“You must not excite yourself.”

“Not excite myself! Are you mad? Of course I shall excite myself. This is the best news I have heard since they betrothed me to that idiot. I’ll not marry a boy who does not want me.” She was laughing hysterically. Then she stopped and said: “Poor French Princess!”

Henry tried to shut his ears to the rumors. It was too humiliating. He had been duped by Ferdinand; could it be that he had met the same fate at the hands of the Emperor?

He refused to believe it. He thought of the man humbling himself before him, coming to him in black frieze, a widower mourning for his wife. “I will serve under you … and I must be paid as you would pay your generals. We will take these two towns. …” He had not said that they were the towns he wanted. And what good were they to England? Had the Emperor been laughing at the King of England, as Ferdinand had, exploiting his vanity?

Henry would want absolute proof before he believed it.

Charles Brandon returned from the Netherlands where Margaret had been friendly, but cool. Clearly there could never be a question of marriage between them.

“All my plans are coming to naught,” grumbled Henry.

Mary sent for the Duke of Suffolk.

“Have a care, my lady,” warned Lady Guildford. “Remember the Duke’s reputation. He is not a man to be lightly invited to a lady’s private apartments.”

“You may leave this to me,” Mary retorted imperiously. “And when he comes I wish to be alone with him.”

“But my lady …”

“Those are my orders.”

He came and stood before her, and when Mary had dismissed Lady Guildford, who went most reluctantly, she put her arms about his neck and they stood for some seconds in a close embrace.

It was he who took her hands and withdrew them from his neck; they stood looking at each other.

“Charles,” cried Mary, “Margaret has refused you and Charles is going to refuse me. Was there ever such great good fortune?”

He looked at her sadly, and she shook her head in exasperation.

“You despair too easily.”

“Tell me for what you think we may hope,” he asked.

“I am eighteen and marriageable. I must be given a husband from somewhere. And if a Duke is worthy of Margaret of Savoy, why not of the Princess Mary? That is what I shall ask my brother.”

“He thinks you far more precious than Margaret of Savoy.”

“He must be made to see reason.”

“I beg of you, be cautious for both our sakes.”

She threw herself against him: “Oh Charles, Charles, who ever was cautious in love?”

“We must be … if we wish to survive.”

Her eyes sparked. “Do not think I spend my days sitting and dreaming. I have made a plan.”

He looked alarmed; she saw this and burst into laughter. “You will soon discover what it is. Very shortly you will receive an order to appear at the Manor of Wanstead. Then you shall hear all about it.”

“Mary …”

She stood on tiptoe and put her lips against his.

“Kiss me,” she said. “That makes me happier than talk. By the Holy Mother, there is so little time when we may be alone; Mother Guildford will find some pretext soon to come and disturb us. Oh, you are back … miraculously free … as I am! Charles, Charles, do not ever think that I will allow them to take you from me.”

He abandoned himself. How could he do otherwise? She was irresistible; he could even ask himself: What did it matter if this was the end of ambition? At moments like this he could believe he would willingly barter all he had achieved for an hour with her.

Charles was not the only one who was summoned to the Manor of Wanstead. Thomas Wolsey, Bishop of Lincoln, received a command to attend, as did the Bishops of Winchester and Durham.

When they arrived they found Sir Ralph Verney, the Princess’s Chamberlain, already there; with him was the Earl of Worcester who told them that, on the instructions of the Princess Mary, he was to take them with him into the great hall.

There Mary was waiting to receive them. She looked more than beautiful on that day; she was regal; she had put on a purple cloak which was lined with ermine, and standing on the dais she greeted them with the utmost formality.

When she had spoken to each singly, she begged them to be seated, while she addressed them.

She spoke in her high clear voice and, although now and then during her discourse her eyes fell on Charles, she gave no suggestion that she regarded him in any special light; and the impression she gave was that he was there because he was the Duke of Suffolk and for no other reason.

“My lords,” she said, “I have assembled you here to speak of a matter which touches my royal dignity, and I look to your loyalty to the Crown to support me. I know I can rely on you. It has been brought to my ears that the Prince of Castile and his family continually conspire against my brother and this realm. I am, therefore, resolved never to fulfill my contract with him.”

There was silence among the assembly, but there was one among them whose eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Wolsey had risen high in the King’s favor since the war, and he saw himself rising still higher. He had long doubted the sincerity of the Emperor, and that the alliance with the Prince of Castile should be abandoned suited his plans.

Mary continued: “I beg of you all to plead my cause with the King, my brother, who may well be displeased with me for summoning you hither.”

Charles watching her thought: How wonderful she is! There is no one like her. Who else, but eighteen years old, would have dared summon her brother’s ministers to her presence and make her will known?

He was exultant because he was beginning to believe that she must achieve her desires—and hers were his.

When Mary rode back with her attendants to Greenwich, the people came out to cheer her; they marveled at her appearance for, on this occasion with the certainty of victory in her eyes, she was so beautiful.

She had not been so happy since she had realized the difficulties which stood between her and the man she so ardently loved, and one of the reasons for her elation was that Thomas Wolsey had spoken to her when taking his leave.

“My lady,” he had said, “you may rely on me to do my utmost with the King to have you released from this match which is repugnant to you.”

Mary recognized in that man a spirit similar to her own.

“Wolsey is on my side,” she told herself.

Henry no longer had any doubt of the perfidy of the Emperor.