Then I heard him express his appreciation for the bride in an overly familiar way. Mary and Sir William had been married months before but still the king drew near to Mary, beautiful and golden, as the king was known to prefer his paramours. Mary drew closer toward him too. Her new husband looked on in impotent horror. What could he do? Henry was law.
I heard a quiet comment from someone at the end of my table. “’Twas not enough to shame herself with the French king, now she’s going to shame herself with England’s as well.”
There was a mushrooming of approval from those who heard the comment, though I held my face still. Oh, Mary. Please don’t encourage this.
At meal’s end the king claimed the first dance with the bride, who willingly agreed. Sir William tried to look enthusiastic but his earnest face showed his pain. Sir William, you have a steep and rocky path ahead of you.
The servants removed the tables and the musicians began to play. Everyone partnered off quickly. My brother ignored his wife but she didn’t seem bothered; she’d taken up with another man the moment we’d arrived. I could tell she’d had several goblets of wine—probably unwatered. My brother headed straight for Anne, who met him graciously, though a bit coolly.
She was a childhood flirtation, Thomas. I willed him to understand. But he would not.
A moment later I felt a hand on the small of my back. “Have you a partner yet, Mistress Wyatt?” Will asked.
“Do I now?” I responded a bit coyly, I admit, but then a girl is allowed.
“You do.”
The musicians struck up a pavane, and we lightly touched fingers, as all the couples must. For that reason it was one of the favorite dances for those in love or who wished to be. My gowns swirled along the floor as we danced. Though we were close to others we were still able to carry on a private conversation.
“How does your sister?” Will asked, a bit formal. He seemed restrained somehow. Unusual. Maybe we needed to become accustomed to one another again. We’d never had to ere this, though.
“She’s fine, the baby comes soon. How go your studies?” I asked, maddeningly polite and distant.
“Wonderfully well. I have the opportunity to study abroad for a few months whilst my father is in Belgium for the king, and then I return home to…. study more. And to the court, of course. I will often be at court.”
“You’ll do well at court, I’m certain.”
We broke apart to dance a galliard with other partners, a quick, humorous dance that soon had the entire hall clapping, laughing, and making merry. I danced with my brother Thomas and then with another courtier whom I did not know but who looked at me appreciatively.
I prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for my mother and her gift of the dress. I confess that I was glad that Anne wasn’t alone in drawing admiration.
The king called for a volte to be danced, and the room shifted uncomfortably. The volte was the only dance which allowed partners to embrace. I saw the king lead Mary Boleyn—ah, Mary Carey—to the dance floor. Will swooped in before my galliard partner could claim me again, though he tried.
I softened in Will’s arms; I felt the heat of those many secret scrolls and their honest declarations as we danced. I sensed the momentum of our years of laughter and honest, heated disagreement and unspoken, deep affection.
“Meg,” he finally said, intimacy and urgency in his voice now that he’d dropped the well-mannered, unwelcome mask of civility. And there was something else in his manner, though I could not tell what. “Can we speak together outside, alone?”
“Yes!” I said. It wouldn’t be improper with so many strolling around.
“Good. Perhaps we should dance a few more songs first so as not to draw attention.”
I agreed and then unwillingly let go of his hand as the dance ended. I could feel his reluctance to let go, too.
We met outside the main door and then walked, hand in hand, to a bench just outside in the close gardens. The rain of the earlier evening had dried to a mist on the petals of the flowers nearby; the sky had cleared to a cool, starry evening. Will picked a daisy and put it in my hair, a tender gesture of love and possession that I welcomed. “Do you remember your wreath of daisies?” he asked.
“I do, and I’m pleased that you do as well.”
“I have news, Meg,” he said after a moment. My back stiffened at the tone of his voice.
“You’re to be married,” I said, cutting directly to my worst fear.
“No…. not exactly.”
“Not exactly? Marriage is a clear thing. You’re either married or you’re not.”
“My father has been spending a lot of time with the king,” Will said.
“I’d heard.”
“And the king spends a lot of time with Cardinal Wolsey.” “Indeed,” I said. We all knew that the cardinal was the king’s closest, most trusted advisor.
“Wolsey read some of my work at Cambridge and felt that I had promise as a priest. He approached Henry. The king approached my father, who thought it an excellent idea, or so he told the king. I am the second son, after all.”
“A priest? Your father is not even devout! Not all second sons must go into the priesthood. It’s not a law.”
“It’s a practice,” Will said. “My father thinks it a good idea.”
I drew back from him. “And you? What do you think?”
“Meg, above any person in this world, I value you. I trust you, I dream of you, I long for you. But there is someone I value still more. And I have become more and more aware, lately, that He is calling me to Himself. To service.”
“You can serve Him whilst administering your father’s lesser properties.”
“I could,” Will said softly, trying to take my hand in his own. “But I don’t feel at leave to do that.”
I moved it away without speaking but I was thinking, Leave from our Lord or leave from your father?
“I know that I am supposed to pursue this,” he finished. “I…. love you, Meg. And I love God too. In fact, I only speak Latin with you and with Him. But I must obey.”
Dolor.
A great sorrow overcame me because I could see the stark truth commingled with sorrow in his beautiful, honest face. He would not hurt me if he could help it, and yet I could not help but feel that he could stop this, and he was choosing not to.
I stood to take my leave, and he, a gentleman, stood as I did. The gardens had grown empty now; several litters from nearby estates took their leave. The lutist played a sweet and winsome tune that twisted and turned through the estate till it found and remained with us.
I could have asked him, And I? What of me? But we had no precontract, nothing declared, nothing finalized. Will stood next to me, looking at the ground, and I loved him to the point of anguish. I had nothing but searing pain and wanted to run away as fast as I could. In spite of it all, my heart broke for him, seeing the grief of the moment writ on his face. Unlike almost anyone else I knew, he put God first, a trait I’d admired when it had cost me nothing.
He impulsively reached over and pulled me close to him, a personal volte dance. His scent, like my favorite spiced wafers, was both faint and intoxicating. He pressed his lips against mine softly at first, and then more powerfully. My flesh failed my will and I kissed him back readily, longingly. My body willed him to move forward though my spirit knew he must stop.
I pulled away—far away. “Don’t ever kiss me like that again until and unless you’re ready to make good on the promise behind it,” I said. I had never been kissed, but I knew that was the kind of kiss that should only be between a man and his wife.