When he was absent, the atmosphere was more relaxed. Couples were pairing off: Nan Gainsford with George Zouche; Frances de Vere with Anne’s cousin, Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, Norfolk’s heir; and Margaret Douglas with another cousin, Norfolk’s young brother, Thomas Howard. Anne hoped that Henry would consent to their marrying; it would reinforce the bond between her blood and the royal house. She had no doubt that she could persuade him to consent to Surrey marrying Frances.
Surrey sometimes brought with him his great friend, Henry’s bastard son, the Duke of Richmond, a tall, gangling youth with his father’s looks but not his charm, for he was proud, insufferable, and resentful of his bastardy. He was showing an interest in Mary Howard. Anne thought she might talk to Henry about them too. It would be a feather in her cap to marry her cousin to the King’s son.
Madge Shelton was doing her best to attract the attentions of Norris, but without success. Anne suspected that he came to these gatherings for her alone. There was still that unacknowledged frisson between them, but things had changed. She might indulge in innocent flirtations with him and the men in her circle, but she was Caesar’s wife now, and must be above reproach. And her advancing pregnancy seemed to have unsexed her. Henry was still sharing her bed every night, but showing heroic restraint. He caressed her, kissed her, asked her to use her hands to pleasure him, but he would not enter her, fearing to harm the child.
George was the foremost member of her court, and the person in whom she confided most. Henry had showered him with preferments: he was now Constable of Dover and Master of the Buckhounds, and was often away on diplomatic missions. It would only be a matter of time, Anne was sure, before Henry gave him a peerage in his own right.
She had grown to like William Brereton since he had come one day with a greyhound puppy for her.
“My bitch had a litter, and he’s the best. His name is Urian,” he told her as she took the pup in her arms, exclaiming in delight.
“A little devil,” she teased, for in Burgundy Urian had been another name for Satan.
“Your Grace, he is named for my brother, who serves as groom in His Grace’s privy chamber. Believe me, he is a little devil!”
Soon Anne and Urian were inseparable. He was forever at her feet or at her heel.
She knew there was another side to Brereton. He was a lot older than most of those who frequented her chamber, and a man of some standing, being the Duke of Richmond’s deputy as Steward of the Welsh Marches, where he exercised great power. Anne had heard Cromwell, who didn’t like him, refer to Brereton as an over-mighty subject, but she was determined to see that Brereton continued to enjoy the King’s favor. It was upon loyal supporters like him that she depended.
—
Her marriage had now been proclaimed all over England, but it had not been generally well received. There was still a great swell of love for Katherine and the Princess Mary, and there were very vocal complaints that Anne’s elevation to queenship would mean war with the Emperor and disaster for the lucrative trade that England enjoyed with the Empire.
Henry’s Council was dealing with a torrent of public protests against her marriage. He spared her the details, but they were notorious at court, and there were those, such as the half-Spanish Lady Exeter, a friend of Katherine, who seemed to take great pleasure in repeating them to Anne’s ladies.
“What are they saying about me?” Anne pressed George, as they sat down to dinner in her chamber and the King’s waiter arrived, punctual as usual, to wish her, on her husband’s behalf, “Much good may it do you.”
She smiled graciously at him. “I thank His Grace.” When the waiter had departed, she turned to her brother. “You can’t just say there’s seditious talk and not tell me what it is!”
“Do you really want to know?” he asked, his dark eyes concerned. “The King would kill me if I told you.”
“And I will kill you if you don’t!” she retorted. “Forewarned is forearmed.”
He gave in. “Some fools are greatly agitated about your marriage. A priest was hauled before the justices for calling you the scandal of Christendom and worse. Another priest commended you to his flock and was abused by the women among them. And when you were first prayed for, as queen, in the churches, a congregation in London walked out. The King has personally reprimanded the Lord Mayor. Do you want to hear more?”
Anne had listened with mounting dismay, but she nodded.
“The Dean of Bristol has lost his office for forbidding his priests to pray for you. One woman who cried out ‘God save Queen Katherine!’ and called you—pardon me—a goggle-eyed whore, has been sent to prison, as has Mrs. Amadas.” Anne knew Elizabeth Amadas slightly, for her husband was keeper of the royal Jewel Tower.
“What did she say?” she asked, feeling a little faint.
“I hardly dare repeat it,” George replied. “She predicted that you would be burned as a harlot. She accused Norris of acting as bawd between you and His Grace. And—I hesitate to say this—she alleged that the King had kept both Mother and Mary as his mistresses, and that Father acted as bawd to them and to you.”
Anne was horrified. The allegation about her mother was monstrous but ridiculous, yet far worse was the realization that, somehow, Henry’s affair with Mary had become public knowledge.
“How did Mrs. Amadas know about Mary?”
“I have no idea.” George shrugged. “What I can’t forgive is the slur on our lady mother. Of course, she did have a bit of a reputation in her youth.”
“What do you mean?”
“She took lovers. Father told me. That’s why they don’t get on.”
“But to accuse her of sleeping with the King! Are they implying that I’m the fruit of their adultery? How could that be? He was ten when I was born! It’s a vile slur on him. But he did have Mary, and if there is talk at court about his affair with her, everyone will soon know about it. George, this is serious. It could upset everything, because the world does not know that we had a dispensation.”
“From the Pope, whose authority is no longer recognized here. It might be of no more worth than the dispensation granted to Katherine.”
“I must speak to the King!” Anne cried. “Never fear, I’ll say I made you repeat all this.”
She flew through her apartments to her bedchamber, where a door led into Henry’s lodging. Mercifully he was there, reading.
“Darling? What’s wrong?” he asked, springing to his feet.
She burst into tears and repeated what George had told her. “And now people will know that there is an impediment to our marriage!” she cried.