But the king did not wish to escalate the gingerbread into a scene. “Please,” he replied, with a wave of the hand. “Enjoy them.”
Anne struggled to conceal her pique. “I will do as you wish, My Lord. They will fortify me for when we exercise our dogs together later. I am sure both Your Majesties would wish me to be hale and hearty for that occasion.”
She did not return to her table, as Henry had intended, but crossed the floor to where Brandon and Compton sat, and Truegood and Collins looked on, sharing the gingerbread with them and throwing back her head in laughter. Thomasin thought it a transparent attempt to rouse Henry’s jealousy.
The king, though, was not to be drawn in today. He beckoned to Bishop Fisher to come and sit on a low seat beside him, and soon the pair were deep in what appeared to be an earnest conversation. Presently Wolsey joined them, nodding in agreement, with a most serious countenance. Anne’s laughter did not even penetrate.
Thomasin watched the king and queen for a while, comforted by Catherine’s small victory. Then, her line of sight was broken by a figure on the next table rising to their feet. Rafe was standing in the way, in response to the musicians beginning to sound their instruments, and she was unable to escape him. He looked very much the same, his hair swept back under a cap, his dark clothing familiar across his broad shoulders. She had forgotten how tall he was.
That gaze was impenetrable, expressionless, save for the control it exerted. Thomasin felt the power he had once held over her; the intensity of her feeling, the physical response that almost bordered on obsession. But then his final cruel words from last autumn returned to her, twisting her guts. “You little fool … to whose household do I belong? Who pays for my bed and board? To whom do I owe my allegiance?”
She pulled her eyes away. But, to her dismay, he was coming closer.
Thomasin squirmed in her seat.
“Will you dance?”
Her heart leapt into her throat. How dared he approach her, ask her? Did he think she would even speak with him, or pick up the threads of their former intimacy?
Anger flooded through her, almost making her burst, and she shook her head in fury.
Rafe turned away. She did not see his reaction, but instead, he offered his hand to Jane Boleyn and led her through the trestles to the empty part of the floor.
“The dance!” announced Henry, with an air of forced jollity. “Let those who will, take their partners. It is a long time since we have danced like this.” Yet he made no move to rise from his seat and participate. Seeing this, Anne held out her hand to her brother. George cast her his infectious smile, and they assumed a central place on the floor.
The men were on the move now, taking their partners. Charles Brandon stood up with Maria Willoughby, Gertrude was claimed by Hugh Truegood and Ellen blushed as Henry Norris approached her.
“Shall we?” asked Will Carey, nodding to Thomasin.
She accepted happily and they joined the formation at the far end, closest to the king and queen. Close enough to be just within earshot, if she turned her head on the side.
“Do you not wish to retire now?” she heard Henry ask Catherine. “You must be fatigued after your journey.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” Catherine replied, “but I am quite well. I am looking forward to watching the dance and I am hoping for a few rounds of cards before I sleep.”
Thomasin noticed Henry’s swift glance towards Anne and understood his motives.
The musicians struck up the first notes, a lilting melody that rose and fell before the refrain, redolent of love and summer. Thomasin vaguely knew the dance but was a little unsure how to start, so she waited with the line of women until they made their first steps, parading about in a circle on the spot whilst the men looked on admiringly. Next they closed in towards their partners, linking arms, and began their pattern of steps, back and forth. Carey was a good dancer, as Thomasin had observed before. She was able to follow him with ease and, as fortune dictated, Rafe was on the further side of the group.
“You did not wish to dance with Mister Danvers?”
Thomasin coloured. “I did not mean to appear rude.”
“No, not rude. Just certain. You may dance with whoever you please, or not.”
This was a refreshing response. “Thank you.”
Carey shook off the topic. “So what do you make of Greenwich?”
“I have seen little yet, but it all seems to be beautiful, far more so than Windsor. Maybe even Hampton.”
“Well, the cardinal will not like that,” he smiled, nodding to where Wolsey sat. “He has not smiled once since he arrived here.”
“He smiles?” laughed Thomasin. “I did not think him capable.”
“He will smile well enough when he has his minion Cromwell back at his side to do his bidding. Or when the king has rewarded him with some new estate.”
“He is coming here? Cromwell?” The thought of the odious man filled Thomasin with distaste.
