John Husee had brought a letter from Nan’s mother and stood ready to write down her reply. Nan still had not bothered to learn to write in English. The important things could not be put into letters anyway.

“I humbly thank your ladyship for the news of Her Grace,” Nan dictated, “that she is so good and gentle to serve and please.”

But Nan had already heard the rumors. Anna of Cleves was not quite as she had been represented. She continued for a few more sentences, allowed Husee to suggest a change of wording, and considered carefully what to say next. Lady Lisle, as always, had been generous with both advice and admonitions. She clearly suspected that Nan’s association with the king had become more intimate. She did not approve, but neither was she above using her daughter’s influence.

“Thank her for her good and motherly counsel,” Nan instructed Husee, “concerning my continuance in the king’s favor, but tell her that I must be careful not to offend His Grace.”

Husee scribbled away. By the number of words he put down, she knew he was elaborating on what she’d told him to say.

“Inform her that King Henry enjoyed the conserves she sent him so much that he has commanded me to ask for more. She should send them as soon as may be.”

The scratch of quill on paper sounded loud in the quiet room, a small antechamber near the dormitory Nan shared with the other maids of honor.

“That is all I have to say at this time.”

Husee finished the letter and handed it over. Nan read what he had written, nodding her approval. Beneath the words “Your humble and obedient daughter,” she signed her name with a flourish.

Duty done, she dismissed Husee and went in search of amusement. So far the traditional Christmas festivities had been subdued, but an air of anticipation pervaded the court. Every courtier in the land seemed to have crowded into lodgings in the vicinity, ready, willing, and eager to celebrate the arrival of the new queen.

In all the confusion, Nan had managed to slip away on two occasions to visit her son in London. He was growing fast, and she still felt regret that she’d had to give him away, but she took comfort in knowing that the Carvers, who indulged her as a well-meaning acquaintance, loved him. He was happy and safe.

NEW YEAR’S DAY was the traditional time to exchange gifts. After the king had received all his subjects’ offerings, he summoned Nan to keep him company. He was in a jubilant mood. Anna of Cleves had landed safely at Deal. After a delay of fifteen days in Calais, waiting on the wind and tide, the crossing had taken seventeen harrowing hours. Her Grace had been met by the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk and escorted to Dover Castle for the night. In spite of bitter weather—high winds, hail, and sleet—she had set out for Canterbury the next day and would soon arrive at Greenwich.

But that was not the only reason for the king’s delight. Master Hans Holbein had given him a New Year’s gift that pleased him enormously. King Henry removed a portrait of two-year-old Prince Edward from its coffer of dark red velvet plated with copper and showed it to Nan.

“Is he not magnificent?” King Henry demanded.

“He is,” Nan agreed, uncertain whether the king meant the boy in the portrait or the genius who had painted him. The word described both.

The child’s likeness stared back at her with serious eyes. He was gorgeously, richly dressed. His face, shaded by a wide-brimmed hat with a feather, looked solemn, as befit a future king, but in one hand he held a golden rattle. Perhaps, Nan thought, she could suggest to Mistress Carver that they commission Master Holbein to paint a portrait of young Jamie. Then, in secret, she could obtain a copy for herself.

She was still considering the possibilities when a messenger arrived from Rochester. The queen had reached the last stop on her journey to Greenwich.

“You will see her soon, Your Grace,” Nan said. “At the formal reception.”

“I cannot wait that long,” the king declared. “I will go to her this very day.”

“The Lady Anna will be tired from her journey, Your Grace.” Anthony Denny’s brow was furrowed with a concern Nan shared. Surprising the bride was not a good idea, but neither was it wise to argue with the king. “By the time you reach Rochester, she may be abed.”

“Then I will wake her!” King Henry laughed, his enthusiasm not a whit diminished by the prospect. “Indeed, I will show her what an English welcome is like. I will go to her in disguise.”

Appalled, Nan started to protest, then caught herself. Neither she nor any of the king’s gentlemen dared dissuade His Grace from one of his favorite jests. From the very beginning of his reign, King Henry had delighted in wearing masks and costumes. Although everyone recognized him immediately—his height alone gave him away—he continued to believe he kept his identity secret until he unmasked.

Members of the court went along with the ruse. When he revealed himself, they obligingly feigned surprise. No one wanted to disappoint the king—or worse, make him angry—by admitting that they knew who he was all along.

“We will all dress alike,” King Henry instructed his minions. “Those multicolored cloaks and hoods from last night’s masque will do. I will tell the queen that I am a messenger sent with gifts from the king.”

While the five gentlemen he selected to accompany him rushed off to assume their costumes and arrange for horses, the king turned to Nan. “I need a suitable gift. Something to nourish love. Help me select some bauble Her Grace will like.”

“Not jewelry, Sire,” Nan replied. “At this time of year and after the wretched weather Her Grace has endured to come to you, make her a gift of furs.”

“An excellent notion!” Without warning, King Henry picked Nan up and whirled her around, ending the embrace with an enthusiastic kiss as he set her on her feet again. “Ah, Nan,” the king asked, “what would I do without you?”


I have left her as good a maid as I found her.

—Henry VIII to Thomas Cromwell, 7 January 1540 (the morning after his wedding night)

10

His Majesty returned to Whitehall very late and very angry. The maids of honor could hear him from their dormitory, crashing about in the queen’s apartments and bellowing in rage. They could not make out his words, but no one was under any illusions about His Grace’s state of mind. Something had gone horribly wrong at Rochester. Left to her own devices, Nan would not have ventured out from behind the bed curtains. But the king sent Anthony Denny to fetch her.

