“The King is outraged to hear of my marriage,” she told her ladies. “He accuses my lord of breaking his promise. He says he will have his head for his presumption.” Her voice broke. She was trembling.
Anne was horrified. Suffolk might be lacking in honor, but he was the King’s friend. She had seen them together; they had been like brothers. Surely Henry would never carry out his terrible threat. Mary was his favorite sister, and he loved her. He could not do that to her!
The couple were beset on both sides. King Fran?ois—the hypocrite, for he had abetted the secret marriage—expressed disapproval at the Queen remarrying so indecently soon after King Louis’s death. The French court was apparently reeling from the scandal. All across Europe, the gossips were regaling each other.
Then Cardinal Wolsey, King Henry’s chief minister and friend—and by all reports the most powerful man in England after him—used his considerable powers of diplomacy to still the troubled waters. King Henry graciously allowed himself to be mollified: he would forgive the errant pair in return for a punishing fine, paid in installments over several years. The Queen gaped when she saw the sum mentioned.
“We will be in penury for life!” she cried.
Anne watched as the Duke took her hand and kissed it. “It will be money well spent,” he said gallantly, “and it means I get to keep my head.” But he sounded as if he had just eaten something bitter. He should have married the Regent and avoided all this, Anne thought. “We should be thankful,” he added. “His Grace promises us a second wedding, with proper celebrations, at Greenwich. And we are going home, my love!”
The maids of honor were wondering what was to happen to them, for it was clear that Queen Mary could not now afford to retain them all. Over the next few days, some were summoned home by their families. Anne did not want to be rusticated in England with the Queen, for Mary had said that she and Suffolk would have to live quietly in the country; nor did she and her sister want to go home to Hever, so Anne wrote to Father explaining their dilemma and asking for his help. He was quick to act. Not two weeks had passed before Queen Mary informed them that Queen Claude had honored them by offering them places in her household.
Anne clapped her hands, enjoying the undisguised envy of her fellow maids of honor. Although still pining for the court of Burgundy, she was fired up with excitement. The French court! At last! After weeks of living in the secluded gloom of the H?tel de Cluny, she could not wait to be back in the world. Joyfully she and Mary packed their chests, as Mary recalled the glories of the H?tel des Tournelles with its twenty chapels, twelve galleries, and beautiful gardens, and the wondrous chateau of Saint-Germain-en-Laye, just outside Paris. And there were other sumptuous palaces too, further south on the River Loire, of which Mary had only heard—Blois, Amboise, and Langeais. They would be able to wear their new gowns, which had been laid away while they wore mourning, and dance, and meet noble gentlemen…King Fran?ois, for all his faults, was a young man with a great zest for living, and life at his court would be one long round of pleasure.
—
King Fran?ois remembered the courtesy expected of a monarch, and hosted a farewell dinner for Queen Mary at the H?tel de Cluny. He was at his most charming, and it was as if he had never behaved otherwise toward her. Afterward there was dancing, and Anne watched as Fran?ois, dazzling in cloth of silver, led out his royal guest. Queen Claude was not present, being with child, so the Duke of Suffolk danced with the King’s sister, Marguerite, Duchesse d’Alen?on, a lively, witty lady with the long Valois nose and a wealth of frizzy dark hair.
When Anne saw her own sister in the throng, it was always with a different man. They smiled at each other as they whirled past, skirts billowing. It was strange how well they had got on these past weeks, instead of eternally squabbling in an exhausting game of rivalry. Perhaps the long months of absence had something to do with it, or being thrown together in a difficult situation. Anne was in such a happy mood this evening that she was ready to love even her normally infuriating sister.
Around midnight, she saw Mary dancing with King Fran?ois. It disconcerted her. Not that she was jealous—he was the last man she wanted to dance with—but she had heard about his lascivious life and his womanizing, and witnessed his assault on Queen Mary’s virtue. Her sister, she hoped, would be mindful of that.
Anne herself was asked for dance after dance. The young gallants flocked around her, and the evening passed in a whirl of music and laughter. It was not until later that she looked around for Mary and realized there was no sign of her, or the King. Most people were drunk, engrossed in their partners or deep in conversation. The air was rank with the scent of sweat, leftover food, and spilled wine. She did not care, for the musicians were striking up again, and yet another young man was bowing before her.
It was not until two o’clock in the morning that she saw King Fran?ois, urbane as ever, and very drunk. He was sitting on his great chair, toying with a buxom woman on his lap. It was not Mary. Anne looked for her sister in vain, beginning to feel anxiety creeping up on her. It was not like Mary to go to bed and miss an occasion like this.
Damn Mary, giving unnecessary cause for concern when she herself was enjoying this wonderful night! She supposed she ought to go and look for her—but probably she was worrying unnecessarily. Mary was older than she, and could surely look after herself.
—
Toward dawn, she ascended the stairs to the dorter, tired but exhilarated, surrounded by the excited chatter of the other maids of honor. Many had gained admirers, it seemed.
Her bubble of happiness burst when she saw Mary sitting on her bed in the moonlit darkness, weeping uncontrollably. Anne hastened to her, the others clustering around. Some lit candles, some offered handkerchiefs.
“What is wrong?” Anne demanded, feeling guilty for not having sought out her sister earlier.
Mary shook her head, and went on sobbing. She looked utterly distraught. Anne shook her. “Tell me!”
“He…he…” she gasped.
“Who?” Anne cried. “What did he do?”
“The King…” Mary burst out in fresh floods of tears.
There was a shocked silence.
“He takes what he wishes,” Florence said in a tone of disgust. “It is well known.”