At the King's Pleasure (Secrets of the Tudor Court) (29 page)

Anne knew what it was like to not be believed. She understood full well how painful a lack of trust could be. And she found, with a sense of surprise, that she could accept Will Compton’s single-word answer. He had not questioned the number of George’s retainers. He had not been responsible for her husband’s banishment from court—a better outcome, now that she thought about it, than a ruinous fine or imprisonment or both. And he had not contrived to keep her at court in the queen’s service when she should have been obliged to leave because George did.

She gave him a one-word answer of her own—“Yes”—and turned on her heel to leave his lodgings. She returning to her own as swiftly as possible.

“Meriall?” she called as she entered. “Dancer?”

Her maidservant materialized from the bedchamber, holding the little dog in her arms. Her face was streaked with tears—one of George’s manservants had been courting her—but she managed a watery smile for her mistress.

“The queen has sent for you, my lady,” she said. “She wants you in the privy chamber as soon as may be.”

Anne had no choice but to go, since she now served at the
queen’s
pleasure. But she took the time first to wash the streaks of tears from her face and to cuddle the puppy close. Contrary to what George might believe, Dancer was the only one who would be sharing her bed in his absence.

L
ady Anne rode along the low-lying land toward a cluster of buildings, her mind occupied with the queen’s comfort and the many duties Her Grace expected Anne to perform. She had not given much thought to where she herself would lodge during the royal visit to Farnham Castle, and only gradually did it dawn on her that they had come rather a long way on this hot and airless day. Her throat was parched, and even her soft chemise felt uncomfortable against her skin.

“Where are we?” she asked, using the reins to bring her palfrey to a halt.

Sir William Compton, who rode beside her, gestured toward two clusters of houses no more than a few hundred yards apart and a small nearby manor house surrounded by a curtain wall. “The hamlet is called Vyne Green. The village is Sherborne St. John. And the house is The Vyne. I understand that this entire area is often flooded,” he added, showing a landowner’s interest in the site.

“No chance of that this year.” It had been hot and dry all summer, to the point of drought. The fields they’d passed on the royal progress had shown all the signs of a poor harvest to come.

“The king stayed at The Vyne last year,” Will continued, “but this time the house will only be used for overflow.”

“Overflow?” Anne echoed, startled. “Since when is a lady of the privy chamber considered overflow?”

Compton grinned at her. “Since I was given charge of deciding who would sleep where.”

Alarmed, she turned in her saddle and was not surprised to discover that she was the only one of the queen’s ladies to be billeted so far from the rest of the court. She sent Will a fulminating glare. He just kept smiling as he dismounted to oversee the disposition of men and horses.

A short time later, they were ensconced in a parlor decorated with green silk curtains and a tapestry showing a hunting scene. Anne sat in a chair with an antelope carved on the back and Will was seated in one that boasted a hart for décor. In spite of the thick stone walls of the manor house, the room felt close and uncomfortable. While Anne sipped a cool drink, she studied Will with wary eyes.

Nearly two months had passed since George had been sent away from court. Every day of that time, Will Compton had insinuated himself more deeply into her life. He did not thrust himself forward or make demands on her. He was simply
there. Always
there. Waiting for her to notice him. Tempting her.

She did not know what had become of the servants, either their own or those belonging to the house. But it was Will who went away for a few minutes and returned with a light supper of sliced meats and cheeses, nuts and fruit. He placed a small table between their chairs and somehow, as the meal commenced, Anne found herself taking bits of food from his fingers instead of her own.

His scent surrounded her, further weakening her resolve. Had she been drinking Xeres sack, she’d have blamed her light-headedness on the drink, but she’d had nothing more potent than barley water. It was her own weakness that lured her closer to him. It seemed only natural that she end up in his arms after the meal was finished. And once their lips met, the rest of the world vanished. Anne could think of nothing but Will. The power of his kisses sent tremors of excitement and longing singing through her veins.

