‘Because you are so handsome,’ I say, looking directly at him, taking the risk and seeing what will happen. ‘You are the handsomest man at court, Your Grace.’

He stands quite still, almost like a man who suddenly hears beautiful music. Like a man enchanted. ‘You think I am the handsomest man at court?’ he asks incredulously. ‘Sweet child, I am old enough to be your father.’

Closer to my grandfather if truth be told, but I gaze up at him. ‘Are you?’ I pipe, as if I don’t know that he is near to fifty and I am not yet fifteen. ‘But I don’t like boys. They always seem so silly.’

‘They trouble you?’ he demands instantly.

‘Oh, no,’ I say. ‘I have nothing at all to do with them. But I would rather walk and talk with a man who knows something of the world. Who can advise me. Someone I can trust.’

‘You shall walk and talk with me this very afternoon,’ he promises. ‘And you shall tell me all your little troubles. And if anyone has troubled you, anyone, no matter how great: he shall answer to me for it.’

I sink into a curtsey. I am so close to him that I almost brush his breeches with my bent head. If that doesn’t cause a little stirring, then I shall be very surprised. I look up at him and I smile up at him and I give a tiny little shake of my head as if in wonderment. I think to myself that this really is awfully good. ‘Such an honour,’ I whisper.

ANNE, WHITEHALL PALACE,

11 JANUARY 1540

This is a most wonderful day, I feel that I am queen indeed. I am seated in the royal box, my own box, the queen’s box, in the newly built gatehouse at Whitehall, and in the jousting ground below me is half the nobility of England, with some great gentlemen from France and Spain come also to show their courage and to seek my favour.

Yes, my favour, for though I am inside still Anne of Cleves, not much regarded and neither the prettiest nor the sweetest of the Cleves girls, on the outside I am now Queen of England and it is amazing how much taller and more beautiful I turn out to be once I have a crown on my head.

The new gown does much to help with my confidence. It is made in the English style and, although I feel dangerously naked with a low-cut gown and no neckpiece of muslin to come up to my chin, at last I am looking more like the other ladies and less like a newcomer to court. I am even wearing a hood in the French style though I have it pulled forwards to hide my hair. It feels very light and I have to remember not to toss my head about and laugh at the sense of freedom. I do not want to seem too changed, too loose in my behaviour. My mother would be terribly shocked by my appearance, I don’t want to let her down, nor my country.