December 1528
Princess Mary Tudor looked around the room; she wanted to weep, but that would not befit a princess of the blood. She was 12 years old and looked younger, but was the reigning woman at court. Her father had decided to keep the Queen’s ladies as her ladies and she felt completely out of place among the sophisticated women and the jokes they made that she could make no sense of. The only time she was comfortable was when she was learning and the only one who seemed to understand that was Countess Percy. She kept the other women from ‘corrupting’ her with humor that was unfit (for which Mary was grateful, she had enough to confess as it was). Her aunt Mary, Duchess of Suffolk, was who the girl wanted, but the Duchess’ illness forbade her travel to court (that, and her brother’s horror of illness of any sort).
Anne, Countess Percy, was desperate to go home; but realized that, since the Poles were suspected of God knows what by the King; she was the Mistress of the Maids. She’d called her sister back to court to help; Mary’s children were at home in Hever with their grandmother, and Thomas Boleyn was on the continent, ostensibly to sound out Francis I for peace renewals, but also to look for a second Queen for his King. In the meantime, the king was working his way through the ladies of the court. He was currently on Jane Seymour, a pale (and so far as Anne could tell) and intangible sort of maid. Anne remembered the conversation she’d overheard between the siblings – Edward and Thomas, her two ambitious brothers, had advised their sister to not give in to the royal ardor in hopes of getting Jane a crown. Jane had agreed with them, but neglected to tell them their advice was a month late, she’d already submitted to the royal advances – Anne could have even told them the day she did (for it was an afternoon), having been forced to hide so she wouldn’t be seen by the couple (and incur Henry VIII’s already legendary temper).
Henry had already had his fill of Anne’s sister-in-law Jane, who was now pregnant and George had confided to his sister that George’s recent run of royal grace was due to the fact that Henry, not George, was the father of the child. Both Anne and George hoped and prayed for a girl. A new queen was also in their prayers, both Anne and Mary wanted to go home to their children, while George was (like most of his fellow courtiers) tired of playing bachelor with the King.
Anne found herself in an odd position; she was not mistress of the King, but he often asked for advice on domestic matters. He’d made a pass at her; but her horrified reaction had been genuine and his ego required him to treat it as a joke. Since then, she was his ‘substitute sister, until Mary recovers’ and found herself endlessly answering questions for him. Wolsey didn’t like it; but he had to put up with the King’s fancies.
“So, Sister Countess, what do you think? Eleanor of Austria or Marie of Guise?” he asked as she walked through a room where he and the cardinal sat at table, looking over papers. “Or someone else?”
Anne stopped and crossed over to the table. “Marie is young, isn’t she?”
“She is an heiress and sought after by many,” Wolsey said. “She would bring a handsome dowry.”
“She’s the age of the Princess Mary, I cannot see any good coming of that,” Anne said to the cardinal’s face and had the satisfaction of seeing him blanch. “Eleanor, if you must wed out of England. She is princess and old enough to appreciate the honor.”
“It will require a dispensation,” Wolsey said to the King.
Anne picked up a document and pretended to read it. “Your majesty has asked me my opinion; I feel Eleanor will be best for the country and for your daughter. She’s a relative and old enough to comfort the princess.” Anne tossed the document on the table and caught the King’s eye. “And there’s always my sister Mary; she’s a respectable widow,” she said with a smile.
Henry, startled by the mention of his former mistress, stared at her for a moment before breaking into a smile. “Indeed, madam, I had forgotten we have eligible ladies of our own. Perhaps I should take that into consideration. Whom would you recommend, other than your sister?”
Anne curtseyed deeply and looked up while still down. “I would never recommend anyone other than my sister, sire. She is an honorable woman and a good mother to two wonderful children. I see no reason why another lucky man should not also have children by her.” She rose and, nodding at the flabbergasted cardinal, went on her way.
“You said that? To the King?” Norfolk asked.
Anne nodded. “He asked for my opinion and I gave it.”
“God’s blood, woman, you’ll get us all into the Tower,” he muttered and took a long swig of ale.
“I don’t think so,” put in her father. “He enjoys her honest opinion; since he knows she won’t swerve, he trusts her like Percy does.”
“You think he’d come back to Mary?” Norfolk sounded half wishful.
“Stranger things have happened, but I doubt it.” George poured himself another cup.
“Why?” asked Norfolk.
“That Seymour bitch is hinting that she’s with child and it’s the King’s and perhaps he should wed her to save her honor, that’s what Jane tells me.”
“Really?” Anne asked. “We can stop that sure enough.” The men all looked at her expectantly. “All the King has to THINK is that he wasn’t the first man she had; if he thinks she’s wanton, he’ll wonder if the bastard’s his. He might get her a good marriage, but he won’t marry her.”
“And how is he to think that?” asked George, although he thought he knew what the answer would be.
“Who was warming your bed while Henry had your Jane?” Anne asked with a smirk. “I think the King can be made to believe it.”
“Not coming from us, he won’t. Those damn brothers of hers…”
“The Duke of Suffolk; all you have to do is mention it one night in your cups, George; Brandon will make sure the king hears about his little white-faced whore.”