The Last Boleyn(90)
She darted a sideways look at him through her thick lashes, suddenly afraid. Could he know about Staff and her? But no, since things were bad in their marriage, he had probably meant that she would not miss him. Besides, he said no more about it and Staff and she had been so careful.
Still, she felt the first tiny stab of guilt for a long time. The moment he had told her he would be away, had not her first thought been to somehow tell Staff?
The sun dazzled them as they stepped out the big back doors facing the pond garden on the south front lawns. Mary blinked and squinted until her eyes adjusted. Courtiers were streaming in their springtime pastels like gentle trails of ribbons down to the burgeoning tables and waiting May poles on the river. The poignant fragrances of boxwood and sweet lilies-of-the-valley permeated the air everywhere here.
Her eyes skimmed the clusters of chatting, strolling people for Staff. He was always ridiculously easy to pick out, of course, because he was so tall, but she saw him nowhere here. Perhaps the king had attached him to his retinue at the last minute, and the big, brazen sovereign had hardly put in his appearance here yet among these still somewhat subdued courtiers. Do not panic and do not show dismay, Staff had warned her, when you see I am escorting Dorothy Cobham and Isabelle Dorsey. It would look most suspicious for me to attend May Day like a single stag among the does, only to shoot soulful looks at the married lady Lady Carey all afternoon. She knew he was right. At least there would be two women with him, she breathed, and that was infinitely better than one.
“Well, wife, steady yourself for the onslaught,” Will was chuckling and Mary’s eyes foolishly searched the path for Staff with his two females in tow until she realized Will could not possibly know of that. Then she saw what he meant: in an elaborately ruffled and embroidered gown of light green and pale yellow, a laughing Anne Bullen pulled Henry Tudor decked in blinding white and gold down the path directly behind them with the rest of the Bullen family in their broad wake.
Will took Mary’s arm firmly and they both bowed low as the royal entourage approached. Anne giggled; George nodded and tried to shift away from his clinging wife, Jane Rochford; Lady Bullen clasped her hands in delight and nodded at Mary over the perfection of the dress. The king and Thomas Bullen both stared wide-eyed at Mary.
“Well, well,” the king’s voice came to Mary’s ears uncharacteristically raspy. “Thomas, you rogue, how did you ever do it? Two beautiful, ravishing daughters. Lady Mary, my greetings this fine May Day and to you Will, of course, whom I see more often.” His eyes, in shadow, went deliberately over Mary, but Anne’s head jerked toward the king and she possessively took his white satin-covered arm.
“My dear lord king, everyone awaits,” she said, and tugged his arm. He pulled his eyes away from Mary like a guilty schoolboy caught cheating at sums and with another mumbled word and quick backward glance went on.
Thomas Bullen dropped behind the departing king and spoke first to Will, as if Mary were not even there. “Did you mark all that, Will?” he demanded low. “I would advise you and your lady here to patch things up and put on a good front. Anne seems so willful and nervous I never know what she is going to do next. You do look spectacular, Mary dear. See to her, Will.”
Mary stared at her father’s retreating back through slitted eyes as he hurried to catch up with the king. “Do you have anything to say, madam?” Will probed the minute they were all out of earshot.
“About what, Will? My father’s cryptic comments or His Grace’s greedy eyes?”
“Do not raise your voice out here like that, Mary. I was referring to how your father knew things were—well, unsettled between us.”
She started to walk toward the festival green and he had to hurry to keep up. “Honestly, Will, you ought to be used to father’s knowing everything by now. It can hardly be a secret at court that you bed elsewhere but in the Lady Carey’s room.”
His hand shot out and seized her wrist, whirling her around to face him. “And you, madam?”
She faced him squarely, calmly, fighting to keep panic and disdain from her face. Over his shoulder she caught a glimpse of Staff in a tawny and gold doublet on the path a little way behind Will. Staff—with a lovely woman on each arm. If they approached Will and her while Will probed so suspiciously, she would be lost for certain.
“Will! Will Carey!” Will turned away and squinted into the late morning sun. It was Sir Francis Weston in the most incongruous yellow for such a masculine sporter and soldier, and quite out of breath. “Will and Mary! His Grace has asked me to fetch you to his table directly. He said the entire Bullen family should be together today to please the Lady Anne.”
They set off across the path at a good clip, and Mary could feel Staff’s eyes boring into her from behind. To please the Lady Anne, in a pig’s eye, Mary thought grimly. She had been the king’s mistress off and on for five years and she could still read his thoughts well enough. He had ogled her but briefly on the path and now meant to use her either to set Anne back on her heels a bit, confuse her father’s wily brain—or, or...No, the other possibility could never be that he had looked on her with real interest for himself after all this time. No. Never that again. She would run away first, drown herself in the muddy Thames despite this new dress! Later, in the dancing, she must somehow get to Staff. Staff always knew what to do.
“Mary, are you all right? I did not mean to ruin this happy day. And here, the Careys fully back in His Grace’s goodwill! Eleanor will be so pleased when she hears.”