by Karen Harper
Her laughter floated to Sanctuary’s alert ears as they left the stables. It is so wonderful, Mary realized, to have Staff here at Hever.
Lady Elizabeth Bullen had spent an hour each morning and each afternoon in the room where William Stafford was recuperating since he had ridden to Hever with Mary. The first days she had talked low to Mary while he slept, and the last two she had talked to them both. She took Staff’s hand each time she entered or left the room. And Mary, who could never recall similar actions from her mother with any other visitor, was puzzled. She had decided it was because he had saved her daughter from rape or death at the hands of the brigands in the forest. But now she was coming to believe it must be more. Perhaps it was like an instinctive trust, whereas she herself had disliked him when she had first known him and trust had come later.
Mary watched them through her lashes as they spoke low to each other on the bench in the rose garden. Catherine threw a leather ball back and forth to Semmonet on the other side of the hedge, and Anne dared to sit and read the bawdy Heptameron, authored by no one less that Marguerite du Alencon, sister to King Francois of France. It was even rumored that now the king’s poor Queen Claude had been dead three years, he showed more open affection to his sister than he had before, and that some of the heated passion in the text of the book was flamed by that love. Mary was not sure she even cared to read it if some of Francois du Roi’s passions were laid out for all to see. But Anne, clever, witty Anne, loved French things.
“So I am hoping the king will let Anne marry soon,” Lady Elizabeth was saying to Staff. “Perhaps her old friend Sir Thomas Wyatt would be a good match, but her lord father does not show any interest in the lands adjoining Hever, which the Wyatt lad is heir to.”
Anne’s dark eyes darted up from the pages of her book. “I can hear what you are saying, mother. I do not believe I will be getting married, at least not in the near future. Anyhow, if father had cared a fig for the Wyatt estates, he could have easily married George to his long-desired Margot Wyatt.” She bent her head to the book again. “I hear she is in childbed with her first child to Pierce, Lord Edgecome from Devon, anyway, so that is that. Oh, it is too hot to read out here, even in the shade. There is a good deal more shade at Eltham, I warrant.”
She stood and her green skirts swung in a gentle arc as she paced in a circle around them. “Perhaps I should join you when you ride back to Eltham, Staff. Then father would be shocked, His Grace would be elated, and you could save me from several bands of thieves with rape on their minds on the way back to break all this boredom of waiting, waiting!”
Mary thought Anne looked like a slender, lovely flower among the rest of them dressed in black. But she was so pent-up with hopes and schemes she would not share but only alluded to—much like father. Yes, she was getting to be more and more like father.
“Mother, Staff promised me he would catch me up on all the news at court and you and Mary virtually keep him your prisoner, though a willing one, I grant you.” She spun toward Staff and her skirts belled out in a perfect graceful cup. Her voice was teasing. “You never did tell me, for instance, how you coerced His Grace into letting you leave Eltham when you heard poor Will Carey was dead. You told him you wanted to bring Mary back here and he let you go at once? ’Sblood, I would have liked to have seen that.”
“Anne, sit and cease this foolishness,” came Lady Elizabeth’s voice as Staff was about to answer. “Thank God, His Grace did let Lord Stafford go or Mary would not be here now, one way or the other.”
“Perhaps, Anne, the king reasoned that Staff could then see how you are behaving and report back to him,” Mary put in, hoping the tone of her voice would make Anne stop her insinuations where she and Staff were concerned.
“All right, I will sit in stony silence, if I must. I do not need all of you teasing me, or I shall have to seek my desolate room alone!”
They all laughed at her, for her buoyant mood beneath the testiness was contagious. Mary stretched her legs, smiled in Staff’s direction and stood to join Semmonet and Catherine. But then Michael, the gangly gardener, came striding across the grass followed by a stranger, and she sat again.
“This be Lord Bullen’s lady wife,” Michael said to the man and they both bowed to Elizabeth. The man presented a folded parchment to her outstretched hand and bowed again.
“Nothing from father to me?” Anne asked sharply.
