The Boleyn Prince

Chapter 16

It was the sound of the soft leather shoes furiously hitting the stone floor that betrayed the fury simmering inside of George Boleyn, rather than his quizzical shaped, dark eyebrows.

"Damn them. Damm them all," he cursed bitterly. "Damm them with their ambitions and family duty."

He wanted a drink to calm his rage, but knew if he started now, he would not stop. He was about to enter a life that would be more scrupulously monitored than ever before. He was to be brought out of his sisters' shadow. To be placed front and centre of court life. He would not just be defending her against her enemies. He would have his own, and far more powerful than those who he already had.
He raced up the private stairs that led to the Queen's chambers. The ushers jumped to one side. They knew better than to gainsay the Queen's brother. Next to the King, he was the most regular visitor to her rooms.
He pushed aside the heavy oak door that opened into the exquisitely decorated Privy Chamber,

Anne must have retired for the night, for her privy chamber was deserted. Only the dying embers from the day's fire remained smouldering in the grate of the fireplace. For a moment, he baulked at storming into the bedchamber of the Queen of England that lay just beyond the second set of double doors at the other end of the room. But he was so furious he knew the rage would only simmer like a pot on the boil and he might do something more foolish yet.
He threw the doors aside to find a still dressed Anne seated before her looking glass. Her chief attendant Margaret Lee stood behind her, removing her French hood from her dark hair which was still pinned to her head.

Only Anne did not startle at the surprise of Georges furious entrance. Her face was one of indignation.
"What do you think you are doing?" She raged at him. "Have you run mad? How dare you barge in here?"

He did not answer her. He did not care for her rage for his own was infinitely greater at that moment. "Do you know what I did this evening? Father and I were invited to dine with the King. Had a nice meal, played a few games of cards. Offered me the Lady's Marys hand in Marriage."

Anne's face lost some of its fury. She could feel her mouth widen in surprise. By God, Cromwell had actually done it. He had convinced Henry to marry his troublesome Spanish bastard to her brother.

The lack of surprise in his sister's face hit home and he immediately knew the unpalatable truth. "You knew?" he accused her.

"Of course I knew. It was my idea." Her voice was tinted with a sense of pride.

Georges' eyes widen in disbelief. "What?"

"Don't look so surprised," she scolded him as if he were a child. "We spoke of it the day that Henry was born. Remember?"

"We joked of it the day that Henry was born," he argued. "If I had thought for one moment you were serious..."

"When have I ever joked about that little bastard?" Anne asked firmly.

"He doesn't want to pay a dowry," George continued pacing around the bedchamber. "He will make me Duke of Gloucester instead."

"Duke of Gloucester!" she exclaimed with wide-eyed delight. That was unexpected. In one ceremony her brother would become a peer of the realm. Equal to their uncle and Charles Brandon. Richard III, the last Duke of Gloucester had married a fortune in his wife, the heiress Anne Neville. "By God George, You will outrank father. Be equal to Uncle Norfolk and to that old letch Suffolk!"

"I know"

"Then why do you look so sullen?"

"I married once for the benefit of the family and she was an absolute termagant. I thought with our future assured I would at least get to choose my wife the second time around."

"For someone so renowned for his intellect, you do say some very stupid things," she retorted harshly.

"What is so stupid about wanting to have some control over my own life?" he argued.

"None of us have control over our own lives George, you should have realised that by now," she walked back to her looking glass and proceeded to unpin her raven tresses from their ivory pins. "You will do it, won't you George?" she demanded, as she shook her dark hair free from its platted coil.

He would get no sympathy from Anne, he quickly realised. If she had controlled her own fate, she would be the Countess of Northumberland now rather than Queen. she had not always been so cold. As a child, she had been sweetness itself. Fun-loving, merry and gay. She began to change when she had returned to court and fallen in love with the heir of Northumberland, Earl Percy, and he with her.
How far they had gone in the relationship not even George knew. Anne had confided in no one. Normally the two of them had shared every secret, but Percy was different. he was above every other suitor that had tried to win her favour since she first blazed onto the scene at court outshining everyone else. Had Cardinal Wolsey not discovered their relationship and put a brutal end to it they may well have pulled off an elopement.
From that day, Anne had conceived a deep hatred for the Cardinal. "If it is ever in my power, I swear I will do him a great hurt," she had sworn to her brother on the day she was banished back to the family home of Hever in disgrace.

