I joined her. “What is it?” Anne was not given to fits of sadness or displays of weakness.

“Henry has had Sir Thomas More condemned to death. He refused to affirm the king as head of the Church in England, holding to his belief that the pope is the rightful head of the Church everywhere. More is to be beheaded as well.”

“I’d heard,” I said. The news had blown through court like an ill wind. “But why does this sadden you, dearest? Sir Thomas was for certes no friend to you.”

She nodded and twisted her emerald wedding ring about her finger. “I admit I am not a generous enough person to grieve his death, though I do not believe he dies justly. However”—she looked at me and I saw, for the first time, fear in her eyes—“Henry loved Thomas More. He thought of him as a father, a brother, a counselor, a friend, of many decades. Does Cromwell not see that if Henry can change his affections, of an instant, for one well-beloved counselor he can do that for another in like manner?”

I took her hand in my own, soothing her without a word. Because the words we did not, could not, say were: if Henry set aside one wife, a well-beloved wife, in an instant, could he not do that of another in like manner? That was the heart of the matter. We both knew it.

Fisher’s head was taken from its pike, pitched into the Thames, and replaced with More’s.

England was as restless as an unwell child, and the king restless along with her. His answer was to take Anne, and the court, on a long progress throughout his own properties, the properties of his nobles, and even to the west country. We started at Windsor, moved to Reading, and then planned to go through Oxfordshire to Templeman Castle and Sudeley Castle in Gloucestershire. We’d progress through Wiltshire, Southampton, then Portsmouth, followed by Winchester, feasting and bankrupting his hosts all the way. Henry wanted to see his people face-to-face, judge their loyalty, and affirm his sovereignty. We left as soon as More’s pulse stilled.

Endless hunting and dancing and dining kept the king at peace for months, happy, his heart and hand interlaced with Anne’s, which was, I supposed, best for all. Still, there was no sign of a child and she’d gone many months now without a pregnancy. So when she pulled me aside to speak in private I thought mayhap she had good news. But it was other news she wanted to share.

“The king has told me that we leave, on the morrow, for Templeman Castle,” she said. “The Earl of Blenheim has erected a great jousting stadium in honor of His Majesty, has arranged for a pageant and a masque. I expect the Ogilvy family will all attend.”

I nodded. “But Will is in Antwerp, with Miles Coverdale.”

“I wanted you to be forewarned,” Anne said. “And I want you to take one of the gowns you’ve just had made for me—that one of garnet sarcenet with gold shot throughout—and keep it for yourself. I shan’t have you showing up at Rose’s home looking any less fashionable than she.”

I squeezed her hand in silent thanks.

“I have not forgotten my promise to ask the king for a dowry for you,” she said. “I shall, next time I am with child. My brother, George, can find a good man for you, a noble knight or other kindly person in high gentry. Or mayhap you prefer Thomas Seymour?”

I laughed. We both knew Thomas Seymour was out of my grasp even if I wanted him, and I didn’t. “I have no wish to partner Master Seymour for anything other than the briefest of dances, Your Grace. But thank you.”

We arrived at Templeman, I in Anne’s litter, which meant that Rose would have to remain in a curtsy while I alighted because she knew not whether it would be me or Anne who would come out first. I hid a smile. I was not beyond enjoying the poke but I had no wish to cause further ill will.

“Lady Blenheim,” I said. Her father-in-law had passed away; her husband was now completely vested in his title, as was Rose.

“Dowager Baroness,” she said, emphasizing “dowager.” I minded it not. The years had not been kind to her and her self-righteous spirit had soured her within as well. Her eyes looked unwelcoming, as always, but also deeply smudged.

Once the court had settled in their rooms—new ones had been prepared for the king and for Anne, whom Rose continued to refer to as “my dear, dear childhood friend the queen”—the earl called us into his gardens, where he held an enchanting pageant. I looked about me. Where was Will’s father…. and brother? Neither were here when the king was being entertained? I set Edithe to make inquiries from the servants, so as not to draw attention to my queries, and was shocked at what she reported back.

“Seems Master Walter has passed on, my lady, only a few weeks ere the progress. His father and mother are putting things to right at their estate and ’tis too soon after the death to be at a masque an’ all.”

Walter. Dead. Dear, sweet Walter. The heir.