The messenger scanned the group, and bowed a third time to Anne. “The king’s man be hard on the road behind me, begging your grace, my Lady Anne. He ha’ told me he bears a message from the king and a gift.” He stood about awkwardly until Lady Elizabeth summoned Michael to take the man in for refreshments.
“Our lord is coming home two days hence,” she read with her head still bent over the letter. “He hopes that Mary is well settled here and will return in her sister’s retinue in September when Anne goes to live at court as ‘she has so wisely promised His Grace she would do.’” She glanced up at Anne, who sat impassive, hitting her knee with her now-closed book. “That is really the import of it. Two days hence. For how long this time, I wonder.”
“Not long, lady,” Staff assured her. “As soon as the first span of cooler weather hits the city, the court will be back in full swing, and your Lord Thomas will be at the center of things. And the Lady Anne.” Through the whole speech, his eyes focused on Mary, and she shot him a dazzling smile despite Anne’s sharp stare.
“And I promise you, before I even tell my father, Staff, that I shall bring Mary back with me as he asks. Imagine you and our father wanting the same thing.” Anne giggled despite her mother’s pointed glance.
“Although the company is most beautiful and the conversation here a definite, ah, challenge, ladies, I shall take Sanctuary for a bit of a ride tomorrow to test my strength. The next day I must set out for Eltham and I promise to stick to more heavily traveled roads—that is, unless the Lady Anne actually does fancy an adventure such as Mary had.” He leaned forward on his knees and peered around Lady Bullen at Anne. “I cannot promise to be wounded and bleed for you though, Lady Anne. I am sure you can understand that blood shed for one Bullen lass is quite enough.”
Elizabeth Bullen regarded him closely while Anne suddenly narrowed her eyes, uncertain if she were merely being teased or quite put down.
“Anyway,” he continued evenly, “I intend to ride to Hatfield House to see Henry Carey on my way back to Eltham. Mary wishes the boy to be told carefully of his father’s death by a friend of the family, and to deliver Will’s crested neck chain. It is his heritage now.”
Anne swung her book from her right hand as she took several steps away. “Thank you for the offer of the sport, my lord, on the ride to Eltham, but I truly think you prefer gentler game. And as for my nephew, Henry Carey’s, heritage, who is to know if His Grace may have need of him someday? They say Henry Fitzroy is a weakling. Unless, of course, our king should take it upon himself to get a son through some other means after the Queen Catherine is sent into exile as he has publicly promised father and me.” Her musical laughter floated back to them in the sunny air.
“Mary and I will miss you greatly, my lord,” Elizabeth Bullen put in gently, “as will our little Catherine, who dotes on you it seems. I was hard-pressed to keep her from bothering you those first days when you slept so much from blood loss. I do hope I will see you again and soon. I appreciate an honest man, king’s courtier or not.”
Staff bent over her hand and kissed it. “I promise you will see me again, my lady, and it must be here since you will not come to court.”
“No, not at court, unless something very big and unexpected happens, and I pray it will not. The Bullens’ lives are already complicated enough as it is. You are always welcome here. Is it not so, Mary?”
“Yes, mother. Of course. Staff knows that.”
“Then I hope he will include us in his future plans,” the silver-haired woman added as she rose. Mary and Staff stood with her. “Please do n
ot let Anne’s sharp tongue turn you away from her, my lord,” Lady Bullen went on. “She needs friends, and she will need her sister’s gentler influence, though I will be loath to part with Mary when she goes back.”
She smiled at her daughter, and Mary’s eyes filled with tears. Mother, Catherine and Hever—with Staff here to please them all—it was nearly heaven. But soon he must go back.
“I shall miss you,” she said to him across the tiny space of garden that separated them after her mother left.
His teeth shone white against his brown face, and his eyes darkened with pleasure. “But I shall be here a whole day and a half yet, wench, and we shall see what we can make of that.”
The day and a half Staff had promised became the most fleeting hours of Mary’s life. His chest and shoulder wounds seemed to heal rapidly, he ate enough for two healthy men, and his vitality returned. On the first sunny afternoon after they had managed to shake off Anne’s continual questions, Mary and little Catherine had taken Staff on an extensive walking tour of Hever: the rooms and courtyard, the gardens, orchards, meadows, even St. Paul’s Church down the winding lane where the forests began.
