“Well, well,” Anne retorted, “probably it was just a courtly flirtation. Now, what design shall we embroider on this altar frontal?”
How she got through the afternoon and behaved as if all was normal she did not know, but by five o’clock she could stand it no longer and dismissed them all, saying she needed to rest. Then she sent for Norris, the person she trusted best. He, of all people, would know if Henry was being unfaithful.
“What can I do for your Grace?” he asked, standing before her, with Mary, for propriety’s sake, just out of earshot in the bedchamber beyond.
“Sir Henry, can I ask you something in the strictest confidence?” Anne asked, trying not to cry.
“Of course, madam.” His face was all concern.
“Is the King being unfaithful to me with Lady Carew?”
Norris looked embarrassed. He hesitated.
“Your face says it all,” she said, and then the tears did fall.
“Oh, my dear lady,” Norris said, and in an instant was on one knee before her, holding her hands. “I would not for the world cause you any distress.”
“But I must know!” she sobbed. “If my ladies are talking about it, the whole court will be. And he has never been unfaithful before. For eight years he has been true to me.”
Norris looked into her eyes. He was still holding her hands, and she would have given anything for him to take her in his arms and comfort her properly. Nothing else would make her feel better. It was her pride that was hurt, far more grievously than her heart, for it had never been truly Henry’s. But he adored her, surely: she was special, not like Katherine, whom he had deceived many times.
It was his deception, and his making her an object of ridicule before the whole court—especially her enemies, who would be laughing up their sleeves, or not so discreetly—that was unforgivable.
She resisted the impulse to melt into Norris’s strong arms and seek oblivion. She would not stoop to Henry’s level.
“Are they lovers?” she asked, disengaging her hands and finding her handkerchief.
“You are asking me to break my oath of service. I owe discretion to the King in all matters.”
“I must know!” Anne insisted. “Just indicate yes or no. The gossip will be rampant anyway, so I could have heard it anywhere. Has he slept with her?”
Norris’s nod was barely perceptible. His eyes were full of compassion.
“Thank you. Please go and ask the King if he will visit me when he is free. And Norris—no hint of this to him, please.”
—
Henry arrived within the hour, in a high good humor and with a bowl of choice apples for her.
She greeted him cordially, then sent her women into the next room. When the door had closed behind them, she turned on him.
“Is it true what my ladies are saying about you and Lady Carew?” she asked.
Henry’s good mood evaporated. His eyes narrowed.
“I danced with her, that’s all. What do you take me for?”
“You were seen kissing her!” she cried fiercely. “And the gossip I heard accuses you of more than that. Do you deny it?”
“I do deny it!” he flared, that menacing flush rising from his neck.
“Then you are lying,” she accused. “I have it on good authority that you have bedded with her. Some ladies cannot keep a still tongue.”
“You would believe gossip rather than the word of a king? By God, Anne, you try me!”
“I have good cause—admit it!” she shrieked, beside herself with fury, feeling the poor babe leap in distress in her womb. “You pride yourself on your honor, but what price honor when your rod governs your royal will?”
“Remember who I am!” Henry flung back. “When I think of what I have done for you—how I fought the whole world to have you, and honored you with my marriage. How I have showered you with gifts—look at that great bed I gave you. By God, Anne, you would not have it now, having used such words to me. You are my wife, and you must shut your eyes and endure as more worthy persons have done.”
“Then you admit it,” she hissed.
Henry’s face was like thunder, his voice icy. “Madam, you ought to remember that it is in my power to humble you again in a moment, more than I have raised you.”
He walked out, leaving her stunned. Never had he spoken to her like that. And to compare her unfavorably to Katherine! How could he? She collapsed in a storm of weeping, and her ladies came running. They made her rest, fearful for the babe. If only its father had been, she thought bitterly.
It was all bluster, she told herself. At heart Henry was a spoiled child who expected to have whatever he wanted and not be gainsaid. He would come around, begging her forgiveness, she was sure.
But he did not. For three endless days he did not visit her, and when, taking the air with her ladies, she came upon him practicing his archery at the butts, he greeted her coldly. She waited until he had finished and then walked back with him to the palace, their attendants following behind. She guessed he would have preferred not to have her with him, but did not want to argue in public.
“A year ago you were my loving servant,” she said, low. “That man would never have spoken to me the way you did the other day.”
“We are married now,” he said. “A husband is not a servant. As my wife, you owe me obedience, and it is not your place to criticize me. I will not brook it!”
Anne walked on in silence, appalled at his words. Was this the man who had defied all Christendom to marry her? They had been wed but six months, and already he had been unfaithful. And he expected her to maintain a dignified silence! Well, silent she would be. At the door, she curtseyed and went alone to her apartments. He did not come after her.
—
When they arrived at Greenwich, an uneasy truce between them, Anne took to her chamber to await the birth of her child.
Henry had thawed a little. In the barge that brought them from Hampton Court, he had told her he was planning a pageant and tournament to mark the birth, and on the morning before she disappeared from public view, he kissed her for the first time since their quarrel.
“I will come to see you, and I will pray constantly that God will send you a happy hour,” he said.
She could feel her eyes brimming with tears. It wasn’t meant to be like this.
“All will be well,” Henry reassured her.
“What will you do while I’m in seclusion?” she asked.
“I’ll be hunting hereabouts. I won’t be far away. I meant to say, I’ve had letters to the nobility prepared, announcing the birth of a prince.”
She wished he had waited. It was tempting Fate.
“Anne,” he said, tilting her chin up. “I love you. Never forget that.”