She would not reply, she decided. But he wrote again, chiding her for her tardiness, begging her to assure him of her well-being, and enclosing jewels he thought would please her. His tone was abject and pleading. Again she did not respond. In his next letter she detected a hint of irritation at her evasiveness, so she answered that she might return to court in the company of her mother. That prompted an outpouring of joy. But she could not have him assuming that she loved him too much to stay away, so she sent a messenger to say that she had changed her mind and could not come after all, even in her mother’s company.
By return, a miserable complaint came winging its way down the leafy lanes to Hever. She was being unduly hard on him. She had not written often enough. It was a long time since he had been assured that she was in good health, so the great affection he felt for her had led him to send again to her, to be the better ascertained of her health and pleasure. He marveled at her changing her mind about coming to court, seeing he had assured himself that he had never offended her. He thought it small recompense for the great love he bore her to keep him thus distanced from the person he most esteemed in the whole world. “And if you love me as I trust, this severing of our two selves should cause you some vexation at least. Your absence grieves me greatly, and if I knew that you truly desired it, I would only lament my ill fortune, and regret my great folly.”
She laid down the letter and rested her head back against the settle. She did not love him, or want him as a lover—he should have realized that by now, yet he persisted in his fancy that their feelings were mutual. He really believed it.
She wished she had managed to put him off in the beginning. She thought she might just stay here at Hever and die an old spinster!
—
By Christmas, Anne felt like climbing the walls with boredom. She had driven her mother to distraction, veering from one mood to another, until in the end Lady Boleyn had insisted that she tell her who was causing all this to-do.
“Nearly every day letters arrive for you! What is going on?”
In the end, Anne told her, unable to contain herself. “The King is pursuing me. He wants me to be his mistress, and I am trying to fend him off!”
Mother’s jaw dropped.
“Tell no one, not even Father. I’ll not have him thinking I’m the King’s harlot.”
“You think I would? One daughter is enough!” Mother was striding up and down the parlor in agitation. “It’s not right, what the King is doing, and it’s not right your being here when you should be serving the Queen. Heaven only knows what she thinks is wrong with you. You could lose your place. And then it will be more difficult to find you a worthy husband. You’re nearly twenty-six as it is.”
Anne winced. She did not need to be reminded of that.
“You must return to court,” Mother was saying. “I will accompany you, and I will not leave your side.”
—
“I am most gratified to hear that you are recovered,” Queen Katherine said, as Anne and her mother were announced. Her welcome was warm, and she hastened to assure Anne that she had assigned her only the lightest tasks. She was pleased to see Lady Boleyn too, and willingly agreed that Anne should stay in her father’s lodging while her mother was at court.
Mother’s presence put paid to Tom Wyatt’s hopeful pursuit of Anne. He was playing his lute in a window embrasure when they arrived, and his eyes had filled with joy at the sight of Anne. He jumped up and hurried to greet her, but Lady Boleyn loomed large, for Anne had told her about Tom too, relying on her mother to keep him at bay.
“Why, Thomas Wyatt!” Mother cried. “How good to see you! How is your dear wife?” At which Tom had rapidly subsided and stammered that Elizabeth was well but preferred to avoid the court.
“She should come more often,” Mother said, and swept Anne away.
The King, of course, was another matter. He was beside himself with joy when he came upon Anne and her mother taking the air in the gardens later that day, but after a courteous greeting, he made the mistake of telling Lady Boleyn that she might leave.
“Your Grace,” Mother replied, “Anne has told me that you have honored her with your attentions, and she has also assured me that you are concerned to protect her reputation, so I make no doubt that you will allow me to stay.” She smiled sweetly.
Henry’s eyes bored into hers. “Madam, are you questioning the honor and chivalry of your King?” he asked, in a tone that boded no good.
“Sir, my lady means no offense, but I should like her to stay,” Anne intervened. “As you have graciously said, you would do anything for me. I am sure your Grace would not wish to see the virtue of one whom you have been pleased to serve as your only mistress compromised by her being alone with a gentleman, even the most chivalrous one.”
His eyes narrowed. “I will see you later, Anne.” He did not say the word “alone,” but she was sure he meant it.
I think not! she said to herself, and that evening sent word that she had suddenly developed a raging stomachache.
—
She had not been back at court two days when an angry Henry caught up with her as she was enjoying a brisk walk along the lime avenue at Greenwich, accompanied by her maid. It was a fine December day, the sun shining, the air crisp.
“Why is Master Wyatt flaunting your jewel?” he demanded to know.
“He took it from me last year,” she said, startled. “He would not give it back.”
Henry was not mollified. “I was playing bowls with him just now. The winning cast was mine, but he disputed it. He measured the distance with the lace on your jewel. He almost waved it in my face.”
“Sir, I assure you, I have no feelings for Tom Wyatt beyond friendship. As I told you, he is married. It would be out of the question.” She looked at him pointedly.
Henry gripped her arm. “You assure me there has been nothing between you? He seems to think otherwise.”
“Let go, sir! You are hurting me. Of course there has been nothing. I have never encouraged him. You yourself saw him steal that jewel.”
Henry let her go. “Ah, so that was how it was. Forgive me, sweetheart, I did not mean to doubt you. It’s just that you are so precious to me that the thought of your loving another is unbearable.”
“Then all is well,” she said, wishing she dared say that she loved no one.
—
When she judged it safe, which was as soon as Henry had gone to meet with his Council, she went looking for Tom, and found him near the mews.
“You fool, you stupid fool, flaunting my jewel before the King!” she berated him.
“Then it’s true,” he said. “You love him.” It was an accusation.
“He loves me, but you must never speak of it. I can’t believe you set yourself up as a rival to him.”
“He provoked me,” Wyatt protested. “He insisted he had won at bowls. When he pointed to the ball, I recognized your ring on his finger, and I was staring at it, and he said, ‘I tell you, it is mine!’ He wasn’t referring to the winning ball. I wanted to make it clear to him that you were mine first.”
“I was never yours!” Anne declared, furious. “You have made it impossible for our friendship to continue.”