The Last Boleyn(147)

All the eyes in the room focused on Mary left standing at the open double doors with Stafford standing half behind her. Everyone stared—George nervously, her father bitterly. Jane Rochford could hardly smother a simper at the whole scene of the Boleyns’ dismay, and Anne merely whirled her back to them. Staff broke the spell by whispering in Mary’s ear as he turned to follow in the angry wake of the king.

“Keep your cloak tight. I will calm His Grace and only tell him we are wed and ask to go to Wivenhoe. The rest is not safe now. I will hurry back. And I will somehow send Cromwell for your protection.”

“No, not Cromwell,” she started to say, but he was gone on a run and she ached to follow him.

“How nice that all the family could assemble for that dressing down,” Jane Rochford said in the quiet of the room.

“Shut your mouth, Jane, or I will have you out in the street with the rest of the cheap gossips and tat tales,” Anne shot out without looking up. “It is enough I had to bear your company these last three weeks, though at least your dear Mark Gostwick kept you occupied enough for some respite.”

“Do you intend to let your wife be so spoke to, George?” Jane prodded.

“Stop this foolish bickering,” Thomas Boleyn’s voice cut in. “Jane, you will take whatever words the queen gives you or cease to serve her and be quit of here. We all need to stand together on this.”

“We have long ceased standing together, father, if indeed we ever did,” Anne shouted. “You brought doe-eyed Madge to court. Now I am telling you to get rid of her if you do not wish to see that damned skinny Fitzroy on the throne in place of your own grandchild.”

“That problem, I am afraid, is yours, Anne. I cannot help you there.”

“No, father, You cannot help me at all. At least George and Mary are still faithful in this mess. George always, and you must admit Mary stood up to that last desperate plan of yours to have her seduce the king. And, as for the cow-faced Seymour with the big innocent eyes, I shall have her out of here soon enough.”

“You dare not, Anne.”

“Dare not? Get from my sight, father. The queen is telling you to leave.”

“I am going, daughter—Your Grace—to give you time to get yourself together and to realize that time has altered your influence here. As I said, you dare not touch the little Seymour. You can only vie for the royal bed and hope to God you conceive a son. I will be back later. See that when His Grace returns from the hunt you look ravishing and greet him in the courtyard. Fight hard for him, Anne. That is your only chance now.”

He strode to the door and Mary moved far out of his way. “Did you mark His Grace’s interest in your son, Mary?” he said as he passed.

The characters in the room rotated positions again with the other powerful protagonist offstage. Anne sank in the chair the king had vacated and George stood at a loss for words first on one foot and then the other. Jane hovered watchful in the wings. Anne motioned for Mary to join her. Mary made her entrance with her pelisse still draped around her.

“It is good to see you after three weeks with the same faces, sister. Do not look so frightened. I am not, I assure you,” Anne said tonelessly.

“I admire your courage, Your Grace.” Mary sat in the nearby chair Anne’s jeweled hand had indicated.

“It comes from having everything to lose rather than nothing. It is only the ones with nothing to lose who are afraid to act. Well, that is my new credo, anyway. Have you heard from Hever? Is mother quite well?”

“Yes. All is well there. My Catherine will keep mother occupied for the summer. Semmonet has arthritis, but she is managing. It has only slowed her down a bit.”

Anne leaned her head on the back of her chair and closed her eyes. “Ah, quiet Hever, where no one shouts, gossips or demands.” Her eyes shot open. “But did you only come to welcome us home, Mary? You came for a purpose, did you not? When I do not summon my dear Mary, she usually chooses not to come.”

“Yes, sister. I have come to ask you a great favor. I feel I have served you well and I would always be your friend. I am in dire need of your love and blessing.”

“What? Say on.” Anne’s eyes went instinctively to Mary’s covered midriff, and Mary felt her courage ebb.

“As you well know, Your Grace, the Lord Stafford and I have been in love for some years.”

“Lovers, you mean. That was the gift I gave you after you lost everything, Mary. I know he visited your room almost nightly. I am glad you have been happy, but do not ask me to let you wed him. You are the sister of the queen now and not just some penniless widow of a poor esquire. Do not look at me that way, Mary. I am sorry, but I have problems of my own, as well you know. I will not propose to His Grace that the queen’s sister marry far beneath her.”

Mary stood and backed a few steps away from Anne’s chair. Jane Rochford was listening so intently that her mouth hung open behind Anne, and George looked anxiously from one sister to the other.

“I am sorry to disappoint or anger you, my sister, but I have never loved anyone as I love Staff, nor shall I ever. Like the king’s own sister, I married once at the royal bidding to serve the king as he would have me do. When I was cast off, I began to live my own life and make my own decisions even as you have, Your Grace. I am proud to inform you that Lord Stafford and I have been wed for over a year now. I have never been happier and I regret no moment of my decision or my marriage.”