Within days of the closing of the Percy hearings Anne came to share joyous news. She took my hands in her own. “I am to be married.”

“Anne!” I said. “When and where?”

“In October. In France.”

Of course. Where else would Anne be married but in France?

Henry immediately set about raising Anne to the highest levels so that she would be a fitting bride for him. As mistress of her wardrobe I had the responsibility to see that her clothing was well kept at all times and that Anne was stunningly prepared and presented for every occasion.

“Look!” She lifted the lid on a box that held an open-sleeved cloak of black satin. Next was a black satin nightgown, one I was certain Henry had intended to see in private sometime. My favorite was a French-cut gown in green damask, a dress suitable for a queen. I suspected that green damask would be slipping its way through the hands of most fashionable seamstresses for months after Anne debuted it.

The king came by her chambers, as he often did, that afternoon. He took her in his arms. They kissed for so long that the rest of us ladies in the room busied ourselves and pretended not to see or hear. I felt a small seed of jealousy shoot roots into my heart. My own body ached with the desire for someone to hold it, my lips for someone to require them. Instead, I busied myself with cloth and gowns.

“I bring good tidings, sweetheart,” Henry said. “I have sent a request to Katherine to retrieve your jewels. I expect them to arrive ere long and then we will have them quickly reset afore your marquess ceremony next month.”

All knew that a “request” from Henry was no request at all.

Anne leaned over and kissed his small mouth. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I want to do well by you.” It may have looked like pure gratefulness, or even greediness, to an onlooker, but to me, who knew her heart, I knew it was a response of love. Anne remained deeply in love with the king. And he, apparently, with her.

“You will, sweetheart.” He caressed her shoulder and, as we ladies were present, limited it to that.

A week later he stormed into his great presence chamber and shouted for his chamberlain. When the poor man arrived, the king threw a stack of papers at him. “Once again, the dowager princess has been ill advised and acted upon it.” His manservant reached down to pick up the scattered papers and quickly scanned them. By now, Henry had stomped his way up the dais and had settled on his throne beneath a scarlet canopy. “Katherine informs me that, since the new year, she is forbidden from giving me anything. Giving me! They are not hers to give. They belonged to my lady mother and shall soon adorn my lawful queen.”

“How would you like me to proceed, sire?” the steward asked.

Henry waved his stout hand as if dismissing an idiot. “Tell her I expect the queen’s jewels to be in my presence within days or I shall have charges pressed upon her for thievery.”

The queen’s jewels, soon to be Anne’s, quickly arrived. Anne and I went through them together, comparing them with her wardrobe in advance of making suggestions to Henry’s jeweler on how to reset some so as to show off her garments, and the woman who wore them, to best advantage.

“You heard that Katherine remarked that she could not allow the jewels to adorn me, the scandal of Christendom?” Anne tried on a ring, too big round for her slender fingers.

“I did,” I said.

“And yet, here they are.” Anne slipped on a bracelet. “I shall ask Henry to have this refit. And also one made with those rubies.” She pointed to an outdated necklace with stunning stones. “It will be good for me to wear them in Boulogne.”

She stood up and, a bit regally, swept her hand toward the treasure. “Would you take care of these, then? I’d best get some rest afore tonight’s fitting for my gown. ’Twill need to be attended to quickly in order to be ready by September.”

“Yes, my lady,” I said. I don’t think she heard the irony in my subservient voice. Mayhap it was a tone she was growing accustomed to and enjoyed.

I carefully gathered up the queen’s jewels and thought about the king’s expensive taste—not for rings and bracelets, but for stubborn women.

There were only days before the ceremony at Windsor to invest Anne as Marquess of Pembroke, and trouble to sort out afore it began.

FIFTEEN

Year of Our Lord 1532

Windsor Castle

Calais

Whitehall Palace

At the end of August we made our way to Windsor Castle, which had been prepared for Anne’s investment ceremony. She was to be made Marquess of Pembroke, a rank that not only prepared her to be a royal consort but would befit her to meet with others of great rank while in France. We readied her in her rooms. Her aunt, the Duchess of Norfolk, had been selected to carry Anne’s mantle of ermine and her coronet. This was a great honor, but the arrogant duchess found it not so. She dithered back and forth but finally, on the day itself, sent her lady-in-waiting to deliver the news.

“My lady the Duchess of Norfolk sends her regrets, madam. She must decline the honor of serving you during today’s ceremony.”

Anne turned toward her. I watched the woman through narrow eyes: it had been she I’d seen at the reformer meetings. “Why must she decline?”

“She did not tell me, my lady.” The woman held herself with a haughtiness equal to her mistress’s. All knew it was a deep insult and I hoped Anne would address it directly. She did not disappoint.

“Then I shall inform you why,” Anne said. Her black eyes flashed and her mouth tightened. “Though the king required her father’s head but a few years back as payment for treason, the duchess feels that her dignity, and rank, preclude her from serving a Boleyn, even one about to be the queen.”

The ladies in the room gasped. All knew it to be true but none had yet said the word “queen” aloud when connected with Anne. Unspoken also was the knowledge that the duchess was one of Katherine of Aragon’s staunchest friends.

Anne, for once, seemed at a loss. I felt for her. She was stuck. The Countesses of Derby and Rutland were already serving her but she needed another highborn woman of sufficient rank to carry her mantle and coronet in order to keep her head high among the nobility. This was one dilemma Henry could not get her out of.

Please help her, I prayed, startling myself that I did.

Then the Duchess of Norfolk’s own daughter quietly spoke up. “I shall be pleased and privileged to carry your mantle and coronet, my lady, if you’ll permit me.”

Dear, dear Mary Howard. However did she spring from the loins of Elizabeth Howard and that hellhound duke?

Anne walked over and hugged Mary. “Thank you, Cousin. I would be honored to have your service. And here”—she reached over to her box of jewels—“let us find something that shall catch the Duke of Richmond’s attention, besides the lady who will wear it, of course.”

Mary laughed; all knew that she and the king’s son were in love. Her mother opposed the match. Mary now had a more powerful ally than her mother.

That morning Anne was conducted into the king’s presence with her ladies all round her. Her shining hair tumbled over her shoulders like a black river in the sunshine; my arms ached with the hundreds of brushstrokes I’d given it so it would appear thusly. Her olive-tinted skin was warm with the crimson velvet of her gown. The jewels had been quickly reset and now shimmered in the morning sunlight streaming in through the high clerestory windows.