Awkward, nerve-racking seconds passed. If the king suffered from megrims himself, would he see through her ruse? Should he realize she was only pretending to be incapacitated by a severe headache, he would be furious with her. He might even banish her from court.

At last he spoke: “You must lie abed with the hangings pulled tightly closed against the light. That will ease the pain, even if it will not vanquish it.”

Nan forced a weak smile. She began to think rationally once more. “Darkness does help, Your Grace. But I have found that once the throbbing begins to die away, a walk alone in the open air is effective to complete the cure.”

He shifted her on his lap so that her head rested on his broad shoulder. The gold braid and the gemstones studding the brocade bit into her cheek. She ignored them. His gesture was well meant. The king—the king of England!—was concerned about her health.

“I suppose that could have a positive effect,” he mused. “I would not know. I am almost never alone.”

“Mistress Mewtas has but a small garden,” Nan ventured. “As I lodge with her, I have few opportunities to walk far, or to find fresh air.”

Apparently lost in thought, King Henry said nothing. Nan shifted in his lap, trying to make herself more comfortable. Beneath her rump she felt the shape of his codpiece, and abruptly stilled. It was heavily padded and elaborately decorated, as was the fashion. The size of the bulge had decreased once he’d stopped fondling her. The last thing she wanted was to induce it to grow larger again.

Nan frowned. She had little basis for comparison, having taken only one lover, but it seemed to her that the king was not nearly so well endowed in that area as Ned Corbett. Now that she considered the matter, she was certain her kisses should have provoked a more pronounced effect.

“I should send you to your bed,” the king murmured. “You need to rest and recover your health.”

“Your Grace is most kind and understanding.”

“I want you well.”

Reminding herself of her goal, Nan broached a possibility she had been considering of late. “My cousin Denny has a fine house in Westminster. Near at hand are open meadows that stretch clear down to the Thames. Such a place would be most healthful to live in.”

Whitehall Palace was also near at hand.

The king rose and set her on her feet without taking the hint. “There is something I would show you before you go, if you are not too ill to stay a few minutes longer.”

She assured him she could manage and he led her to an easel covered with a velvet cloth. He lifted it to reveal a portrait of a woman.

Nan gasped. “She is beautiful.”

“Anna of Cleves. Master Holbein returned with this likeness at the end of August. I have no doubt that she will be even more attractive in person.”

“The new queen.” It was not a question.

“The treaty is already drawn up.”

Staring at the portrait, Nan wondered that His Grace still had any interest in mistresses. She fled back to Lord Lisle’s lodgings convinced that her chance had passed her by. She was both disappointed and relieved.

The next day, Nan received an invitation to move into Anthony Denny’s house in Westminster. The offer confused her, but she lost no time in accepting. After that, she was often at court. She danced with the king and flirted with him. If he had pressed her to come to his bed, she would have yielded. He did not. To her delight, Nan enjoyed all the benefits of His Grace’s favor with none of the drawbacks.

Meanwhile, plans commenced to welcome Anna of Cleves to England. The queen’s apartments were repaired and redecorated at all the royal residences. The marriage was to take place at Greenwich at the start of Yuletide, followed by twelve days of revelry before Anna made her state entry into London. Her coronation would take place on Candlemas Day, the second of February, in Westminster Abbey.

“The Earl of Rutland will be lord chamberlain of Queen Anna’s household,” the king told Nan. His leg, propped up on a stool, had been bothering him and he’d sent for Nan to distract him from the pain. “Sir Edward Baynton will be vice chamberlain. And you will be one of the maids of honor, as I promised long ago.”

“I look forward to my new duties,” Nan replied, and began to strum the lute she’d brought with her to the king’s privy chamber.

As she played, seated on a cushion at King Henry’s feet, she stole glances at the bulky wrapping of linen bandages beneath His Grace’s hose. He suffered from gout, but the padding hid an ulcer that would not heal. She tried not to wrinkle her nose in distaste when she caught a whiff of a strong, unpleasant stench.

“Have you decided who the other maids of honor will be?” Nan asked when she finished the first song. She had not forgotten that her mother expected her to find a place at court for at least one of her sisters. Cat was still with Lady Rutland. Mary and Philippa remained in Calais.

“I have received requests from many quarters,” King Henry said.

Some of those originally named to serve Queen Jane’s successor had married since her death. Others, like Jane Arundell, had decided they preferred to remain where they were.

“It is not easy to be king, Nan.” His Grace winced as he shifted in his oversize chair. “Everyone expects favors of me.”

“And yet, I suspect, Your Grace has already decided.” She smiled up at him. “Will you not tell me who my companions will be?”

“The first is Catherine Carey, Lady Stafford’s daughter.”

Nan hoped she hid her surprise. Lady Stafford was Mary Boleyn. Rumor had it that Catherine Carey’s father was King Henry himself. Certainly Mary Boleyn had been his mistress before His Grace fell in love with Mary’s sister, Anne.

“Then there is Lucy Somerset,” His Grace said. “She is the Earl of Worcester’s sister. And you already know Mary Norris, for she was one of Queen Jane’s maids, as you were. There is also a Howard girl, one of the Duke of Norfolk’s many nieces.”

“And the sixth name?” She’d heard several possibilities mentioned, including Lord Bray’s sister and Lord Cobham’s daughter.

“A young woman who, like yourself, is kin to the Countess of Sussex. Her name is Katherine—”

Nan felt an explosion of joy, certain he’d chosen her sister to please her. And that, in turn, would please their mother.

“—Stradling.”

Stunned, Nan stared at him. Katherine Stradling? Cousin Kate?

