He looked disappointed. “Was it something I said? Was the poem too much?”
“No, not at all. It is charming, only I am mindful of the queen.”
“Of course.” He rose at once and gave her a neat bow. “I hope we shall meet again soon.”
She smiled. “We will.”
Taking her hand, he pressed it to his lips. “Perhaps somewhere a little more private.”
“Perhaps.”
She allowed her smile to give him hope, but also to keep her options open.
Thomasin stood staring at the door after he had left, a hundred thoughts racing through her mind, the letter dangling from her fingers. Appearing from the anteroom, clasping her darning, Lady Mary looked at her quizzically.
“What is the matter with you? Do you not like him?”
“I do, oh, I do. I don’t know.”
“Then what is it? Is he not perfect, from the little I could hear?”
“Yes, maybe. Perhaps that’s it. He’s a little too perfect. He’s not the stranger to love that I am.”
Lady Mary raised her eyebrows. “We are all strangers to love at the beginning, but strangers never become friends unless we give them welcome.”
“I suppose not.”
“Believe me, if I was thirty years younger, I would not let that one get away.”
They were still awaiting the queen’s summons, speaking of her situation with the king in hushed tones, when a messenger was admitted to the room. He was a page boy from Henry’s inner chamber, fifteen or so, unsure of himself, bursting with the news he had to deliver.
“Mistress Marwood?”
Thomasin’s heart thumped. What now? “That’s me. What is your message?”
“You are to come at once and remove your sister from the king’s presence, if you please, my Lady.”
Thomasin looked at Lady Mary with horrified eyes. “Remove her? Did the king send you with this?”
“No, my Lady. It was Lady Carey.”
Mary Boleyn? Thomasin got to her feet and grabbed her shawl. “I will come at once.”
She followed the boy along the corridors, through the halls and chambers, up and down steps. It was a dark hour, dinner was over, and the castle was being put to sleep. Torches burned on the walls, casting shadows and pools of light on the floor and walls. With every step, Thomasin felt more heavy, more fearful. What had provoked the summons? Mary Boleyn’s protection of Anne? Her jealousy? Or had Cecilia made a fool of herself?
They heard the music first. Soft strains of lutes in harmony and the high-pitched notes of a pipe. Laughter followed hard upon them, followed by voices, calling for more wine.
The messenger boy looked at Thomasin anxiously.
“What has she been doing?”
“They have retreated into his inner chambers.”
The guards admitted them to a larger, outer room, where various officials sat at dice and cards, drinking and talking. Henry Norris nodded in greeting and, Thomasin was horrified to see, so did William Hatton, the fair-haired favourite of the king who had led Cecilia astray last year and destroyed her wedding. Other faces looked up to see Thomasin’s arrival, but it was Mary Boleyn who approached them, frowning deeply.
“For goodness’ sake, get your sister out of here,” she said between clenched teeth, with no word of warning.
The hostile set of her features disposed Thomasin to play innocent. Although she loathed Cecilia’s mission, and found her methods extreme, she was still her sister, and they were united against the Boleyns.
