The Queen's Mistake by Diane Haeger Page B

an ominous thud. The ulcer on Henry’s leg had begun again to trouble him, and everyone who had been around His Majesty for any length of time knew that made him as cantankerous as an old goat.
    As soon as the door closed behind Henry, the counsel turned from grave silence to fast and furious chatter.
    “Well, this indeed is a fine mess,” said Edward Seymour, sitting cross-legged in a pumpkin-colored suede jerkin with a heavy gold chain across his slim chest. His impeccably clean fingers played with a slip of parchment that lay on the table before him. He wore a twisted smile as he shot a glance at his younger brother, Thomas.
    “The king wants out of this disaster, and there will be spoils for the man with the courage to provide the means,” Brandon observed.
    “Another divorce would be dangerous,” Thomas Seymour dutifully added. “And if the queen contests a divorce, the minister who proposes a battle should expect blood on his hands.”

    “A wife to follow Anne Boleyn to the block will leave a legacy of blood with the people,” Wriothesley said.
    The king’s privy counsel looked accusingly at Cromwell.
    Someone cleared his throat.
    Cromwell’s guilt over Anne of Cleves was like a poison mist in the room, settling heavily around them.
    “If only you had rightly championed Lord and Lady Lisle’s comely daughter Anne as queen rather than as a useless mistress,” Stephen Gardiner cruelly pointed out, “all of this might have been avoided, and there would likely be an heir inside the queen already.”
    “He will be rid of the Cleves mare, whatever it takes; that is certain. And doubtless there will be someone to replace her before we see autumn leaves on the trees at Greenwich,” observed Brandon. “The only question now is, Who will be unfortunate enough to be next?”

    Cromwell was raging with anger by the time his son arrived.
    The king’s giant, thickly set chancellor lunged forward. He swatted the boy’s ears as the great velvet bell sleeve of his coat knocked Gregory in the mouth.
    “What the devil were you thinking, Gregory? Do you know what this may well have cost me? You were with her, were you not?”
    “With who?”
    To Cromwell’s surprise, his son appeared genuinely perplexed. His blue eyes were wide and his face was flushed as Cromwell grabbed the side of his smooth, youthful face. Gregory Cromwell was mildly attractive, yet it was his charm and his clever tongue that had always given him an alarming ease with women.
    Before and after he had taken a wife.

    “Did you honestly have no idea who she was?”
    His eyes widened with realization. “Oh, the girl at Lambeth, you mean? How did you know about that?”
    “I know everything, you useless lout!” He charged, swatting his son’s ear again. The large gold ring on his forefinger clipped the boy’s cheek, leaving a mark. “I am Lord Great Chancellor of England! Few know more than me!”
    “Except, perhaps, her uncle.” Gregory Cromwell bit back a nasty smile. “Look, old man, I did you a favor by taking that position with Norfolk. I thought perhaps I could help you, so I went to his supper last night. I thought it would please you.”
    “You think with your prick, which has always been your problem—and my own,” he growled, and pivoted away, the great velvet cloak swirling between them.
    This boy, this upstart, had always been dear to him. He had coddled him, spoiled him and excused him, and the fruits of his indulgence were now his to bear.
    “I thought it might help soften the Duke of Norfolk toward you if I showed her some kindness,” Gregory said in a tone that bore just a hint of pleading. “Gossip at court is that Norfolk and the Bishop of Winchester are doing all they can to poison your standing with the king. Maybe he would soften toward you if he thought I was helping him out. Clearly the Howard girl has been brought to court to make a decent marriage. But she must be desperate. What is she but a fourth or maybe