“Just for the coronation? So it would be a week, perhaps? That’s not so bad.”
“I don’t trust it. He spoke of a transition period too. She intends to go into the countryside afterwards, but then there is the child.”
“Take him at his word. Stay for a week, take part in the coronation, reap the rewards, then we go home.”
“I’m sorry, it isn’t what we planned.”
“I can fill the time. I will take Lettice out riding and shopping and to visit a man I know who breeds great hawks! She will be delighted to stay longer. It will let Mariot find her feet, too. And, after all, it is only a week.”
Thomasin did not believe it would only be a week, but she let that go for now. “But me? At Anne’s coronation? Can you imagine her face?”
“It would be quite a thing to see, though. Think of that. An actual coronation.”
“A procession through the streets.”
“You would never see the like again. Most people never get to witness one in their lifetime.”
Thomasin sighed. “To be working for the Boleyns, though? Who knows where that may lead?”
“You would be working directly with the mother of the queen. Think of it that way. Think of Lady Boleyn; you can make a vast difference to her. And they want you, Thomasin. No one else, you! Think of the honour.”
“It sounds very much like you are trying to persuade me to do it.”
Giles’s face split into a grin. “Does it? Look, this must be entirely your decision. I will not seek to influence you either way. Why don’t you sleep on it and make your decision in the morning?”
“I will.” She put her arms about his neck and planted a kiss upon his lips. “Has anyone ever told you that you might be the perfect husband?”
“Not enough times,” he replied, returning her kiss. “I believe I could grow rather used to hearing it.”
FIFTEEN
Was this even her own choice? mused Thomasin as she approached Durham House the following morning. She had dressed in her second-best gown, the forest-green, but regretted that she had left her pink silk in Suffolk. No, she thought, she didn’t have much choice over whether to assist Lady Elizabeth. When someone like Thomas Boleyn asked you for a favour, you were compelled to do it. She could not have risked incurring the family’s wrath, for she had seen their vindictive side before.
The courtyard was busy with carriages, horses stomping on the cobbles, and footmen rushing about, polishing and adjusting tack. A servant let her in through the main gate into the hall, where she was told to wait.
It was a large space, perhaps once the refectory where the monks had dined or gathered to pray. The grey stone pillars on each side pressed inwards, giving it a claustrophobic feel, and the windows were small and high. Overhead, or echoing down corridors, Thomasin could hear footsteps and raised voices. It did not seem a good time to have called.
“Lady Waterson.”
Sir Thomas Boleyn headed down the grand staircase opposite.
“I am pleased to see you this morning. Please forgive me; the house is at sixes and sevens. You have come to a decision?”
“I believe so, but I would like to speak with Lady Boleyn first.”
“Oh? Is that necessary? I hope not to disappoint her?”
“No, hopefully not, just to finalise the arrangements, so that I may be sure of my comings and goings.”
He looked doubtful. “In truth, my wife is with Anne. She arrived only a half hour ago.”
Thomasin waited, unwilling to back down on her condition. She had to be certain that Lady Elizabeth understood thesituation was temporary, and that Thomasin be allowed to return to Monk’s Place whenever needed. She would not put it past Sir Thomas to engage her and expect more than he had initially asked for once she was committed.
“Hopefully she can spare you a moment.”
“If I am to be her companion, especially in the days ahead, I shall be at her side whomever visits.”
He looked at her with grey, distrustful eyes. “Yes, but this was unexpected. Anne is —” he paused, clearly uncomfortable — “unsettled.”
