The King dismounted and raised her.
“Greetings, Lady Boleyn! We were hunting in the neighborhood—I’m staying over at Penshurst—and I thought it would be pleasant to pay you a visit.”
“We are truly honored, your Grace, but I fear that, not expecting you, we have little to offer in the way of hospitality.”
“No matter!” Henry beamed. “Some light refreshment and a walk around these glorious gardens would please me mightily. It will be good to be among friends and free for a short time from the cares of state.”
His eyes were drawn to Anne, waiting by the castle entrance, and in them, as she made her obeisance, she could read only jubilation.
“Darling!” he cried, striding forward, raising her up and kissing her on the mouth. “It does my heart good to see you. I trust you are in health?”
“I am very well, your Grace,” she said, aware of him eyeing the plain gown, and Mother staring at them. “Forgive our lack of ceremony.”
“You look charming,” he murmured as they entered the castle and Anne led Henry and his companions to the parlor, where a fresh ewer of wine was already waiting.
“You will stay to dine, sir?” Mother fluttered.
“I will not trouble you, Lady Boleyn, but thank you.” He accepted the goblet of wine.
“The Queen is looking forward to your return,” he said to Anne, looking at her hopefully.
“That is most gracious of her,” she replied. “Please do me the service of telling her that my trouble is a little amended. I will return to court as soon as I am able.”
There was a silence.
“Your Grace, Anne must have the honor of showing you the gardens,” Mother said.
Henry drained his goblet. “That would be most pleasant.”
“I will summon Mrs. Orchard,” Anne said.
They walked out into the warm May air, past the Yeomen of the Guard, who had stationed themselves outside the gatehouse. One left his post and followed them at a discreet distance, keeping step with an agog Mrs. Orchard, who definitely was putting two and two together and coming up with an enormous sum.
As soon as they were out of earshot of anyone, Henry turned to Anne.
“Your letter made me weep. I had not felt so joyful in all my life. Thank you, my own darling, for making me the happiest of men.” He seized her hand and kissed it, then tucked it under his arm.
They walked along the banks of the Eden, and then Anne led Henry to her favorite spot in the meadow, where they sat on the grass.
“It’s at times like these that I wish I wasn’t a king, but a simple country gentleman,” Henry mused, chewing on a stalk. “This, not the vanities of my court, is the real England.”
“You would miss it, sir,” Anne teased. “It can be very boring here. Trust me, I know.”
“Then come to court and be with me.”
“I should not—not right now.” She paused. “Is there any news?”
Henry grinned. “Yes, sweetheart. Things are moving. In his capacity as Papal legate, the Cardinal has secretly convened an ecclesiastical court at Westminster. Archbishop Warham is presiding, and we’ve assembled a host of bishops and canon lawyers. I was summoned last week, and asked to account for having knowingly taken to wife my brother’s widow. I admitted the charge, confessed my doubts of conscience, and asked for a decision to be given on my case. I should hear soon. And then, dearest Anne, we can be married!”
She hoped his optimism was justified. She did not dare let her excitement run away with her. But in a few short weeks she might be queen! She could see herself seated in Westminster Abbey, feel the weight of the crown on her head. The prospect was an exhilarating one, and still not quite believable.
“I am glad to hear that the Cardinal supports your Grace.”
“He does now.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
Henry’s eyes narrowed. “When I first told him that I wanted an annulment, and asked for his wise opinion in the matter, he fell to his knees and tried every persuasion to the contrary.”
Anne drew in her breath. Wolsey again, trying to ruin her future as he had ruined it before!
“But I talked to him,” Henry assured her. “He is of a different opinion now.”
She fervently hoped so. She would not let that butcher’s dog stand in the way of her advancement. But if he secured a divorce for Henry, she would forgive him all.
“Has your Grace spoken to the Queen?”
“Not yet,” Henry replied. “I am awaiting the outcome of this hearing.” She sensed he was reluctant to broach the matter with Katherine.
“I will pray for a good outcome,” she said.
“You have no idea how hard I have been praying,” Henry told her. “I long for the time when we can be together—really together.” He leaned forward, cupped her chin in his hands, and kissed her long and lovingly.
“We should go back,” she said, breaking away and getting to her feet, then remembering to whom she was speaking. “That is, if your Grace pleases.”
“It does not please me, Anne. Having to leave you is sheer torment. But you are right. Let us return to your mother. She will be wondering what has happened to us.”
“I think she might have guessed!” Anne laughed.
—
Henry’s letters all spoke of his pain at being parted from her, and they were beautiful and moving—the kind of letters a woman would cherish, were she in love with the sender. Anne read them dispassionately, pleased that she could inspire such devotion in a man so powerful, but they only made her wonder how she would find ways to keep his passion alive. A man might stand only so much elusiveness before he stopped coming back for more.
But then there arrived a letter that reassured her.
“My mistress and my friend,” Henry had written, “I and my heart commit ourselves into your hands, beseeching you to hold us in your good favor, and that your affection may not be by absence diminished. The longer the days are, the farther off is the sun, and the hotter; so it is with our love, for we are far apart, yet it nevertheless keeps its fervency, at least on my part, hoping that it does on yours. Your absence would be intolerable to me, were it not for the firm hope that I have of your ever-enduring affection.” And to put her in mind of him, he had enclosed his picture set in a bracelet. “I am wishing myself in their place, when it should please you,” he ended, and signed himself her loyal servant and friend.
The siege had been raised. It was the first letter in which he had not begged her to be his. It was suddenly clear that her consenting to marry him had wrought a great change in their relations. Of course! If she was going to be his Queen, she must not be tainted by any breath of scandal, nor risk an illicit pregnancy. So he was keeping his promise to respect her honor and wait until he could lawfully enjoy her. From now on, it would not be her who had the power to bring to fruition all Henry’s desires: that lay with God—and the men gathered at Westminster.