The Last Boleyn(61)
Her heart lurched. “Tell them what?”
“About the babe you carry.”
She raised her head wildly, her eyes wide in shock. Then she felt them fill with unbidden tears that coated her lashes and spilled down her flushed cheeks. “But I...is it so obvious, then? Dearest God in Heaven, everyone will know.”
He scanned the area and then covered her clenched hands with his big one. “Of course everyone will know, Mary. This is the court and you sleep with the king. Do not cry. Everything will turn out for the best one way or the other.”
“How can it? He will banish me like Bessie Blount and take the child away to raise.”
“Maybe not. He has proved he can father a living son already. Bessie Blount was unmarried when she was unfortunate enough to conceive. You have a husband. It is only a question of the king’s continued affections which are at stake. He has never returned to a favorite after she bore him a child, damn it.”
“But you said it would please you if he would put me aside.”
“Not if he sends you and Will off to some impoverished castle on the Welsh border!”
Before she could stop herself, she smiled at his impassioned words, but he was staring off in the distance, frowning. “I—Will and I—could always go to live at Hever with mother.”
“That is entirely unlikely, Mary. If the king casts you off, your father will too.”
“That is not true! My father loves me. We have never been closer than when he came home from France. I will not have you speak of him that way!”
“I do not mean to hurt you, sweet, but of course he acts loving to you now. Through you come preferments, power and little goodies like new stewardships at Tonbridge, Brasted, Penshurst and another big promotion which is probably in the wind about now.”
“Stop it! I will not listen to your slanders. Just because my father is successful and you...I will not listen to your jealous lies!” She put her hands to her ears.
“I think you had better get control of yourself, Mary Bullen. You are acting like a spoiled little girl. We will have to go back now. Dry your tears and listen carefully.”
“I do not wish to listen to you at all.”
He reached for her arm and shook it like he would a rag doll’s. “I said listen, and I mean it! Or I shall take you into the maze and you will listen there.”
Her eyes widened and she stared at him, the blue of her eyes melding with the azure October skies behind her golden hair.
“Do you know who is the father of the babe? Well, do you?”
“I am not certain.”
“All right. When you tell Will does not really matter since he will see the import of it all. Tell your father as soon as you can do so. He will be upset, but you must weather it out. He will probably ask you to keep it from the king until His Grace publicly announces that he is to be appointed Treasurer of the Household at New Year. That way the king will be hard-pressed to rescind the position even when it gets around that you are pregnant and will be leaving court—only for a while, hopefully.”
“But the king will see me and he will know. You did.”
“I am a confirmed watcher of beautiful blondes with sweet faces and nasty tempers. No, I promise you it will be a while before His Grace notes your condition, if you are careful. I doubt that he will even notice that your monthly flows have ceased since he beds others lately.”
She blushed hot that he would dare to mention her monthly flow. Was there nothing the man did not think, or would not say if it suited him?
“It does not hurt you, Mary, that he sometimes seeks out others?”
“Not really. Well, it hurts my pride a bit.”
“But you do not love him?”
“You notice everything about me, private or not, Staff, so you tell me,” she challenged.
“Ah, there is my old Mary, sweet-faced and sharp-tongued.”
“Only to you. You anger me beyond belief sometimes.”
“I know. That pleases me, and to hear the truth from those tempting lips so much more than I used to. And since you were honest with me, I will tell you. You do not love the king. You loved another king once. He used and hurt you, and Mary Bullen decided never again. Come on, lass, we must go back.”
They walked slowly toward the green and white canopy covering the tennis courts. “And do you love Will Carey?” he pursued.
“In a way,” she drawled slowly.
“If you do, ‘in a way’ you do not.” He stopped. “I shall not return you to your seat. It is enough that we walked off together. Say only that you dressed too warmly and needed fresh air. Smile that fabulous smile and all will be forgiven. Your servant, Lady Carey.” He bowed to her with a rakish teasing smile lighting his face and paced quickly toward the ruddy-bricked, turreted palace.
The swelling sound of the cheering crowd had not abated when Mary re-entered the tennis grounds. Henry was beet red and gasping and Francis Norris looked gray and exhausted, but the game plunged on. Few heads turned to note her arrival and Mary breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps it would be possible to keep the knowledge of her pregnancy from the court, at least for a while. Lady Guildford had taken her vacated seat, so she watched from the cluster of people behind Norris’s side of the net, where she was sure the king would notice her. She could tell him that she moved to be able to see him better. Norris dove for a ball which bounced along the corner line and missed. Henry switched sides and served again, his sharp grunt of exertion was heard throughout the crowded area. Norris whacked a clean return, and the king returned it.