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NEWS THAT HARRY PERCY had married reached Anne from the lips of her mother, Elizabeth. Until that moment, she still hoped, still prayed that things would develop as they both wanted, but now that hope died. He was lost to her forever and she felt a numbness spread over her, a sense that nothing mattered any more, nor ever would.
If she only but knew it, many miles away Mary Talbot, now Mary Percy, was feeling the exact same numbness, the same despair and despondency.
Weeks after her return to Hever and the news of Harry’s marriage, Anne still felt that despair and she could feel nothing else when she received the news that she was to return to court.
“I have no wish to return to court.”
“You do not mean that,” said her mother.
“Do not tell me what I mean,” said Anne. “Would you want to return to a place where the love of your life has been humiliated before his peers, where everyone knows your business, knows you have been sent away?” She turned to stare out of the window at the fountain below. “There is nothing for me at court. I cannot smile and pretend all is well, when I know it will never be well again. You may as well proceed with organising my marriage to Mr Butler, send me off to Ireland. I shall feel no different there as here.”
“Your marriage to James Butler has been cancelled,” said her mother.
She faced her mother with wide and startled eyes. This was something she had not anticipated.
“Why?” she asked.
“The King has decided to cancel it. It is he who commands you to return to court.”
“The King commands it?” said Anne.
Her mother smiled knowingly, gave her a sideways glance.
“He has expressed a special interest in you. You should be honoured.”
“Like my sister, you mean? As she was honoured?”
Elizabeth pulled herself up stiffly, her mouth turned down with displeasure.
“I only know he has sent for you and that you must return to court. You are to serve Queen Katherine as one of her maids of honour, as you did before. An honour indeed, considering how you disgraced yourself with Lord Percy. Now, please arrange for your boxes to be packed.”
Anne knew now what she had not known before, that maid of honour to the Queen was the first step to the King’s bed. Well she would have none of it.
The King had his eye on her. Other women might be flattered, but not Anne. She had seen her sister used for his personal pleasure then discarded, she had seen how rich Mary’s husband had grown because of it. Anne had no intention of going the same way.
These last months she had dreamed of bedding with Harry Percy, of sharing his love in that intimate way which only people in love should share. To think of sharing that with any other man made her stomach heave and her nerves cringe.
She had heard that King Henry was a handsome man, but she had seen him up close and she did not agree. Once, perhaps, but no more. He was not ugly, to be sure, but handsome was not a word she would have used to describe him.
He was heavy set, not slim and muscular like Harry, and he was several years older than her, not young like Harry. She did not love him and she would never bed with a man she did not love, even if he was the most powerful man in the realm.
She watched her mother go, then picked up the nearest heavy ornament and flung it with full force at the door. The action soothed her temper for but a few minutes before she stood rigidly and contemplated the reality of this news.
“Damn him!” she screamed. “Damn him to hell!”
She failed to notice that one of the maidservants had entered the chamber and was packing her clothes. The woman shrieked and jumped, stared at her mistress and curtsied quickly, terrified that it was she who had caused this bout of temper.
Anne waved her hand to indicate that she should carry on, then turned back to stare once more at the grounds. She welcomed that numbness when it returned but deep down, she knew she would never forgive the King for ruining her life, her dreams of love, only because he had taken a fancy to her himself. She would never forgive the Cardinal for his part in the scheme, nor for upbraiding Harry before his entire household.
These two men would always be her enemy and nothing would ever change that.
***
ANNE BEING RECEIVED back as a maid of honour to the Queen brought a smile to the face of Sir Thomas Boleyn, if not to his daughter. This was honour indeed; the Boleyn family were moving up in the world at last. Pity his other daughter, Mary, had asked for nothing during her association with the King. Even when she fell pregnant, she asked for nothing, was content to declare the child that of her husband. Of course it could have been, but who will ever know?
He expected more from his other daughter. Anne’s present stubbornness was caused only by her disappointment at not being allowed her own choice. She would soon recover from that, soon realise how high she and her family could ascend. It would all work out exactly as Sir Thomas wanted; all he needed to do was give Anne a few days in which to settle then he would instruct her on the ways to the King’s heart and, more importantly, to his coffers.
But Anne still found the Queen’s household to be tedious and dour. The ladies mostly sat about embroidering or playing the lute and virginals, when they were not praying. That went on several times a day, after the mass that took place every morning, and it was a Catholic mass, something Anne had begun to question. And being there was a bitter reminder of how she had courted Harry Percy. She could not help but seek him out in the evenings, even knowing he would not appear.
