Pray for Reign (an Anne Boleyn novel) by Thea Atkinson Read Free Book Online Page B

court. Our prim
Mademoiselle Boleyn. French by heart, English by birth, and Irish by
marriage."
    A strange elation mixed with the dread of going to England.
Anne hadn’t called England home in more than seven years, but it was definitely
the home of the Boleyns and with that home came George. She squirmed in her chair.
    "But what else? You said Henry requests all his
subjects."
    "Yes," Francois’ sister lowered her gaze.
"There are rumors of war."

Chapter 10
    A nne returned to her homeland in early 1521, a woman grown,
with appetites and needs much different from the girl who left it. Now she
realized the absolute driving force of passion. The girl who had left knew
nothing of conversation, or fashion, or even how to tease a courtier without
infuriating him. Base things really, things she had learned abroad with archduchesses,
and kings, and lowly serving gentlemen who stared at her as if she were a
jewel. She learned such lessons as sharpening her wit on ladies who cared
nothing of intelligent conversation and allowed barbs to strike home with
little resistance.
    France had given her life abundantly, it had shown her the
carnal pleasures of beauty and passion. How could England compare, when the
girl who left it returned wiser, more knowing, At times she thought of
Marguerite, missed her hoarse voice and dry humor. But she’d plenty to keep her
mind working, and the extra pleasure of seeing her brother nearly everyday
helped immensely.
    He’d married after the festival, and now the woman who was
his wife argued that he spent too much time with his sister. Drat, but she was a
chit. A girl who didn’t love her husband, but who droned on and on about how he
should stay at home, watching her sew or stoke the fire.
    George never once complained about her. Instead he pursed
his lips together quietly, and changed the subject whenever Anne brought it up.
He went home each night with a heavy step, but returned the next day with a
bounce in it. Anne wasn’t sure if he was excited to get away, or if his wife
indeed kept him happy when he was home. Whatever it was, she
decided George would keep his counsel, and harbour his wife’s feelings, never
doing anything to make the young girl unhappy.
    As for her Father, he visited her every other day, his wide
mouth grim and commanding. He would report the latest news of her marriage
without emotion or change of expression. The young man wanted the marriage it
was clear. He had seen Anne during one of her walks with the Queen, and spoke
of her often to Thomas.
    Her fiancé was a burly young man with spittle always shining
on his bottom lip. He made her think of a dog in the summer heat, pining for
water, yet enjoying the pain of the sun’s rays. She tried to imagine him
touching her the way her Frenchman had, and wanted to be sick when she did. She
could in no way equate the beauty of that night with the bestial man who was to
be her husband. February’s court brimmed with activity. England’s war against
France, allied with Spain’s Charles V, seemed imminent. Thomas Wolsey, Cardinal
of the Church, planned a huge event to honor Charles' envoys to England.
    Anne had been asked to participate in the masque at Cardinal
Wolsey's castle, and of course, accepted, excited to do something for a change.
The masque would involve eight ladies of honor held captive by eight enemies of
love. She would be a captive. When March first finally dawned and stretched
into evening she could barely contain her excitement.
    She fidgeted restlessly with the banner that crossed her
bosom. Tonight she was labeled Perseverance, and she certainly thought it
fitting. Few could sustain King Francois’ attention without giving in. Her
Milan-point lace gown had already begun to itch her at its edges where the lace
touched her bare skin, and every time the urge to scratch nagged her, she
reminded herself that the gown was underlain with white satin—soft silky satin;
itch free, and smooth. It also helped to think