I feel a little muddled by this. ‘But what if it is Thomas’s child?’ At once I have a picture of Thomas’s little son, a brown-haired, blue-eyed rascal like his father, a strong boy from a young father.

She sees my face and she guesses what I am thinking. ‘You are the queen,’ she says firmly. ‘Any child you bear will be the king’s child, as God wishes. You cannot think for one moment anything different.’

‘But . . .’

‘No,’ she says. ‘And you should tell the king that you have hopes of being with his child.’

‘Is it not too early?’

‘It’s never too early to give him cause for hope,’ she says. ‘The last thing we want is to have him discontented.’

‘I will tell him,’ I say. ‘He is coming to my room tonight. You will have to fetch Thomas to me later. Then I will tell him too.’

‘No,’ she says. ‘You won’t tell Thomas Culpepper.’

‘But I want to!’

‘It would spoil everything.’ She speaks very fast, persuasively. ‘If he thinks you are with child he will not lie with you. He will find you disgusting. He wants a mistress, not a mother of his children. You say nothing to Thomas Culpepper, but you can give the king hope. That’s the way to handle this.’

‘He would be pleased . . .’

‘No.’ She shakes her head. ‘He would be kind, I am sure, but he would not come to your bed again. He would take a mistress. I have seen him talking to Catherine Carey. He would take a mistress until your time was over.’

‘I couldn’t bear that!’

‘So tell him nothing. Tell the king you have hopes, but tell Thomas nothing.’

‘Thank you, Lady Rochford,’ I say humbly. If it were not for her advice I don’t know what I would do.

That night the king comes to my rooms and they help him into my bed. I stand by the fire while they labour to heave him in and they leave him tucked up with the sheets under his chin like an enormous baby.

‘Husband,’ I say sweetly.

‘Come to bed, my rose,’ he says. ‘Henry wants his rose.’

I grit my teeth on the stupidity of him calling himself Henry. ‘I want to tell you something,’ I say. ‘I have some happy news.’

He heaves himself up, so that his head with the nightcap askew bobs up a little.

‘Yes?’

‘I have missed my course,’ I say. ‘I may be with child.’

‘Oh, rose! My sweetest rose!’

‘It is early days,’ I warn him. ‘But I thought you would want to know at once.’

‘Before anything else!’ he assures me. ‘Dearest, as soon as you tell me it is true, I shall have you crowned queen.’

‘But Edward will still be your heir,’ I query.

‘Yes, yes, but it would be such a weight off my mind if I knew that Edward had a brother. A family cannot be safe with only one son: a dynasty needs boys. One small accident and everything is finished, but if you have two boys you are safe.’