“Glad to see your parents?”
“I am. I thank you for inviting them.”
Henry smiled and turned away, as the dance required. Briefly, she was face to face with Norris, whose dark eyes sparkled in greeting, before she was restored to the king.
“I do hope you are merry and of good cheer to enjoy the season,” Henry stated, part in question, part in direction.
“Yes, my lord. I especially enjoyed the masque!”
“All Anne’s devising, you know. Wolsey takes the credit, but the story, the dancing, and the costumes were all hers, so clever she is.”
Thomasin smiled politely but did not reply. Anne herself was nearby, having replaced Thomasin’s former position with Rafe, as the dance required.
Henry stepped before her. “And you will attend the tournament, to see me compete?”
“Of course, my lord. I am looking forward to it.”
The king nodded, as if this were the only correct answer, then led her back to the circle, where she came face to face with Rafe again. His dark eyes seemed to ask questions, but she looked away and refused to meet his gaze. She curtseyed, stepped, turned and skipped in turn, as the dance played out, weaving around Ellen and Wyatt.
“Will I see you at dinner tomorrow?” Rafe asked, following her as the final chords of the song sounded.
The queen did intend to dine in the great hall to celebrate St Stephen’s Day, so Thomasin would be with her.
She nodded to Rafe. “I will be here.”
He pressed her hand. “Perhaps we might speak afterwards?”
Thomasin pulled her hand away. She did not feel able to define her feelings for Rafe. Having hardened her heart against him for so many months, she was annoyed that the kiss at Bridewell had reignited the attraction between them, finding herself both drawn and repelled by him. There was no doubt her body desired him, but her mind struggled. Should she live in the moment, follow her own free will, or recall those times when he had behaved badly, spoken harshly, tempted her towards sin? Had he changed?
“Until then,” he said, flashing her his dangerous smile.
Thomasin lingered a little by the door, wishing to cool down, before returning to the queen. She watched the dancers disperse, the king looking to Anne, who had walked away arm in arm with Nan Gainsford. Wolsey and Cromwell were in discussion, the French and Spanish ambassadors were standing apart, and servants were clearing the banquet away. A new set of dancers were assembling for the beginning of the next tune, making temporary pairings, fleeting touches, before the evening disconnected them again. At the far end, seated on the dais, Queen Catherine watched over everything.
“Mistress Marwood, will you dance?”
Thomas Boleyn stood before her, offering his hand. A year ago, she had felt unable to refuse him, feeling his question as a command, but much had changed since then.
“Forgive me, Viscount, I have just danced and must take a moment to cool down, as I am quite overheated.”
He bowed his head curtly. “Another time.”
“With pleasure, my lord,” she replied, pleasantly, although her pleasure was all for having escaped him.
Thomas Boleyn stalked away and Thomasin saw him offer his hand to his daughter-in-law, Jane, who was not placed to refuse him.
“A merry day indeed,” said Margaret Roper, returning to her friend’s side. “You had good cheer with the king?”
“I think so,” Thomasin answered, “although I am never sure if I have good cheer with him, or if he is having good cheer with me.”
“And the other, the dark-haired one?”
“Rafe Danvers, a ward of the Boleyns.”
“A handsome ward of the Boleyns.”
Thomasin shrugged.
“But I have been hearing whispers whilst you were dancing. It seems that these are not the only parties being held.”
