“Are you sure?”
Thomasin turned to her cousin and saw the brightness in her eyes. “I am sure. But, it seems, so are you. I believe you are sweet on him.”
Ellen blushed. “Is it wrong? I am still married to Barnaby.”
“Not wrong, not at all. Barnaby treated you in the most shameful manner, and now has threatened to divorce you. Why shouldn’t you start again and be happy? You are still young enough.”
“Do you think?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And you have no further interest in…”
“None at all. You should make yourself known to him, if he is the one you desire.”
Thomasin felt the irony of her words, soaked through with her restrained passion for Rafe. But there were no such issues between Hugh and Ellen, all was simplicity.
“But how? I feel so uncertain around him. All the things I can think of make me feel like a fool.”
“What did you think of?”
Ellen smiled. “Perhaps a letter, or after dancing with him, I could invite him to walk in the gardens, should the queen not object, or I might wait where he will pass.”
Thomasin could not help but laugh. “You need no ideas from me, cousin. I think he could be wooed, won and betrothed by the week’s end.”
“Oh, look, William Carey is riding by.”
Ellen was nodding at the approaching riders, among whom they saw Carey’s eyes searching the crowd. When he saw Thomasin, he nodded and smiled, before riding on to take his position.
“There,” pronounced Ellen, “he was looking for you. I am certain he would give you the favour from his lance, if he had been able to.”
“He could not do so as a married man.”
“No one believes in that sham of a marriage anymore. Where is his wife?” Ellen leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “No longer in the king’s bed!”
“Ellen, hush!” Thomasin looked round, afraid that Catherine would have overheard her indiscreet remark, but the queen was talking intently with Maria. The Spanish gentlewoman held her young daughter close to her side, unwilling to let her go after their separation.
The trumpets sounded again and the crowd fell silent, looking to the king and queen for approval. With the colourful competitors lined up, lances pointing forward, the tilting was ready to begin. Henry broke away from Anne, who had moved her chair closer to his side, and stood before the crowd. With one majestic flourish, he lifted his arm as high as it might go, then brought it down in a swoop. The first hooves thundered down the track.
NINETEEN
The dancers moved in formation, crossing and re-crossing the hall in a complex ritual that Thomasin didn’t recognise. Anne’s bright orange skirts swirled about her as she led the way, head thrown back, body moving elegantly to the rhythm. She offered her hand to her brother, George, resplendent in his cap covered in gold aiglets, then joined with Francis Bryan to perform a different manoeuvre.
“Apparently it’s a new dance she has developed based on a French format,” commented Margaret Roper at Thomasin’s side. “A favourite of Francis himself.”
“There seems to be a lot of swapping of partners,” Thomasin observed, as Anne was now side stepping with Henry Norris, who then handed her on to William Compton.
“Oh, I am sure that’s why he liked it,” said Margaret wryly.
Thomasin raised her eyebrows.
“You must have heard of his reputation, the king of France? Anne’s own sister was one of his conquests. I wonder if that’s what gave her the idea.”
Thomasin thought at once of Mary Boleyn, and then almost immediately of Will Carey. Was this yet another painful secret he’d had to turn a blind eye to?
“You know he had Da Vinci staying at his court?” Margaret continued. “He lived in a house in the grounds of Chateau Amboise, while Anne was there.”
The name meant nothing to Thomasin. Margaret saw her confusion and laughed.
