FOR THE LOVE OF ANNE
By
Margaret Brazear
Copyright © Margaret Brazear 2018
https://www.margaret-brazear.com
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
CHAPTER ONE | Home to Hever
CHAPTER TWO | The Love of Her Life
CHAPTER THREE | Do Not Tell Mary
CHAPTER FOUR | The King Commands It!
CHAPTER FIVE | Poison, That’s What!
CHAPTER SIX | A Royal Bastard
CHAPTER SEVEN | Mary Percy’s Request
CHAPTER EIGHT | Too Close to the Sun
CHAPTER NINE | You Are Trapped
CHAPTER TEN | Another Useless Girl
CHAPTER ELEVEN | It has to be a Boy
CHAPTER TWELVE | From a Great Height
CHAPTER THIRTEEN | The Jousting Accident
CHAPTER FOURTEEN | Dead Men’s Shoes
CHAPTER FIFTEEN | All Their Prayers Will Go Unanswered
CHAPTER SIXTEEN | I have A Little Neck
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | The Aftermath
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CHAPTER ONE
Home to Hever
NOBODY ASKED ANNE IF she wanted to go home to Hever Castle; her father, Sir Thomas Boleyn, ordered her back to England to marry, she knew not who, not until she arrived home to see her mother, who greeted her with a smile and a quick hug.
“He is James Butler, who will one day be the ninth Earl of Ormond,” said her mother. “Your distant cousin in Ireland. You will be his countess. Tis a good match and it will settle a dispute that has long caused a breach in our family.”
Ireland? She had been educated in the elegant court of France, had friends among the French nobility. It was well known that Ireland was a wild and brutal land, wet and cold and savage.
Anne’s dark eyes fixed on her mother’s face for a few seconds before she replied.
“Why should I be used to settle a dispute?” she said. “I have grown to womanhood in the court of France; I do not want to wither away in some Irish wasteland.”
Her mother’s smile disappeared and she glared at her daughter as though wanting to freeze her with a look.
“You’ll do as you are told,” she said. “The King himself has sanctioned the marriage. Indeed, he has commanded it.”
The news that she was to wed this stranger made Anne’s longing to be back in France even more urgent, more painful.
She had friends in France as well as servants she trusted and she had been there so long it was her home; she had no wish to leave it. Her hope had been that a match would be found for her from among the French courtiers so that she could stay there. She barely remembered how to speak English.
But war had once again broken out between England and France, so leave it she must and she was given little time at home, at Hever Castle, before she was presented at the English court. There she was a stranger without friends, without even a familiar face to soothe her fears. Her sister, Mary, had been at court, but was now married with children.
There were rumours about Mary, that she had been the King’s mistress, now discarded by him. The children might well not be her husband’s, might be of the King’s making. People looked askance at Anne because of Mary. She even heard a whispered mention of ‘the whore’s sister’ as she passed an open door and that made her angry. She saw no just reason that she should be condemned because of Mary’s lack of morals and she was not about to tolerate it.
She pushed open the door and stepped inside, where she saw two ladies at their embroidery. Both looked up, startled to see her there.
“I am newly come to court,” said Anne. “I know nothing of what went before but be assured, I am not my sister.”
Then she spun around and left them open mouthed, regretting that they had ever judged Mistress Boleyn.
But Anne was no fool and she could easily see where her family stood in the eyes of the King. Sir Thomas had a good position among his courtiers, but that position could disappear as quickly as a snap of the royal fingers. Perhaps Mary had little choice; Anne hoped that was the way of things.
Festivities were loud and colourful when Anne appeared in the great hall at the palace. Ladies showed off their colourful and beautiful gowns as they danced, the gentlemen no less so. But colour did not make style and Anne realised her own apparel was not like that worn here, that her French style of dress soon attracted the attention of the other ladies.
Such attention did not frighten Anne; she was accustomed to admiration from French courtiers and even the King of France himself, but her own attention was on the young men. Her mother had told her that her betrothed, James Butler, might well be at the palace on occasion as he was a member of Cardinal Wolsey’s household. Anne was anxious to see what he looked like at least. If she could meet him before the marriage, she might know what manner of man he was and if he could be persuaded to live in England instead of the wilds of Ireland.
She wondered if her mother had forgotten what it was for a maiden to want to see pleasing features, to want a handsome man and one whose personal habits were of a pleasant nature.
The great Cardinal was absent from this first banquet, but there were many young men eager to make themselves known to her. And, just as in France, she could not fail to notice that the women were not so friendly.
She had been at court for some few days when she had word that the Cardinal would be visiting with his entourage and she took great care with her appearance, for if she was anxious to be pleased with her betrothed’s looks, she thought it likely that he might feel the same about her.
Anne knew she was not particularly beautiful. She had almost black hair and eyes to match, but those eyes were a little wider than she would have chosen. Her lips were full and she held her head high as a necessity, to straighten her neck and show off the many necklets she liked to wear, like the velvet band and a close circle of pearls.