She still felt pity for Katherine. She would wait hopefully for her husband to visit her bedchamber at night, but he never did. Once he did come, but deliberately at a time when he must have known she would be at her prayers.
Such behaviour only served to make Anne dislike him even more. If it were true that he had a fancy for her, he would certainly have to change his mind, king or no king.
It was a few weeks after her return to the Queen’s household that she was given first hand proof of the King’s intentions when he deigned to dance with her. She accepted, of course; she could hardly refuse, but she spoke as little as possible.
“I suspect, Mistress Anne,” he said, “that your silence is caused by my presence. I have heard you have much to say to others.”
How arrogant!
She turned her dark eyes on him as the dance ended, as the music stopped and she failed to curtsy. Let him make what he would of that.
“I have little to say to the man who has ruined my life, Sire,” she said quietly.
His expression showed his shock and anger at such words. Nobody had ever before challenged him in such a way; no one had ever dared. He took her hand and walked from the hall with her, dragging her along as she struggled to keep up with his long strides.
In a smaller chamber, alone, he flung her in front of him and released her abruptly, so abruptly that she almost fell, had to clutch at a chair to keep herself upright. If that was meant to intimidate her, it failed miserably, for such treatment only caused her temper to rise.
“How, pray, have I ruined your life?” he demanded. “I have favoured you with an important position in the Queen’s household. How is that ruining your life?”
“You know very well, Your Grace,” she said. “I am told it was at the King’s pleasure that my betrothal to Harry Percy was denied.”
His small eyes scrutinised her, stared her down until she dropped her gaze. It was only then that she realised she should not have spoken to him like that, that he was the King, not just any man. He had power over life and death. Her heart raced as she wondered what punishment he would mete out to her.
“Percy was already promised elsewhere,” he said. “His father would never have allowed such a match and besides, he was not good enough for you.”
She raised her eyes to stare at him once more, surprised that he would try to excuse his actions to her, when in reality he needed no excuse. His word was law.
“Not good enough?” she replied. “I loved him; he loved me. That was all that was needed.”
“Love? You know nothing of love.”
He took a step toward her and caught her arms, looked into her face. She wanted to move backward, but there was nowhere to go as the table was behind her.
“I can show you what love really means,” he said.
So this was it, this was how it began. It must have been like this for her sister and for Lady Elizabeth Blount, his famous mistress who had served him well, borne him a son and been sent to live out her life in a convent for her troubles. Well, it would not be the same for Anne and he needed to know that.
“Your Grace,” she said. “I feel I might have misled you.”
He gave a half smile but said nothing, only pulled her just a little closer. He was so tall, Anne’s head barely came to his chest and his grip was powerful. She knew full well he could have his way with her if he so wished and she would have nothing to say about it. But that was not King Henry’s way; he liked to assure himself that the women he bedded were all madly in love with him. If they were, it would be their loss for Anne had noticed how, when he had tired of them, they were discarded and forgotten, left to their own fate like poor Bessie Blount whose husband refused to take her back. At least Mary Boleyn had a husband to fall back on, whereas Lady Blount’s husband wanted none of her.
Even the Queen had been ignored by this King for months, for no better reason than that she had grown old and could not longer conceive. He saw as little of her in private as he could manage.
“How so?” he asked at last. “How have you misled me?”
“I am accustomed to the French court,” she said. “Things are a different there, a little more flirtatious and gay. An Englishman might consider a certain look to be an invitation, when it is no such thing.”
He frowned. This was new to him; when he set his sights on a woman, she was usually anxious to please, if only for the favours with which she would be rewarded. Indeed, the sister had been willing enough, too willing if truth be told. He expected this Boleyn girl to be of a similar nature.
He pulled her tighter into his arms then, held her close to his chest and listened to her racing heart. That assured him that her words were only empty ones.
“Anne,” he said, in a tone he thought seductive. “My heart leapt when first I laid eyes on you. I have tried to resist my own emotions, but I find myself in love with you. Your every look, your every gesture brings me joy.”
She tried to move away from him, but he was too strong. She had no choice other than to talk against his massive chest.
“I am sorry to hear that, Sire,” she said.
“Sorry? Why should you be sorry?”
“Because you are a married man, Your Grace, and should be making such advances only to your wife.”
He pushed her away then, caught her just before she hit the table behind, then stood her on her feet.
“You dare to speak to me like that?”
