The Last Boleyn (43 page)

“What night?”

“The night you were wed at court. I heard them all tearing through the hall laughing, and I went to the stables and got raving drunk with the grooms and stable boys. Lost a good bit of money gambling, too.”

“Did you, my love? You never told me that.”

He closed the door and shot the bolt firmly. “There are many things I never told you of my suffering for you, sweetheart. But that is all behind us now and, pray God, things will always be better for us in the future together.”

He smiled a deep, lazy smile and pulled her gently over to the fire. The room smelled of fresh herbs and clean rushes rustled on the wooden floor. Deftly he unlaced her dress and it fell in a pink pool at her feet. His arms encircled her and they stood in the warmth of the fire and their love.

“Wine, sweet?” his voice came quietly in her hair.

“I think I have had quite enough wine, my Staff.”

He lifted her in one fluid motion before she even sensed he would do so. “I think you have had quite enough of everything except me and the loving I intend to give you, Mary Bullen, Lady Stafford.”

He laid her gently on the bed and stood to undress. His voice came muffled from under his shirt and doublet as he pulled them off as one garment. “I promise you, sweet, if you do lie on this bed awake half the night, it will not be with longing that I would touch you as last time we were here.”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “But you were long sleeping. How did you know of that?”

He laughed deep in his throat as he bent to strip off his breeks. “I told you, golden Mary, there are some things in my longing for you that you do not know. You had best make a careful study of me over the years, and perhaps you will learn what I mean.”

“I intend to my lord. If only we could live together openly!”

“We will, sweetheart. We will, somehow and as soon as we can manage it. If Anne should bear him a son, I will ask him outright, but enough of that other world. This one is ours.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

March 17, 1534

Hampton Court

I
t was the earliest spring Mary could remember and the mazelike gardens were newly alive with tiny nubs of purple and yellow crocus, and the thin branches of forsythia stirred with new life in their golden buds. She gently stroked her flat belly against the mauve velvet of her gown. It gave no sign yet, but soon enough she would begin to swell with the growth of Staff's first child. They had waited a year for this and now she would tell him. He would be somewhat alarmed, for he knew that the babe would eventually necessitate their telling the king and queen and asking to be dismissed or allowed to live together at court. But they were so happy, whether they had to meet in secret or not, that they could weather even that.

She inhaled a deep breath laden with the aromas of moist spring earth and sat on the marble bench in the deserted rose garden near their hidden bower where they often met during the afternoons when they could slip away. Married more than a year, she mused, the smile on her lips again. If only the Boleyn fortunes had not been so shaky lately and Anne so hysterical and distraught, they would have told them long ago.

Mary glanced up at the wing of the nursery which directly overlooked these gardens. The six-month-old Princess Elizabeth no doubt slept or played beyond those windows—the child who was to have been the prince Anne and the king's astrologers had promised him. It was a white-faced, red-haired child whose christening at Greenwich the king refused to attend. The Boleyns had huddled behind Archbishop Cranmer as he blessed their best hope to hold the crown. And worst of all, Anne had newly miscarried of a pregnancy. Now the Boleyns were in fear and disarray and even father showed desperation in his darting eyes. This was no time for them to be told of a new marriage or pregnancy of their black sheep daughter Mary. But if only the king would cease to look elsewhere as he had lately with various mistresses and would bed with the queen, Anne could conceive again. Then they would surely tell them, and then...

There were quick footsteps on the gravel path, and she ducked back into their little bower. The interior was not so hidden with its leaves and flowers yet to come, but the vines and briars were fairly thick. Staff was here, his head and shoulders blocking out the garden beyond.

“Stephen tells me his Nancy says you wanted to see me, sweetheart. Is anything amiss?” He took a step toward her and his hands went to her waist.

“Not amiss, love, but I wanted to tell you something. Did you have difficulty getting away?”

“No. His Grace is with a messenger from his sister in Suffolk, and Cromwell is closeted with your father. Cromwell has taken to giving me one raised eyebrow lately and wishing me a good night's sleep, so I assume he knows or suspects how much I see you.”

“But he could not know we are wed!”

“Sometimes I do not know what the man knows or thinks. But I
do
sense that he is amazingly protective of you, for His Grace obviously knows nothing of us. It seems to have dropped from the king's realm of interest what I do, although he always wants me about on the sporting field. At least he has given up on that foolish Dorsey match for me.” He smiled rakishly and took a step deeper into the bower. “I do not fancy
two
wives to please.”

She pushed out her lower lip in an intentional pout. “I am starting to believe you do not deserve to hear what I have to tell you at all.”

