The Last Boleyn Read Free

young, so innocent.”
    Innocent? Mary pondered the fear and shock she had felt in the last few minutes, her thoughts mingling with the excitement of her new importance and the thrill of the distant unknown. She turned toward the staircase but retreated back behind the door at her mother’s voice, suddenly so close.
    â€œI shall fetch Mary since Semmonet has been sent to pack for her. The children are out by the knot garden.” Her mother brushed by on the other side of the door.
    â€œAnd tell her nothing of it, lady,” came her father’s sharp voice after her. “I would tell her myself so she will understand the good fortune of it.”
    Elizabeth Bullen’s slender form never turned back as she raised her head and departed from the hall to search for Mary. How beautiful her mother’s face and carriage, how lovely her golden hair now threaded with fine silver in the sunlight.
    Mary decided to follow her and meet her as she returned. She would never know what her daughter had heard, or of her sadness. Should she say she was glad to go so mother would be comforted? Or would it hurt her to think her daughter would so easily leave her now—or ever?
    Mary stepped quietly to the door and, hesitating, peered carefully into the courtyard to see that her mother had departed. It was quite empty and peaceful, beige cobbles, brick honey-colored walls all awash with sun. How she would fear to depart, hate to depart!
    â€œMary!” came her father’s voice, nearly in her ear. She jumped. “Your lady mother said you were about the grounds. Where have you been?” He stood over her, tall and handsome and assured. His dark beard was precisely cut and his velvet-clad shoulders looked dazzling blood-red in the sun. His dark eyes regarded her carefully as he bent his head slightly. “Have you been about the hall long?”
    â€œNo, father. I was outside with George and Anne, but they went off and, well, I finally came in.”
    â€œYou have just missed your mother, but I have a wonderful surprise for you I would tell you alone.”
    His slender, strong fingers fastened firmly on one of her shoulders, and he gestured toward the open solar door with his other jeweled hand. She walked unsteadily, suddenly wary, her excitement mixed with childish misgivings. She could feel King Henry’s side-glancing eyes pursue her into the solar. She was most unused to private audiences with her father, for he was not often at Hever. How much she loved him and wanted to please him, even as he sought to please his king!
    He pointed to the scroll-work stool beneath the lead paned windows where mother often sat doing needlework. He took a step as if to pace, and then abruptly sat in the master’s chair and cleared his throat. It suddenly struck her funny that this great lord of the king might be afraid to inform her of the decision that his wife Elizabeth had protested.
    â€œYou are very beautiful, my Mary, your perfect oval face, your golden hair, the promise of your slender body. You are all I could ask in a lovely and obedient daughter.”
    â€œI am glad, my lord. Semmonet declares I look as mother used to when you came new married from court to Hever.”
    â€œPerhaps Semmonet remembers much it is better not to tell, Mary. Yes, you will favor your mother greatly as you grow to womanhood. Though I pray you have a more carefully molded character and may prove more pliable to your lord’s wishes. Will you indeed prove so, my little golden Mary?”
    He leaned close and patted her hand as he spoke. Again, as over and over in the few hours she spent in his presence, Mary fell instantly in love with him, beyond the bounds of a daughter’s ties. For he was not a father she knew, this handsome, tall king’s man. He never looked on her with smiles like this, nor spoke to her privately, nor touched her trembling hand.
    â€œYes, my lord father. I would wish to please you,