Will literally swept her off her feet, carrying her up a winding stair set into the thickness of a wall to the great chamber above the parlor. He spun around with her still in his arms, laughing, and pointed to the tapestries decorating the walls. They showed the story of Cupid, the ancient god of love. Then he set Anne down atop an enormous bed. She bounced lightly on the feather mattress and stared in bemusement at the red damask canopy overhead. Before she could fully gather her wits, Will landed beside her and an instant later he was kissing her again with long, drugging kisses that she didn’t want to end.

They struggled with points and laces, equally desperate to touch and be touched. And then, freed of the most restrictive of their clothing, her corset and his codpiece, they came together in an explosion of mutual need. Never before had she climbed so rapidly to the pinnacle. She felt as if she’d touched fire.

The instant passed far too quickly, leaving her only momentarily sated. She reached for him as he rolled away from her, although he clearly intended to do no more than remove the rest of his clothing.

Sanity returned in a rush.

He was beautiful, this naked man she’d just taken into her body. And she could not fail to know that it was love as well as desire that she saw in his eyes. But the enormity of what they had done together struck her with the force of a fist. They had committed the sin of adultery.

“Anne?” His voice was filled with concern for her. He braced one knee on the bed and leaned toward her, not with carnal intent but to take her face gently between his hands and study her expression. “Did I hurt you? I have waited so long. I—”

“You brought me pleasure,” she assured him. “But we must not. . . we cannot—”

Had his smile been self-satisfied or smug, she’d have found the strength to leave him, but the look in his eyes told her he understood her sense of guilt, even if he did not share it. “I will go if you wish,” he whispered, running one hand over her tangled hair. She did not know what had become of her headdress. “But surely, now, it is no greater sin to go on
with what we have begun. I crave your smiles, Anne. Your touch. I can live without more, but must I? Will you deny us both, my love?”

“I. . . I do not know. I cannot think.”

“Thinking is unnecessary. Just feel.”

And with that, he drew her into his arms again, divested her of skirt and bodice and chemise, leaving her in only her stockings and garters. His lovemaking was slower this time, but they climbed again to the same wondrous heights. Anne realized, with a sense of despair, that she loved Will Compton.

That knowledge haunted her as the progress continued. It drove her to meet her lover in secret again and again. Each time, she gave in to the desire that consumed her. And each time, afterward, she was tormented by remorse.

She loved Will Compton.

But she also loved her husband.

How could that be? How could she love two men at the same time? And how could she expect George, who had found it so hard to trust her when she’d done nothing wrong, to forgive her now that she’d sinned in truth?

She missed her husband terribly. She had been furious with him when he’d first left court, hurt that he’d believe the worst of her. In her more rational moments, she supposed that was part of the reason she had encouraged Will’s advances, relished his interest, and, ultimately, given in to her own desire.

But Anne knew full well how foolish it was to continue as Will Compton’s mistress. There were those on progress with them who suspected they were lovers. Some of them would not hesitate to spread the tale.

She knew it was madness to allow Will to seduce her time and time again. But when they were alone, the temptation was too strong to resist. She gave in and then, when her lover had gone and she was alone, she despaired of her marriage. . . and feared for her soul.

W
e will join the progress at Donnington Castle on the edge of Windsor Forest,” Cardinal Wolsey announced, “where the Duke of Suffolk is to entertain the king, the queen, and Queen Margaret. Suffolk’s own wife, the Queen of France, will not be there. She is staying at one of their country houses, Letherington Hall, with their young son. You can make your case to end your banishment while I spend a few days going over state business with the king.”

George Hastings wondered if he was a fool to trust the wily cardinal, but he told himself that the simplest explanation was usually the one that was true. Wolsey had made his point, proving to George that he could punish those who dared oppose his plans. Now, secure in his belief that George would never do so again, he saw the advantage to having another ally at court. George was no use to him left to rusticate in the country. For that reason, when the invitation had come to accompany Wolsey to Donnington, George had leapt at the chance. Soon he would see Anne again. He had missed her horribly.

