“The embassy has arrived,” she told them. “I have dismissed the guards and the French ladies. You are restored to your places. Let King Fran?ois complain if he dare! My brother’s envoys will answer for me. Now stand around. They will be here soon.” She was in a fever of excitement.
Minutes later, the embassy was announced, and in strode several well-dressed gentlemen in furred gowns. Anne stared at the man who led them. That spade beard, those powerful good looks—it was the Duke of Suffolk! As he bent low over the Queen’s hand and she reached out both hers and raised him, Anne saw the look that passed between them.
She was astounded. These two knew each other! And there was that between them which suggested intimacy. Had it been so before Suffolk paid his addresses to the Regent? Anne had heard gossip that had Margaret of Austria still cherishing notions of marrying him. He had sworn to be her servant for always!
“Ladies and gentlemen, I would speak with my lord of Suffolk in private,” the Queen said, her cheeks pink and glowing against her lawn veil. Madame d’Aumont raised her eyebrows, and Anne cast a look at her sister, who widened her eyes expressively. In the outer room they settled to their embroidery under the eagle eye of the dame d’honneur, whose stiff manner betrayed just what she thought of her young mistress being closeted alone with a man not related to her. No one spoke, but the maids kept exchanging surreptitious glances, conveying that they had all read the situation correctly.
When Madame d’Aumont visited the privy, a buzz of chatter broke out.
“What was Her Highness thinking of?” Florence Hastings hissed.
“It’s plain on her face!”
“Aye, and it’s been plain for a long time.”
“Did you not know?” Mary asked Anne. “It was common knowledge at the English court that the Princess was in love with the Duke.”
“And it was common knowledge in Mechlin that the Regent was thinking of marrying him,” Anne countered. “He led her on! I saw him.”
“But what of Lady Lisle?” Mary Fiennes put in.
“Lady Lisle?” Anne echoed.
“Yes, silly. How else do you think he got his title?”
“I assumed the King ennobled him,” Anne flung back, cross at being called silly.
“No,” Jane Bourchier said. “His betrothed is Viscountess Lisle in her own right, for all she is but ten years old. Two years ago the King consented to my lord of Suffolk contracting himself to her, and using her title in anticipation of their marriage.”
Mary Boleyn giggled. “By then he had had two wives already.”
Anne’s jaw dropped. “What happened to them?”
“The first he divorced. The second died. He is as good as wed to Lady Lisle, so I know not what business he has pursuing any lady, let alone royal ones.”
That a man could be so perfidious—so deceitful! Anne shook her head. How sorry she felt for the Regent, who had been duped by his flattery. Maybe Queen Mary had been duped as well.
Florence made a face. “Betrothals can be broken. What worries me is Her Highness’s lack of respect for the conventions.”
Anne turned to her. “I admire her. Look what she did today, dismissing those guards and ladies on her own authority. Why should she not receive a man alone? Are all men beasts, that they cannot be trusted?” She was aware that the Duke of Suffolk was not to be trusted—but even he would surely not stoop to molesting a queen.
The others stared at her.
“Maybe it’s she who can’t be trusted,” Mary giggled, and the tension broke. Anne was about to defend her bold statement when Madame d’Aumont returned and the interminable stitching resumed in silence.
An hour later, they were summoned back by the Queen. She was alone. Her eyes were swollen from weeping, her manner distracted.
“You all know how this King has importuned me,” she said, “and about his threats to force me into an unwelcome marriage. Well, I had already chosen my future. Before I married King Louis, I had an understanding with my lord of Suffolk that if my husband died, we would be wed, if he could be released from his betrothal. The King my brother knew that I did not wish to marry Louis, and he promised me that I could choose my second husband. He knew who it would be. And yet he has sent my lord here with strict instructions not to marry me, even though he is now free to do so.” She raised her tearstained face to them, looking distraught. “I told my lord that my situation was becoming intolerable. I urged him to wed me without delay, but he refused. So I warned him that if he did not, I would retire to a convent.” She was crying now, her shoulders heaving. “And I will!”
There was nothing that any of them could do. They gave her handkerchiefs, they brought her wine, they murmured words of comfort. And then the Duke of Suffolk was announced, and they had only moments to make her presentable before she hissed that they should leave. They flew through the door just as the Duke was about to enter, and the last thing they heard was him saying, “My sweet lady, I cannot let you do this…”
—
Anne stood with the other maids of honor and Suffolk’s two gentlemen under the magnificent vaulting of the chapel of the H?tel de Cluny and watched as Queen Mary and her Duke were joined in matrimony. Mary was still wearing her white mourning, but this afternoon she would cast it off for a gorgeous gown of black velvet trimmed with gold. The chaplain had been sent by King Fran?ois, who knew very well that this marriage was being made without King Henry’s knowledge or approval, and was no doubt gleefully relishing the prospect of his brother monarch erupting in impotent fury.
A pale beam of March sunlight pierced the jeweled colors of the stained glass and bathed the couple in light. Mary’s face was suffused with rapture, and Suffolk was looking at her as if she was the only woman in the world.
Anne dared not think of the Regent’s reaction when she heard of this marriage. Margaret of Austria had been abashed enough by the rumors speculating that she might marry Suffolk; how much worse she would feel when the whole of Christendom was gossiping about her being jilted. How could Suffolk look so happy and satisfied with himself when he had treated her so despicably?
“It just goes to prove that a woman can have what she wants if she is clever enough,” Mary Boleyn said, as they left the chapel to help the Queen change.
“Yes, but at what cost?” Florence put in.
“Aye!” Anne said vehemently, thinking of the poor Regent.
“The way they look, it will be worth it,” Mary Fiennes sighed. “I wish I could get a husband who loves me so well.”
“We will see if King Henry approves,” Anne said, remembering how he had urged the Regent to marry the Duke.
—
Letters came thundering across the Channel from England. The Queen’s face, flushed with love for several days, now registered alarm.