The tables had all been arranged, but of course the food could not be served till the king arrived. I made my way toward Rose and she greeted me warmly. “Good evening,” she said. “My brothers are here, both of them. And my father. And my…. intended.”

“Rose!” I exclaimed. “I didn’t know. Who is the fortunate soul?”

She turned her eyes downward but I saw a pleased smile cross her face afore she took cover in humility. “My Lord Blenheim’s son.”

She was too reserved to say it: the heir of Earl Blenheim, the only son of Earl Blenheim. But this was a coup indeed. Her father had noble aspirations for his family and he’d wasted no time, apparently, in placing Rose well. “Congratulations,” I told her. “I wish you the most happiness.”

She lifted her eyes, suddenly more adult-like now that her marriage was settled, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a bit more sure of herself. Mayhap a bit too sure of herself. Her nose had an upward tilt that I hadn’t detected in the many years I’d known her, and without a word, she quickly took her leave of me to greet one of Queen Katherine’s ladies-in-waiting. She seemed warmly welcomed.

I took a goblet of watered wine from a liveried servant and spoke with my mother’s cousin. As I did, I caught sight of him as he entered the hall from the terraces outside.

Others may have been waiting all evening for the king to arrive, but I had been waiting for Will.

He stood there, a man now, with his brother, Walter, his father’s heir and pride. I watched with, I’ll admit it, relief as Lord Asquith, his father, forcefully steered Walter toward some of the highborn young ladies in attendance, but not Will. Will looked up, caught my eye, and grinned ere he could stop himself. I lifted my pomander to my nose to hide my smile. Fortunatissima!

“Look, Meg!” My cousin took my elbow and directed my attention to the courtyard. A great stomping of horses could be heard and the musicians stopped their songs. A loud herald of trumpets drowned out the clatter and clank of the carriage wheels.

“The king!” A general murmur went through the crowd. I first thought of my poor mother, who had so longed to see the king again, and then had the puniest of kind thoughts for my father, who had stayed home rather than attend without her. Those thoughts were soon gone, though, as I lifted my eyes and looked for the sovereign himself.

Of course I had been to court a time or two, for jousts and for pageants, but that had mostly been when I was younger. My sister, Alice, had taken me to court with her a few times as well but we’d mostly stayed in the ladies’ quarters.

The king.

He strode in, a great, ruddy bear in wine-colored velvet trimmed in gold cord and slashed in gold silk. Sir Thomas, Anne’s father, followed the king around in the most attentive way. I must say, the king didn’t act as I’d expected he would, dignified and quiet. He threw his arm around Sir Thomas, took a great mug of ale and gulped it, threw his hand toward the musicians, and shouted, “Play on!”

He was the height of handsomeness, he emanated power, he completely dominated the room. One could not imagine him anyone but the king. My knees automatically dipped as he walked. He went to the dais, the table set up for himself and, at his insistence, for the bridal party.

Anne’s father indicated that we should sit and eat, and we went to find our places.

Will came alongside me. “I have been looking forward to dancing with you,” he said, and that sent a shiver of reassurance through me. I’d been worried, because the tone of the note he’d sent me through Thomas had been cooler than the others he’d sent, some of which had fairly singed the paper they’d been written on. In the most courtly, appropriate way, of course.

The servants brought out great platters of swan and eel—the king’s favorite. Whole roasted hares were set on each table, as were minced loin of veal with great platters of fat to spread upon them. Bowls of hard-boiled eggs were passed. Though I loved them, I did not take one, not wanting my breath to smell of egg after the evening’s events, though my brother Thomas took three. I shot him a warning look and he popped one more in his mouth, to the dismay of one of our more proper cousins. I did take some spiced wafers, which I also loved. They’d been cunningly made in white and red, cut in the design of the Tudor rose. I heard the king voice his approval when he saw them.

Then I heard him express his appreciation for the bride in an overly familiar way. Mary and Sir William had been married months before but still the king drew near to Mary, beautiful and golden, as the king was known to prefer his paramours. Mary drew closer toward him too. Her new husband looked on in impotent horror. What could he do? Henry was law.