Her lip trembled and she wondered briefly if this night she would spend in the Tower. But she had no intention of becoming his mistress and he needed to know that, the sooner the better.
“I meant no disrespect, Your Grace,” she said. “I wished only to set your mind at rest.”
“Set my mind at rest?” he said, his voice rising. “You have torn my heart to shreds with your words.” He paused, moved away from her. “But perhaps you misunderstand my meaning,” he said.
“It is possible, Sire,” she said.
“Then let me make it clear. I long for you, Anne. I yearn for your pretty little duckies to be close to me in bed. I love you and I want you. Can I make it any clearer?”
“You cannot, Your Grace,” she replied. “You want me for your mistress.”
He smiled.
“I do. May I come to your bedchamber tonight?”
“No.”
“No? You suggest we meet somewhere else?”
“No, that is not what I am saying, Sire.”
“What then? I will meet you anywhere you wish, I will give you anything you wish. Tell me, please, put me out of my misery.”
“That I cannot do, Sire,” she said. “I have promised myself that I will go to my husband a true maid. That is a promise that is precious to me and I will not give it up for any man.”
He could not believe it. This slip of a girl, who should be honoured by his attention, was turning him down. How could that be? But she was merely attempting to increase his ardour, that was it.
“You are teasing me, Anne,” he said.
“No such thing, Your Grace,” she said. “I refuse to be any man’s mistress.” She curtsied then and went on. “May I return to the dance now, Sire?”
He nodded, not knowing what to say, and she hurried from the room before he changed his mind.
***
THAT WAS HOW IT BEGAN. At every opportunity, the King pursued Anne, and always she refused him. The whole court was talking about it; indeed, the whole of London were talking about it.
It was unfortunate for Anne that not one of those gossipmongers admired her for standing out against the King, not one of them saw that she was right to refuse to let a married man into her bed, not one of them admired her for wanting to keep herself pure for any future husband. But the way the King was besotted, it seemed unlikely she would ever have such a husband, as he would never consent to her marriage to anyone and no gentleman would dare to ask.
Henry made no secret of his infatuation with Mistress Anne Boleyn, not to his advisors, not to his courtiers and certainly not to his wife. She it was who was compelled to suffer the woman’s presence, each and every day in her household.
At first, Katherine not only tolerated Anne, but was particularly friendly to her. She was happy enough to welcome someone her husband was so fond of, if it pleased him, but now she felt she was being made a fool of.
She wanted to dismiss Anne, and Anne would most certainly have not objected, but the King would have none of it.
“Sire,” she pleaded with him. “You are making it difficult for me. The Queen casts evil looks my way, the other ladies resent me.”
Henry stepped close to her, held her face in his warm hand and smiled.
“Dearest Anne,” he said. “That is not my wish. I will speak with the Queen about it.”
“No. I do not want you to speak with the Queen about it. I want you to stop pestering me.”
“Pestering?” His voice thundered through the empty room as he stepped away from her. “Is that really how you see it? I have pursued you for months because I love you; I cannot stop thinking about you. I dream of you at night, I see you everywhere in the day. And you call it pestering?”
Was this it? Was it the answer to make him so angry he would despise her? She could only hope.
“I know your feelings, Your Grace,” she said. “But I do not return them. I wish to be released to find an honourable man who will marry me.”
He was silent for a long time, so long that she turned to study his expression. Had she displeased him with her words? Had she angered him enough that he would cast her into the Tower, or leave her alone and find another on whom to settle his affection?
“Marriage?” he demanded. “Is that what you want?”
Oh no! He had taken her words completely the wrong way.
“No,” she replied. “At least not marriage with anyone. I loved Harry Percy; I still love him, but you and your priest have made it impossible for me to have him. I can never love any man as I loved him, but I would like to try. I cannot do that while you have this hold over me. Will you give me leave to try? Please.”
He shook his head.
“Never. I could never part with you, never think of you with another man. If it is marriage you want, then marriage you shall have.”
She caught her breath. Now she was quite certain he had lost his mind.
“You cannot offer me marriage while Katherine lives,” she said. “You know it and I know it. The whole world knows it, so why even mention it?”
“I’ll find a way, Anne. I swear, I’ll find a way.”
“There is no way.”
She looked at him with fear in her eyes. Henry was a man who had never been refused anything he ever wanted and if he was determined to find a way to annul his marriage to Katherine, he might well succeed. And where would that leave Anne? Compelled to marry a man she resented and had sworn to despise, and one she found unappealing.