“You are evidently ready then, wife. Yes, you and Nancy did a very pretty job here. Those little roses at the neckline and hairpiece remind me of another gown you had once, but for the life of me I cannot think which one. Let us be off then. It is almost eleven and it will not do to keep His Grace waiting. I did tell you I am to go with John Ashton, Thomas Darcy and a small contingent of guards to fetch the Princess Mary for her father later this afternoon, did I not, Mary?”
“No. No, you did not, my lord.” She took his offered arm as they went out into the hall increasingly full of courtiers heading downstairs. “But she is at Beaulieu, Will. You cannot possibly get back until tomorrow.”
“True, madam,” he said tight-lipped. “See what you can make of the respite then.”
She darted a sideways look at him through her thick lashes, suddenly afraid. Could he know about Staff and her? But no, since things were bad in their marriage, he had probably meant that she would not miss him. Besides, he said no more about it and Staff and she had been so careful.
Still, she felt the first tiny stab of guilt for a long time. The moment he had told her he would be away, had not her first thought been to somehow tell Staff?
The sun dazzled them as they stepped out the big back doors facing the pond garden on the south front lawns. Mary blinked and squinted until her eyes adjusted. Courtiers were streaming in their springtime pastels like gentle trails of ribbons down to the burgeoning tables and waiting May poles on the river. The poignant fragrances of boxwood and sweet lilies-of-the-valley permeated the air everywhere here.
Her eyes skimmed the clusters of chatting, strolling people for Staff. He was always ridiculously easy to pick out, of course, because he was so tall, but she saw him nowhere here. Perhaps the king had attached him to his retinue at the last minute, and the big, brazen sovereign had hardly put in his appearance here yet among these still somewhat subdued courtiers. Do not panic and do not show dismay, Staff had warned her, when you see I am escorting Dorothy Cobham and Isabelle Dorsey. It would look most suspicious for me to attend May Day like a single stag among the does, only to shoot soulful looks at the married lady Lady Carey all afternoon. She knew he was right. At least there would be two women with him, she breathed, and that was infinitely better than one.
“Well, wife, steady yourself for the onslaught,” Will was chuckling and Mary’s eyes foolishly searched the path for Staff with his two females in tow until she realized Will could not possibly know of that. Then she saw what he meant: in an elaborately ruffled and embroidered gown of light green and pale yellow, a laughing Anne Bullen pulled Henry Tudor decked in blinding white and gold down the path directly behind them with the rest of the Bullen family in their broad wake.
Will took Mary’s arm firmly and they both bowed low as the royal entourage approached. Anne giggled; George nodded and tried to shift away from his clinging wife, Jane Rochford; Lady Bullen clasped her hands in delight and nodded at Mary over the perfection of the dress. The king and Thomas Bullen both stared wide-eyed at Mary.
“Well, well,” the king’s voice came to Mary’s ears uncharacteristically raspy. “Thomas, you rogue, how did you ever do it? Two beautiful, ravishing daughters. Lady Mary, my greetings this fine May Day and to you Will, of course, whom I see more often.” His eyes, in shadow, went deliberately over Mary, but Anne’s head jerked toward the king and she possessively took his white satin-covered arm.
“My dear lord king, everyone awaits,” she said, and tugged his arm. He pulled his eyes away from Mary like a guilty schoolboy caught cheating at sums and with another mumbled word and quick backward glance went on.
Thomas Bullen dropped behind the departing king and spoke first to Will, as if Mary were not even there. “Did you mark all that, Will?” he demanded low. “I would advise you and your lady here to patch things up and put on a good front. Anne seems so willful and nervous I never know what she is going to do next. You do look spectacular, Mary dear. See to her, Will.”
Mary stared at her father’s retreating back through slitted eyes as he hurried to catch up with the king. “Do you have anything to say, madam?” Will probed the minute they were all out of earshot.
“About what, Will? My father’s cryptic comments or His Grace’s greedy eyes?”
“Do not raise your voice out here like that, Mary. I was referring to how your father knew things were—well, unsettled between us.”
She started to walk toward the festival green and he had to hurry to keep up. “Honestly, Will, you ought to be used to father’s knowing everything by now. It can hardly be a secret at court that you bed elsewhere but in the Lady Carey’s room.”
His hand shot out and seized her wrist, whirling her around to face him. “And you, madam?”