George had thought nothing of it of course. What harm could a disgraced, insignificant girl of nineteen do to the second most powerful man in the kingdom?
With Percy lost to her, Anne's sweet and jovial countenance had disappeared. The months of solitude at Hever had hardened her beyond all recognition when she returned. She did not laugh as gaily as she had before, nor did she smile as jovially. She had become bolder, more daring. She had flirted with the King even whilst he was courting their sister Mary and then feigned surprised when he began pursuing her. She had returned his gifts and ignored his letters a novelty to a man like Henry who had been used to women battling for his attention since he was a boy. Each refusal had stoked the flames of his passion hotter and hotter, until he had become completely obsessed with her.
Only George had known she was playing for higher stakes. As Henry's infatuation had raced on, he tried everything he knew to seduce her. He showered her with gifts and jewels. He sought out her company at every opportunity. He listened to her advice over anyone else. None of which had any effect in seducing her.

"I would rather lose my life than my honesty, which will be the greatest and best part of the dowry I shall have to bring to my future husband,' George could remember her saying to the King one day, after he had cornered her in the gardens, attempting to deliver yet another gift to her.

"Well, Madam, I shall live in hope," had been the Kings reply.

'I cannot understand how Your Majesty should have such hope!' she had reproved him. 'Your wife I cannot be, both in respect of mine own unworthiness, and because you have a queen already. Your mistress I will not be."

It had been that moment, that Anne had so cleverly dropped a hint about what she wanted. it had been a masterclass in managing a man who was so used to getting what he wanted. The seduction to end all seductions. The seed had been planted and within a year marriage was proposed. Much to the dismay of Cardinal Wolsey, who had expected her to be conquered within the first few months and pensioned off to quiet obscurity.

Anne had not forgotten her vow. As her influence with the king rose, she made sure that the Cardinals fell. At every private dinner or audience with Henry, she undermined, questioned, and poisoned his first minister's reputation. She capitalized on his every failure as he tried in vain to obtain a papal annulment they needed to marry.
When the ecclesiastical court, presided by Wolsey had been suspended by the Pope himself and referred to Rome for further examination, she had corroded Wolsey's relationship with the King so completely, Henry had become convinced the man who had once run his kingdom whilst he had caroused and hunted was deliberately slowing proceedings and working against them.
At Annes urging, he had finally found the courage to break with Wolsey and refused to see him.
For her final parting shot, Wolsey was arrested on charges of treason and abusing his authority by the very man he had denied her, Henry Percy.

She snapped her long fingers in front of his eyes. "George,"
Her dark eyes, framed by the soft waves of her dark tresses framed her doll-like face. the light from the candles shone its glow onto her exposed neck.
He had not seen her with her hair so casually tousled over her shoulders since she was a girl. But it was no child that stood before him now, for she was a woman grown. A woman who had borne children. The subtle hint of the outline of her cleavage peeked over the top of the dark neckline of her gown was a testament to that. She had never been so beautiful, so sensual. There was no other way to describe her. There was something so desirable about her right now, he could not help thinking to himself.
He had been without a woman for too long. Playing the dutiful widower had been as frustrating as it had been irritating. It would have been worth it though, had he been able to choose himself a good woman.
He knew that duty to his family demanded he agree to marry Lady Mary, but as a man, he shrank from the idea. Mary Tudor might be a woman of age, but she was as innocent as a child, a girl. She held no attraction for him, just as he was sure he did not for her. He liked women, developed women, not waif-like creatures like her.
He desperately wanted to refuse. However, there was a desperation in her eyes that told him whatever his personal will or preference, he would do his sisters bidding whenever she asked. Defeated, he nodded his head.

She stood up on her toes, for George was several inches taller than she was and gave him a kiss on his cheek. The intoxicating scent of French lavender, rose oil and wine quickened his breath.
She gripped his hand. "I swear George, that if my husband should forget the sacrifice you have made, I assure you my son will not!"
He pulled her close and hugged her lovingly, she returned the hug immediately and rubbed her cheek against the soft velvet of his doublet.
"God help us both, " he thought grimly.