“Poor William! I am very fond of him.”
“I understand. The marriage was arranged, and he was given a place at court so that you might be always there awaiting the King’s pleasure, and to place a very flimsy cover of propriety over your immorality.”
Mary was almost choked with laughter.
“Your expressions amuse me, Anne. I declare, I shall tell the King; he will be vastly amused. And you fresh from the court of France!”
“I am beginning to wish I were still there. And our father...”
“Is mightily pleased with the arrangements. A fool he would be otherwise, and none could say our father is a fool.”
“So all these honors that have been heaped upon him...”
“. . . are due to the fact that your wicked sister has pleased the King!”
“It makes me sick.”
“You have a poor stomach, sister. But you are indeed young, for all your air of worldly wisdom and for all your elegance and grace. Why, bless you, Anne, life is not all the wearing of fine clothes.”
“No? Indeed it would seem that for you it is more a matter of putting them off!”
“You have a witty tongue, Anne. I cannot compete with it. You would do well at court, would you but put aside your prudery. Prudery the King cannot endure; he has enough of that from his Queen.”
“She knows of you and...”
“It is impossible to keep secrets at court, Anne.”
“Poor lady!”
“But were it not I, ’twould be another, the King being as he is.”
“The King being a lecher!” said Anne fiercely.
“That is treason!” cried Mary in mock horror. “Ah! It is easy for you to talk. As for me, I could never say no to such a man.”
“You could never say no to any man!”
“Despise me if you will. The King does not, and our father is mightily pleased with his daughter Mary.”
Now the secret was out; now she understood the sly glances of servants, her father’s looks of approbation as his eyes rested on his elder daughter. There was no one to whom Anne could speak of her perturbation until George came home.
He was eighteen years old, a delight to the eye, very like Anne in appearance, full of exuberant animal spirits; a poet and coming diplomat, and he already had the air of both. His eyes burned with his enthusiasm for life; and Anne was happy when he took her hands, for she had been afraid that the years of separation might divide them and that she would lose forever the beloved brother of her childhood. But in a few short hours those fears were set aside; he was the same George, she the same Anne. Their friendship, she knew, could not lose from the years, only gain from them. Their minds were of similar caliber; alert, intellectual, they were quick to be amused, quick to anger, reckless of themselves. They had therefore a perfect understanding of each other, and, being troubled, it was natural that she should go to him.
She said as they walked together through the Kentish lanes, for she had felt the need to leave the castle so that she might have no fear of being overheard: “I have learned of Mary and the King.”
“That does not surprise me,” said George. “It is common knowledge.”
“It shocked me deeply, George.”
He smiled at her. “It should not.”
“But
“She would degrade herself sooner or later, so why should it not be in that quarter from which the greatest advantages may accrue?”
“Our father delights in this situation, George, and our mother is complaisant.”
“My sweet sister, you are but sixteen. Ah, you look wonderfully worldly wise, but you are not yet grown up. You are very like the little girl who sat in the window seats at Blickling, and dreamed of knightly deeds. Life is not romantic, Anne, and men are not frequently honorable knights. Life is a battle or a game which each of us fights or plays with all the skill at his command. Do not condemn Mary because her way would not be yours.”
“The King will tire of her.”
“Assuredly.”
“And cast her off!”
“It is Mary’s nature to be happy, Anne. Do not fear. She will find other lovers when she is ejected from the royal bed. She has poor Will Carey, and she has been in favor for the best part of three years and her family have not suffered for it yet. Know, my sweet sister, that to be mistress of the King is an honor; it is only the mistress of a poor man who degrades herself.”
His handsome face was momentarily set in melancholy lines, but almost immediately he was laughing merrily.
“George,” she said, “I cannot like it.”
“What! Not like to see your father become a power in the land! Not like to see your brother make his way at court!”