I purposed in my heart to approach Rose that evening with my condolences. Her card table was full, but I found an open spot at one nearby so that I could approach her with my sympathy at the right moment. She caught my eye but didn’t wave me over. It did seem to me that she spoke more loudly, though. Mayhap so I could hear?

Lady Lisle offered pity and comfort and then asked Rose, “Will your father recall your brother Will home, then? He’s your father’s heir now, is that not right?”

Rose spoke up. “Thank you for your gentle wishes, my lady. My brother Will has already returned home and performed Walter’s funeral, a private family matter. As he is a priest, and told my father only last year that he was called to remain a priest, I shan’t expect him to be named my father’s heir. That honor will go to my eldest son, Philip.” She caught my eye, smiled, and turned back to her table.

It grew clear to me that she did not want my good wishes, so I finished my game of trump, thinking that Rose had already trumped me and we were not even at the same table, and took my leave.

Walter was dead. Philip, a spoilt little man given to fits of temper any time I’d seen him and overindulged by Rose’s unmanned husband, now heir to two great estates. But even more startling, Will was here.

The next evening, our last afore moving on, I attended to Anne’s needs in an unusual haste. As I brushed out her hair I tugged at a knot.

“Have a care!” She quickly put her hand to her head. “If I didn’t know better, madam, I would say you were in an unseemly hurry to dress yourself at risk of service to your queen.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, but then I caught the gleam in her eye. She knew Will was here, mayhap had known all along.

“You may be sorry but ’tis clear you cannot focus on the task.” She waved me away. “I’d prefer the patient hands of Nan Zouche tonight. Be gone!”

I hurried to my own chambers and dressed myself in the garnet gown that shimmered like deep flames when it caught the light, threads of gold running through it like an unspoken promise. I knew how much the fabric had cost—I’d procured it on the queen’s behalf. If all the earnings from each person in the village surrounding Allington Castle were pooled together for one year, ’twould be enough to commission the dress. I masqued myself with a gold and black feather headdress.

The great hall at Templeman was magnificent. Rose’s husband was bound as ivy and oak with Cromwell, who had appointed him to several lucrative positions. Indeed, Cromwell himself had joined us on progress. My brother Edmund was there with his new bride, an untested girl who spoke little and seemed to be currently avoiding Katherine Willoughby, the Duke of Suffolk’s young wife, who had a lively spirit and quick tongue. I’d had several words with Edmund’s wife during the weeks she’d been on progress with us, tried to befriend her, but it soon became clear that Edmund had poisoned the air between us and she was reluctant to offer anything but the most proper and perfunctory greetings. I’d not seen her smile since their smallish wedding. I suspected he’d kept it low-key because it was rushed after Charlotte had married Simon.

“Are you enjoying the progress, Tilda?” I asked her.

“’Tis fine. And you, Margaret?” she offered meekly.

“Do not call her Margaret, ’twas my mother’s name. My sister’s name,” Edmund spat out, “is Meg.”

I bade them good evening and, sighing, took my leave. I should have to ask Alice, also present, if she’d had better luck with our sister-in-law.

Of course Baron Blackston was there. His wife, Charlotte, was an especial favorite of Rose’s. Simon asked me to dance and I had little choice but to agree.

“How are you, Meg?” His voice clearly showed that he couldn’t be less interested in my well-being.

“I do well,” I answered. “I see that your wife is with child. Congratulations.”

He smiled and steeled his gaze before the thrust. “You know young ladies. So often with child so quick after a wedding. And many times thereafter. Like your friend, the Countess of Blenheim, our hostess.”

Yes, Simon, I am aware of my age and lack of fecundity. “I wish you goodwill with your child,” I said, and then added a little barb from which he could draw his own meaning. “I shall certainly keep your child in my prayers.” Simon looked ready to say something further when someone tapped on his shoulder.

“May I?” he asked. It was Will. His being near family with Simon made it difficult for Simon to do anything other than graciously agree.

“From the arms of a fallen angel into the arms of a priest,” I teased. I noticed Will did not wear vestments but was dressed in typical courtly attire. Mayhap it was because it was a masque.

Though he was masqued, as was I, it was still possible to lock eyes and we did, he showing more open interest in me than he had the last time, which confused me. The music seemed far away, as did all others. I was only aware of one person.