Chapter 11 #3
She was taken aback. Of course she wanted to marry him, but she had thought that he would declare his love for her before asking her to wed him, and she needed to hear him say that he did love her before giving him her answer.
He was gazing up at her imploringly. “I like you very much,” he said. “I think we get on well together and I want you to be my wife. I went home because I wanted to put my affairs in order and ascertain that I could provide for you properly before asking you.”
I like you very much. We get on well together.
These were not the romantic outpourings of love she had looked for.
She knew that marriages were made not so much for love as for advantage, yet she had hoped that hers would be different.
And Francis had given every impression that he did love her, so why didn’t he say so?
Had it been a ploy to win her? And yet what could she bring him, apart from herself?
She had her dowry, thanks to Will, but it wasn’t large, and her family connections were of no advantage at all.
He was waiting, looking at her with a mixture of puzzlement and eagerness.
“Tell me I may hope?” he urged.
“You have given me much to think about,” she said slowly. “I will think on it, I promise. And when I am ready, I will tell you my answer.”
He rose and sat next to her. “Don’t keep me in suspense for too long, please. It would mean so much to me if you were to say yes.” He bent and kissed her cheek.
She stood up and smiled at him. “I will think about it.” Then she left him and ran back to the palace.
—
Over the next fortnight, Francis seized every opportunity to see her. Every time, he asked her if she had made up her mind. He was like a man possessed, yet still he did not speak of love, and she was resolved not to accept his proposal until he did.
There came a day when she was sitting with Mary Norris in a gallery, playing her lute. She had not yet told Mary about Francis’s proposal of marriage; she did not want her thinking that he was lacking as a suitor.
Suddenly, he was there. He must have been looking for her. He sat down with them and listened to the tune she was playing.
“That’s one of the King’s compositions,” he said.
Kate ceased playing. She would never have played it if she had known that. She began to strum another piece, to which Mary began singing along.
When they had finished, Francis clapped. Then he fixed his eyes on Kate. “Have you thought yet?” he asked urgently, regardless of Mary’s presence.
“Let’s talk later,” she replied, aware that her friend was staring at them.
“It’s all right, I need to go anyway,” Mary said, and hurried away.
“You embarrassed her,” Kate reproved.
“You’re driving me mad, making me wait so long for an answer,” Francis said plaintively. “It’s been two weeks now, and I need to know where I stand.”
“So do I!” Kate cried. “Before I can accept you, there has to be something more.”
He looked bewildered. “What do you mean?”
“I need more from you!” She would not mention the word “love.”
He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. “Kate, I think the world of you. I’m offering you love and devotion. Isn’t that enough for you?”
She paused, nonplussed by his nearness and the effect it was having on her. Though he hadn’t said, “I love you,” he had spoken of love. That, surely, must be proof that he did love her.
“Please say you’ll marry me,” he said.
“All right—yes!” she breathed, dizzily happy.
“Thank God, thank God,” he gasped, reaching out a hand to support himself against the wall. He looked as if he were about to faint. “I can’t tell you what this means to me. I love you so much!” And then they were in each other’s arms again, kissing as if their lives depended on it.
—
“Tell me who I should approach to ask for your hand,” Francis said later, when they had calmed down and the gallery was growing dim. Any moment now, servants would come to light the torches in the wall sconces.
Kate thought about it. “My mother? Will? No, the Queen. That would be best.”
“I will ask the Queen,” Francis said. “I will go to her now and crave an audience.”
Kate followed him as he sped through the palace. At the door to Anna’s apartments, the guards let them in, and an usher went to inquire if the Queen would be pleased to receive Francis. The answer came back that she would.
When he came out, five minutes later, he looked puzzled.
“What is it?” Kate asked. Surely Anna would not have said no?
“She has not the power to give her consent. Your marriage is a matter for the King alone. His Grace has commanded it. Therefore, I must try to see him.”
“But why? Why is the King so interested in my marriage?” Kate was struck by the notion that something was being kept from her, but she could not fathom what it could be. She looked questioningly at Francis.
“I have no idea, and I did not press the Queen, for her English is poor. I will try to see the King now, but God only knows if he’ll be free. There are always hordes of petitioners clamoring for his attention.”
—
Kate spent the day in the doldrums, worrying that the King had plans for her and would forbid Francis to marry her. Moping about the Queen’s chamber, she could settle to nothing and was constantly looking toward the door or straining her ears for some sign of his return. Oh, when would he come?
It was six o’clock before he returned to her, and he was smiling.
“I caught his Grace in a merry mood, thank goodness, for it is rare these days. He says we may wed, with his blessing. He also said that he will attend the wedding. It is a great honor.”
Kate was stunned. “Oh, Francis! That is wonderful news!” The only thing marring it was the prospect of that gross monster being there on her special day.
She wished she could feel as elated about it as Francis clearly did.
But then he could not know the depths to which the King had descended.
He had not been there during those terrible days in the Tower, nor could Kate speak of them, for the horror went too deep.
All she wanted was to forget the experience.
One day, when she knew Francis better, she would tell him about it—but she wasn’t ready for that yet.
“Meet me in the gallery after supper,” he said, kissing her cheek. “We have a wedding to plan!”
“Wait!” she cried. “Surely you should write and ask my mother for her permission? And my stepfather, who is providing me with a dowry.”
“Of course,” Francis agreed. “I will go and see Master Stafford now. He knew of my hopes and looked kindly upon them. I am sure that he and your mother will be pleased. I will write to her this evening.”
Kate wrote, too, fretting a little in case she and Francis should have approached Mother first. She told her how much she loved him and how suitable he was in every way, and begged her to give them her blessing.
It was three days before she received a delighted reply, but before then, Will had come to see her.
Hugging her like a bear, he told her that she couldn’t have made a better choice.
“Where shall it be?” Kate wondered, sitting by the pond that evening.
“We could always get wed at the church at Rotherfield Greys, near my home,” Francis suggested. “But the King might grant us leave to marry in one of the chapels royal, since he is to attend. I can ask him. Would you like that?”
“I’d rather get married at Rotherfield Greys,” Kate said, thinking that there would be less chance of the King attending.
Francis looked disappointed.
“But if you prefer to marry at court, then I am content,” she added quickly.
He brightened. “I will ask his Grace. I long for us to be wed, so let us not wait long. Shall I see if he will permit us to marry at the end of April? That will give us time to make ready.”
“All right,” Kate said, although if she had her way, she would marry Francis tomorrow. But late April was not far off. As Francis took her in his arms and kissed her deeply in the way she loved, all she could think of was that, in a few short weeks, she would be his entirely.