The Constant Princess Read online

  Catalina waited for the king to visit her as he had promised. He did not come the next day but Catalina was sure he would come the day after. When three days had elapsed she walked on her own by the river, chafing her hands in the shelter of her cloak. She had been so sure that he would come again that she had prepared herself to keep him interested but under her control. She planned to lead him on, to keep him dancing at arm’s length. When he did not come she realized that she was anxious to see him. Not for desire—she thought she would never feel desire again—but because he was her only way to the throne of England. When he did not come, she was mortally afraid that he had had second thoughts, and he would not come at all.

  “Why is he not coming?” I demand of the little waves on the river, washing against the bank as a boatman rows by. “Why would he come so passionate and earnest one day, and then not come at all?”

  I am so fearful of his mother. She has never liked me and if she turns her face from me, I don’t know that he will go ahead. But then I remember that he said that his mother had given her permission. Then I am afraid that the Spanish ambassador might have said something against the match—but I cannot believe that de Puebla would ever say anything to inconvenience the king, even if he failed to serve me.

  “Then why is he not coming?” I ask myself. “If he was courting in the English way, all rush and informality, then surely he would come every day?”

  Another day went past, and then another. Finally Catalina gave way to her anxiety and sent the king a message at his court, hoping that he was well.

  Doña Elvira said nothing, but her stiff back as she supervised the brushing and powdering of Catalina’s gown that night spoke volumes.

  “I know what you are thinking,” Catalina said as the duenna waved the maid of the wardrobe from the room and turned to brush Catalina’s hair. “But I cannot risk losing this chance.”

  “I am thinking nothing,” the older woman said coldly. “These are English ways. As you tell me, we cannot now abide by decent Spanish ways. And so I am not qualified to speak. Clearly, my advice is not taken. I am an empty vessel.”

  Catalina was too worried to soothe the older woman. “It doesn’t matter what you are,” she said distractedly. “Perhaps he will come tomorrow.”

  Henry, seeing her ambition as the key to her, had given the girl a few days to consider her position. He thought she might compare the life she led at Durham House—in seclusion with her little Spanish court, her furniture becoming more shabby and no new gowns—with the life she might lead as a young queen at the head of one of the richest courts in Europe. He thought she had the sense to think that through on her own. When he received a note from her, inquiring as to his health, he knew that he had been right; and the next day he rode down the Strand to visit her.

  Her porter who kept the gate said that the princess was in the garden, walking with her ladies by the river. Henry went through the back door of the palace to the terrace, and down the steps through the garden. He saw her by the river walking alone, ahead of her ladies, her head slightly bowed in thought, and he felt an old familiar sensation in his belly at the sight of a woman he desired. It made him feel young again, that deep pang of lust, and he smiled at himself for feeling a young man’s passion, for knowing again a young man’s folly.

  His page, running ahead, announced him, and he saw her head jerk up at his name and she looked across the lawn and saw him. He smiled. He was waiting for that moment of recognition between a woman and a man who loves her—the moment when their eyes meet and they both know that intense moment of joy, that moment when the eyes say: “Ah, it is you,” and that is everything.

  Instead, like a dull blow, he saw at once that there was no leap of her heart at the sight of him. He was smiling shyly, his face lit up with anticipation; but she, in the first moment of surprise, was nothing more than startled. Unprepared, she did not feign emotion, she did not look like a woman in love. She looked up, she saw him—and he could tell at once that she did not love him. There was no shock of delight. Instead, chillingly, he saw a swift expression of calculation cross her face. She was a girl in an unguarded moment, wondering if she could have her own way. It was the look of a huckster, pricing a fool ready for fleecing. Henry, the father of two selfish girls, recognized it in a moment and knew that whatever the princess might say, however sweetly she might say it, this would be a marriage of convenience to her, whatever it was to him. And more than that, he knew that she had made up her mind to accept him.

  He walked across the close-scythed grass towards her and took her hand. “Good day, Princess.”

  Catalina curtseyed. “Your Grace.”

  She turned her head to her ladies. “You can go inside.” To Doña Elvira she said, “See that there are refreshments for His Grace when we come in.” Then she turned back to him. “Will you walk, sire?”

  “You will make a very elegant queen,” he said with a smile. “You command very smoothly.”

  He saw her hesitate in her stride and the tension leave her slim young body as she exhaled. “Ah, you mean it, then,” she breathed. “You mean to marry me.”

  “I do,” he said. “You will be a most beautiful Queen of England.”

  She glowed at the thought of it. “I still have many English ways to learn.”

  “My mother will teach you,” he said easily. “You will live at court in her rooms and under her supervision.”

  Catalina checked a little in her stride. “Surely I will have my own rooms, the queen’s rooms?”

  “My mother is occupying the queen’s rooms,” he said. “She moved in after the death of the late queen, God bless her. And you will join her there. She thinks that you are too young as yet to have your own rooms and a separate court. You can live in my mother’s rooms with her ladies, and she can teach you how things are done.”

  He could see that she was troubled, but trying hard not to show it.

  “I should think I know how things are done in a royal palace,” Catalina said, trying to smile.

  “An English palace,” he said firmly. “Fortunately, my mother has run all my palaces and castles and managed my fortune since I came to the throne. She shall teach you how it is done.”

  Catalina closed her lips on her disagreement. “When do you think we will hear from the Pope?” she asked.

  “I have sent an emissary to Rome to inquire,” Henry said. “We shall have to apply jointly, your parents and myself. But it should be resolved very quickly. If we are all agreed, there can be no real objection.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And we are completely agreed on marriage?” he confirmed.

  “Yes,” she said again.

  He took her hand and tucked it into his arm. Catalina walked a little closer and let her head brush against his shoulder. She was not wearing a headdress, only the hood of her cape covered her hair, and the movement pushed it back. He could smell the essence of roses on her hair, he could feel the warmth of her head against his shoulder. He had to stop himself from taking her in his arms. He paused and she stood close to him; he could feel the warmth of her, down the whole length of his body.

  “Catalina,” he said, his voice very low and thick.

  She stole a glance and saw desire in his face, and she did not step away. If anything, she came a little closer. “Yes, Your Grace?” she whispered.

  Her eyes were downcast, but slowly, in the silence, she looked up at him. When her face was upturned to his, he could not resist the unstated invitation. He bent and kissed her on the lips.

  There was no shrinking, she took his kiss, her mouth yielded under his, he could taste her. His arms came around her, he pressed her towards him, he could feel his desire for her rising in him so strongly that he had to let her go, that minute, or disgrace himself.

  He released her and stood shaking with desire so strong that he could not believe its power as it washed through him. Catalina pulled her hood forwards as if she would be veiled from him, as if she wer