The Only Boleyn

Spring 1522 - The Journey

It is a tiresome journey from the exciting French court to the English one, and a great trial to me. For me to think that only four days ago I was a great lady at the new French court of Francis I, and, I might add, at the personal invitation of Her Grace, Queen Claude herself! And, before that, a demoiselle d'honneur at Mary Tudor's court, until the death of her husband, Louis XII of France. Now she is known as Mary, the Dowager Queen of France, and she and I share the same unfortunate fate - though I suspect she suffered hers with considerable more joy than I do mine. She was bundled back to England with the utmost care, and then had the ill-fortune to love far beneath her status and married in secret to the nobleman Charles Brandon. Whereas I - a lady-in-waiting to three Queens, two of France and the other of Austria, no less; kingdoms almost as grand as our own - yet here I am, bustled hurriedly towards London at the whim of my Uncle Howard, for only our Lord knows what purpose. And I am a Howard, a Boleyn, two of the greatest families in England - not to mention a highly intelligent and cultured young lady; a sure asset to any court.
No doubt, I think to myself as I walk with my father, Thomas Boleyn, from the royal landing stage up the gravelled paths to the palace, my sister Mary will have some silly image in that empty head of hers and to how she will wish me to see her when I arrive in England for the first time since my very young childhood. She will wish to outdo me in her grace and poise - a feat I intend to make very difficult for her to achieve. The constant affection I have for my sister dances arm in arm with rivalry. There could hardly be a world for me without Mary, yet there is hardly enough world for us both.
When the great doors opened to Queen Katherine's presence chamber, a sudden rush of delight flooded into me, like the very blood that courses through my veins. Mary, a woman of fifteen heading into the very thick of her childbearing years, jumped from her seat and rushed towards me. I gave her her courtier's smile, the Boleyn smile, which broke into a genuine beam as I noted wryly that she was lucky to be already wedded and bedded, for her wonderfully plump body practically sang her fertility.
"I expect a nephew soon," I whispered in her ear as I embraced her, "and Lord knows not from George."
She laughed at that as she pulled back from my arms to study my face.
"Lord Carey treats me very well," she replies, studiously avoiding my interrogative gaze. I resist the compelling urge to sigh at her obedience - she never was one for wit, my sister.
"But is he passionate?" I query, revelling in the rising blush in my sister's face, "Does he relish the deed?" I pause for a moment and cock my head to one side. "Good Lord, he is able?"
Even Mary catches the genuine distress in my tone at that. Her glowing face smiles down at me and her eyes dance as she hushes me.
"Of course he is! My Lord William is a very handsome man, and he does try to me kind to me, but he is somewhat lacking in..."
Dear Lord, she is slow. It is almost painful to watch her think.
"Enthusiasm?" I prompt her, with a slight edge to my voice.
"Yes!" Mary, once again gives me her trusting smile, missing once more the subtleties in our exchange. "And you? Has Uncle Howard got a match in mind for you, Anne?"
I clench my teeth and give her a quick defensive stare.
"Bien sûr," I say quickly, almost too quickly. I force myself to relax, and once more flash Mary the Boleyn smile. "Why ever should he not? I am young, desirable and educated in the most fashionable court in Christendom. What man would not want me in his bed? As his wife, of course." I hasten to add. Mary furrows her brow and pulls her mouth into a sulky pout. She does not like to be reminded that our family favoured the younger daughter to receive the best education a woman can, at the court of France, whilst she was left at home to serve the dumpy Queen Katherine of Aragon. I smirk sideways at Mary, relishing this little triumph of mine, and after a moment she shrugs it off and complacently says, with a little girlish giggle,
"Well, let us pray that we shall both soon grow old happily on our husband's country estates and be much fattened by our plentiful children!" At this I let her take me by the arm and introduce me to the other ladies-in-waiting - but I silently promise myself never to lead such a life as that which Mary wishes so feverently for.
She is the only Howard or Boleyn foolish enough to imagine she could lead a life away from power.