I heard a quiet comment from someone at the end of my table. “’Twas not enough to shame herself with the French king, now she’s going to shame herself with England’s as well.”

There was a mushrooming of approval from those who heard the comment, though I held my face still. Oh, Mary. Please don’t encourage this.

At meal’s end the king claimed the first dance with the bride, who willingly agreed. Sir William tried to look enthusiastic but his earnest face showed his pain. Sir William, you have a steep and rocky path ahead of you.

The servants removed the tables and the musicians began to play. Everyone partnered off quickly. My brother ignored his wife but she didn’t seem bothered; she’d taken up with another man the moment we’d arrived. I could tell she’d had several goblets of wine—probably unwatered. My brother headed straight for Anne, who met him graciously, though a bit coolly.

She was a childhood flirtation, Thomas. I willed him to understand. But he would not.

A moment later I felt a hand on the small of my back. “Have you a partner yet, Mistress Wyatt?” Will asked.

“Do I now?” I responded a bit coyly, I admit, but then a girl is allowed.

“You do.”

The musicians struck up a pavane, and we lightly touched fingers, as all the couples must. For that reason it was one of the favorite dances for those in love or who wished to be. My gowns swirled along the floor as we danced. Though we were close to others we were still able to carry on a private conversation.

“How does your sister?” Will asked, a bit formal. He seemed restrained somehow. Unusual. Maybe we needed to become accustomed to one another again. We’d never had to ere this, though.

“She’s fine, the baby comes soon. How go your studies?” I asked, maddeningly polite and distant.

“Wonderfully well. I have the opportunity to study abroad for a few months whilst my father is in Belgium for the king, and then I return home to…. study more. And to the court, of course. I will often be at court.”

“You’ll do well at court, I’m certain.”

We broke apart to dance a galliard with other partners, a quick, humorous dance that soon had the entire hall clapping, laughing, and making merry. I danced with my brother Thomas and then with another courtier whom I did not know but who looked at me appreciatively.

I prayed a prayer of thanksgiving for my mother and her gift of the dress. I confess that I was glad that Anne wasn’t alone in drawing admiration.

The king called for a volte to be danced, and the room shifted uncomfortably. The volte was the only dance which allowed partners to embrace. I saw the king lead Mary Boleyn—ah, Mary Carey—to the dance floor. Will swooped in before my galliard partner could claim me again, though he tried.

I softened in Will’s arms; I felt the heat of those many secret scrolls and their honest declarations as we danced. I sensed the momentum of our years of laughter and honest, heated disagreement and unspoken, deep affection.

“Meg,” he finally said, intimacy and urgency in his voice now that he’d dropped the well-mannered, unwelcome mask of civility. And there was something else in his manner, though I could not tell what. “Can we speak together outside, alone?”

“Yes!” I said. It wouldn’t be improper with so many strolling around.

“Good. Perhaps we should dance a few more songs first so as not to draw attention.”

I agreed and then unwillingly let go of his hand as the dance ended. I could feel his reluctance to let go, too.

We met outside the main door and then walked, hand in hand, to a bench just outside in the close gardens. The rain of the earlier evening had dried to a mist on the petals of the flowers nearby; the sky had cleared to a cool, starry evening. Will picked a daisy and put it in my hair, a tender gesture of love and possession that I welcomed. “Do you remember your wreath of daisies?” he asked.

“I do, and I’m pleased that you do as well.”

“I have news, Meg,” he said after a moment. My back stiffened at the tone of his voice.

“You’re to be married,” I said, cutting directly to my worst fear.

“No…. not exactly.”

“Not exactly? Marriage is a clear thing. You’re either married or you’re not.”

“My father has been spending a lot of time with the king,” Will said.

“I’d heard.”

“And the king spends a lot of time with Cardinal Wolsey.” “Indeed,” I said. We all knew that the cardinal was the king’s closest, most trusted advisor.

“Wolsey read some of my work at Cambridge and felt that I had promise as a priest. He approached Henry. The king approached my father, who thought it an excellent idea, or so he told the king. I am the second son, after all.”

“A priest? Your father is not even devout! Not all second sons must go into the priesthood. It’s not a law.”

“It’s a practice,” Will said. “My father thinks it a good idea.”