Thomasin floundered. “Is it that simple, keeping him from Anne? I mean, that will not give him a son.”
“No,” Brandon admitted. “You are right. It will not.” The pale eyes were fixed upon her. “You are Marwood’s daughter, aren’t you?”
Thomasin felt her cheeks colour. “I am, sir.”
“Not the one…”
“No,” she jumped in at once. “The younger one.”
“Ah,” he grunted, biting into a haunch of venison. “Could you see yourself in the role?”
“Which role?” asked Thomasin, feeling uncomfortable.
“Why, in the king’s bed, of course. Pretty thing like you.”
Thomasin’s throat contracted. It could be her father of whom they were speaking. “No, sir, absolutely not.”
“You sound most certain.”
“I have the most particular reasons for refusing.”
He looked at her oddly. “Already taken, are you? That’s no barrier, never has been. Even better if they’re married.”
She could not stop thoughts of her mother arising. “No, sir, I must be adamant.”
“Taken a vow, have you?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, never mind, plenty out there willing. Another woman would break the hold the Boleyn girl has on him.”
“Have a care to whom you speak so freely,” added Compton at Brandon’s side, his expression serious for once. “You never know to which allegiance you speak.”
“But it is a matter for all,” Brandon asserted, “bigger than king and queen alone. The Boleyn woman and her friends speak of reforms to the faith that she saw in France. She encourages the king to overturn two centuries of allegiances to Spain and the Empire, and would have him imperil our very souls.”
“Still,” said Compton, eyeing the women.
“Please, do not hold back on my account,” Thomasin said, with feigned innocence. “I am only a young girl newly come from the country; I am here merely to serve my mistress.”
Brandon looked into her face for a moment, then roared with laughter. “A green girl, she claims, although her ruddy cheeks speak of quite the opposite colour. Mistress Marwood, you are sharper than you would have us believe. Come, let’s drink to the health of king and queen, whatever our allegiances might be. God will decide all.”
“Indeed he will,” said Compton, raising his cup.
Thomasin blushed and followed suit.
NINE
A fire had been lit in the wide, stone hearth, filling the room with heat and light. The Duchess of Suffolk’s apartments were pleasant enough, Thomasin thought, looking around her, with the gold embroidered curtains and the pleasant view over the gardens. It was getting dark outside, and the torches had been lit on the walls, glimmering in welcome.
Ellen helped Catherine into the chair closest to the flames. Catherine eased herself down slowly, suffering from her old complaint in her back and hips.
Gently, Thomasin knelt on the floor and pulled back the embroidered hem of Catherine’s dress, sewn with pomegranates and roses, to reveal her red velvet shoes. The little button was easy to release from its hook and each shoe slid off in turn. Catherine sighed in relief. Ellen brought wine.
Mountjoy had followed them up from dinner. He came into the room and bowed low. “My Lady, I have spoken again with the cardinal, and he assures me that the queen’s apartments will be ready tomorrow. They need to be fumigated and washed down in case of infection. I hope that will be sufficient.”
“Thank you, William, that will suffice. We shall be comfortable here for one night.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you, My Lady?”