“No? It is important then? Tell me!” He gave her waist a little squeeze.

“Well, my lord, it is only that we are going to have to weather the storm sometime in the near future and tell them we are wed.”

“Your sister would go right through the roof, sweet, and His Grace has been continually on edge since he signed his friend Sir Thomas More's bill of execution.” His face changed suddenly and his eyes widened. “Why did you say we must tell them in the near future, love? What are you telling me?”

She smiled up at him and her arms went around his neck. “My dear Lord Stafford, you have always known everything about me without my having to tell you. Have you so changed? Has marriage so dulled your senses?”

He stared down incredulous. “Mary!” He picked her up and tried to spin them, but her feet and skirts caught in the wooden trellis and the briars pulled at their clothes.

“Put me down, Staff! You cannot do that in here!” They both collapsed against each other weak with laughter.

He seized her hands in a powerful grip against his red velvet chest. “You are with child, my love?”

She nodded wide-eyed, drinking in his wordless joy.

“How long? Did you just discover it?”

“I did not just discover it, my lord, but now I am certain. In late September or early October I would judge. An heir for Wivenhoe, my love.”

“Yes, an heir for Wivenhoe and for freedom away from court and all their damned intrigues. But, lass, unlike some, I will be happy with a beautiful daughter that has her mother's eyes.” He bent and kissed her gently as though he were suddenly afraid she were fragile.

“I will not break, you know, Staff, not even when I begin to swell. I would not want you to think that you have to...”

“Have no fear of that, my sweetheart.” He bent to kiss her again, but raised his head and listened. “Now who the deuce is shouting like that at such a momentous time? I am so happy for our wonderful news, Mary.”

“Did you think it would never happen? Thirty years of age is hardly past childbearing years, you know.” She gave him a playful poke in his midsection and he grinned like a small boy. Then she heard it too, a call from far away in the gardens. Nancy's voice calling her name?

“Oh no, not a summons to Anne's chamber. I cannot bear her ranting and raving, Staff. She is utterly beside herself. It is worse than that week in France when you all rode out with Francois and she stormed and screamed for five days. I know she is desperate and frightened, but any words of comfort she just rips to shreds.”

“Yes, it is Nancy, sweet, and Lady Wingfield. Go on now, I may be late tonight, but I will wake you if you are asleep, and we will properly celebrate our good news then.” He kissed her quickly and disappeared in the direction of the river opposite from Nancy's approach. She suddenly wished she had waited to tell him when they were really alone with no interruptions upon their joy. But, then, this place had its own beautiful memories, and she had always planned to tell him here when it happened.

Mary flounced out her skirts and hoped Lady Wingfield would not notice the tiny pulls in the materials from the mad spinning against the rose vines. She raised her hand to Nancy as the two women caught sight of her strolling toward them.

“I was trying to call loudly for you, my lady,” Nancy assured her with a conspiratory wink.

“Thank you, girl,” Lady Wingfield cut in. “You did indeed know where your mistress likes to walk in the afternoons. Lady Rochford, the queen is calling for you and unless you come quickly with me, the others will bear the brunt of her temper.”

“Then we shall go directly, Lady Wingfield. Do you know the cause of the summons?”

They hurried across the spring gardens, somehow changed by the fact that Mary had to go back to Anne's dark, vaulted room where she had only two weeks ago borne the dead child.

“The cause, lady? Hurt, and vile temper, and fear, but I beg you, do not tell the queen or the little Rochford I said so.”

Mary glanced at the sweet-faced, gray-haired matron as they climbed the stairs. “No, lady, I will not tell her that her dear companion can see things clearly.”

“I know you do also, Lady Rochford,” the woman whispered to Mary as they wended their way among the small crowd outside the queen's chambers. “You are somehow different from the others.”

“'Sbones, where have you been hiding, Mary?” came Anne's sharp voice from the depths of the bed, even before Mary could see her pinched white face staring out at them all.

“In the gardens, Your Grace. I did not know you would be requiring me again or I would not have strayed.”

“Dreaming you were home at Hever, I suppose. Well, you had best stay closer in the future. As it is, both father and I wish to speak with you.”

A tiny knot twisted in Mary's stomach. She and her father had hardly been on speaking terms this last year since she had argued with him about his secret visits to her son at Hatfield. He had even taken to sending Cromwell as go-between if he wished to ask her a question or give an order.

“Sit here on the bed, sister,” Anne motioned with a slender jeweled hand. “I get rather dizzy with everyone standing about or moving around the room all the time.”

Mary sat gently on the foot of the bed. Anne's body had fully healed from her miscarriage, but she seemed unwilling to rise from her bed despite what the doctors said.

