He moved closer. “Have you given any more thought to my proposal?”
“I have had little time to think of much else beside the queen, my lord.”
His grey eyes glinted in the shadows. “Did it not stir something in you, seeing the child arrive, Thomasin? Did you not long for it to be you lying there, delivering your own son or daughter?”
“Not while the pains racked her, but afterwards…” She had to admit that he had a point. She had been holding her maternal feelings at bay, her own desires subjugated in the service of a new mother.
“Afterwards, when you saw the love between mother and child — the relief after the ordeal?”
“Yes, I admit that was a tender moment.”
“Why wait, Thomasin? Your husband has not given you a child in four years. A year from now, you could be a mother.”
“My lord…”
“I have begun this wrong. I should have told you from the start that I have conceived a passion for you. Your beauty and intelligence and good sense set you apart from the other women.”
Suddenly, he reached for her and she was in his arms. Too tired to fight, she let him hold her for a moment, then gently put his arms away from her.
“Do you not think that your feelings for me might allow it?”
“Under other circumstances, perhaps, but I am a happily married woman.”
“And I say again, that need not prevent us. Instead, our shared happiness might make you complete. A child, Thomasin — think of it.”
He did not realise just how much she had thought of it.
“My lord, my mind is addled from lack of sleep. Please let me retire. I have done your bidding.”
“But you have not fulfilled my wish.” He stepped away from her. “I understand, Thomasin, but I still hold out hope. Think what advantages your child might enjoy, being related to the future king or queen.”
“I must bid you goodnight, sir.”
“I hope we may speak again tomorrow.”
“I shall need to discuss the arrangements for my departure.”
“Not so hasty, not so hasty. There is the christening, too. I would have you at Anne’s side.”
“Very well. But now I bid you goodnight.”
The garden path was strewn with rushes. Thomasin picked her way lightly along it behind the procession that was making its way through to the chapel beyond. The Mayor of London and his aldermen had arrived, dressed in their scarlet robes, along with a number of leading citizens in their best clothing, as well as barons, bishops, lords and earls. Anne was absent, as custom dictated, remaining in confinement until she was churched. Beside Thomasin walked Lady Elizabeth, dictating a slow pace, with Mary and Jane behind, followed by the other women of the queen’s household. The sun came out briefly, brightening the path before it retreated again. But surely that glimmer had been a good sign; there was hope for Anne and her daughter.
The chapel was hung inside with Arras tapestries and at the front, a silver font was draped with cloth of gold, a crimson cloth hanging above and a red carpet beneath it. Taking her place at the side, Thomasin watched the rest of the procession. The Earl of Essex came first, with a gilt-covered basin, then Exeter and Dorset, carrying a lighted taper and a dish of salt. After that came the old Duchess of Norfolk, Anne’s step-grandmother, carrying the baby wrapped in a purple mantle with a long train that was carried by Sir Thomas Boleyn. The Duke of Suffolk had arrived at Greenwich especially for the occasion, walking alongside Norfolk and his daughter, young Mary, who was carrying a chrisom of pearls and precious stones. George Boleyn was one of the four chosen to carry a canopy above the baby as they grouped around the new Archbishop of Canterbury, who proceeded to bless and christen the child.
“What is to be her name?” he asked softly, listening as the duchess whispered in his ear. Cranmer then anointed the infant’s tiny forehead with holy water. “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I baptise you, Princess Elizabeth.”
Anne’s women waited behind to gather the gifts and bring them up to her chamber, along with dishes of wafers and comfits, and jugs of hippocras. Servants bore burning torches to make the way gleam brightly, as Elizabeth was laid in Anne’s arms before being returned to her cradle, carved with roses, vine leaves and ripe fruits.
“Soon you will be up again,” said Lady Elizabeth, “dancing and merry, as you often are.”
“Yes,” said Anne, without expression, “I shall.”
But Thomasin saw that there was a new note of fear in her eyes.
“Where is the king? Why does he not come?”
Her mother looked around. “I am sure he is busy with the guests. All the dignitaries that came by barge from London will be departing. Then he will come.”
