The Queen's Mistake (45 page)

“Join me at prayer this morning. I shall be meeting the queen, whom you may observe in order to further advise me. Then you shall join us at dinner later so you may judge how schooled I am beyond the bed. You will be like a teacher watching his finest pupil.”

Or a fool, powerlessly watching his greatest rival
, Thomas silently amended.

“It would be my pleasure, Your Majesty,” Thomas replied with a courtly nod, nearly choking on the lie.

Chapter Sixteen

 

 

T
he next day, the king’s court continued their royal progress, this time floating serenely toward Richmond. Catherine and Henry led the way on a huge, majestic barge strewn with scented rushes, followed by twenty-six others. September marked a need for a return to reality from the country idles of summer, but a prolonged drought and a plague continued to rage in England, and Henry feared being too near London.

Between the distractions of banquets, hunting, dancing, singing, new gowns and jewels, the end of two months as queen had come quickly for Catherine. So had an unexpected sense of devotion, if not love, for the complex, generous and tender man she had married. She found herself truly enjoying his company.

But the one thing she truly did love was being Queen of England. She was denied nothing. In fact, her life would have been quite perfect if she were not so irrevocably bound to another man.

For the most part, Thomas kept his distance, which she knew was not difficult to do, as there were many others willing to edge their way forward to smile, nod and compliment the royal couple. Catherine was sure that onlookers were revolted by the shameless
displays of flattery, but they were her security. She would never end up like Cromwell, the poor clerics or Anne Boleyn. She had made all of her foolish mistakes in her youth. The past was behind her. She would learn how to be a good wife and a good queen, and perhaps, over time, she would even learn how to love Henry VIII.

Richmond Palace belonged to Anne of Cleves and was her permanent residence now. Henry was fully prepared to honor his “good sister” with kind affection during his visit. He felt compelled to maintain friendly relations with his former queen, of whom he had always thought kindly despite their unsuccessful marriage.

Catherine’s heart skipped a beat as she walked with Henry and a small entourage up the wide stone steps to be received by the former queen.

Catherine suddenly clung like a child to Henry’s arm. “I am so nervous.”

“You need not be.” He smiled indulgently and kissed the top of her head.

“Are you certain she’ll not be angry that I took you away from her?”

“I never believed she wanted me anyway.”

“Foolish woman.” Catherine giggled, nestling her head against his velvet-clad shoulder because she knew it would flatter him. He smiled more broadly and bent down to kiss her cheek.

“Just follow my lead. It shall be awkward for only a moment or two.”

“All right, I trust you, Hal.”

“And I trust you.” He winked as he said it, but she knew it was true. She suppressed a little spark of guilt when she thought of her past indiscretions and the white lies she had told him from time to time.

Anne stood at the open double doors inside the foyer with
a group of dignified Germans. She greeted the king and his new wife with the most genuine smile Catherine had ever seen, and she shocked everyone when she, the woman who had worn England’s crown less than three months ago, fell into a deep and reverent curtsy before the new queen. Anne lowered her head, which was covered in a traditional gabled hood, to her successor for what felt like an awkwardly long time. When Catherine glanced over, she saw Henry smiling.

After Anne rose, he embraced her warmly.

“It is so good to see you, Anna,” he said sincerely, using the name she preferred, though he had never used it during their marriage.

“And you as well, sire,” Anne said humbly.

“Your English is improving,” he said, pleased to hear her speak with more ease.

“Thank you. I work on it with my tutor every day.” She smiled. “Please do come in.”

They advanced into the grand foyer, from which a traditional wooden staircase, lit by stained-glass windows imprinted with shields and stars, led to the other floors.

“You are comfortable here?” he asked as he took Catherine’s hand, limping noticeably as they walked.

“Very comfortable. I wish never to leave England,” Anne replied.

“Richmond is yours, so that is one wish I can grant.”

“Your Majesty has granted me many.”

They went into a small paneled dining hall, where a table had been laid with food and wine. Anne’s liveried servants stood like stone statues at the ready to tend to their royal guests.

“I thought you might be hungry after your journey. Or would you rather rest first?” she asked in her thickly accented yet clear English.

“Are you all right?” Catherine quietly asked Henry.

He grimaced a little, his leg obviously paining him. “Just rather warm. It was a long ride. Perhaps I will rest for a while. But you two stay here and reacquaint yourselves. I am sure you have much to speak about.”

Catherine chose not to argue, uncertain whether he needed the rest or if he was unselfishly allowing her to spend time alone in Anne’s company, which she had always enjoyed. Catherine kissed his cheek and smiled as he left them.

“His Majesty looks well,” Anne said as they sat at the table beside a lovely, polished buffet gleaming with costly pewter pieces. “Marriage to you agrees with him far more than when he was married to me,” she said kindly.

Catherine felt a little twinge of guilt. There was not a single note of envy in the former queen’s voice.

“He is a surprisingly wonderful husband, more misunderstood than I ever guessed.”

“And yet Cromwell and the others are dead by his command.” She said it so softly that Catherine almost did not hear it.

