She stood and her green skirts swung in a gentle arc as she paced in a circle around them. “Perhaps I should join you when you ride back to Eltham, Staff. Then father would be shocked, His Grace would be elated, and you could save me from several bands of thieves with rape on their minds on the way back to break all this boredom of waiting, waiting!”
Mary thought Anne looked like a slender, lovely flower among the rest of them dressed in black. But she was so pent-up with hopes and schemes she would not share but only alluded to—much like father. Yes, she was getting to be more and more like father.
“Mother, Staff promised me he would catch me up on all the news at court and you and Mary virtually keep him your prisoner, though a willing one, I grant you.” She spun toward Staff and her skirts belled out in a perfect graceful cup. Her voice was teasing. “You never did tell me, for instance, how you coerced His Grace into letting you leave Eltham when you heard poor Will Carey was dead. You told him you wanted to bring Mary back here and he let you go at once? ’Sblood, I would have liked to have seen that.”
“Anne, sit and cease this foolishness,” came Lady Elizabeth’s voice as Staff was about to answer. “Thank God, His Grace did let Lord Stafford go or Mary would not be here now, one way or the other.”
“Perhaps, Anne, the king reasoned that Staff could then see how you are behaving and report back to him,” Mary put in, hoping the tone of her voice would make Anne stop her insinuations where she and Staff were concerned.
“All right, I will sit in stony silence, if I must. I do not need all of you teasing me, or I shall have to seek my desolate room alone!”
They all laughed at her, for her buoyant mood beneath the testiness was contagious. Mary stretched her legs, smiled in Staff’s direction and stood to join Semmonet and Catherine. But then Michael, the gangly gardener, came striding across the grass followed by a stranger, and she sat again.
“This be Lord Bullen’s lady wife,” Michael said to the man and they both bowed to Elizabeth. The man presented a folded parchment to her outstretched hand and bowed again.
“Nothing from father to me?” Anne asked sharply.
The messenger scanned the group, and bowed a third time to Anne. “The king’s man be hard on the road behind me, begging your grace, my Lady Anne. He ha’ told me he bears a message from the king and a gift.” He stood about awkwardly until Lady Elizabeth summoned Michael to take the man in for refreshments.
“Our lord is coming home two days hence,” she read with her head still bent over the letter. “He hopes that Mary is well settled here and will return in her sister’s retinue in September when Anne goes to live at court as ‘she has so wisely promised His Grace she would do.’” She glanced up at Anne, who sat impassive, hitting her knee with her now-closed book. “That is really the import of it. Two days hence. For how long this time, I wonder.”
“Not long, lady,” Staff assured her. “As soon as the first span of cooler weather hits the city, the court will be back in full swing, and your Lord Thomas will be at the center of things. And the Lady Anne.” Through the whole speech, his eyes focused on Mary, and she shot him a dazzling smile despite Anne’s sharp stare.
“And I promise you, before I even tell my father, Staff, that I shall bring Mary back with me as he asks. Imagine you and our father wanting the same thing.” Anne giggled despite her mother’s pointed glance.
“Although the company is most beautiful and the conversation here a definite, ah, challenge, ladies, I shall take Sanctuary for a bit of a ride tomorrow to test my strength. The next day I must set out for Eltham and I promise to stick to more heavily traveled roads—that is, unless the Lady Anne actually does fancy an adventure such as Mary had.” He leaned forward on his knees and peered around Lady Bullen at Anne. “I cannot promise to be wounded and bleed for you though, Lady Anne. I am sure you can understand that blood shed for one Bullen lass is quite enough.”
Elizabeth Bullen regarded him closely while Anne suddenly narrowed her eyes, uncertain if she were merely being teased or quite put down.
“Anyway,” he continued evenly, “I intend to ride to Hatfield House to see Henry Carey on my way back to Eltham. Mary wishes the boy to be told carefully of his father’s death by a friend of the family, and to deliver Will’s crested neck chain. It is his heritage now.”