The Boleyn Prince

Chapter 13

Her cousins' nervous wrangling of her wrists was grating on Anne's already fraying nerves. For half the morning she had endured the sight of her cousin Madge toying her hands, darting in and out of her rooms. That in itself was nothing unusual. Madge was terribly flighty. She was the youngest child of her Aunt Shelton, her father's sister and so was easily impressionable. She was a good-hearted girl however and loyal to Anne and so she was prepared to tolerate her.

"For heaven's sake Madge, out with it, what is the matter?"

"Sir Henry Norris is outside, Your Majesty. He asks for an audience."

"Heavens is he finally ready to ask for her hand?" Anne thought to herself. Norris had been pursuing her cousin for nearly two years. He had seemed keen at first, but his ardour had cooled when Anne's star had been on the wane. It had been only after the birth of Prince Henry that he had resumed his courtship.

She took her place in her chair of estate and smoothed the damask skirts of her green gown. "Very well. Send him in."

She extended her hand for him to kiss. Norris was a close friend of the King and had provided invaluable support in her rise to be Queen. He was that rare thing in the world of the court: a decent man. He would always be assured of a warm welcome in her rooms.

"Your Majesty, I have come to ask for your blessing to marry your cousin, Mistress Shelton."

A smile formed on Anne's face. "Well Sir Henry, if I may say so, it is about time!"

Sir Henry had the grace to blush at the Queen's gentle reprimand. It was true he had taken his time in formalizing the relationship with the pretty young girl who stood over on the other side of the chamber as her intended spoke with her mistress.

"You have my permission," She said beckoning her cousin to her side. Anne rose from her chair. "I wish you both every happiness. What fun we shall have in planning your wedding, Madge."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," they said in unison.

"Have you informed the King of your decision, Sir Henry," she enquired, fishing for titbits of what the King was doing with his days. He hadn't spoken to her since he had banished her from his presence chamber the previous day. Nor had he come to dine with her or share her bed.

"I asked for His Majesty's permission this morning madam. It was fortunate that I did too, for Master Secretary Cromwell and His Grace of Canterbury came to speak with him soon after Mass about the Lady Mary and were with him for most of the day."

"The Lady Mary?" At once her attention was gripped as it always was whenever the King's bastard daughter was mentioned. "What was discussed between them?"

"I believe it was suitable candidates for the Lady Mary's hand in marriage," Norris replied carelessly.

"Who was suggested?" Anne demanded. "Norris, who was suggested?"

"I do not know Your Grace. I absented myself."

"Oh, Norris. The one time you could have really been of some use to me. Damm your discretion."

Norris was oblivious to her disappointment. He was thoroughly absorbed in conversation with Madge and the other attending ladies of the Queen who had swiftly begun to talk of wedding plans.

This was it. This was her moment to bring Mary under control. If the King was marrying her off, it could only mean that he meant to wash his hands of her. Every noble in the land would vie for the chance to wed their sons to the King's daughter. Dull and spiritless bastard though she was.
Her uncle Norfolk would certainly not pass up such an opportunity. His son and heir, the Earl of Surrey had been proposed as a husband for Mary nearly two years ago. He would certainly renew that prospect if he knew Mary was now on the marriage market.
"He will not have her," she thought to herself she stepped out into the gardens. She would not dare risk marrying Mary to the Earl. He was as voracious in his quest power and influence as his father. He would probably press her claims and bring the whole family down with them. No, Mary would only marry a man whom she could trust implicitly. There was only one suitable candidate. George. He was the only man she would trust with the King's daughter. The only one who would not press her claim at the expense of her son. She would not be able to achieve it alone though. Cromwell would be the man to bring her plan to pass.

She stopped herself as her silk slippers touched the soft grass. Queens did not chase after their husband's servants, she reminded herself. They came to her.

"You there," she called to a handsome blonde-haired youth, dressed in the King's livery. "Inform Master Secretary Cromwell that the Queen would speak with him in the gardens."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

There was a boldness in his tone and in the lingering way he looked at her. In any other man, it would infuriate her. Just as it had with Tom Wyatt and the musician Smeaton. But there was something about this young lad that she found pleasing in being so admired by him and so she let it pass.

"I do not know you boy. What is your name?"

"Thomas Culpepper at your service, Your Majesty," he said with another bow.

"Thomas Culpepper," she repeated. There was a Culpepper somewhere in the Howard family, if her genealogy lessons were correctly remembered. Yet he looked nothing like any of them that she could recall. "I will remember that name," she murmured before walking away.