He shook his head sadly. Then he said: “I have a son, Anne. He is not yet a year old.”

“Again congratulations. That must be very gratifying.”

“I admit to a fondness for the child.”

“I must come to Allington to see him and to meet your wife.”

My brother was coming out into the courtyard.

“Oh, so you are there, Tom,” he said. “What do you think of my sister?”

“A very grand lady with Frenchified airs.”

“Exactly my view. Have you caught up on old times?”

Thomas nodded. “I have been upbraiding her for staying away so long.”

“Come in,” said George. “My stepmother heard your arrival; she has some of her own wine to offer you. Now, Tom, you must let her know you like it. She is proud of her brews.”

And as we went into the house I was thinking of the old days and Thomas and what might have been.

When my father arrived at Hever, I expected the storm to break.

George had gone back to Court and so had Thomas Wyatt. I had been over to Allington and renewed my friendship with Mary Wyatt. I had found a certain peace in our gardens which I had always loved in the past. I rode out quite often. I should have had a groom with me. My stepmother worried about this but I assured her I was quite able to take care of myself, and she was always anxious not to impose her authority upon me.

She used to busy herself in the kitchens. I think she was not yet accustomed to living in a house like ours. She came of good yeoman stock; her father was a landowner, but we had become very grand since my father was doing so well at Court—and, I thought bitterly, since Mary had found such favor in the very highest place.

My stepmother never referred to that aspect of Mary's life, though she had grown fond of her as she had of us all.

From my window I saw my father arrive. He traveled in some state, as became a gentleman of his importance. He was on terms of friendship with both Cardinal Wolsey and the King. He had kept the French wondering which way England was going to turn and he had completed a successful mission at Oudenarde with the Emperor Charles. He was rich; honors had been showered upon him. That made me angry. Could he not forget the Butler revenues for the sake of his daughter's happiness? Apparently not.

When I heard of his successes and his growing wealth, I was more determined than ever to stand firm against his attempt to use me to add to them.

I was expecting to be given instructions as to what I must do and was amazed when there was no mention of this—until I understood the reason.

There was one thought in his mind at that time and he could give no attention to anything else. The King was doing us the great honor of paying a visit to Hever Castle. It was for this reason my father had come home. He wanted to supervise preparations. We must all realize what an important occasion this was. There was so much to be done. It was one of the greatest honors which could be bestowed upon a subject. It was an indication of the rising fortunes of Thomas Boleyn.

He greeted me in an absent-minded fashion. I had seen him once or twice during my stay in France when he had been on embassies there and he had no doubt thought that he must spare a little time to see his daughter; but those visits had been of a perfunctory nature. I had been too young to interest him then; it was only when his daughters were of marriageable age that he took notice of them.

I was surprised to see the affection between him and my stepmother. It set me wondering about the strangeness of human nature. Somewhere in that granite-like exterior was a softness, and my humble countrified stepmother had somehow managed to find it.

I felt a little kinder toward him, though not much—considering his plans for me.

My stepmother was in a flurry of dismay.

She came to my bedroom to talk to me, for we had become good friends by this time.

“The King…here… What will he think of me?”

“He will think what we all do… that you are good, sweet, kind and gentle… and he will like you for that.”

“Oh, Anne, you seek to comfort me. Never did I think…What shall we give him to eat? How shall we entertain him? How can we compare with the Court?”

“We don't have to. He is escaping from the Court. For that is what kings do on these peregrinations. I am sure he will never have tasted food better than that which you prepare. You are so clever with food. We never ate so well before you were in charge of the kitchens.”

“I…I shall have to be there… the hostess… beside your father.”

“Just be yourself and remember that he may be the King but he is only a man after all.”

“How can you say such a thing!”

“With conviction. I was at the Court of France, remember. I knew the King of France well. He was even more elegant than this King… and he was only a man.”

“You comfort me.”

“All you have to do, my lady, is be yourself.”

“I shall be so nervous.”

“He will see that and love you for it.”

“How can that be?”

“Because, from what I know of him, he will enjoy seeing you in awe of him. He will be very gracious. He will like your manners. I can swear to this… because I know the ways of royalty.”

“Bless you, my dear. I am so happy that you are here.”

What a bustle there was in the kitchens. The smell of roasting filled the castle. Beef, mutton, suckling pigs, boars’ heads, fish of all kinds, fruits, enormous pies which were to be made into fantastic shapes and all adorned with Tudor roses.

We did not know when the King would arrive. He would be hunting on the way and it seemed one could never be sure. My stepmother was in despair. When should the pastry be made to ensure perfection? My father, too, was nervous. Everything must be in order. No expense must be spared. I had heard that noblemen throughout the country, while they craved the honor, dreaded it because it almost ruined them.

I refused to allow myself to be caught up in all the excitement. I had caught a glimpse of the King at Guines and I had had a close view of him when he had dined with Queen Claude and I was in attendance. He had actually spoken to me then. Accustomed to being with Marguerite, who had talked so much about her brother, had brought me into very close contact with royalty, and I had ceased to be overawed. Therefore I was not as excited about this visit as the rest of the household seemed to be. As two days passed without the royal arrival, it occurred to me that the King might have decided not to come after all—which I knew was what my father feared and my stepmother hoped.

I had made up my mind that this must be so. In any case my thoughts were filled with the Butler affair.

My father had taken little notice of me since his arrival, which, in the circumstances, was understandable, but I was sure that when the King's visit was over I should be informed of what was expected of me. I wanted to prepare myself for that. It was a greater matter of concern to me than the King's visit.

There was a small enclosed rose garden at Hever—a favorite spot of mine. There I felt at peace. I would sit there for hours and think of the past and wonder about the future and how my father would act when he realized I was set in my determination not to be forced into marriage.

On this afternoon I went there. It was a warm spring day, I remember, and quite windless in the garden. I sat on the wooden seat contemplating the pond with the little figure of Hermès poised above the water, trying to rehearse what I would say when my father brought up the subject of James Butler.

And as I sat there I heard a footfall, and through the gap in the hedge there came a figure. I gasped and felt my heart begin to beat very fast. There could be no mistaking him. He seemed bigger than I remembered. Perhaps he was a little more corpulent than when I had last seen him. His padded coat, reaching only to his knees, so that the well-formed calves of which he was so proud were displayed in all their glory, was puffed and barred with elaborate appliqué so that it made him look very wide. It was of deep purple velvet, his waistcoat of purple satin, and there was a design of roses—Tudor, of course—embroidered on it; on his head was a hat with a curled feather of pale yellow. I could see the jewels glinting on his garments. He was a scintillating and splendid figure.

I myself was most simply clad. My father would have been most put out if he could have seen me thus. I was wearing a red gown, open from the waist to the hem to show a satin petticoat of a lighter shade of red which toned perfectly. My hair was loose about my shoulders. Apart from the long hanging sleeves which I always wore and which gave a certain style to my gown, I might have been a simple country girl.

Half embarrassed to have been caught thus and half amused, I felt more than a little mischievous and I determined to play a trick on him. He liked to disguise himself so that people should not know he was the King until he surprised them with the news. Well, I would pretend I did not know who he was.

He stared at me and came toward me. I remained seated until he was close. I think he was expecting me to fall on my knees. Instead I said coolly: “Tell me, are you of the Court?”

He was obviously taken aback for I saw him start. Then his lips twitched slightly. I learned afterward that it was not difficult to judge his moods by his expression. I supposed he usually felt he had no need to cloak his feelings since his will was law. In fact, I was to see a look reduce people to terror.

He said: “I am.”

“Ah then,” I went on, “the King must have come.”