Thomas Bullen clenched his fist, and she knew he would hit her, but he restrained himself. His long face was livid and a huge vein throbbed in his neck.
Will’s agitated voice broke the thread of passion between the Bullens as they stood there frozen. “You must not gainsay your father on this point, Mary. We are agreed. You know you wish for a fine education for our son, and it is long overdue to begin. Next month the boy joins the household of the new heir to the throne at Hatfield House. He will have playmates there, a fine tutor, and we can easily ride to see him often if you wish.”
“And he will be where he should be, daughter. Close to the heir and sharing Fitzroy’s education should it ever happen he needs it. Wipe those tears. The king will want a happy face on his jaunt upriver.”
“You do not take Catherine! She does not even say her sentences yet. She is still in leading strings.” Her voice was pleading when she meant to be so strong. She was afraid to threaten father as she did Will. They were all she had to love. Well, almost all, but the other was impossible.
“Of course Catherine stays, Mary,” her father reassured her, trying to pat her arm, but she recoiled from his touch. “Her position is hardly at stake. And, Mary, I am trusting you to be wise in this with His Grace. There are others to whom he has turned and can turn again, you know.”
“Why do you threaten me with that? It frightens you more than it does me, father.”
“I am not threatening you, dear Mary. Only warning. Your own sister, for example, seems to have much influence over him. Not only has she had her marriage promise to the Ormonds rescinded, but she has been brought back to the king’s good graces after that foolish Percy affair. Anne is bright and smiling and is much about, so dry those tears. No doubt, His Grace’s retinue gathers at the royal barge now, so be quick.” He clapped Will twice on the shoulder and strode from the room.
Mary sank onto her bench, leaning her elbows on the dressing table. Even when she tried desperately to erect barriers to keep herself from hurt, she failed. Failed to hold the king’s attentions, failed to please Will, failed to communicate with Anne, failed even to protect her little son.
“Mary, your father is right. We must hurry. You will have to remake your eyes. Come on now. It is all for the best. You will greatly disappoint the king, your cousin and Staff, whom His Grace put in charge of this tour today.”
She said nothing. Mechanically, she began to reapply her eye colors.
Mary felt like a wooden doll that little Catherine had dragged through the gravel or stepped on, as she joined the gathering group of courtiers. Jane Rochford greeted her gaily with a swift hug, and Anne waved brightly, surrounded by a little cluster of men including Weston, Norris, and their tall cousin, Sir Francis Bryan. William Stafford came up from behind with the lovely fair-haired Maud Jennings on his arm, and Mary felt another sharp twist inside.
It suddenly annoyed Mary that she and the Jennings woman had both chosen gold for this barge trip to Hampton. Really, Mary thought, and glared at Maud through slitted lids, anyone who knew anything about fashion at court knew the king’s mistress Mary Carey often wore gold as her color and, out of deference, chose others. Mary’s gown was a particularly elaborate satin and brocade one she had worn only once before. Her filmy, short veil set far back on her small, jeweled headpiece rustled in the river breeze as she tossed her head to pull her gaze away from the flirty Maud Jennings.
But her eyes had taken in the girl, and Staff with her, all too well. Maud’s dress might not be as expensively made or as fashionable, but Mary had to admit it showed the maid’s flagrant charms to best advantage. She had a most annoying habit of swishing those velvet and brocade-covered hips entirely too much when she walked or leaned into Staff as she did now.