The Last Boleyn(64)
They did not speak again as their footsteps crunched the gravel of the slanting path that linked the green-gray river to their king.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
April 6, 1522
Hever Castle
Another crunching pain seized Mary’s belly and shot jaggedly along her spine. She clenched her hands and wrinkled her brow. It passed as swiftly as it had come.
Anne bent her sleek head toward her sister, but did not touch her. “Mary, is it time? Shall I summon mother or Semmonet?”
Mary shook her blonde head slowly, her loosed hair sliding along her back and shoulders. “I am certain it is just another false pain. I will not be put to bed, and the midwife called again for nothing. I felt so foolish. I can feel the babe has gone lower now. Perhaps soon.” Tiny tears trembled on her thick lashes but did not spill. “If only this wretched waiting were over, Anne, I would be so happy.”
“I can understand that, Mary. If I were in your exciting place in life, I would want to go back too. It is just too silent here—no dancing, no banquets, no chevaliers charmants to twist about one’s little finger for mere amusement.”
“I did not mean that I was anxious to leave Hever, Anne. Have you not longed for home while at Francois’s court all these years?”
“Oh, at first, when I was young, I suppose.”
“But you are only fourteen now.”
“Almost fifteen, sister, and old enough to long for the excitement of Amboise and Chambourg. Fortunately, this boorish exile shall not last long, for father has promised I go to the English court to serve the queen. They say in France that she is quite stuffy, mopes and wears haircloth under her unfashionable dresses, Mary. Is she truly another Claude?”
“She is not well loved by her lord, Anne, so she has that to share with the French queen. Only she seems to me much more tragic, for she was loved once, and she must have the memories of the loss to torment her. The king chose her, you know, though it is said the marriage was his father’s death bed wish. I doubt that Francois du Roi ever cared a whit for poor Claude. And then, there are the babes. Her Grace has had six dead babes, Anne, and the man she adores gone from her too.” Mary put her hands on her huge stomach protectively.
“I am sorry I made you talk of dead babies, Mary. I did not mean to upset you.” Anne had long ago dumped her pile of embroidery on the turf, and she munched handfuls of the last of the winter walnuts as she spoke. “Truly, Mary, what is it like? I am old enough to know now.”
“To carry a child?”
“No, silly goose. To belong to Caesar, to share his bed, to have everyone defer to you—and, well, to have his child.”
“This babe is my lord Will Carey’s child, Anne. I have told you that before.”
“Father says it can just as well be the king’s and that we are to keep mum on it outside the family, and let them wonder.”
“Father is not birthing this child, and I do not wish you to have Will hear such talk.” She reached out her hand to Anne’s arm. “Please, Anne, try to understand.”
“I do, Mary, truly. It is no wonder both Francois and His Grace desired to love you. Even when you are so, well, enceinte, and heavy at the waist, you are still beautiful, sister. I wish I had your Howard looks.” She leaned her slim body back on the bench and stretched her arms over her head. “Then I warrant I could have a new courtier every week.”
“Anne, you sound so heartless! You have become a real flirt. You have been about Francoise du Foix too long.”
“At least I came back a virgin from France, Mary, though Francois du Roi was beginning to give me those soulful, dark-eyed stares when Father called me home.” She giggled. “Besides,” she added when she saw her older sister’s hurt expression at the reprimand, “Francoise du Foix is quite out of favor and has been these last six months. Anne du Heilly is the light of the king’s life now. She is blonde and blue-eyed like you and was quite an innocent when du Roi first noticed her.”
“You have changed, Anne. You are much older than your years. Soon you must think seriously of marriage and of motherhood.”
“I hope not immediately. Some perfectly proper marriage father arranged would probably bore me, and I do not care if I never give birth.” Almost unconsciously, her slim hands went to her flat stomach. “I shall never be another Claude or even, like mother, to have the heirs and be shifted off. Will you not just die, Mary, if you are not summoned back to court—after?”
“Will has some lands now and a manorhouse I have never seen. Besides, Father says I shall be called back. My husband serves the king, so we must live at court.”
“You are the one talking like an innocent, Mary. Father says he can only hope you will be returned to court. And I am sure Esquires to the Body can be changed. But I would so like us all to be together at court especially with George. George needs consolation and diversion. He always did favor Margot Wyatt and now he has had to wed with that chatterbox Rochford. Father had best not try to arrange such a marriage for me, though I would consider it if it would mean I could live at court.”
Mary shifted her bulk and felt the child kick as hard as he had these last few months. The little fellow kicked and punched at her insides so hard sometimes that even Will could see the movement. At first it had frightened her that someone else had taken control of her body, but then it delighted her. Now it filled her heart with foreboding of the hours of pain to come. And Will was still kept at court. At least he should be here when the Carey heir was born.