That evening they sat after supper in the solar, almost as a happy little family, chatting and playing a game of Gleek in which Anne insisted she be Staff’s partner and managed to hold all the cards too. But she soon flitted off to get her beauty sleep, and Lady Bullen bid them a quick and smiling goodnight.
At the big oak table they had used for cards, Staff and Mary sat a moment, drinking in the sweet August air. Staff was studying her as usual, not moving but for the rise and fall of his big chest, still wrapped with a heavy linen bandage under his white shirt unlaced halfway.
“A penny for your thoughts, Staff.”
“I cannot see selling my thoughts for a mere penny, lass, when the Lady Anne seems to value them so highly. But then, for one of your sweet kisses I have been greatly longing for lately, and which seem now to be in short supply, I would consider it.”
She felt little butterfly wings flutter in her stomach. “Agreed.”
“Come here and pay up then. You can hardly expect a near invalid to chase you around the room, Lady Mary.”
His voice had that old teasing tone, but he did not smile. She marvelled at the shift in mood he seemed to have undergone from the chatting, cordial man of a few moments ago at their card game.
She scraped her chair back and went to stand over him. He sat almost a foot from the table, but his arms were so long he had reached the cards easily. He lifted his head; his probing eyes reflected the glow of the big cresset lamp on the table. She bent down, leaning closer, her breath coming through parted lips as her soft mouth met his hard one. His lips opened immediately to caress hers, moving against her, tasting her. Then the kiss was over. He had not touched her otherwise. Was he really so unsure of her reaction after that night last week when she had not let him make love to her at Banstead?
She started to straighten, but his uninjured arm moved quickly to stay her, and he said, “Kiss me again. I have two thoughts I think you would like to hear.”
Inches apart in the drifting lamp glow, their eyes locked. She almost swayed into him at the impact of her desire for him, but she steadied her hands on the arm of his chair and lowered her mouth to kiss him once more.
You have fallen in love with him all over again, a voice deep inside whispered to her. Again since he rescued you after Will died at Hampton, again at Banstead, again at Hever, again this very moment.
She could not breathe. He was making her dizzy.
“You—I,” she stammered after she broke the kiss. She did not want him to know he could still do this to her. “I just did not want to fall against your bandage and hurt you, my lord,” she blurted.
He seemed so composed after their kissing, but his smile was gently teasing again. She stood to move around the corner of the table. “You have not told me the two thoughts I just paid for,” she protested.
“One is how much I yet desire to love you—to have you be mine.”
“Yes,” she said, but she stepped farther away around the table. He finally stood and moved after her. He turned her to him with one hand on her shoulder.
“Do not get huffy or sulk like your spoiled little sister,” he said.
“It’s just that I need some time to sort everything out.”
“Fine. Only, I intend to be in the sorting when all is said and done. And do not be so jumpy as if I would dare to take you here on this padded bench. Your mother and little sparrow of a governess would not approve of Lord Stafford half so much if they caught us, I warrant, although your sister might like to know how it is truly done.”
She grinned and put her head against his good shoulder. His voice went on, low and calm, “I know it is late, and we are both tired, love, but I do not want today to end because then there is only one more before I leave.”
Her voice came muffled against his soft linen shirt. “I know, my Staff.”
“Let’s go outside and walk along the moat just for a few minutes. We will go out through the kitchen and herb garden.” His warm fingers curled around hers, and she went willingly.
The kitchen was cast in melded grays, the vast cavern of the fireplace on the far wall gaping darkly with no embers burning on this warm night. Somewhere nearby a dog stirred, growled low and rolled over as they passed. The door to the gardens stood ajar, and the intoxicating aroma of mingled herbs swept in with the night air. The grass felt damp against her slippers and smelled unutterably sweet.
She followed him along the fringe of the garden on the grassy path until they turned the corner by the edge of the inner moat. Across the narrow stretch of water, the overpowering scent of roses wafted to them on the balmy night air.
He stopped, still holding her hand. She whispered, “There is a little stone bench farther on if you want to sit.”
