“Of course, father. I always have.”
“And do not be sad, Mary. Times are bad with France, so I intend to fetch Anne home on the excuse of George’s wedding. Then when His Grace calls you back to court after the child is born, you will have George, Anne, and Jane Rochford about to keep you company, as well as Carey and me. That will help.”
“Yes. It will be wonderful to have Anne home, but that Rochford girl can drive me to distraction at times.”
“Really? I think her a rather good soldier. She knows her place, and she is fond of you, Mary. I appreciate her. She often tells me what is going on. She will help to settle George down and help him forget that foolish Wyatt girl.”
Mary pressed her lips together tightly. He guided her up the path toward the tiltyards. “Let me see you without the cloak. Here, just hold your arms out.” He bent in front of her and peered at her waist and stomach as though she were a filly for sale. “Quite flat yet. We are in luck. No one has noticed, have they?”
“I would say I am much too small, father, for just anyone to notice.”
He squinted into the sunlight at her face. “Good. Then everything is settled. I imagine we can at least tell Will the news. Perhaps the Careys will rejoice at the prospect of an heir, and at least he will have the brains to hold his tongue until it is time for our next move. After all, you could be carrying the king’s son. There might be fine possibilities in the years to come.”
They did not speak again as their footsteps crunched the gravel of the slanting path that linked the green-gray river to their king.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
April 6, 1522
Hever Castle
Another crunching pain seized Mary’s belly and shot jaggedly along her spine. She clenched her hands and wrinkled her brow. It passed as swiftly as it had come.
Anne bent her sleek head toward her sister, but did not touch her. “Mary, is it time? Shall I summon mother or Semmonet?”
Mary shook her blonde head slowly, her loosed hair sliding along her back and shoulders. “I am certain it is just another false pain. I will not be put to bed, and the midwife called again for nothing. I felt so foolish. I can feel the babe has gone lower now. Perhaps soon.” Tiny tears trembled on her thick lashes but did not spill. “If only this wretched waiting were over, Anne, I would be so happy.”
“I can understand that, Mary. If I were in your exciting place in life, I would want to go back too. It is just too silent here—no dancing, no banquets, no chevaliers charmants to twist about one’s little finger for mere amusement.”
“I did not mean that I was anxious to leave Hever, Anne. Have you not longed for home while at Francois’s court all these years?”
“Oh, at first, when I was young, I suppose.”
“But you are only fourteen now.”
“Almost fifteen, sister, and old enough to long for the excitement of Amboise and Chambourg. Fortunately, this boorish exile shall not last long, for father has promised I go to the English court to serve the queen. They say in France that she is quite stuffy, mopes and wears haircloth under her unfashionable dresses, Mary. Is she truly another Claude?”
“She is not well loved by her lord, Anne, so she has that to share with the French queen. Only she seems to me much more tragic, for she was loved once, and she must have the memories of the loss to torment her. The king chose her, you know, though it is said the marriage was his father’s death bed wish. I doubt that Francois du Roi ever cared a whit for poor Claude. And then, there are the babes. Her Grace has had six dead babes, Anne, and the man she adores gone from her too.” Mary put her hands on her huge stomach protectively.
“I am sorry I made you talk of dead babies, Mary. I did not mean to upset you.” Anne had long ago dumped her pile of embroidery on the turf, and she munched handfuls of the last of the winter walnuts as she spoke. “Truly, Mary, what is it like? I am old enough to know now.”
“To carry a child?”
“No, silly goose. To belong to Caesar, to share his bed, to have everyone defer to you—and, well, to have his child.”
“This babe is my lord Will Carey’s child, Anne. I have told you that before.”
“Father says it can just as well be the king’s and that we are to keep mum on it outside the family, and let them wonder.”
“Father is not birthing this child, and I do not wish you to have Will hear such talk.” She reached out her hand to Anne’s arm. “Please, Anne, try to understand.”
“I do, Mary, truly. It is no wonder both Francois and His Grace desired to love you. Even when you are so, well, enceinte, and heavy at the waist, you are still beautiful, sister. I wish I had your Howard looks.” She leaned her slim body back on the bench and stretched her arms over her head. “Then I warrant I could have a new courtier every week.”