“First, I would have some of the truth, and I know I will not get it from the simpering faces around me. Jane Rochford tells me—at my insistence—that my husband the king has been visiting others at night. I know that if he is seeing them at night, he is bedding them. I have long known there are various court ladies who are greedy little sluts enough to let him do as he will. Is that true, what Jane says? Is it come to that already? Tell me, Mary, for I would know. Cromwell, father and George are lying to me. Is it true?”

“I seldom see the king, sister, as you know. And I am not there to see...”

“Is it true, Mary? You may not be there but Stafford is about, and I know you two still see each other. Well?”

Mary held her breath, then let the words out in a rush. “I have heard that your information is correct, Your Grace.”

“Then I must arise and get my strength back. Father is planning something drastic and it does not include me. I must get my looks and laughter back and then we shall see who holds this king! I can conceive again, Mary. This child was ill-formed and it was not my fault. They whisper I am the cause of it, but it is not—it cannot—be true. They say I bewitched him and my sixth tiny finger shows that I am a witch!” Her voice broke and Mary pressed her thin hand between her own.

“Who has told you these vile rumors, Anne? Jane Rochford?”

Ignoring her question and comforting touch, Anne plunged on, “The Boleyns have fine healthy children like Elizabeth, like your Henry and Catherine. I shall have another—a boy!” The queen struggled to the edge of the bed and dangled her legs still under the sheets. “No, get back all of you and leave us for a while. My sister will help me. Rochford and Lady Wingfield may stay. Everyone else, leave me!

“Here, Mary, let me lean on you. In a week I shall be back with him and there shall be no more fly-by-night whores in his bed. I shall get the names and if any of them are my ladies, they will be banished.” Anne's eyes refocused on Mary's worried face and she seemed to calm somewhat. “Here now, sister, I had something to tell you of your little Harry. His Grace is sending Elizabeth in style with a full household of her own to be raised at Hatfield, so Henry Fitzroy and your son will be sent elsewhere for their tutoring.”

Anne rose with Mary's help and walked a few unsteady steps. “Really, Mary, do not look so distraught. You must not expect the lad to stay with Fitzroy much longer anyway, since Bessie Blount's illegitimate son is older and should be sent to the law courts soon. Your Harry is only nephew to the king by marriage.”

“Yes, Your Grace, I understand. Where will he be sent?”

“I am not certain. Cromwell is deciding a good place. I cannot fathom that I could feel so exhausted from but a few steps.”

“Cromwell? Cannot
you
decide, Your Grace?”

“Yes, of course the final decision is mine. Cromwell only works for me, you know.”

“Rather like, he serves the king,” Mary replied before she could stop her thoughts.

“And what do you imply by that? Help me back to bed. I do not wish to have your pious lectures about anything, including that the little bastard Mary Tudor should be allowed to visit her Spanish mother. She must be made to serve as Elizabeth's handmaid and companion. Do not look so grieved. It will be a good lesson to her. She and her wretched mother must learn who is queen and who is only princess of the realm now. I could also appoint your Catherine to live at Hatfield since the Duchess of Suffolk has been so ill and at Westhorpe unable to return to court. Elizabeth should have her little cousin with her. You would like little Catherine to be well provided for, would you not?”

“Yes, oh yes. Thank you, sister.” Tears of relief sprang to Mary's eyes, for she had worried over Catherine's future as she had heard daily of the worsening health of her dear friend Mary Tudor, beloved Duchess of Suffolk. All the court knew the king's sister had hovered at the very door of death these past weeks.

“I thank the saints you are not queen here, Mary. Your spine and heart of jelly would hardly do the Boleyns any good. Though I am strong and will not bow to their whims, the people and court will come to love me when they have their prince. And—they will have him from my body as soon as I am well again.” She collapsed weakly to a sitting position on the bed. Mary lifted her legs and covered her with the sheet. “Tell Jane to fetch Cromwell.”

Jane's face appeared beside Mary's as though she had heard every word they had shouted or whispered. “I will fetch him, Your Grace,” she said, and darted back from the bed in a swift curtsey.

“And tell him nothing, Jane. Just fetch him and do not tell His Grace you do so,” Anne added, her eyes still on Mary.

“Then I should go to see what father wants, Your Grace,” Mary said bending slightly over Anne after Jane had departed.

“Wait, wait! Sit again. There is something else.” Mary did so.

“I promise you I will take care of your two children and that I will continue to ignore your little liaison with William Stafford, at least until His Grace and I find you a husband, but you must be my friend, Mary. You must!” Her fingers gripped Mary's arm hard.