“I intend to watch,” replied Catherine. “I am queen here, and I will see all her little schemes play out, so that I know what I am to deal with.”
“She will have to find a time to have her moment,” agreed Maria.
Catherine nodded. “If this is all I have to fear, mere dancing, then I will be content.”
And her eyes followed Henry and Anne onto the floor, where they took their place amid the line of dancers.
As the music began, they moved closer, face to face, then back again, turning and passing each other, eye to eye. Anne leaned in towards the king, whispering something in his ear. Henry’s lips curved into an involuntary smile. Tired of witnessing such a blatant display, Thomasin rose to fetch herself some wine.
The first song complete, Henry and Anne made no sign of retiring, but stood awaiting the next chord, their eyes fixed upon each other. Catherine sat still, watching the intense attraction that she had witnessed between them before. At least Anne’s mask kept up some pretence of respectability, Thomasin thought, although no one in the entire court was unaware of her identity.
“My lady?” Thomas Wyatt, freed from his dragon scales, offered his hand to Ellen, who turned to the queen in surprise.
“Go and dance with Mr Wyatt,” said Catherine, “I insist.”
As Ellen rose to participate, Rafe appeared at Thomasin’s side, still wearing his Turkish robes and slippers, his mask jingling with bells. “And you, my lady, will you partner me for this dance?”
“No, wait,” said Catherine, interrupting him. “I do not mind my ladies dancing with dragons, but how can I entrust one to an infidel?” Then she smiled at her rare flash of humour and waved them away, into the dance. With mixed feelings, Thomasin let Rafe lead her, taking her place beside Ellen, down the line from where Anne faced the king.
“What did you think of the masque?” Rafe grinned.
“The queen enjoyed it very much, as did the princess.”
“And you, Thomasin? What did you think?”
“I thought it was very good,” she managed, without wishing to seem too encouraging.
“Any dancers in particular catch your eye?”
The trumpet sounded for the dance to begin, and the line of men advanced towards the women.
“Oh, yes.” Thomasin smiled. “Mr Wyatt is almost as good a dragon as he is a poet!”
Rafe laughed as he took her arm and led her in a circle. “Well, I noticed there were some very pretty ladies in the audience.”
They followed the line of the other couples, before breaking into groups of four. Rafe and Thomasin made a circle with Ellen and Wyatt, while the king and Anne danced with Nan Gainsford and the new young man.
“Who is that?” asked Thomasin, as the latter passed them by. “The man dancing with Nan?”
“Oh, him?” Rafe replied dismissively. “That is just George Zouche. You would do best not to think of him, Thomasin. You would not like him at all, with his japes and tricks; all is mockery to him.”
“I had no intention of thinking of him.”
“Good,” was all Rafe said, with a satisfied smile.
Thomasin turned away and followed Ellen back into the line of women.
“Rafe looks well tonight,” whispered her cousin.
“And he knows it,” Thomasin replied. “He is too assured for his own good sometimes!”
The chord changed and the pairs paused. Thomasin turned away from Rafe, and followed Ellen to the other pair of men, coming face to face with Henry Norris and the king himself.
“Ladies.” Both Henries bowed low, then the refrain was played again and they joined up to make a circle, rotating round to one side then the other. It felt strange to Thomasin, when the king offered his hand and she was obliged to take it. Her own felt small in his and his grip was firm as he led her through the moves.
“You are well, Mistress Marwood?”
“Very well, thank you, my lord.”
