“We will think on it,” the king said. “Where is the girl now?”
“Recovering from our long journey, my liege. I thought not to bring her to court until we reached Greenwich,” Lord Cambridge said.
The king nodded. “She will be welcome, and I shall look forward to meeting her. Is she like her sisters and her mother, Thomas?”
“Nay, my lord. She is like her father, Owein Meredith, God assoil his good soul,” said Lord Cambridge as he crossed himself. “She is fair and blond.”
“I have a taste for dark hair these days, Thomas,” the king remarked.
“So I have heard it said, my lord,” was the reply.
The king burst out laughing. “You have been talking to Althorp, I have not a doubt. If he were not the best tailor in England I should have lopped his head off long ago, but no one can fashion a doublet like he can, eh, Thomas?” And King Henry VIII laughed harder. “Perhaps I should cut his tongue out, for he needs it not to sew, but then I should not learn half the things I learn of those who people my court. He is valuable to me in many ways, I must admit.”
“He speaks kindly of you, my liege,” Lord Cambridge assured the king.
“He dare not speak otherwise”—the king chuckled—“eh, Will Somers?” He looked to his fool, who sat by his knee.
“I shall have to consult with Margot,” the king’s fool said, looking at the small monkey on his shoulder. “She knows far more than I do, Hal.” The king’s favorite fool, Somers had certain privileges that others close to the king did not.
“Does she still bite?” Lord Cambridge inquired of the fool.
“Indeed, my lord, she does, but she is most particular of the fingers she nips.” The fool chuckled, and he tickled the little monkey beneath her chin as it chattered its approval, and then nestled closer to Will Somers’s neck.
The interview was over, and Lord Cambridge bowed to the king, saying, “I shall look forward to seeing your majesty again at Greenwich.” He backed from the privy chamber as the king waved an acknowledgment of his departure. It had gone well, Thomas Bolton thought. It was almost as if the years between his last visit and this one did not exist. But they did. And much had changed at court with Wolsey gone. He debated whether he should pay his respects to the queen, and decided against it. He needed to know the lay of the land better. He could not involve himself or Elizabeth in the politics of whatever was happening between the king and the queen, and Mistress Anne Boleyn.
But he decided to remain at Richmond for a few hours. He greeted old friends, listened to gossip, and just before he left he finally saw the lady at the center of the scandal. She was a tall, slender girl with sharp features, but she was indeed, as all the talk he had heard that day, the most elegant creature he had ever seen. Beautiful as Elizabeth was? Nay. Anne Boleyn could not be called beautiful, but there was an aura about her that was absolutely mesmerizing. Unable to help himself, he stared.
And as if she sensed the admiration directed at her, Mistress Anne turned and met his glance, her dark, almond-shaped eyes taking him in slowly and carefully. She leaned her head to speak to one of her companions. Then, fixing him with her gaze again, she said, “You are Lord Cambridge, I am told.”
Thomas Bolton bowed. “I am,” he said.
“I had heard it said that there was no one who visited the court who dressed so fashionably, my lord,” Anne Boleyn remarked. “How is it you live in the north, yet your garments are so à la mode?”
“I would consider it a deficiency, madame, to appear at court otherwise,” he told her with a small smile. “If the truth be told, this garment is not quite up to my standards, but Master Althorp is not yet finished with my new wardrobe. I had not meant to come to court until it had arrived at Greenwich, but I could not resist presenting myself before the king today. I have brought my cousin’s youngest daughter, an heiress, for her first visit.”
“Ah, you are shopping for a husband for the girl,” Anne said boldly. “Well, there are plenty here who will be happy to take a rich wife.”
“But Elizabeth seeks not a man like that, madame, but rather one who will husband not only her, but her estates of Friarsgate,” Lord Cambridge explained. “Any man who wants her must live in the north.”
“Well, that should narrow the field,” Sir Thomas Wyatt, who was Anne’s relation, said. “What think you, coz? Do we know such a fellow?” He was among Mistress Boleyn’s boon companions, as was her brother, George.
Anne ignored him. “I hope Mistress Elizabeth will enjoy her stay, my lord,” she said. “The court is a most fascinating place.”
“Made more so by your presence,” Thomas Bolton heard himself say, to his surprise. Then, bowing, he moved away. What on earth had prompted him to voice such a thought? Was it some instinct that this slight girl would be a power to be reckoned with one day? He shook his head and hurried to reach his barge. He needed to go home and consider everything he had seen and heard today.
He found Elizabeth walking about in his riverside garden as he came up the stone steps from the barge quay. “Dear girl,” he exclaimed with a smile, “are you well rested? And where is your sister? I have just come from Richmond, where I paid my respects to his majesty, and I have even spoken with Mistress Boleyn. I must tell you, dear girl, she is a most interesting lady. I did not, however, visit the queen. I do not yet understand the full measure of what is happening, but from all I have heard the poor woman is indeed out of favor, and being virtually ignored except by a few old and loyal friends.”
“Then your day has been a productive one, Uncle. I am glad. The sooner we conclude this visit and return home, the happier I will be,” Elizabeth said.
“Have you and Philippa quarreled, dear girl?” he asked her.
Elizabeth sighed deeply. “I have held my tongue, Uncle, though she tries me sorely. I understand that my sister loves the court, and being here makes her happy. But I love Friarsgate, and being there makes me happy. Why can she not understand it? All day I have listened to her cry the glories of the society she inhabits while carping on how backwards our upbringing was in that cold northern clime, as she persists in calling it.”
“You are wise to say naught, dear girl,” he told her. “She would only argue her point harder. I understand that you love your home, and we are here but for one purpose: to attempt to find you a suitable mate who will love Friarsgate as well as he loves you. If after a reasonable period of time that man is not available to us, then we shall return north. But if we do, dear girl, then we must actively seek a mate for you there, which I suspect we might have done with more vigor previously. But ’tis water beneath London Bridge now. We are here, and you should enjoy the revelries we will encounter. There is no better month than May, except perhaps December, in which to visit court, dear girl.”
“I must take your word for it, Uncle,” Elizabeth said dispiritedly.
“I found the Boleyn girl rather interesting,” he continued in an attempt to intrigue her, for Elizabeth enjoyed a puzzle.