They had traveled on the cardinal’s luxuriously appointed barge most of the way from London, only resorting to roads for the last stage of the journey. Thus Wolsey arrived at the castle wearing a pristine robe of figured scarlet velvet trimmed with black velvet and the fur of sables
and a red cardinal’s hat with tassels. He looked every inch the powerful, prosperous prince of the church that he was.

He rode on a mule, a tradition intended to convey humility, but Wolsey’s mount had rich trappings of crimson velvet purled and fringed with gold. The harness was velvet, too, and the stirrups were gilt. A second mule, caparisoned in gold and red, was led before him and he was attended by four liveried lackeys.

Neither George’s clothing nor the trappings of his big bay came close to competing with such splendor. As they drew near their destination, second thoughts plagued him. How would the king receive him, with favor or with fury? And, more important, what reception would he have from his lady wife?

He was all too aware that he’d treated Anne abominably. He’d lashed out at her because she’d been handy, when the true object of his anger had been the very man who was now taking him back to her. George watched the cardinal pass through the gatehouse into Donnington Castle from well back in his entourage. When it was his turn to enter, he quietly made his way to the stables and, after making certain his horse would be seen to, went in search of his wife.

“She’s gone hawking with the king,” Anne’s tiring maid told him. “They left at dawn, right after Mass. At least a hundred people went, and dogs with them. The king has a new falcon,” she added.

George was not surprised. He’d expected either hunting or hawking. The king was nothing if not predictable. On such an expedition, beaters would flush ducks from the river marshes by banging on drums and falcons would kill them. Or perhaps they would go after herons or cranes. There were birds in the royal mews specially trained for crane-hawking. It took two of them working together to bring down their prey and a greyhound to subdue it once it was on the ground.

“They are not likely to return before evening,” Meriall added.

George knew that, too, and settled down to wait.

He had plenty of warning when the hunting party was sighted. The entire castle turned out to welcome them. The king rode into the courtyard
at the head of the party, his mood jovial. They’d bagged not only mallard and crane but also bustards, herons, partridges, and pheasants.

His Grace seemed delighted to find the cardinal waiting for him. When he turned to George, he was still beaming. After no more than a second’s hesitation, the king flung an arm around George’s shoulders, as if there had never been any dissension between them.

“Ah, Hastings, it is good to have you at court again,” King Henry declared. “Your lady wife is somewhere in the party. She took a partridge with her sparrowhawk.”

“I am delighted to be here, Your Grace,” George said with a straight face. He backed away, bowing, as the king’s attention shifted back to Cardinal Wolsey.

Despite the large number of riders dismounting in the courtyard, George had no difficulty locating Anne. She was still on horseback, riding alongside Tom Boleyn’s wife and several other ladies. She was laughing and the setting sun bathed her in an amber glow. George stood for a moment just staring at her. Then he forged a path toward her through the milling courtiers.

He reached her side in time to help her dismount, sliding his hands along the curve of her hips to grasp her firmly by the waist. “Allow me, my lady.”

“George!”

She slid from the horse into his arms, so that they were touching from shoulder to knees. Her eyes went wide. He stepped back in haste, since it would be unseemly to make a public spectacle of themselves, but he kept hold of one of her hands.

With fingers that trembled slightly, she reached up to touch his face with the other. “Are you real?” she asked.

“Very real. And I have the king’s permission to return to court. And the cardinal’s blessing, too.”

“I. . . I am glad.” Her words were hesitant but he sensed that she meant them. In truth, he was not surprised to find her unsure what to say to him. They had not parted on the best of terms. Later, in private, he would ask her forgiveness for that. At present, he played the role
expected of him. “I am told your sparrowhawk took down a partridge.”

Anne seemed grateful for the change in subject. She recounted one or two incidents from the long day and then dazzled him with a wide, delighted smile. “But I have not told you of the best moment. A tufted duck brought down by a tercel peregrine fell into the water. Ned Neville and Nick Carew tried to fish it out with their swords. There was a great deal of splashing but they had not a bit of success. And then Ned lost his balance and fell in. Since he was already soaked, he swam out after the duck and brought it back like the best retriever.”