On this occasion she wore beautiful cornflour blue satin with a French hood to match. The colour suited her dark hair and eyes very well and made them stand out in all their beauty.
She wondered, as she gazed at her reflection, if she were really dressing to please her betrothed, or whether there was some other motive, one she could not acknowledge. Was she, perhaps, dressing for herself, or even for other gentlemen about the court? She had always attracted attention; at the French court she had been a great favourite among the courtiers who flocked to her side whenever she appeared. It was perfectly natural that she should expect such attention here, at the English court.
It could hardly go unnoticed that Anne’s style of dress, her French hoods and her fur trimmed, long sleeves, had been lately taken up by other ladies about the court.
Anne wondered what she would do if James Butler proved to be hideous in her eyes. She wondered how she would avoid a marriage with him, a marriage that the King himself had ordered, and not being able to avoid such a state, how she would live with a man she could not admire and respect. Those things were important to her, very important, and unlike many other ladies of her status, she was determined to keep herself for her husband. Not for her any brief and sordid affairs, no matter the temptation.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock on the door.
“Mistress Boleyn,” a voice called. “Tis past time. If you do not arrive before their majesties, you’ll miss your meal.”
Her heart jumped nervously. Perhaps missing her meal would not be such a bad thing on this occasion, but no; she might as well get it over with.
She followed the palace servant through what seemed like endless galleries to the b
anqueting hall. It was a magnificent hall, the ceiling lined with canvas paintings of scenes from history and gold paint to add to the decoration.
Anne took her seat for what proved to be a sumptuous meal, but there was no sign of the Cardinal or his household. Of course, he would not be here at the banquet; he would arrive later, if at all.
Anne observed the royal couple throughout the meal, casting surreptitious glances their way whenever she thought she might not be observed. The King was a heavy man, tall and slightly overweight, and judging by the amount of food he shoved into his mouth, it would soon be more than slight. He was athletic, to be sure, so perhaps his physical activity would counteract his overeating.
Anne had heard, while she was in France, that the King of England was a handsome man, but she really could not see it. He was striking, it was true, being so tall and muscular, but his features were not pleasing, at least not in her eyes.
His eyes were too small, as was his mouth, and his large face appeared even larger because of it.
He was richly dressed, as one would expect, in purple velvet studded with precious stones and his red hair peeked out from beneath a matching velvet cap with a feather for extra decoration.
Queen Katherine was also richly dressed, but she looked dour somehow, as though not enjoying this extravagance. She was duty bound to be here if the King commanded it, but Anne sensed that she would rather have stayed quiet in her chambers. And it seemed to Anne that she was not alone in casting surreptitious glances at the King. Katherine, too was watching and from what Anne had heard, it was likely that lady watched to see on whom her husband’s eyes would rest.
Anne wondered what it must be like, to be a royal princess and Queen to a man who could not stay faithful, one who thought it is his right to spread his favours around every woman to whom he took a fancy.
Katherine had to remain loyal to him, no matter how much he hurt her with his philandering. She had to pretend it was not happening and behave like the Queen she was.
In the past, Queen Katherine had earned the King’s respect and trust and was given regency over the nation when he was away. But it seemed likely she no longer held that trust, that he had grown away from her in recent years. It was sad that a couple who had once loved each other, now after some twenty years had little in common and that he turned elsewhere for comfort.
Anne would never tolerate such infidelity from a husband of hers; she would fight to keep him at her side, no matter what it took. She might be promised to an Irish nobleman she had yet to meet, she might be condemned to the wilds of Ireland, but she would not want to swap places with Queen Katherine just the same.
The Queen was older than her husband, although not by many years, but she looked much older now. Perhaps it was the strain of constantly worrying about producing a son for him, perhaps it was not Henry but those stillborn sons who had broken her heart. Or it could have been the death of her baby boy, Henry, who lived only seven weeks.
How horrible, to hold that child in her arms, to love him, to fill her heart with him, only to have him snatched away. That must have devastated her after the celebrations and the joy of a young prince, an heir to the throne.
Katherine had once been lovely, with soft, plump cheeks and pretty auburn hair, not dark as one would expect of a Spaniard. Indeed she had been very comely when first she came to court to wed this King’s brother.
She had been through a lot since then. It was said that the last King kept her short of everything when his son, Arthur, died and left her a widow. She had certainly not been treated as an important royal princess. She had even been short of basic needs like food for years until Henry VII died and his son succeeded to the throne as well as to his late brother’s widow.
Now it seemed that after so many years of happiness, she was once again to be disrespected. It was sad and Anne decided there and then that she did not like this King and she would never want to be a Queen if this was what it meant.
Anne had been dancing with a young man whose name she had forgotten when the Cardinal finally arrived. Ladies curtsied, men bowed as the man hurried to the King and knelt at his feet. He was completely covered in red, his cloak, his hood, even his gloves. Anne wondered if he expected an outbreak of smallpox, as doctors had declared that wearing the colour red would ward off the disease.
