Gardiner read the Charter, and the King took the robe from Mary, which he caressingly laid about my shoulders. Then he placed the coronet on my head.
I was ennobled. Marquess of Pembroke. It was a moment of great triumph.
Henry presented me with another charter which ensured me £1,000 a year during my lifetime.
I was very happy as the trumpets heralded my departure from the Presence Chamber.
In my apartment were gifts from Henry—some exquisite miniatures, the work of his favorite painter, Holbein; these were made more valuable by the jewels in which they were set. They were beautiful and could be worn as pendants. Henry was determined that all should know of his love for me. He showered gifts on me. I now had a train-bearer and maids of honor—all noble ladies—just as though I were already the Queen. The cost of my clothes alone for the ceremony had been more than £30—all cheerfully paid for from the privy purse.
I had nothing to fear.
Then we were planning the journey to France.
François had been most cordial and he delighted us both by suggesting that we marry while we were in France. This was an exciting prospect because if we did so it would proclaim to the world that the King of France was on our side. He had always shown a great deal of sympathy and understanding, and I was vain enough to suspect that it might be because of a fondness for me. He had certainly cast rather lustful eyes upon me when I was at his Court, and I imagine he thought of me with some respect because I had refused him. Therefore this coming visit was of very special importance to Henry and me, for we planned to take François's advice and then, when we returned to England, the marriage would be a fait accompli.
So there I was at the peak of my dreams, soon to have done with this anomalous position in which I had stood so long—Queen of England.
I was delighted for the time being with my new eminence; but soon I should be in that place to which I had aspired for so long. Perhaps I became a little haughty, assuming airs of royalty. Henry did not object to my doing so—in fact, he rather encouraged it. I felt now that I could command all…even him.
I was preparing a wardrobe for the French visit. Velvets and silks were brought to me and I planned with the utmost pleasure.
I was really happy during that time. I had ceased to look back nostalgically to the past and what might have been. There never could have been for me a more glorious future than that which confronted me now.
There were one or two minor irritations. Henry demanded that Katharine should give up her jewels. Although as Queen of England she had been wearing them for years, they did not belong to her but were the property of the Crown. Henry said that, now God had shown him that theirs was no true marriage, the jewels must be returned.
The fact was that he wanted me to wear them during the French visit and after my marriage they would be in my possession.
Katharine indignantly refused to return them. She would not give up such jewels to adorn the person who was the scandal of Christendom, she declared, and whose very presence at Court brought ignominy to the Crown.
Katharine could be very bold, and always there was the shadow of the Emperor beside her. For that reason, although she might be insulted, even the King would not dare harm her physically.
But the Emperor was far away and the King was supreme in England and promising to be even more so than he had been before.
He now commanded her to deliver up the jewels, and messengers were sent to collect them.
It was wonderful to have them but I did regret that they had had to be forced from Katharine.
Then there was the Duchess of Suffolk. As the ex-Queen of France she would renew many old acquaintances, for Henry wished her to accompany us. She had always been stubborn, and she had, of course, special privileges with the King. He always thought of her as his little sister Mary. She had married Suffolk and overcome his displeasure. And now she resolutely refused to come to France with us.
This was, of course, because I was going. Had Katharine been in my place, Mary would have been happy to join the party.
I did not know what I wished for—whether he should command her to come, which would have been most unpleasant for she would have been very disagreeable, I was sure, or whether he should give way and accept her refusal, which was an insult to me. In either case it was not very pleasant, but really, as I said, just a minor irritation.
Then there was Suffolk himself. Henry was really angry with him. Because of his longstanding friendship with Henry and his close relationship to him through marriage, he had had the temerity to suggest that the idea for the trip was not a good one.
I guessed what his comments were. Henry was taking a woman not his wife, and flaunting her as his Queen on a visit to another state. It was a mistake, even though François had sent messages expressing his pleasure.
Henry had been furious.
As a result Suffolk had been sent from Court—not to remain in exile but to prepare without delay for the journey. As this was going to be very costly, Suffolk was far from pleased; and his wife insisted on staying at home.
Even though François had welcomed the plan so enthusiastically, the visit had its less pleasant side. He was to meet us at Boulogne, but none of the ladies of the French Court would accompany him.
Of course, the important person was François.
“We'll do better without the ladies,” said Henry, but it naturally meant there would be occasions when I could not be present.
I had to remind myself that it was probably the first time a King had taken with him a woman who was not his wife on what must be a state visit.
“In any case,” he added, “I would not wish to meet the Queen of France.” She was Eleanora of Austria, sister of Charles, and therefore Katharine's niece. “I'd rather meet the devil than a lady in Spanish dress,” added Henry.
In spite of all these setbacks, plans went ahead. There was a certain amount of misgiving of which I could not fail to be aware. It was a daring thing to do to take me away with him on such an occasion before there had been a marriage ceremony. True, I was now a peeress with one of the highest titles in the land, but I was more unpopular than ever with the people.
Nevertheless I was happy, and so was Henry. He could not bear to leave my side; he sent the company ahead to Dover so that we could be alone—or almost—together. We stayed at the house of Thomas Cheyney—always a good friend to me—and Henry insisted that there should be no fuss and we would live simply for a few days. This we did— riding together… eating alone… and living away from people…privately. I was surprised how much we both enjoyed it. Perhaps I was beginning to love him. It is difficult for a woman of my nature not to be fond of one who shows such care for her.
Love changed Henry; he was both ardent and grateful; it made a different man of him; and I liked that man better than the mighty King; or it may be that I enjoyed seeing the mighty King reduced to a humble lover. It was difficult to think of Henry without his royalty. It was so much a part of him; and to think that he could cast it aside was very endearing.
He said he had never been so happy in his life as during those days we spent away from the rest of the company, and what joy it gave him to contemplate that in a very short time we should be married.
We could not live in our sylvan paradise forever. We had to go on to Dover.
As we rode along, I noticed the looks of the people; they were more sullen than vituperative. They did not approve of the French visit—well, perhaps it was not the visit, but the fact that I was accompanying the King.