“Others?” Catherine asked.

“The king has been incredibly good to me. I should say no more.”

“I know you refute the papacy and my family’s beliefs,” Catherine gently reminded her. “So it is fine if you speak your mind with me.”

Anne paused for a moment, as if she were considering. “I love Henry like a brother. But there is another side to him than the one he shows you.”

Catherine felt herself bristle in defense, though she did not want to offend Anne when she desperately needed allies. The religious question in England was a big and volatile one, and she would have to tread lightly.

“If there were other traitors who lost their lives, I can say only that they must have deserved their fate,” Catherine replied, repeating the official stance of the court.

“Do you not think there might have been recourse other than death?” Anne asked.

It was not a question Catherine could answer without defying the king, and her entire life thus coming unraveled. She knew that well enough.

They spoke of many other things after that and the time passed quickly. Henry joined them just as the sun was setting, and the evening became a blur of laughter, singing and far more Gascony wine than any of them required. As the evening progressed and Henry and Anne conversed easily, Catherine felt free to glance around the room, hoping to see Thomas. He had joined their entourage, along with Brandon and Jane, but she knew he was doing his best to remain in the shadows. Still, just to catch a glimpse of him now and then would bring her more pleasure than any of the riches Henry could ever give her.

Predictably, Henry ran a hand along her leg beneath the tablecloth and nuzzled her neck as they ate, drank, talked and laughed about light, harmless things. Even with this annoying distraction, Catherine relished the conversation between herself and Anne, particularly about how frightening and overwhelming it was to be Queen of England. After all, there was no one else in the world who had been admitted to their small, exclusive group.

It was an odd yet wonderful camaraderie, Catherine thought, as Henry corrected Anne’s English, causing them all to laugh. Anne seemed not to harbor the slightest bit of malice against them, though she had been replaced by one of her own attendants.

As Henry patiently explained the history of Richmond to his former wife, Catherine finally saw him. Thomas was in the corridor
beyond the dining hall, whispering with two of the royal guardsmen. The tremor she felt at seeing him rocked her completely, as it always did. Henry’s gravelly voice gradually faded into a muffled, incomprehensible sound. She tried not to fantasize about Thomas as she watched him standing magnificently, and smiling that velvety, dazzling smile she knew so well.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but when she opened them he was still there, still smiling. He turned slightly and their eyes met from across the room. Everything seemed to go completely still, as if the moment were caught in a painting, rich with details and meaning. Catherine tried to drink it in, memorizing it all for later, when she would be in Henry’s huge, fleshy arms, wishing fate would give her the same freedom Anne of Cleves had so effortlessly found.

A moment later, Catherine sensed that Henry’s droning had ceased. Anne had fallen silent as well. To her horror, she felt Henry’s hulking body tense, and his moist hand loosened in hers beneath the table. Instantly she redirected her gaze to Henry and leaned her head against his shoulder, fearing that she had been caught gazing at another man.

“Is that Master Culpeper there?” Anne asked, oblivious to the moment. “I have not seen his handsome smile forever.”

Henry scowled slightly, just enough for Catherine to see it. “He looks slightly ill to me. A bit pale,” he observed. “I pray it is not the ague. I want to avoid whatever could harm those dearest to me.”

Catherine thought better of saying that Thomas appeared as healthy and magnificent as ever. She knew there was something more behind his words. Henry had been more explosive than normal these past two days, and she tried to tread softly in all things. Before their honeymoon was even over, he had been forced to consult with his privy counsel on complex matters of state. France was
pushing its borders into English territory. A more direct act of aggression could not be far off.

It was not difficult for Catherine to see how swiftly and randomly those around Henry paid the price when he was under pressure. She squeezed his hand tightly and leaned nearer until she felt the tension in his body begin slowly once again to fade.

Later that evening, Henry’s entourage met again in his former privy counsel rooms, decorated now with the banner of Cleves. Norfolk, his son Surrey, Seymour, the new member Cranmer, Southampton, Brandon and Wriothesley sat at the long, polished oak table with the king at its head. Catherine sat beside Henry, though it was the sort of meeting that was never attended by the queen. But Catherine was different. Everyone could see that Henry meant to make her a different sort of partner.

“We have no choice but to act against such a blatant act of hostility,” Norfolk calmly advised him.

“Have we the manpower to quell the French threat?” Henry asked, rubbing his bearded chin with his thumb and forefinger in a contemplative gesture.

“I do not believe it shall come to that,” the younger Howard replied. “Because of Lord Lisle’s weak performance in the region and his consignment to the Tower, I believe they are only pressing to see how far they can get.”

Norfolk turned away as the king began to nuzzle Catherine’s earlobe.

Brandon bit back a groan.

“Considering all that is at stake, I would advise Your Majesty to send a contingent to Calais for a bit of English saber rattling. I
believe my lord of Surrey here is more than up to the task,” Norfolk said.

There were only slight grumblings of surprise that Norfolk would propose his own son for the honor. Seymour shot Henry Howard a jealous glare, then looked away.