“Stand aside!” Henry commanded, red with anger. “I’m dining elsewhere, where I’m sure of a welcome.”
“Go to your whore, then!” she hissed, and let him push past her. When he had gone, she collapsed, whimpering, to the floor. How had it all gone so wrong? Why had God withheld the blessing of a son? And where was the adoring servant who had so passionately courted her? How had he turned into this cruel and thoughtless man?
For three days she did not see Henry. She longed for someone to confide in, someone she could trust. George was at Dover, presiding over the warden’s court, and Mary was still at Hever. She should be back any day now. She was not George, but she was loyal at heart.
That evening, there was to be a feast in the presence chamber in honor of some visiting envoys from France. Anne took her place beside Henry, who inclined his head but would not look at her. She was aware of his stern profile, mostly turned away from her toward her father and his other guests. His displeasure with her was plain for all to see. Father was frowning. He knew about the tragedy that had befallen her.
Afterward there was dancing, and Henry rose, bowed, and led her out to the floor. She did her best to dance alluringly and gracefully, knowing that all eyes were on her, but to little effect, because afterward Henry escorted her back to her seat and took himself off to partner Joan Ashley. Watching the silly bitch with her triumphant simper, Anne trembled with anger. People were staring at her, some with pity, some smugly. She would endure it no more, she decided. When the dance was over and everyone milling around, she would slip away.
And then she saw her sister enter the hall: Mary, with a ripe swell to her belly, blooming with fruitfulness, drawing all eyes. Mary, proclaiming her condition for all the world to see, and the courtiers, even the King, staring in shock or glee…
Anne rose at once and went to greet her sister, putting on a smiling face, then she curtseyed to the King and hustled Mary away as quickly as she could. Hot on their heels came Father with a face like vengeance. He followed them into Anne’s apartments and, before she could speak, rounded on Mary.
“Have you been whoring again, daughter?
Mary faced up to him. “No! I am married.”
“Married?” he repeated. “Without my permission?”
“Or mine!” Anne chimed in. “I am your Queen! Who is he?”
“William Stafford,” Mary said with a defiant flourish. “I met him in Calais and again at your coronation. He has been visiting me at Hever.”
“He’s been doing more than that!” Father bellowed.
“Forgive me,” Mary pleaded, “but we love each other.”
“Stafford of the Calais garrison?” Father thundered, his pug face puce. “A man of little status and no fortune! You could at least have contrived to marry to our family’s advantage.”
“He is a dozen years younger than you,” Anne added, disgusted.
“William loves me! He was eager to marry me.” Mary was prouder than Anne had ever seen her.
“Love, bah!” Father spluttered. “Marrying for love offends God, good order, and all. It’s wayward and foolish. It’s bad enough neglecting to ask our permission, but you had not the courtesy to ask the King! What of your mother? Did you have the grace to inform her?”
Mary shook her head. The bravado had vanished. “We paid a clerk in Tonbridge to wed us. Mother was so angry when we told her. She’s written to you. That’s why we had to come here.” She was weeping now.
Father was implacable. “You just went ahead regardless of us, and the King’s likely displeasure. You’re the Queen’s own sister! Did it never occur to you that the scandal this marriage will cause will do nothing for her reputation?”
“You did not think of me,” Anne said, near to tears herself. “A scandal is the last thing I need at this time.”
There was the sound of footsteps outside. The door flew open and the King was announced. Henry strode in, his face dark with fury.
“Mistress Carey, the whole court is talking about you,” he snapped. “A fine show you put on for my guests.”
Mary curtseyed, shaking, tears running down her cheeks.
“She has secretly married William Stafford of the Calais garrison,” Anne said.
“Really?” Henry replied. “I’m surprised that one of your blood has married so cheaply. And to someone whose name is tainted by treason. I have not forgotten that this Stafford’s kinsman Buckingham lost his head for plotting my ruin, or that the Staffords have supported the Princess Dowager.”
“Sir, William is loyal, and he is your Grace’s loving cousin,” Mary said, finding her voice. “He is a good man and he loves me.”
“Be that as it may, you should have asked permission before marrying him. You have scanted your respect and the obedience you owe to my lord your father here, and to your Queen. They have every reason to be angered by this misalliance.”
“Sir,” Mary pleaded, “all the world set so little store by me. I was in bondage. My family are ashamed of me. But Master Stafford was kind, kinder than anyone has ever been—and kindness means more than lineage or standing.”
How true that was, Anne realized jealously. It was dawning on her how favorably Mary’s situation compared with her own. Mary had a husband who adored her and was kind to her, whereas Henry was unfaithful and could be cruel; Mary had hopes of a child, when Anne’s had just been brutally dashed. Through her folly, Mary had landed the world, while she herself, who had longed and schemed and prayed for years, had yet to experience true love and the security of holding a son in her arms. Her anger burned against her sister.
“You never appreciated me,” Mary accused her. “You always had to be the successful one, whereas I had compromised my reputation and stained the family honor, even though it was not my fault.”
Anne was aware of Henry stirring uncomfortably beside her. Serves him right! she thought. Let him squirm!
“You would do well not to speak thus to your sister,” Henry warned Mary. “She is not at fault. What matters is this misalliance you have made. Was this child conceived in wedlock?”
Mary blushed. “No, sir.”
“Then you’ll get not a penny from me,” Father snorted. “And I’m sure His Grace will agree that I’m justified in stopping your allowance.”
“It is your husband’s duty to support you now,” Henry agreed.
“And I don’t want you under my roof!” Father barked.
“But where shall we go?” Mary wailed.
“That’s no concern of mine,” he replied.
“I don’t want you at court,” Anne said. Scandal aside, she did not need a constant reminder of what she herself lacked. Seeing Mary with the doting Stafford would be more than she could bear. She turned to Henry. “They deserve banishment for their offense, sir.”
Henry nodded. “I agree. Mistress Stafford, you have brought this upon yourself through your own foolishness. You will leave court and not return until summoned.”
“No! Please!” Mary cried, but Henry had turned to leave, and Anne followed after him.
“See that she goes tonight, Father,” she said before the door closed behind her.