“The king wants you, Nan.” Denny did not meet her eyes.

Nan took a step back. The cold tiles beneath her bare feet felt like ice, but that was not what made her shiver. “It is the middle of the night,” was the only faint protest she could think of to make.

“His Grace … needs you. Now.” His words carried the force of a command.

Nan drew in a steadying breath, wrapped her black satin nightgown—a robe the king himself had given her—more tightly around her, and followed Denny to one of the small, private rooms, newly decorated, that were part of the queen’s privy lodgings.

A fire burned in the hearth. Someone had brought bread and cheese and wine, which were laid out on a small table beside a chair. His Grace had not touched the food, but he had clearly been drinking, and heavily, too.

A few paces into the candlelit chamber, Nan tripped over one of the furs the king had taken as an offering to his bride. It was a richly garnished partlet of sable skins to be worn around the neck and throat. A furred muffler and cap also littered the floor, as if they’d been hurled down in a fit of temper. Nan wondered if His Grace blamed her for selecting the wrong gifts. Was that why he’d sent for her?

She dropped into a curtsy. Behind her, she heard the door close with an ominous thump. Anthony Denny had left her alone with the king.

Keeping her head bowed, Nan struggled to slow the frantic beating of her heart. Only by clasping her hands tightly together could she stop them from shaking.

“Rise, Nan, and come to me.” King Henry’s voice was hoarse with emotion. He stood at a window with his back to her. The renovated queen’s lodgings boasted a spectacular river view, even at night. “I did all this for her. Beauty and comfort.”

“Yes, Your Grace. These rooms are surpassing beautiful.” Desperate to divert and calm the king, she said the first thing that popped into her head: “And the décor is practical, too.”

“Practical?”

“Why, yes, Your Grace. While it is lovely to have plastered wooden floors, they are very cold at this time of year, but you have provided not just rushes, but rush matting woven in strips.” And sables, she thought on a bubble of hysteria. One bare foot still crushed soft, silky fur.

The king considered the floor beneath their feet. Sections three strips wide, sewn together with twine, covered the entire room. “These are made in Southwark. I granted John Cradocke the monopoly for life. But I intended to put carpets on top of the mats for special occasions and there is nothing special—”

He broke off, shaking his head.

So much for trying to distract him. “Your Grace?”

He turned to her with almost pathetic eagerness, his eyes haunted. “She is not what I was promised, Nan. Nothing like. She is badly dressed and she speaks no English. Her face, far from being beautiful, is very brown in color and pitted with smallpox scars. And she has no charm of manner to make up for her want of beauty.”

This was bad. Very bad. Nan did the only thing she could think of. She moved closer to the king, put one hand on his velvet sleeve, and leaned against him so that her head rested on his shoulder. His arm came around her shoulders, clamping down so tightly that she winced. He did not notice.

“I carried on. What else could I do? As I’d planned, I did not identify myself, but embraced Anna and told her I had been sent by the king. She did not know me, Nan. Not at all, even though she’d been sent my likeness.”

Nan made a sympathetic murmur of sound. She dared not speak for fear she would say the wrong thing.

“She seemed bored!” The king’s voice rose in outrage. “She had been watching a bullbaiting from her window when I arrived. She spoke a few words in Dutch or German. I know not which, but the sound of it grated on my ears. Then she returned to the window.”

Greatly daring, Nan slid her arms around the king and gave him a tentative hug. He might be king, but he was a man, too, and he had received a terrible shock. The bride he had longed for was nothing like her portrait. And to add insult to injury, she had ignored him, thinking him a mere messenger. Had she treated him with proper deference, he might have looked more kindly on her lack of physical beauty. There was no hope of that now.

“I left the room to assume the purple velvet coat I had brought with me.” He was still wearing it. “When I returned, everyone bowed, and Anna seemed to recognize me at last. She realized her error and curtsied, but we still could not converse.” The king expelled a shuddering sigh. “I like her not, Nan. How can I marry her?”

Nan bit her lip. It was not her place to remind him that he’d already signed the marriage contract. All that remained to seal the treaty was consummation.

The king heaved another great sigh and kissed Nan’s cheek. “I’d have done better to marry you, Nan.”

Her heart stuttered. “That is kind of Your Grace to say, but I am only a humble gentlewoman. I am not worthy to be queen.”

“You are a woman of great beauty and you always smell sweet.” He turned her in his arms. “She has a very evil smell about her. How am I to take such a one into my bed?”

He did not expect an answer, and even if Nan had wished to give him one, she was prevented. His lips found hers. His hands slid to her waist and gripped her tightly, molding her body to his.

She did not resist. She did not dare. He was already in a volatile mood and the least resistance would turn him against her as easily as his reception by Anna of Cleves had changed his mind about her. Feigning eagerness, she kissed him back. She thought of Ned in the hope that it would make what was to come more bearable. If she pleased the king, if she eased his acceptance of a marriage he disliked, she would have influence. Prestige. Power. And a baron, at the least, to marry when the king tired of her.

His fingers were clumsy as he unlaced his codpiece. In his eagerness, he tumbled her to the floor. Nan found herself lying on a bed of rush matting and furs with the skirt of her black satin gown shoved up to her waist. The king engaged in a few minutes of frantic pawing and fumbling before he tried to push himself into her body. He’d barely entered her before he spilled his seed. A moment later, he collapsed on top of her and began to snore.