At the King's Pleasure (Secrets of the Tudor Court) (7 page)

“What would you ask, good sir?” Anne narrowed her eyes, instantly suspicious that he meant to demand a kiss, as the king had. That prospect caused a strange little flutter in her belly.

“I would have your stocking back, my lady,” he whispered in far too intimate a tone, “to carry as a token that even in the darkest night, true love burns as brightly as the sun.”

Before she could respond to this nonsense, George reached across her body to take possession of the prize. “You have the garter, Compton,” he said. “Be content with that.”

Catcalls and ribald suggestions drowned out Compton’s reply. Anne thought that was just as well. Clearly, Master Compton had been imbibing freely of the wine. There was no telling what ill-advised comment he might make.

When Compton was pulled away by his friends, Anne’s sister took his place. Elizabeth had brought the nuptial posset, a drink made with milk, wine, yolks of eggs, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and other ingredients. This strengthening caudle was specially prepared to relax the bride and embolden her new husband. The wine was sack, which was supposed to make men lusty. The sugar in the mixture had been added to also make him kind.

Anne swallowed her portion quickly and George followed suit. She
could feel how tense he was and wondered suddenly if he was as experienced as she’d assumed.

“It is time for our guests to leave,” he announced when the goblet was empty.

No one paid him any mind.

“Be off with you, my lords and ladies,” George said in a louder, more forceful voice, although it was difficult to appear as a figure of authority when one was naked and in bed.

The ladies giggled, even George’s elderly grandmother, who had been making her own inroads into the supply of wine. George’s mother sent the elder Lady Hungerford an exasperated look and approached the bed, leaning down to whisper a suggestion in her son’s ear. George looked startled at first, but then he grinned at her.

As soon as Lady Hungerford stepped back, George grasped the bedclothes, as if he meant to shove them aside and leap out of bed. “If you will not go,” he bellowed, affecting rage, “then I must throw you out!”

Several of the women shrieked and scurried toward the door, pretending to be frightened by the threat of seeing a naked man. The other ladies followed them, but George’s friends remained, more ribald in their comments than before. It was not until King Henry stepped in that they gave up the game. At a signal from His Grace, they obediently trooped out of the room. The king lingered until the others had gone, then he, too, went away, closing the door behind him.

Silence descended on the bridal chamber, sudden and complete. Most of the illumination had vanished, too, as the courtiers had carried off all but two of the candles. Anne extended one bare arm and pinched out the tall wax taper on the table at her side of the bed. A moment later, George’s candle went out, too, leaving them to lay side by side in complete darkness.

Nothing happened.

“George?”

He sighed.

“We are supposed to consummate our marriage now. The union will not be fully legal until we do so.”

“I know.”

She felt a moment of panic. Did he not desire her? Had she just made a terrible mistake by marrying him?

“There is no reason to delay our coupling,” she said, her voice coming out more sharply than she’d intended. “I am hardly a blushing virgin.”

She felt him roll toward her. His words were a low growl of sound. “Are you certain we are alone? I have no wish to be interrupted by drums and fiddles or drunken laughter.”

“Everyone has gone. I am sure of it.” She had heard not a sound from the outer chamber for several minutes.

“They could return.”

“If they do, then you will run them off again.” She smiled in the darkness. “Brandish your sword at them.”

After a moment of startled silence, he laughed aloud. Then he slid his arm around her shoulders and eased close enough to kiss her.

Their first coupling was a trifle awkward but George was not, as Anne had briefly feared, inexperienced. Neither was he a practiced seducer, and that pleased her. She had heard lurid tales about some of the king’s boon companions, especially Neville and Compton and that dark-haired devil, Brandon.

In the end, George proved both lusty and kind, and Anne did not believe that was only because he’d drunk deeply of the nuptial posset. The physical side of marriage was even more satisfying than she’d remembered. Edward had chosen well for her, she decided as she drifted toward well-sated sleep. George Hastings was an excellent choice for a husband.

W
estminster Palace was situated between the river Thames and Westminster Abbey. It was a sprawling place surrounded by the shops and tenements built up on land leased from the monks. When the entire court moved there three days after their wedding, Anne and George were allocated a single small, cramped chamber. They might have lived in their own house in London instead, but as it was December and a cold journey, whether by boat or on horseback, Anne much preferred to remain in one place and George was inclined to humor her. He spent his days in attendance on the king while she enjoyed the convivial ambiance of the queen’s apartments.

The outer rooms were open to everyone. Even when she was not on duty, Anne customarily joined the other ladies in the presence chamber. Some of them held appointments like her own. Others were the wives and daughters of members of King Henry’s household.

On their first full day at Westminster, Anne sought out her friend Bess Boleyn. She found her hard at work on a complex design of bright blue forget-me-nots on a pair of black velvet sleeves that were to be Bess’s New Year’s gift to the queen.

Bess’s stitches slowed, then stopped altogether when Anne joined her on a long, backless bench drawn up close to one of the charcoal
braziers that provided extra heat to the cavernous room. “Does married life suit you as well as you’d hoped?” Bess asked.

“What a question!” Anne took out her own needlework, a shirt she was decorating with geometric designs. “I am well content to be Lady Hastings.”

“And yet you have rarely been seen with your husband since your wedding day, not at Greenwich and not here.”

“We each have our separate duties,” Anne protested.

“But I had hoped for better for you,” Bess said with a sigh. “George is in love with you. Anyone can see that.”

“And so I must therefore fall madly in love with him?” Astonished, Anne stared at her friend. “Love is scarcely a necessity in marriage. We have liking between us. That is more important.”

“Is there at least attraction?”

Anne felt her cheeks warm. “We are both well pleased with each other in bed. And well pleasured, too.”

“He loves you,” Bess said again.

