Sir Francis said not another word, and Mary briefly wondered if he had done this for His Grace before. Maybe with poor banished Bessie Blount. Weston’s own wife? She began to tremble again. She thought suddenly of another who had been sent to fetch her for a king—the cold, snake-like man in gray silk. What was his name?
“Good evening, Lady Carey,” Sir Francis said with a quick glance that rested on her white face and heaving breasts. He quietly closed the door to the small room.
She leaned on the door for a full minute, her hands pressed to her breasts. The room was all linen-fold paneling and the wood seemed to glow in warm shadows from the low burning fire. There was a table and wine, three chairs—were they expecting a third? she thought irrationally—and a huge bed, high with a deep crimson coverlet. She sat in the nearest chair and leaned back on the stuffed blue velvet pillow.
William Stafford was crazy or he just meant to hurt her. Perhaps he was angered he had not been chosen to wed her and so be given the revenue and lands from the king. Perhaps, in that sense, he was jealous. How she would like to think he was jealous! She was grateful the king had not chosen him to wed with her, or deliver her here tonight. She could never have faced that.
Resolutely, she pushed William Stafford from her mind and banished the bitter, pinched face of Will Carey. Tonight she was waiting for the King of England. Father, I will sleep with your king tonight, she thought. Please come home soon, so you will see how well I am getting on.
Then a tall Robin Hood filled the doorway, his hair glowing red in the firelight, his gleaming narrow eyes upon her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
September 22, 1520
Greenwich
The summer weeks flitted by on butterfly wings for Mary Carey at King Henry’s busy court—and in his massive bed. Will Carey’s honeymoon with her had lasted but a week; this one, with the loud and laughing king, went on and on. They hunted, they rode bedecked barges up and down the Thames, they laughed and danced and sported and held hands. For Mary, it was truly the first courtship she had ever had, and she was wholly in love with being loved, if not with the effusive lover himself.
“Mary! Mary, His Grace is waiting for you under your window and half the court is in tow,” Jane Rochford squealed and darted to help Mary pin her new green velvet riding hat on her heavy piled gold curls. “You had best give him a quick wave from the window if you intend to keep him waiting so patiently.”
“There, I am ready, Jane, but I shall perhaps wave anyway. What a beautiful autumn day!” Mary shoved open a thick glass and leaded window and leaned her head out to wave. Her bright Kendal green riding gown and green plumed hat looked perfect for this day, she thought, as the king and several of his closest courtiers caught sight of her, waved and shouted their greetings.
“I am on my way down and I feel lucky at shooting today!” she called. They had all looked so excited and happy, like children, she thought: George standing proudly by His Grace, the king smiling, everyone eager to be off for the mounded, grassy hills where the painted bulls-eye targets were ready to be studded with their arrows. It had only been the avid-eyed William Stafford leaning on that big oak behind the king who did not smile up at her.
She hurried down the huge east staircase with Jane Rochford and several other friends trailing behind. Mary was proud of the effect of this dress that she had taken hours to select colors and materials for. This was her most simply cut dress as it was for riding or shooting. The velvet gored skirt was only moderately full and it was the long-sleeved, tight-fitting jacket with the row of molded brass buttons that set the whole outfit apart from others she had seen. The smooth cut of skirt showed off the top curve of her hips and a pleated cuff draped from the waist of the jacket. It emphasized her flat stomach and full breasts to perfection, despite the fact that the bodice styles imported from France and Spain were all rather tight with the cleavage pushed up above the daring low necklines. But, not for a morning of shooting arrows at targets, Mary thought. The king will have to leer at pushed-up breasts elsewhere today!
The air was crystal clear, the sun like some cut jewel set in the blue velvet sky. She had been told England was often rainy and foggy in the autumn here along these great, rambling palaces on the twisting Thames. But today, all was beautiful in Mary’s world. His Grace had even sent Will away again, probably for a week this time, so she would not have to put up with his grim looks and sour disposition today.
“Good morning, sweet Mary,” the king boomed out the moment she emerged with her trailing ladies. As if, Mary thought, she had not been in his bed all last night, and as if most of the courtiers standing about did not know it.