Royal Inheritance by Kate Emerson Page A

and drank deeply.
    “No doubt it was.” His sister kept her eyes on the intricate stitches she was using to attach a piece of black-work lace to a kirtle. “But it was a splendid spectacle all the same. You’d have enjoyed it, Audrey. Lady Anne of Cleves, who now must call herself the king’s sister where once she was his wife, threw herself to her knees before Queen Catherine like the most common suitor. Then the king arrived on the scene—just in time to witness this touching tableau. He raised Lady Anne up and kissed her and embraced her and then they all sat down to sup like three old friends.”
    “Has Anne of Cleves finally learned enough English to converseproperly?” I asked. Her difficulties with the language had been widely reported.
    Lady Richmond laughed. “So it would seem. But the highlight of the evening came after the king retired to his own apartments. Catherine called for music and then the two ladies danced together, whiling away the rest of the evening in that manner.”
    “A display of perfect amity.” Scorn laced Surrey’s words.
    “Why are you so wroth with Cousin Catherine?” the duchess asked. “It is to our benefit to have a kinswoman in the king’s bed.”
    Seated beside Mary on her bench, I felt as well as saw her wince. “Is aught wrong?” I whispered.
    Mary, blunt as ever, gave me a frank answer. “A momentary pang, I assure you. Having a kinswoman in the king’s bed is not always comfortable for the rest of the family. You see, during Anne Boleyn’s tenure as queen, she ordered her kinswoman, my sister Margaret, to allow the king to seduce her. The queen hoped to distract His Grace from lavishing his favors on another young gentlewoman at court.”
    She kept her voice low, but the same gentleman who had earlier been so rudely staring at me cocked his head in our direction, blatantly eavesdropping on our exchange. Tom Clere, who was also close enough to overhear, leaned past me to give Mary a quick peck on the cheek. As he did so, I caught a whiff of bay leaves.
    “Here you have the only woman in England who would not think it an honor to be the king’s mistress,” he said with a chuckle.
    Mary swatted at him, missing when he ducked and nearly striking me. “Terrible man!” She sent me an apologetic look and sighed. “The truth is that people often confuse me with my sister. It is most annoying.”
    “Better that than to be mistaken for your namesake the nun,” Clere teased her.
    “Former nun,” Mary muttered through gritted teeth. There were neither nuns nor monks in England anymore, not since King Henry dissolved all the religious houses.
    Clere, unrepentant, wandered off. I realized, with a sense of surprise, that the duchess and her brother were still talking about Lady Anne’s visit to court. The exchange between Mary and Tom Clere had passed unnoticed by anyone but myself and the stranger.
    “After dinner the next day,” Lady Richmond said, “well pleased with his new bride, the king presented her with a ring and two lapdogs. The queen, to show favor to her guest, promptly offered all three to Lady Anne, who accepted them most graciously.”
    “Did the queen not fear to offend His Grace by giving his gifts away?” The question burst out of me before I could stop it. I stammered an attempt at an explanation: “I . . . I would never give Pocket to someone else.”
    Surrey laughed. “No, indeed. The king would not be pleased to hear of it if one of his glove beagles were to go to another. I am surprised he parted with that one. But these dogs were just ordinary spaniels, like that lazy beast.” He sent a contemptuous look in the direction of one of his sister’s lapdogs. Curled up close to the hearth, it was snoring gustily.
    “I suspect they had arranged it all between them beforehand,” the duchess said, “for the king was quick to make a gift of his own to his former wife—an annuity of a thousand ducats.”
    My eyes widened at the magnificence