“That is excellent news. We had heard about the illness and were most anxious about you. But we received your letters, which reassured us greatly.”
“And I received yours. They were such a great comfort. We are well, thus far, thanks be to God. But Father, what brings you here?”
Richard nodded and took a seat. “I was summoned by Cromwell, as you may have deduced. He wishes to pick my legal brain, but I have not been able, or willing, to assist him.”
“About the king and queen’s marriage?”
“The very same. Because my particular jurisdiction has included marital cases, he wishes for my assistance. I had to assist in the Church courts, after the sweat wiped out almost a whole monastic community at Bury St Edmunds, so I became more learned in the matter. Truly,” he said more quietly, “there is more to it, of which I cannot speak here.”
“Of course not,” Thomasin acceded, taking his hint. “You see More is here, and Margaret and Will, and John Dudley?”
“It is almost like old times,” her father admitted. “And how is the queen?”
Thomasin looked up at Catherine, resplendent in her jewels upon the dais. She had insisted upon heaping on her diamonds and pearls after they had arrived at Greenwich, since she was back in Anne’s company. She had stopped speaking with Maria and now watched as Henry and Anne partnered each other amid the dancers.
“She is sad,” admitted Thomasin truthfully. “This is a torment to her. She is a good woman, a queen, and she is being treated most cruelly.”
“Hush,” said Richard at once. “Do not let anyone hear you speak so, as it can be construed as speaking ill of the king.”
“I understand. But it is the truth.”
“Now, here is your wine, my Lady.” William Carey had reappeared, holding one glass. “I have delivered the other to Margaret. Good day, sir, am I right in thinking you are Sir Richard Marwood?”
“Indeed I am, and you are William Carey. A good day to you too, sir.”
“Alas, I bring you no wine, only my most heartfelt greeting and gratitude for the company of your daughter.”
“Is that so?” Richard raised his eyebrows and looked searchingly at Thomasin.
“Can I go back and bring you a glass?”
“No, thank you, I am well.”
Across the room, Thomasin became aware of Nico’s eyes upon her. He stood at the side of the Venetian group, watching her interaction, as if judging his moment.
No doubt at some point she would have to speak with him, but not at the present time, not before all these people, especially not her father.
“That was well done,” cried Henry, as the dancers slowed to their final positions. “Another, play another, play ‘Love’s Idleness’, let’s dance again.”
He had Anne by the hand and was looking about the hall, flushed in the face, as if he had forgotten who or where he was. By his side, Anne’s face was glowing, her eyes lit bright.
“Shall we?” asked Carey, recognising the tune.
“Oh, I hardly know. My father…”
“Go on, dance,” said Richard, taking her wine from her hand and placing himself in a chair beside Thomas More. “It will give me and my old friend a chance to catch up.”
Thomasin allowed herself to be led onto the floor, in formation beside Jane and George Boleyn. The musicians struck up their chords and Thomasin joined the women in curtseying to the men before them.
Dancing with Will Carey was always a pleasant, civilised matter. He led and she followed in agreed formation, but it was more out of deference than the combative attitude of some dancers. It was elegant, simple. He would have been slow in comparison with Rafe or even with Nico, but he was easier to partner than either of them. Carey always made her feel comfortable and safe, so that she could be herself. He was always attentive, never distant or troubling. Perhaps, after all, that constant sense of easiness was better than the brief intensity of passion.
He took her hands and smiled as they walked in a circle. Briefly, Thomasin then had to partner George Boleyn, while Will Carey partnered Jane, bowing and striding forward arm in arm.
“Good evening, Mistress Marwood,” Anne’s brother ventured.
“Evening, my Lord,” she said back softly, always uncertain of his moods, but never of his allegiance.
The dance moved on. Carey appeared before her again, moving in step with the men. They joined hands and turned one way, then the other. Then, the circle rotated again and Thomasin was disappointed to see him replaced by William Compton, with his wide, lascivious grin.