But her eyes wandered past the great churchman to his pages, the young men who followed him, and wondered which one might be James Butler.
There was one among them who caught her eye. He was very handsome, with dark hair and a nicely trimmed beard. He had a good figure as well, the figure of a man who enjoyed sports of all kinds.
But what attracted Anne more than all that was the mischievous smile and the twinkling, dark eyes. She smiled back, then turned away to hide it. If this was her betrothed, she would have no complaint.
She thought it must be him, as he was so blatant in the way he flirted with her from across the room. Surely only a man with a claim would behave so.
She was so fixed on this young man, she did not even notice another young man who appeared beside her and bowed.
“Mistress Boleyn,” he said. “Allow me to present myself. I am James Butler.”
Her heart sank but she forced a smile and turned to face him. He was not nearly so handsome as the one whom she had first noticed. His face was heavier, his nose large and his beard full and bushy, brown like his curly hair. He was not overweight, not in any extreme way at any rate. His teeth were even and no evil smells came from either his breath or his body.
But there was no mischief in his eyes and his smile was absent altogether. A serious man, perhaps, one who would expect no gaiety in his house, no laughter. But perhaps she misjudged him; perhaps he was only hesitant to introduce himself in this company for fear of her reaction.
She curtsied quickly and held out her hand for him to kiss.
“I am pleased to meet you, Sir,” she said.
“And I you,” he replied. “It seems we are promised to each other. I hope that suits you.”
A sharp retort sprang to her tongue, but she forced it back. She doubted Mr Butler had any more say in matters than she did herself.
“I hope it does too,” she said at last. “Perhaps we should dance.”
“I do not dance,” he said. “It is not a skill that is needed in Ireland. At least, not this sort of dancing.”
“What sort is that?”
“A little formal for my taste,” he said. “Irish dancing is more vigorous and carefree.”
“In that case,” said a new voice, “perhaps you’ll not object if the lady dances with me.”
James glanced at the newcomer and shook his head slightly. It was the handsome young man with the mischievous smile.
“Harry,” he said. “I guessed you’d not be far away.”
“Please,” said the man called Harry. “Introduce me.”
“Very well. Mistress Anne Boleyn, may I present my colleague, Lord Harry Percy, heir to the Earldom of Northumberland and too important for his own good.”
James Butler seemed happy enough to step aside and allow Lord Percy to dance with his betrothed. They danced till past midnight, till the King himself ended things by leaving the hall.
The following day, she was called to the Queen’s chambers and told she was to be a maid of honour to Her Majesty.
CHAPTER TWO
The Love of Her Life
ANNE WAS PLEASED TO have been chosen as a member of the Queen’s household, but she found the company somewhat dull. The Queen and her ladies embroidered a lot, and sang, and gossiped but most of all they prayed as Queen Katherine was a very pious woman. She insisted on mass twice a day for all her ladies and the rattle of rosaries and the constant crossing of oneself made Anne very uncomfortable.
When she could do so unobserved, she had spent a lot of time studying the works of Martin Luther and his new ideas about religion. She knew that would be regarded as heresy, so she said nothing, but she wa
s finding the strict Catholic dogma in the Queen’s household to be tedious in the extreme. Anne could not simply follow it all and believe, she needed to question, but she dared not question aloud.
What brightened her evenings was that Cardinal Wolsey often visited the King and when he did so, his page, one Lord Harry Percy, tarried in the Queen’s apartments with her ladies. One in particular caught his eye, that same Mistress Boleyn he had met before, but now they spent much time whispering in corners and laughing together.
That was the start of it and, as well as their evenings in the Queen’s company, they often met alone, in the same spot, a clearing among the trees in the palace grounds. Unless anyone was particularly looking, they would not be noticed, although they had no reason to keep their meetings secret. They talked. Anne told him about her life in France, at the French court, about how much she loved the Queen of that country. Harry talked about his childhood in Northumberland, about how he had been groomed to be the very important and illustrious Earl of that county when his father died.
Their blossoming love for one another meant everything to them and they just wanted to keep it to themselves for a little while, before consent needed to be sought from his father and hers, before their elders got involved and tried to arrange everything.
“That Butler chap thinks you are to marry him,” he said. “You’re not, are you?”
“Not if I have a say. My father is in dispute about the title, thinks it should be his. I am supposed to calm things.”
“They have promised me to the daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury,” he told her. “Her name is Mary, Mary Talbot, but I shall refuse to marry her if you say you will have me.”
They were lying together beneath an oak tree. They had been just lying there, looking up at the clouds, and wishing this could go on forever.
Her eyes sparkled as they met his, as they searched his face to be sure he spoke the truth. Then she reached for him, held him close to her and kissed him. Those kisses were something she had never known before and they aroused feelings in her she could never have imagined. She wanted to feel him against her, feel his body close to hers, wanted to feel that final test of love that she had heard about.
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