Read Online Pray for Reign (an Anne Boleyn novel) by Thea Atkinson - Free Book Online
Authors: Thea Atkinson
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genteel, and she smiled contentedly, more
than satisfied with her effect. The evening was proving quite intriguing. Her
sister's teasing shove nearly put her off balance.
"I see Thomas found you."
"Umm," she mumbled, bored already by the thought
of standing there, gossiping idly about nothing. She scanned the room hoping to
spot Lord Percy. She wanted to be rescued again.
Mary fanned her bare cleavage dramatically. The greater part
of her full bosom strained against the bit of creamy lace meant to disguise the
pink of her nipple. The gown was French fashion, and in Anne’s opinion, wasted
on Mary who never needed fashion as an excuse to reveal her body. Given enough
time, the entire city of London would see it, and in the meantime, anyone with
brass enough to ask, would be granted the sight of a bosom.
For a fleeting moment, Anne wished she wasn’t wearing the
costume. Though it was beautiful, the deep black of Mary’s would suit her much
better.
"He still has a crush on you."
"Thomas?" Anne fluttered her fingers. "Oh,
yes. I supposed I have grown more desirable over the years." She grinned,
unable to keep the delicious sarcasm to herself. "But then, perhaps our
Thomas is merely starved for a woman of virtue."
"Meaning there are naught here about?" Mary threw
her hips to one side and dared Anne with a leveled brow.
"Not nearly naught, but few." Anne slapped her
sister’s arm playfully.
She studied the room. Such oddities could be seen by paying
close attention. Why, just over there, she watched as Cardinal Wolsey, fat
jowls shaking from animated conversation, stood in the middle of a circle of
Spanish envoys. Perhaps no one else noticed, but the Cardinal had grown very
flushed. His usual blanched face had been fed many glasses of wine and budded
like a grape trembling to be picked. He would feel slightly ill in the morning.
Beyond the Cardinal sat Mary Suffolk, Henry’s sister.
Dressed as she was in pearl colored satin, she looked beautifully white, like
an angel. The gold overlay brightened her eyes as they scanned the crowds for
her husband, the Duke. It was obvious she tried her best to look interested in
the conversation of her comrades, but the constant scans of the room gave her
away. She looked fragile and helpless against the broad span of tapestry that
softened the wall.
Anne felt a sudden urge to speak to her, just to hear the
lilting voice that enraptured everyone who listened. But then a crowd of
dancers obscured her view, and she began to search for Lord Percy. She spied
him on the dance floor, the fragile shell of his aristocratic air seemed to be
cracking with the effort of tiresome court pleasantries. She nudged Mary.
"What do you know of that gentleman?" A burly,
dark-haired courtier brushed against her, too close to be accidental. She gave
him a wink.
"Only that he's the most eligible man at court.
Wealthy. Handsome."
"Wealthy?" Such irony—if only her father could
have foreseen the connection the two shared, perhaps she'd be promised to him
now instead of the brash Irishman she’d met last month. She scanned the room,
sighting him among a bevy of ladies beside the faux castle. She wanted to
continue with the conversation, but Mary changed it.
"I see the King is on his way over."
Anne turned discreetly, and saw that indeed he was heading
toward the group, flanked by a dozen courtiers and friends. The urge to bully
Mary got away from her.
"You should be ashamed. Doesn't Will care that you
sport still with the King?"
Since her return, Anne had discovered Henry had married off
his mistress, but Anne wasn't sad to have missed the wedding. it was an obvious
farce.
"Will? No. Why else think you his Grace chose him to be
my husband?"
Anne clamped her lips together, doing her best to keep her
thoughts to herself.
The king clicked his heels together when he reached for
Mary's hand. "Madame Carey," he said. "May I have this
dance?"
Anne mimicked his words under her breath, while managing
than satisfied with her effect. The evening was proving quite intriguing. Her
sister's teasing shove nearly put her off balance.
"I see Thomas found you."
"Umm," she mumbled, bored already by the thought
of standing there, gossiping idly about nothing. She scanned the room hoping to
spot Lord Percy. She wanted to be rescued again.
Mary fanned her bare cleavage dramatically. The greater part
of her full bosom strained against the bit of creamy lace meant to disguise the
pink of her nipple. The gown was French fashion, and in Anne’s opinion, wasted
on Mary who never needed fashion as an excuse to reveal her body. Given enough
time, the entire city of London would see it, and in the meantime, anyone with
brass enough to ask, would be granted the sight of a bosom.
For a fleeting moment, Anne wished she wasn’t wearing the
costume. Though it was beautiful, the deep black of Mary’s would suit her much
better.
"He still has a crush on you."
"Thomas?" Anne fluttered her fingers. "Oh,
yes. I supposed I have grown more desirable over the years." She grinned,
unable to keep the delicious sarcasm to herself. "But then, perhaps our
Thomas is merely starved for a woman of virtue."
"Meaning there are naught here about?" Mary threw
her hips to one side and dared Anne with a leveled brow.
"Not nearly naught, but few." Anne slapped her
sister’s arm playfully.
She studied the room. Such oddities could be seen by paying
close attention. Why, just over there, she watched as Cardinal Wolsey, fat
jowls shaking from animated conversation, stood in the middle of a circle of
Spanish envoys. Perhaps no one else noticed, but the Cardinal had grown very
flushed. His usual blanched face had been fed many glasses of wine and budded
like a grape trembling to be picked. He would feel slightly ill in the morning.
Beyond the Cardinal sat Mary Suffolk, Henry’s sister.
Dressed as she was in pearl colored satin, she looked beautifully white, like
an angel. The gold overlay brightened her eyes as they scanned the crowds for
her husband, the Duke. It was obvious she tried her best to look interested in
the conversation of her comrades, but the constant scans of the room gave her
away. She looked fragile and helpless against the broad span of tapestry that
softened the wall.
Anne felt a sudden urge to speak to her, just to hear the
lilting voice that enraptured everyone who listened. But then a crowd of
dancers obscured her view, and she began to search for Lord Percy. She spied
him on the dance floor, the fragile shell of his aristocratic air seemed to be
cracking with the effort of tiresome court pleasantries. She nudged Mary.
"What do you know of that gentleman?" A burly,
dark-haired courtier brushed against her, too close to be accidental. She gave
him a wink.
"Only that he's the most eligible man at court.
Wealthy. Handsome."
"Wealthy?" Such irony—if only her father could
have foreseen the connection the two shared, perhaps she'd be promised to him
now instead of the brash Irishman she’d met last month. She scanned the room,
sighting him among a bevy of ladies beside the faux castle. She wanted to
continue with the conversation, but Mary changed it.
"I see the King is on his way over."
Anne turned discreetly, and saw that indeed he was heading
toward the group, flanked by a dozen courtiers and friends. The urge to bully
Mary got away from her.
"You should be ashamed. Doesn't Will care that you
sport still with the King?"
Since her return, Anne had discovered Henry had married off
his mistress, but Anne wasn't sad to have missed the wedding. it was an obvious
farce.
"Will? No. Why else think you his Grace chose him to be
my husband?"
Anne clamped her lips together, doing her best to keep her
thoughts to herself.
The king clicked his heels together when he reached for
Mary's hand. "Madame Carey," he said. "May I have this
dance?"
Anne mimicked his words under her breath, while managing
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