Anne did not know how to reply. She had never considered her marriage in terms of the kind of love the poets wrote of. It was a business arrangement, arrived at for the benefit of both parties and their families. Her brother had overseen the marriage settlement she’d signed, looking after her interests and making certain that she would have her dower rights should she again be left a widow. She was fond of George. She would gladly bear his children. But love?

“I am not sure I know what love is,” she murmured after a moment.

“You will know what it is when you have children,” Bess predicted. “A mother cannot help but love her babies.”

Anne chuckled. “I do not believe that is quite the same thing as love for a man.”

“Perhaps not,” Bess agreed. “And motherhood has its own frustrations, especially when the children must be left behind with nurses and tutors in order for one to dance attendance upon royalty.”

Bess had left a son and two daughters, all under the age of ten, at Blickling in Norfolk, Anne recalled. She might have chosen to stay
with them, but instead she’d come to court, where her husband was already in Henry Tudor’s service.

“Do you love Tom?” Anne asked.

“In truth, I do, and did so even before we married. He can be difficult at times, but he has a way about him. . . ” Her voice trailed off as her lips curved into a secretive little smile that made Anne suspect that Tom Boleyn’s excellence as a jouster in the tiltyard extended into the bedchamber.

The same could be said of George Hastings. Each night of their marriage so far, he had come to their bed with gratifying enthusiasm. They coupled, sometimes more than once, before they fell asleep. But they rarely talked. And he had never
said
that he was in love with her.

Unnecessary, she thought again. Marriages were made for the purpose of providing heirs. Had the priest not charged them to be fruitful and multiply? He had not said anything about romantic love.

That night, however, after Anne and George had coupled, she lay awake listening to his soft snores and wondering if what they had between them would be enough to satisfy her as they grew old together. Would they drift apart as time passed, as so many husbands and wives seemed to? Would they have nothing in common but their children?

Anne knew it was possible to have more than that between husband and wife. She had sensed the genuine bond of affection between Bess with her Tom even before Bess confided in her. And she had observed George’s mother with her second husband, Richard Sacheverell—the second husband she’d chosen for herself after she was widowed. Lady Hungerford enjoyed a true partnership with him. They were friends as well as lovers.

She turned her head to look at George, deep in untroubled sleep beside her. She did not love him, but she thought that one day she might. In the meantime, she was determined to enjoy what they did have. With a wicked smile curving her lips, she slid one hand down his chest and lower, waking him in a way that pleased them both enormously.

T
he court traveled to Wanstead on the sixteenth of December and then moved on to Richmond for Christmas, where Lord and Lady Hastings once again had double lodgings. The queen often retired early, but the king and his companions kept late hours. Anne and George joined wholeheartedly in the revelry, which almost always concluded with dancing. Anne never lacked for partners.

King Henry singled her out for the more energetic dances, knowing that her skill equaled his own. Anne was flattered.

She was also anxious, but only at first. She soon forgot to be nervous of the king and threw herself into the performance.

His Grace dominated every room he entered, drawing every eye. And he set every female heart to beating just a little faster whenever he passed by. Even though Anne was a full seven years older than King Henry, and married besides, she was not immune to his boyish good looks or his enthusiasm. By the end of each dance with him, her smile matched the expression of delight on her liege lord’s face.

She told herself the warmth that suffused her entire body was only due to exertion. The rapid steps had her gasping for breath and wishing fashion did not require such tight lacing.

“Your hood is askew, Lady Anne,” His Grace said, and reached out to straighten it himself.

Even through the layers of velvet lined with silk that made up the gable headdress, Anne thought she could feel his touch. When he went on to adjust the bands that hung down at the front of both sides of the hood, his fingers trailed over the fabric of her bodice and she shivered.

“Tell me, Lady Anne,” the king said, chucking her under the chin and lifting her face so that she was forced to meet his eyes, “is Lord Hastings to your liking?”

For an instant, she thought she saw something calculating in his gaze. Then she told herself she was being foolish. The king was merely flirting with her, and she must reply in kind, keeping the banter between them light and friendly. Those who amused King Henry stayed in his favor.

“I find him adequate, Your Grace,” she quipped, “though any man must pale before his king.”

She meant the words in jest, and for the king’s ears only, but Charles Brandon was close enough to overhear. He bleated a laugh and within moments had repeated her quip to Neville, Guildford, Compton, and the rest. To Anne’s horror, George was also told what she’d said of him.

From across the room, she saw his face darken with embarrassment. The tips of his ears turned bright red. Anne wished she could take back her hasty words, but to say more now would only make matters worse. She sent a silent look of apology in her husband’s direction, but he did not see it. Then the king stepped between them, blocking their view of each other, and whisked her away into another dance.

His Grace was oblivious to George’s distress. Anne forced herself to smile and act as she always did, continuing the easy banter that was expected of all courtiers, but, all the while, she worried. She’d never meant to embarrass her husband. She resolved to make amends the moment they were alone in their chamber.

But when Anne at last retired to their lodgings, George was not there. He did not come to her bed that night. In the morning, one of his men delivered a note to Meriall, Anne’s tiring maid. It was curt and
to the point. He had business to attend to on one of his estates. He would not return for several days.

Anne told herself not to worry. When George came back, she would shower him with affection to make up for her careless words. She had not meant to disparage his abilities as a husband. Surely he would understand that. Besides, he knew what Brandon and the rest were like. He should never have taken their taunts so seriously.

She did not sleep well at night while George was gone but the celebration of Yuletide kept her too busy during the day to dwell on her rift with her husband. Anne was just breaking her fast in her chamber on the morning of St. Stephen’s day when her sister appeared in the doorway.

“Have you quarreled with George?” Elizabeth demanded.

“Certainly not.” Anne gestured toward the food and drink on her small table, silently inviting her unexpected guest to join her.