Mary saw her cousin Francis color slightly as he realized his exuberance had made him overstep his place. Everyone kept his peace wondering what marvels His Grace would point out next. Mary walked on his arm as they entered the great courtyard. She kept her eyes on Henry’s proud face, for she did not want to be caught by Staff stealing a glance at the way his demoiselle innocent draped herself against his body as they walked.
The king had now entirely taken over the tour himself, as though he had designed and built the monstrosity. It was typical of the king’s ebullience and acquisitive nature, and they were all used to it. Staff and Sir Francis, whom the king had ordered to organize the jaunt, dropped farther back in the group as they paraded from room to opulent room. There were close to one thousand rooms in the palace, but they traipsed through only the principal chambers. Rich Damascene carpets virtually littered the floors. Gold and silver plate encrusted the massive oaken hutches and sideboards. Tapestries from Flanders draped the walnut carved walls and mullioned windows lent a golden glow to the myriad hangings of gold and silk. Their eyes could not take it in, they who were well accustomed to the opulence of the king’s palaces.
“It seems the Lord Cardinal overstepped his place as a man of the cloth and a servant to the greatest king in the world,” Mary heard Anne say distinctly at the king’s elbow, and she held her breath at the tactless remark. There was a sudden silence as they stood under the heavy tapestry of Daniel in the lions’ den. Anne had hated the great cardinal ever since he had forced Harry Percy, the young son of Northumberland, whom Anne loved desperately, to renounce the Bullen wench and submit to the arranged and proper marriage his family had set with Shrewsbury’s daughter. Anne carried the bitter resentment against the cardinal in her heart, Mary knew, but to dare to voice it like this to the king was dangerous.
Henry Tudor’s voice sliced through the quiet. “Lady Anne is quite right, but the cardinal has learned his place with his king. This palace is the palace of the monarch, not of his servant, and he willingly bestowed it as a gift. The cardinal knows full well his lord is a hard taskmaster, and if he should forget again, we will remind him. Hampton Court is king’s court now, my Lady Anne.”
Anne’s dark head bent as though in acquiescence to his power, and when she lifted her face to him, her smile was brilliant. Mary was stunned at the fine line of tangible magnetism that crackled between the king and her little sister.
“We had best see the gardens before it rains. I have magnificent plans for a pond, tennis courts, a tiltground, and a huge lovers’ maze which I am sure you will all have memorized by this time next year. Come, Come.”
Mary felt him pull back and hesitate when Anne strolled by, as though he wished to disengage her arm and seize Anne’s. She lightened her arm against his instinctively, but he chose to move on. It was graying outside as they drifted out, and the lovely gardens seemed subdued and silent. The group splintered off in pairs or clusters, and Mary smiled to see the Duke and his beloved Duchess walk off toward the knot garden arm in arm, as the fondest lovers. But when her eyes took in the bright blue of Staff’s doublet as he led Mistress Jennings toward the rose beds, her smile faded and she bit her lip in anger at herself.
“Well,” the king intoned smoothly, “if everyone is pairing off for a garden walk, that leaves us, sweet Mary.” He bent to kiss her lips, but stopped poised above her, his eyes darting off into the distance. “Your little sister can hardly practice her French-learned wiles on your Will, sweet, and that appears to be the only victim left to her.”
Mary turned her head slowly and saw Will seated with Anne in earnest conversation on a marble bench surrounded by a riot of lilies, cornflowers and broom. The scene reminded her of a painting that hung at Francois’s Amboise of a pair of Italian lovers in a flowered frame.
“Damn! But I should have seen to it that Will had someone to be with. Where has that little Jane Rochford gone?”
“Jane Rochford is another sister-in-law to Will, Sire, but I will admit it does seem strange to see Anne unattended by at least two gentlemen.”
“Yes—yes. Perhaps you had best stroll with Will just for a while. She will talk the poor devil’s ear off, though I do not wonder that it is witty talk. Will! Mistress Anne!”