I rise from my seat and step quickly down from the dais. I take Elizabeth’s cold hands and I kiss her forehead. “You’re very welcome to court,” I say to her in English—for who speaks a foreign language to their daughter? “And I shall be very glad to be your mother and care for you, Elizabeth. I hope you will see me as a mother indeed, and that we will be a family together. I hope that you will learn to love me and trust that I will love you as my own.”

The color floods into her pale cheeks, up to her sandy eyebrows, her thin lips tremble. She has no words for a natural act of affection though she had speeches prepared in French.

I turn to the king. “Your Majesty, of all the treasures that you have given me, this—your daughter—is the one that gives me most delight.” I glance at Lady Mary, who is blanched with shock at my sudden informality. “Lady Mary I love already,” I say. “And now I will love Lady Elizabeth. When I meet your son, my joy will be complete.”

The favorites, Anthony Denny and Edward Seymour, look from me to the king to see if I have forgotten my place and embarrassed him—his commoner wife. But the king is beaming. It seems that this time he wants a wife who is as loving to his children as she is loving to him.

“You speak to her in English” is all he remarks, “but she is fluent in French and Latin. My daughter is a scholar like her father.”

“I speak from my heart,” I say, and I am rewarded by the warmth of his smile.

HAMPTON COURT PALACE,

SUMMER 1543

They tell me I must put aside mourning for my wedding day and wear a gown from the royal wardrobe. The groom of the wardrobe brings one sandalwood chest after another from the great store in London, and Nan and I spend a happy afternoon pulling out gowns, looking them over, and taking our pick as Lady Mary and a few other ladies advise. The robes are powdered and stored in linen bags and the sleeves are stuffed with lavender heads to keep away the moth. They smell like wealth: the cool soft velvets and the sleek satin panels have an odor of luxury that I have never known in my life before. I take my choice from the queens’ gowns, in cloth of silver and cloth of gold, and I look at all the many sleeves and hoods, and the underskirts. By the time I have made my choice, of a richly embroidered gown in dark colors, it is nearly time for dinner. The ladies pack the spare gowns away, Nan closes the door on everyone and we are alone.

“I have to talk to you about your wedding night,” she says.