“If I had a second son, I would be at peace,” he frets. “If you were carrying a child, at least I would know that there was the chance of another son.”

“Not yet,” I say carefully. “But I don’t doubt that God will be good to us.”

He looks dissatisfied. “You will be Regent General,” he reminds me. “It will all fall on you. You will have to keep them at peace while Edward grows up.”

“I know I can,” I say. “For so many of your councillors love you and have promised their duty to your son. There would be no war. There would be a loving care of him. The Seymour brothers would protect him, their nephew. John Dudley would support them. Thomas Cranmer would serve him as he does you. But it will never happen, for you will be well as the weather turns brighter.”

“I see you only name reformers?” he demands, his eyes sharp and suspicious. “You are of the reform party, as people say. You are not on my side, you are on theirs.”

“No indeed, I acknowledge the good men of all points of view. No one can doubt that Stephen Gardiner loves you and your son. The Howards are true to you and to Prince Edward. We would all protect him and bring him to the throne.”

“So you do think I will die!” He crows at having trapped me. “You think you will outlive another old husband and enjoy a widow’s estate.” His face flushes red as his anger rises. “You sit there, at my sickbed, and imagine the day you will be free of me and free to take some worthless lad as your next husband, the fourth! You, who have wedded and bedded three men, are thinking of the next!”

I hide my shock at his sudden fury and I stay very calm. “My lord husband, I am sure you will recover from this fever, as you have from the injuries of your youth. I was trying to reassure you so that you would not worry on your sickbed. I pray for nothing but your health and I know that it will be restored to you.”