“Thomasin, you look radiant. I am so glad you overcame your illness and are able to attend.”
“So am I. I was honoured to receive the invitation, especially as I am not known personally to the bride and groom.”
“As my guest, they welcome you. But come inside, have some wine. The ceremony will be taking place shortly.”
Thomasin eyed the Boleyn party entering ahead of her through the carved stone gate, already conversing in excited tones.
“The king’s barge follows shortly after us,” she told John. “It was awaiting him at Bridewell as we left.”
John led her along a corridor hung with tapestries into a chamber with painted walls. Here, guests were already partaking of spiced cakes, gingerbread and marzipan covered in gold leaf. Jane Dudley, dressed in maroon velvet and a headdress shimmering with bright stones, came to greet her. Her voluminous skirts concealed her early pregnancy, but her eyes and cheeks were glowing.
“I am so delighted to see you again, Thomasin, especially since you have been indisposed. Are you quite well now?”
“Quite well, thank you, and glad to see you, Jane.”
“Why don’t you two ladies eat some cake?” John suggested. “I must return to greet the king.”
“That sounds like a good idea to me,” said Jane. “The cinnamon and apple ones come highly recommended, but the saffron buns look delicious too. Shall we, Thomasin?”
Thomasin didn’t need asking twice. The wedding fare looked far more elaborate and expensive than her usual fare, even that served at the queen’s table. There was no doubt that money was being directed to certain quarters rather than others. She wondered whether she might smuggle a few items out for Ellen.
Before long, the sound of trumpets came from outside, declaring the arrival of the royal barge. Thomasin grabbed a last cake and reluctantly joined the line of guests ready to greet the king and Anne. This was not a part of the ceremony that she had anticipated, although she had known that Henry would attend; his presence eclipsed that of the couple getting married.
She dropped a curtsey as the party approached, hearing the tones of Henry’s booming voice before he came through the doors. He was dressed in white and gold, with heavy chains about his throat, his shoulders draped with furs despite the season. At his side, Anne’s outfit send a ripple of surprise among those gathered. Thomasin risked a look to see her dressed in a gown to match the king’s, white and gold, with embroidery and pearls, topped by a chain. They were already behaving like a married couple, coordinating their clothing in the way that Henry and Catherine used to do. Thomasin had a sudden glimpse of the future at court: everyone bowing down before the king with his new queen, while his old, abandoned spouse sat quietly in her darkened room.
Henry and Anne passed through the chamber, heading for the abbey. This was the sign that the ceremony would be commencing soon, and the guests were to follow. With John joining them, Thomasin and Jane headed out through the main hall, a vast space with the roof so high overhead that Thomasin had to squint to see it. She had never seen such a large chamber before, not even at Windsor. Trestle tables with white cloths and wooden benches were already laid out ahead of the feast that would be served after the ceremony. The double doors led them out into a yard which had been sanded for jousting, with wooden stands erected at the sides and colourful tents at each end. The abbey lay beyond, inviting them to follow down the vast nave and take their places on the seats just before the central crossing. Henry and Anne, with several lords and ladies, were already seated ahead. Thomasin spotted the heads of Thomas and George Boleyn, and then, to her discomfort, Rafe Danvers sitting beside them. She kept her eyes averted, hoping that the bride and groom would soon appear to distract her from his presence.
Arthur, Lord Lisle, came first, a tall, lean ascetic man with greying hair, dressed in silver and black. He paused to greet the king, bowing low, so that Thomasin caught a glimpse of his handsome features. People claimed that he looked just like his father, Edward IV, with his strong jaw and striking eyes, although he was past the flush of youth and well into middle age now, older than his father had ever been.
After a while, the bride followed, with a train of her ladies behind her. Honor Basset wore a dress of emerald green trimmed with gold and a headdress with a long, cloth of gold train hanging low to her trim waist. She was a tiny woman, well-formed and elegant, with great charm in her little, piquant face. As she stood beside Arthur, her husband-to-be towering over her, the pair exchanged a smile that revealed the deep affection between them. Soon, this would be Ellen, Thomasin thought, walking to meet her bridegroom, excited by the future that stretched out before them. In that moment, she could not resist looking at the back of Rafe’s head, several rows in front. It might so easily have been the two of them taking their vows, making promises to honour and love each other, but that could never be, now. Rafe did not turn round. At the moment when the bishop pronounced them man and wife, Thomasin saw him lift a hand to stifle a yawn.
When it was over, Thomasin took her seat beside Jane Dudley in the great hall. John was to be a server, carving the meat for the newly wedded couple who sat together at the dais with Henry and Anne. Brightly coloured hangings had been unfurled from the walls, below a line of austere-looking stone statues of past kings. The Boleyn family and their friends sat on a different table, so Thomasin at least felt safe until Rafe entered with Jane Boleyn on his arm, and headed for a place beside Anne’s sister, Mary, who was casting her eyes around the room, letting them briefly rest on Thomasin. The spite in her eyes was palpablebefore she turned away. She had never forgiven Thomasin for the affection her husband William Carey had developed for her, in the weeks before his early death from the sweating sickness. Out of the corner of her eye, Thomasin saw Mary lean in to whisper a few words in Rafe’s ear as he sat down. Thomasin turned her attention back to the food being laid in front of her, but was certain that Rafe turned to see where she sat. She could almost feel his eyes boring into her skin, a most unpleasant sensation.
“What a wonderful spread,” she said to Jane Dudley, trying to appear oblivious to the attention she was receiving. “Would you pass me that dish of goose in green sauce, please?”
After the meal, the guests made their way back to the pier in order to board the barges. Thomasin had placed herself as far away as possible from the royal party, behind the large group of Dudleys, Bassets and Grenvilles who now found themselves related.
“Thomasin Marwood,” said a familiar voice behind her, causing Thomasin to turn round.
Rafe was standing between Mary Boleyn and Anne Gainsford, his face spoiled by a dark sneer. Thomasin knew at once that she had made the right choice. She would have turned away without acknowledging him, but he spoke again.
“Did you enjoy the ceremony?”
It was impossible not to answer, with so many wedding guests around, but she kept it as brief as possible. “Thank you, yes.”
“As did we,” he said, indicating the women around him, as if attempting to demonstrate his popularity with them, “but we were surprised to find you here and not tending to your dear cousin.”
Thomasin thought at once of Ellen. Had something happened? “What do you mean?”
“After the accident?” He looked at his friends again for confirmation, then back to her. “You mean you do not know?”
“Know what? Do not play with me.”
“It was your cousin, Giles,” said Anne, the most sympathetic character of the three. “He had a fall while out riding this morning. We saw him carried into the palace on a stretcher as we were leaving.”
Thomasin went cold. For a moment she was unable to speak.
“No,” said Rafe, his voice strangely strained. “It appears she did not know.”
