approval when he saw them.