“Your strength of will is admirable. Has he tried to make contact with Cecilia since?”
Thomasin realised her cousin was speaking of William Hatton, seated among the Boleyns. Her secret was still safe. “Not that I know of, and I hope he will not.”
“I am not looking at him either. We will support each other in this.”
As she turned back to her plate, Thomasin was aware of Rafe again. She stared into her glass but a figure was crossing the hall, and Will Carey settled into an empty seat before her at the table. If she did not already have the attention of the Boleyn faction, watching one of their own, she did now.
“Ladies, I thought I would come and welcome you to Greenwich. I am glad your journey here was a safe one.”
“We came by river,” Ellen offered.
“Most dignified; a wonderful route. I am pleased you decided to follow the king. I had wondered when we would meet again.”
Thomasin felt uncomfortable. “You are not sitting with your family tonight?”
“My family? Oh, you mean the Boleyns?” He turned to acknowledge them on the next table, with all their eyes needling him.
Thomasin was unable to stop herself from mirroring his gesture, almost as if his eyes dragged hers with them. Sure as she had predicted, Rafe’s black, burning gaze met her for a second and flushed through her chest and cheeks. His look was one of driving questions, almost unbearable.
“I am part of the king’s company, as I have told you, a gentleman of the Privy Chamber; my allegiance lies there.”
Thomasin handed him a plate of wafers. “Then eat with us, for they all stare.”
He smiled and bit into one of the honeycomb shapes. “I suppose they do. They will have their use of me at the appropriate time.”
“Your wife is not here?” asked Ellen.
“No, she remains at Pleshey, our Essex house, as young Henry has been ill.”
“Nothing serious, I hope,” said Thomasin.
“Just a childish illness. It will pass. I will visit in a few weeks, when my term here is up.”
“Master Carey.” The strong tones of Thomas Boleyn called to them across the table. “There is a place for you here.”
Carey turned slowly. “I thank you, but I am intent upon eating all these young ladies’ wafers.”
Thomasin and Ellen giggled.
Boleyn did not desire his son-in-law’s presence sufficiently to push the matter.
“I hope we do not get you into trouble,” Thomasin said, smiling at Carey in spite of Rafe’s eyes, yet buoyant at her own strength in refusing to meet them. The months apart had certainly helped. She felt his presence like a distant temptation, but within her was the strength to resist him.
“Not at all,” he replied, taking another wafer. “I am capable of doing that all by myself.”
It was no surprise to those present that Anne Boleyn was not content to sit and eat quietly while Henry and Catherine ate upon the dais. Not even the wit of Wyatt nor the wisdom of her father could hold her attention. As soon as the plates of sweets were brought out, she picked up a dish of gilded gingerbread and made her way up to the top table in a long, sinuous walk designed to draw attention. Stopping before the king, she made a long pause, holding his eyes with her own, before proffering the treat.
“My Lord, I know you have a fondness for gingerbread.”
Before Henry replied, Catherine gave a terse smile. “Thank you, Mistress Boleyn, but we already have a whole dish to ourselves.”
Anne did not flinch. “I am sure you do, My Lady, but these would taste all the sweeter for having come from my hand.”
A smile twitched over Henry’s lips.
“Perhaps they may do,” Catherine responded, swift and sharp as a pin, “and so as our guest, we cannot deny you the pleasure. Please do return to your table and allow your family to enjoy them. That would give us both the greatest of pleasures, as your hosts.”
It was a deft move. Anne had not expected to be outwitted. She turned to Henry with a look of expectation. “My Lord?”
