Royal Inheritance by Kate Emerson

Denny never said so in so many words, but he led me to believe that he reported on our conversations to the king.
    Lessons, friends, family, Pocket, poetry, and music filled my days. When I noticed the first sign of a developing bosom, I felt truly blessed. My first flowers came soon after—that was not so pleasant—but I knew that the arrival of my courses meant that I had entered womanhood and was, if barely, old enough to wed. This encouraged me to flirt outrageously with Master Harington. Sometimes he responded in kind, but he did not take me seriously.
    He took a far greater interest in Bridget’s more obvious charms. My breasts were saucepans. Hers were stew pots. She encouraged him, too, doubtless to spite me, for she had already set her sights on someone far wealthier than Jack Harington.
    Self-absorbed as I was in private pleasures and frustrations, I was only dimly aware of a heightened tension affecting both the city and the court. It was an exceeding hot summer with no rain. There was drought. Men feared the return of the plague. Although that devastating sickness did not come upon us, at least not that year, therewere outbreaks of another sort. Short tempers led to fights. Some became near riots. After the court went on progress during August, September, and October, thankfully without a full contingent from the Chapel Royal, rumors drifted back to London that the king was in failing health.
    These proved unfounded, God be praised, but His Grace chose to remain at some distance from London until mid-December. Most of the courtiers who were not attached to the so-called riding household took themselves off to their country estates. The Duchess of Richmond left for Kenninghall in Norfolk, taking Mary Shelton with her. There was no mention of adding me to her household.

13
Norfolk House, January 1541
    I waited until after Epiphany to pay a visit to Norfolk House, although the duchess had spent Yuletide there. I brought Pocket with me, since he was easy to carry and got along well with my Lady of Richmond’s spaniels. All the dogs avoided Mary Shelton’s cat.
    The Earl of Surrey and some of his followers were in his sister’s rooms when I arrived. Surrey looked at Pocket askance, not having seen him before.
    “That is a glove beagle,” he remarked, “not the usual sort of lapdog.”
    “He was a gift, my lord.” The slight sneer on Surrey’s face prompted me to add, “From the king.”
    One auburn eyebrow lifted and he darted a questioning glance at the duchess. She ignored him. I tucked Pocket away, out of sight, uncomfortably aware of the earl’s scrutiny and that of a member of his entourage, a fellow I had not noticed before.
    He was the oldest person present, by at least a decade, and, by his dress, of lower birth and status than the earl. His mouth turneddown while his nose stayed up in the air, as if to avoid smelling something unpleasant. He was clean-shaven, a poor choice since it revealed a weak chin.
    “Have you heard about Anne of Cleves’s visit to court over Yuletide?” Mary Shelton asked, glancing up from her needlework. With a gesture, she invited me to sit beside her and join in the task of hemming what appeared to be an altar cloth.
    I was glad of the excuse to move farther away from the stranger, who was now whispering in a servant’s ear. The lad scurried away as if he feared a beating if he did not make haste. I thought perhaps he had reason.
    “I heard that the former queen was installed at Richmond Palace,” I said to Mary. King Henry had given it to her in return for her agreement to annul their marriage.
    “She’s hardly a prisoner there! In any case, she arrived at the gates of Hampton Court on the third of January, two days after the traditional exchange of gifts on New Year’s Day.”
    “You make it seem as if she was not expected.” Surrey sounded disgusted by the subterfuge. “The entire production was carefully staged.” He helped himself to a goblet of wine