Nan had not given Kate Stradling a single thought since leaving Cousin Mary’s service. Kate’s selection as a maid of honor made no sense. She was not the sister or daughter or niece or stepdaughter of anyone important.

The only explanation was that the Earl and Countess of Sussex had sponsored her. What dark secret, Nan wondered, did Kate know about one of them? Aloud she said only, “How delightful,” and began to strum another tune.

Her thoughts raced in time to the music. Cousin Kate would have returned to court in any case when the new queen came, since Cousin Mary was one of the six “great ladies of the household” and Kate was one of Mary’s waiting gentlewomen. But in that post she’d have had only occasional contact with Nan.

That Kate was to be a maid of honor changed everything. Nan would see her every day. She might even have to share a bed with her again. That was far too close for comfort, but there was not a thing Nan could do about it.

She told herself she could deal with Kate. If her cousin asked for gifts to keep silent about Nan’s liaison with Ned and the resulting child, then Nan would give her whatever she asked for. She’d have no choice.

As always, the reminder that she had a son made Nan sad. She had managed to pay a few visits to the silversmith’s shop while living in London, but none since she’d moved in with Anthony and Joan Denny in Westminster. She doubted she’d be able to see him at all when she was living at court as a maid of honor.

Nan reined in her regrets, resolving that she would not dwell on the things she could not change. She set aside her lute. She was all but alone with the king. She had his undivided attention and her playing seemed to have soothed him. She would never have a better opportunity.

“My mother writes that all is in readiness to receive Queen Anna at Calais.”

King Henry shifted in his chair. “Lady Lisle’s conserves are the best I have ever tasted. I pray you bid her send me more of the codiniac and some of the conserve of damsons, too.”

“She will be pleased to do so, Your Grace.” Conserves were far easier to come by than quails. “I wonder, Your Grace, if there might be a post in the new queen’s household for my sister, perhaps as a chamberer, or—”

She broke off when the king suddenly turned a ghastly shade of white and clutched at his leg.

“Your Grace?” She scrambled to her feet, reaching out, then pulling back as Tom Culpepper, one of the gentlemen of the bedchamber, rushed to the king’s aid.

“Best leave me now, Nan.” King Henry spoke through clenched teeth. Beads of sweat popped out on his brow. “When these cramps start, they can continue for hours.”

Nan curtsyed and hastily backed out of the room, grateful she was not the one who had to tend that gross and misshapen ulcerated leg.

ON THURSDAY, THE eleventh day of December, Lord Lisle led the Calais Spears and the members of his own retinue to the boundary of the Pale of Calais. Queen Anna was on her way from Gravelines, just across the border in Flanders, to Calais. She was said to be traveling with a train of 263 attendants and 228 horses, which no doubt accounted for the extreme slowness of her progress from Cleves.

The Spears were all in velvet coats with gold chains. Members of Lord Lisle’s household wore livery of red and blue. As Ned trudged along, he tugged on the hem of his coat. It had been made in haste and did not quite fit. He did not know why he cared. He’d be covered with dust before they reached the meeting place. What bothered him more was that he did not have a horse to ride. After all, he was a gentleman.

Clement Philpott marched next to him, a martyred expression on his long, thin face. But neither sore feet nor an ill-fitting coat were responsible for Philpott’s grim demeanor. Sir Gregory Botolph, out of pure deviltry, had convinced him that Lord Lisle planned to arrange a marriage for him with a gentlewoman of Cleves. Philpott, who had never given up “the true religion,” was appalled by the thought of being joined for life with a Lutheran, even if she was a member of the new queen’s retinue.

At last they caught sight of Queen Anna’s device, two white swans. A short time later, Ned got his first good look at Anna of Cleves. She was not at all what he’d expected. She was reputed to be twenty-four years old, but she looked older. Beneath a pearl-embroidered caul and bonnet, her cream-colored skin was pitted with smallpox scars.

Those were only the first marks against her. By court standards, her complexion was nowhere near pale enough. To make matters worse, she had a high forehead, heavy-lidded eyes that were too far apart for true beauty, an extremely long and slightly bulbous nose, and a pointed chin. That she did not smile made Ned wonder about the condition of her teeth.

“I thought she was supposed to be a great beauty,” he whispered to Philpott. “If that is what the king is expecting, he’s in for a disappointment.”

Philpott said nothing. He was staring in horror at Queen Anna’s attendants. They all wore heavy, unflattering gowns cut in the Dutch fashion, apparel that would have made them look dowdy even if they’d been beautiful. They were not.

After a series of short speeches, Lord Lisle signaled for the start of the return journey to Calais. About a mile from town, they encountered the special delegation sent by the king to escort his bride across the Narrow Seas. There were nearly four hundred people in all. The noblemen were attired in cloth-of-gold and purple velvet. Gentlemen wore coats of satin damask and velvet and some two hundred yeomen were in the king’s colors.

Following more speeches, the company marched into Calais, all except Ned and Philpott. They veered off just outside the walls and entered the Rose Tavern.

Ned spent the next few hours watching Philpott get prodigiously drunk and trying in vain to convince his friend that Botolph had only been jesting about a betrothal to one of the ugly Dutch maids.

THREE DAYS BEFORE Christmas, Nan was at Whitehall. She had expected to be at Greenwich, part of the household of the new queen of England. Anna of Cleves, however, was still in Calais, although small boats continued to make the crossing, bringing letters and a scattering of less-important passengers. The queen and her retinue and the English dignitaries sent to escort them were unable to embark for England until the weather cooperated.