Hot on her heels came a letter begging her to return. It plunged her into perplexity. All she had to say was yes, and the riches of the kingdom would be hers, and the power. But could she take the man as well as the crown? More importantly, could she betray the good mistress who had never shown her anything but kindness? Katherine was greatly loved, and of royal birth; Anne would be widely condemned for supplanting her. And in the face of opposition, would Henry hold true to her, or would he bend like a reed in the storm?
She did not have to say yes. She had said no so often that it had become a habit, and she no longer feared Henry’s reaction. But he was going to seek an annulment anyway, and if he took another wife, why should it not be her?
She thought about the strong women who had influenced her. The Regent had used her power wisely, and it came to Anne that, if she became queen, she might be able to use hers for the good of others, as well as for herself and her family. She might be able to introduce more enlightened religious beliefs into England, and show by example that women could wield power for the common good.
It was too great a decision to make under pressure, yet she did not want Henry to be offended by her failure to leap at the glorious future he had offered her. She must impress on him that she really did need time to think.
An idea came to her. Taking Mrs. Orchard and a groom, she rode into Tonbridge, the nearest town, and paid a visit to a goldsmith who had made various pieces for her parents.
“I want a jewel, in solid gold, fashioned as a solitary damsel in a ship tossed by a tempest. Could you do that?” she asked, as Mrs. Orchard eyed her suspiciously. The nurse knew of old when Anne was hiding something, and had fished continuously to find out what it was.
“It is for an admirer,” Anne teased her.
“That’s a fine sum to be paying out, when he should be the one giving presents!” Mrs. Orchard sniffed.
The goldsmith, however, was delighted with the commission, and a week later an exquisite brooch, exactly as Anne had envisaged, was delivered to Hever. She sent it to Henry with an affectionate note, hoping he would understand the allusion to her predicament: how she was tossed in turmoil on troubled waters, fearing that she might be overcome by the tempest and praying that her boat would take a safe course.
The jewel provoked a passionate reaction from Henry, reassuring her that henceforth his heart would be dedicated to her alone, and desiring fervently that his body could be as well. “God can bring it to pass if it pleases Him,” he declared, adding that he was entreating the Almighty every day to bring that about. “I wish the time short until we shall see each other again,” he ended, signing himself “the secretary who in heart, body, and will is your loyal and most assured servant. H. autre ne cherche R.”
Henry the King seeks no other. And around Anne’s initials the King had drawn a heart.
It was that little symbol that made her mind up. It struck a chord in her own heart, and made her believe that, yes, in time she might come to love him, even if it was not the kind of passionate love that she had tasted so briefly. In the meantime, she would settle for power instead. It was as great an aphrodisiac as Norris’s dazzling smile. She knew now that she very much wanted to be queen.
She wrote to Henry in humble and loving vein: she would be honored to accept his proposal of marriage.
—
The first response she had was a letter from Father. “I have received the most joyful and unexpected news, from the King himself!” he wrote. “Nothing could have been more welcome to me!” Anne knew what this would mean to Father. He was an ambitious man, but even he had never dreamed of such advancement. The prospect of being father of the next Queen of England and, God willing, grandsire to a future monarch would bring him and his family more wealth, power, fame, and honor than he had ever craved.
Anne knocked at her mother’s door, took a deep breath, and opened it. This would be the first time she spoke her news out loud, and doing that would make it feel more real.
“Mother,” she ventured. Elizabeth Howard was sitting on the bed, sorting her embroidery silks. She looked up.
“Yes?”
Anne grasped her hands. “Mother, I have wonderful news, but before I say anything, you must swear to keep it a secret for now.”
“What is it?” Mother stood up, the silks abandoned.
“The King is to be divorced. He has asked me to be his next Queen, and I have accepted.”
Mother gasped then cried out in amazement and hugged her fiercely.
“I can’t believe it!” she said, again and again. “My daughter—the Queen of England! Does your father know?”
“He does. The King told him, and he is overjoyed. Mother, your grandson will be a king! Think of it! And George will be thrilled!” She paused. “I’m not sure how Mary will take it.” Thankfully Mary was at court, so she would not have to confront that problem immediately. She remembered that moment of jealousy when she first confided in her sister about the King’s advances. Always they had competed with each other, and now Mary could never hope to match her great good fortune.
“What happens now?” Mother asked excitedly, pouring them some wine to celebrate.
Anne explained that the King was taking immediate steps to procure an annulment of his marriage.
“Discretion is the order of the day,” she added, “so I shall stay here for a while. Hopefully a decision will be given soon.”
“I shall pray for it,” Mother said, “although I do feel sorry for the poor Queen. She is blameless in all this. It will come hard to her.”
“The King will provide handsomely for her, I am sure,” Anne said, feeling guilty about Katherine. But, she reminded herself, this was not her fault. No one could help it if the Queen’s marriage wasn’t valid, or that the King had a duty to assure the succession: unfair as it was, it was something that Katherine would have to accept.
Suddenly there was a frantic knock on the parlor door and the steward burst in without waiting for a response. “My lady—the King is here! He’s just riding down the hill!”
As her mother leapt up, screaming at the man to go and welcome him, and to bring more wine, and order the cook to bestir himself to make a good dinner—and not to forget the best silver—Anne jumped to her feet, aware that she was wearing only an old green gown, and had not even bound up her hair. Quickly, her heart pounding, she smoothed her skirts, dragged a comb through her long locks, and sped through the entrance hall into the courtyard. Through the gatehouse arch she could see the King, garbed in his riding clothes and boots, already clattering across the drawbridge, with just four mounted gentlemen and four Yeomen of the Guard in attendance. The steward was bowing low, and Mother was curtseying behind him.