Katherine always made each one of the eager gallants welcome, and looked on indulgently as they talked and flirted with her maids.
“You may entertain your visitors,” she had told Anne. “Pour wine for them, play for them, dance with them, but behave with propriety. Your parents are doubtless hoping that I will help to secure a good marriage for you.”
Anne had smiled. The negotiations for her proposed marriage to James Butler had finally been abandoned, and she was enjoying a new sense of freedom and hope for the future.
It was on Harry’s third visit that Anne realized he was taking a special interest in her. She had noticed him watching her before, and had not paid much attention, but now, as one of the maids struck up a tune on her lute, he was suddenly standing in front of her.
“Mistress Anne, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?” he asked. She looked up into his green eyes, seeing a tall, lanky, but personable young man with curly chestnut hair, strong features, and a beak of a nose—not handsome in the conventional sense, but honest-faced and deferential in his manner.
“I should be happy to,” she said, accepting his hand and allowing him to lead her into a basse dance. When it ended, he asked her for another, and then another, and presently they were sitting on a cushioned seat in one of the tall oriel windows and talking as if they had known each other for years. Anne saw the Queen watching them, and was reassured when she smiled.
Harry told her that he was twenty-one and eldest son to the Earl of Northumberland. Until a few weeks ago he had been serving in the north as Warden of the Border Marches. Only this spring had he been released from his duties so that he could join the Cardinal’s household, where he served his master at table, showing off the carving skills acquired by every gentleman.
“I hope thereby to gain preferment,” he told Anne. “Like Master Carey, who has done so well. He is my cousin.” She wondered if Will had told Harry that she was unattached and encouraged him to pay court to her.
“I heard that your father was recently honored with the Order of the Garter,” Harry beamed. “It is a great accolade, and I am sure it was richly deserved.”
“We are very proud of him,” Anne said, omitting to add, and he is very proud of himself.
All the time they were talking, she was becoming aware of how much she liked Harry Percy. While she did not see him ever arousing her passion, she knew without doubt that she could be friends with him, and sensed that he would never let her down. He was too sincere, too genuine—and plainly smitten with her.
At the end of the afternoon, he assured her that, when the Cardinal was next at court, he would seek her out again. Then he bowed and departed, leaving her feeling at once excited and sad to see him go. She had a good feeling about Harry Percy. Being with him felt part of the natural order of things.
He was as good as his word. No sooner had the Cardinal taken up residence again than Harry was there at the Queen’s door. And he returned every day, growing ever more ardent. But Anne was determined not to be hurt or made a fool of, or to appear too keen on him. Occasionally she would absent herself and leave him wondering where she was. Later she realized that there had been no need to play hard to get, and that he had been hers from the first.
Gradually, over that enchanted month of May, the carapace she had built around herself broke down, yielding before Harry’s kindness and devotion. Their first kiss was stolen in an arbor in the Queen’s privy garden, and it felt very sweet.
She knew that she was falling in love with him, but there was more to it than that. She felt more strongly than ever that he was the right man for her. For all his humble devotion, she was well aware that he was heir to one of the greatest and most ancient earldoms in England, and that she could not look for a better match. Beside him, the forbidden allure of Henry Norris had paled.
—
“Do you know anything about the Percys?” she asked George one day as they watched a bowls match, contriving to sound as if it were merely a matter of general interest.
“They are great lords,” he told her, “virtually kings in the North.”
That rang true with what Harry had said. His ancestors had come over with the Conqueror. His family had a long and noble history and had married with royalty. She could be my lady the Countess of Northumberland, far outranking her sister! But her motives were not just mercenary. She wanted Harry himself. He had overturned her jaded perceptions of what men were like, and shown her that honor and respect and devotion were not just empty words. She could think of nothing more wonderful than becoming his wife. When Harry confided that he liked her very much, and would say more if he could, her heart had swelled.
George grinned. He knew! “You could do a lot worse than marry Harry Percy.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s all over the court—how Anne Boleyn loves him.”
Her cheeks were flaming. “That’s my business!” she flared.
“The Queen’s ladies do love to gossip,” George smirked. “And if you will insist on wearing French gowns and drawing attention to yourself, what do you expect?”
“I expect you to rebuke them for their idle chatter,” she retorted.
“Oh, I’ve better things to do with them!” he laughed.
“No doubt!” she said tartly. George’s love affairs were notorious in the court. But then he drew her to him and squeezed her affectionately.
“Seriously, I would be delighted if you wed Harry, and there’s no doubt that Father would. So go ahead, dear sister, and seize the blessings that life offers you.”
—
It was June, and the roses in the Queen’s garden were in glorious bloom, when Harry led Anne to a bench, plucked a red rose and handed it to her, then dropped on one knee before her. His eyes were afire with feeling.
“I can hide it no longer—I love you, Anne,” he blurted out, as she sat there with her heart beating wildly. “Will you honor me by becoming my wife?” She looked down into his eager face and saw nothing but true love writ there, and her heart stilled and melted. He was a good man, a kind man, gentle and loyal. He would never hurt or abandon her, never deceive her or force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. With him, her future would be secure. How could she have thought, those first days, that she could never love him?
“Oh yes, Harry!” she breathed, and they stole a lingering kiss, hoping that no one had seen them. It left her hungry for more.
“Then we must be betrothed now!” Harry cried, leaping up, and beckoned to two gentlemen sitting on the grass nearby with some of the Queen’s maids.