They lower him into his great chair, which creaks a little under his weight, they put a footstool under his leg, then drape it with a cloth. He gestures that I may sit near him, and waves them all away. Denny goes to the back of the room and pretends to be talking to his wife, my lady-in-waiting Joan. I am sure that they are both ears pricked, to hear every word.

“So you are merry this morning?” Henry confirms. “Though I was watching you in chapel and you seemed grave. I can see you through the lattice of my box, you know. I can keep you under watch and ward all the time. Be very sure that I am always mindful of you.”

“I was praying, my lord.”

“That’s good,” he approves. “I like it that you are truly devout; but I want you to be happy. The Queen of England should be the happiest woman in Christendom as well as the most blessed. You must show the world that you are merry on your wedding morning.”

“I am,” I assure him. “I truly am.”

“Visibly happy,” he prompts me.

I show him my most dazzling smile.

He nods his approval. “And now you have work to do. And you must do everything that I say. I am your husband now, and you have promised obedience.” His indulgent tone tells me that this is a joke.

I peep up at him. “I shall try to be a very good wife.”

He chuckles. “These are my commands: you have to order the tailors and the seamstresses to bring beautiful clothes and fabrics, and you have to order a great many gowns,” he says. “I want to see you dressed like a queen, not like the poor widow Latimer.”

I give a little affected gasp and I press my hands together.

“They tell me you like birds?” he asks. “Colorful birds and singing birds.”

“I do,” I say. “But I could never afford to buy them.”

“Well, now you can,” he says. “I shall tell the captains of the ships that go far afield that they are to bring home little birds for you.” He smiles. “It can be a new tax on shipping—little birds for the queen. And I have something for you now.” He turns and snaps his fingers and Anthony Denny steps forward and puts a fat purse on the table and a small box. Henry passes me the box first. “Open it.”

It is a magnificent ruby, table-cut like a block, on a simple gold band. It is too big for my fingers, but the king slides it on my thumb and admires the red glow. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“And there are more, of course. I have had them sent to your rooms.”

“More?”

He warms to my naïvety. “More jewels, my dear. You are the queen. You have a treasury of jewels. You can pick out new ones to wear for every day of the year.”