In short, I am the happiest woman in the world, praise God. But just a little discontented tonight.

And I am out of my usual ways. At this time of night when I was in the queen’s chamber we would all be getting ready to dine in the hall and we would be looking one another over and teasing each other if anyone had done their hair very well, or was dressed very fine. Someone would always accuse me of trying to attract one boy or another and I would always blush and say, ‘No! Not at all!’ as if I were shocked at the thought of it. And the queen would come out of her bedroom and laugh at us all and then she would lead us into the hall and it would all be very merry. Half the time there would be a young man with an eye to me, in the last few weeks there has been Thomas Culpepper always smiling at me, and all the girls around me would nudge me and tell me to look for my honour. Of course he does not even look at me now, obviously there is no amusement for a queen, you would think I was as old as my husband.

It was more than merry; it was busy and gay and young. There was always a crowd of us, all together, all happy and sharing a jest. And if the jest wore a little sour from time to time, with jealousy or malice, then there was always another person to complain to, and a little group to form, and a little quarrel to run. I like being in a gang of girls, I like the maidens’ chamber, I like being one of the queen’s ladies and all of us being together.

It is all very well being Queen of England but I have no friends. It just seems to be me, and these old people: Grandmother, my uncle, the king and his old men of the Privy Council. The young men in the king’s service don’t even smile at me now, you would think they didn’t even like me. Thomas Culpepper bows his head when I come near him and doesn’t meet my eyes. And the old people talk among themselves about the things that interest old people: the weather, the bad end of Thomas Cromwell, his estates and money, the state of the church and the danger of Papists and heretics, the danger of the men of the North who still long for their monasteries. And I sit here like a well-behaved daughter, like a well-behaved granddaughter actually, and it is all I can do not to yawn.

I turn my head one way to appear as if I am listening to my uncle, and then I turn the other to the king. I don’t hear any of them, to tell truth. It is all buzz, buzz above me, and there are no musicians and no dancing and nothing to amuse me but the conversation of my husband, and what bride ever wanted that?