I would not do so, nor would I take a lover, not for anything. But it would undoubtedly be his fault if I did so. He is a poor husband to me, and it is all very well everyone wanting to know if I am in good health and if there is any sign of an heir, but if he will not let me into his rooms, how am I to get a child?

Tonight I am resolved to be a good wife and try again, and I have sent my pageboy with a request that I might dine with the king in his chamber. Thomas Culpepper sends back a message to say that the king is a little better today, and more cheerful. He has risen from his bed and sat in the window to hear the birds in the garden. Thomas comes to my rooms himself to tell me that the king looked down from the window and saw me playing with my little dog and that he smiled at the sight of me.

‘Did he?’ I ask. I was wearing one of my new gowns, it is a very pale rose pink to celebrate the end of Lent, at last, and I wore it with my Christmas pearls. To be honest, I must have looked quite enchanting, playing in the garden. If I had only known he was watching! ‘Did you see me?’

He turns his head away as if he does not dare to confess. ‘If I had been the king I would have run down the stairs to be with you, pain or no pain. If I were your husband I don’t think I’d ever let you out of my sight.’

Two of my maids in waiting come in and glance curiously at us. I know that we are turned towards each other, almost as if we would kiss.

‘Tell His Majesty that I shall dine with him this evening, if he will allow it, and I shall do my best to cheer him,’ I say clearly, and Thomas bows and goes out.

‘Cheer him?’ Agnes remarks. ‘How? Give him a new enema?’ They all laugh together as if this is great wit.

‘I shall try to cheer him if he is not determined to be miserable,’ I say. ‘And mind your manners.’

Nobody can say that I don’t do every duty as a wife, even if he is disagreeable. And at least tonight I shall see Thomas, who will fetch me to and from the king’s rooms, so we shall have moments together. If we can get somewhere where we cannot be seen he will kiss me, I know he will, and I melt like sugar in a sauce pot at the thought of it.

JANE BOLEYN, HAMPTON COURT,

APRIL 1541

‘Very good,’ says my uncle Howard to me. ‘The king’s wound is no better, but at least he is on speaking terms with the queen again. He has been to her bed?’

‘Last night. She had to take the man’s part on him, astride him, above him, working him up, she does not like it.’