“No, but Anne’s bedroom window is not anywhere above here, is it?”
“No.”
“Then this is fine. Mary, my other thought is that now that you are free—unmarried and marriageable—and since I do not trust the king or that cat-eyed sister of yours not to marry you off to someone they fancy for their own gain—” He paused and stepped closer in the darkness. “I just could not bear to lose you again after all the waiting, now that we are so close. I cannot—I will not let another man have you!”
She moved against him, stretching her arms up around his neck. “They will not, my lord. They cannot. I am a new widow and just because Anne rides so high in His Grace’s favor now does not mean they can marry me off to just anyone. If someone so much as suggests it—my father even—I will tell them no.”
He rocked them back and forth gently, holding her to his hard body with one hand firmly on the small of her back. “Ah, my sweet Mary. Have you been through so much and still think things are so simple then?”
“Not all things, my Staff, but how I feel about you is simple now.”
He stopped rocking and pulled her closer to him. “I thought maybe you had forgotten the words. Hell’s gates, do I have to be bleeding all over the bed before you tell me?”
“I do love you, my lord. I love you desperately, and I have for a very long time.”
“I do not want tears and that quivering lower lip, Mary. When I go away the day after tomorrow and when we both get back to court this autumn, we are going to have to be very careful and very strong. Now tell me again.”
“I love you, Staff.”
He moved to rest his chin on the top of her head, and she marvelled again at how her face fit there so perfectly, cuddled against his warm throat. They stood that way, pressed together, a very long while.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
February 22, 1530
Whitehall Palace
Mary stood in the gallery with the long sweep of windows fronting the Thames. Her view was partly obstructed by the legs of stonemasons perched on ladders chiseling laboriously at the upper stone facings whi
ch dangled from the outside cornices. For three weeks from morning to night they had picked away at the gray stone all over the palace, whatever the weather. They were chiseling elaborate H’s and A’s entwined with Tudor roses. Some carved the falcon heads of Anne’s new badge. His Grace’s King-at-Arms had discovered an elaborate pedigree for Anne stretching back to twelfth-century England, so by necessity, George and Mary shared the proud new heritage. Anne had declared that their family name was now to be spelled and pronounced Boleyn, a French spelling and much more suited to a future queen of the realm than the plebeian “Bullen” from the rough north country of England. Mary knew her father had been rattled by the name change, though he held his tongue. Indeed, Anne had Thomas, Lord Boleyn, at her beck and call even as she did the king. He had come to see the perverse wisdom of his younger daughter’s not bedding with the Tudor stallion, as much as he had seen the wisdom of Mary’s place in the royal bed for five productive years.
Mary touched the thick window glass to see if it were cold. It seemed as mild today as it had been the last week. That was fortunate, for Anne and her ladies would take a barge upriver to Westminster to the king’s court for a banquet this evening. It could get terribly cold on the river, being rowed from His Grace’s court at Westminster or Bridewell to Whitehall, which he had so graciously given Anne for her London residence until the divorce was approved and they could live together.
It must be warm outside despite the gray of the sky, she thought again listlessly, for the workmen do not stamp the ground and snort like noisy cold horses as they do when it is biting. So much change. So much change for the Bullens to become the Boleyns in such a short time.
“My lady, I thought to find you gazing at the river somewhere along here. Does it make you feel closer to her?”
Mary lifted her head to see her maid Nancy wrapped in a woolen shawl, her nose still red from the cold that had plagued her most of the winter. “I was not pining for Catherine this once, truly, Nance, nor for Lord Stafford, though by your look I warrant that you do not believe me. I will see them both tonight. I do miss Catherine terribly, but she is better off to be with the Duke and Duchess’s Margaret in the lovely royal nursery with a fine tutor. What could I ever give her here when I cannot even afford to clothe myself well? The child can easily, and with pride, wear the Lady Margaret’s handed-down dresses, but I can hardly inherit my slender sister’s cast-off gowns even if they are in the tens of tens.” She fell into step beside Nancy and they strolled toward the wing where Mary had a chamber and sitting room, within call of Anne’s spacious suite.
