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his consent to a marriage suggested by the King.
    â€˜Perhaps you are right, Mary,’ he said. ‘Whom have you in mind?’
    Mary smiled in what seemed to the practical Thomas a vacuous manner as she murmured: ‘It is William Carey, Father.’
    â€˜William Carey! You cannot mean . . . No, you could not. I was thinking of Carey’s son . . . a younger brother . . .’
    â€˜It is that Will, Father.’
    Thomas was astounded and horrified. Surely the King would never suggest such a lowly match for a woman in whom he had been interested. It was an insult. The blood rushed to Thomas’s face and showed even in the whites of his eyes. ‘The King . . .’ he stammered.
    â€˜The King might not object to this marriage,’ Mary began.
    â€˜He has suggested it to you?’
    â€˜Oh . . . no! It is because Will and I have fallen in love.’
    Thomas stared at his daughter. ‘You must be mad, girl. You . . . have fallen in love with this Will Carey? A younger son of a family that can scarcely be called distinguished!’
    â€˜One does not think of family honours or wealth when one falls in love,’ said Mary simply.
    â€˜You have lost your wits, girl.’
    â€˜I believe it is called losing one’s heart,’ replied Mary with some spirit.
    â€˜The same thing, doubtless. Well, you may put this young man out of your mind. I want to hear no more of such nonsense. It may well be that, if you are patient, the King will suggest a good marriage for you. Indeed, it might be a good plan for you to make some light suggestions. Carefully, mind. Hint perhaps that marriage might be necessary . . .’
    Mary bowed her head that he might not see the defiance which had sprung into her eyes. Hitherto she had been as easily swayed as a willow wand, but the thought of Will had stiffened her resistance. Strangely enough she was ready to put up a fight, to displease her father and the King, if need be, for the sake of Will Carey.
    Thomas laid his hand on her shoulder; he had no doubt of her obedience. He was confident of his power when he looked back and saw how far he had come in the last years. He was forty-three years old, in good health, and his ambition was limitless. The King’s pleasure in him was stressed by the fact that he had designated Sir Thomas Boleyn to play such a large part in making the arrangements for the Field of the Cloth of Gold; and now that Henry had favoured his daughter he was more grateful to Thomas than ever, because he had produced such a willing and comely girl. Mary had always been pliable, lacking the arrogance and temper of George and Anne.
    Had he looked a little closer at Mary on that occasion he might have noticed that when her jaw was purposefully set, as it was at this moment, she bore a striking resemblance to her headstrong brother and sister.
    But Thomas was too sure of his daughter, too sure of his ability to subdue her, to be alarmed.
    He patted her shoulder.
    â€˜Now, my daughter, no more of this foolishness. There’ll be a grand marriage for you, and now is the time to ask for it. I see no reason why you should not become a Duchess. That would please you, His Grace, and your family.’
    Still she kept her head lowered, and giving her a playful push he dismissed her.
    She was glad to escape because of the overwhelming desire to tell him that she was no longer his puppet, nor the King’s; Mary Boleyn in love, fighting for the future she desired, was as formidable as any young woman of spirit.

    The great Cardinal was alone in his audience chamber, where he stood at the window looking out over the parkland of that most magnificent of his residences, Hampton Court. He could always find delight in this place which he regarded as essentially his own; for how different it had become in those years since he had taken over the lease from the Knights of St John of Jerusalem and raised this impressive edifice to what it was at this