“Of course, Your Grace.” I curtsy beautifully; I cast down my eyes modestly as well, since everyone is watching me, and I put out my hand to the Princess Mary. Well, toll-loll, she doesn’t exactly leap up to take it, and she walks to the center of the room to form the first line of the dance with me as if she were not much honored by her partner. I toss my head a little at her grave face and summon the other girls, who form a line behind us. The musicians strike a chord and we start to dance.

And who would have thought it? She’s rather a good dancer. She moves gracefully, and she holds her head high. Her feet twinkle through the steps; she has been wonderfully taught. I give a little sway of my hips just to make sure that the king, and every man in the room, keeps his eyes on me, but to be honest, I am sure that half of them are watching the princess, whose color rises as she dances and who is smiling by the time we have gone through the chain part of the dance and the walking your partner down the archway. I try to look modestly pleased with the success of my partner, but I am afraid I look as if I am sucking lemons. I can’t be a foil to someone else’s performance, I just can’t. It’s not my nature; I just don’t aspire to second place.

So we finish with a curtsy, and the king rises to his feet and calls, “Brava! Brava!” which is Latin or German or something for hurrah, and I smile and try to look quietly pleased while he comes toward us and takes the princess by the hand and kisses her on both cheeks and tells her he is delighted with her.

I stand back, as modest as a little flower, but as green with envy as a spike of grass at all the praise being showered on the dull creature; but then he turns to me and bends down to whisper in my ear. “And you, sweetheart, dance like a little angel. Any partner of yours would look the better for being at your side. Will you ever dance for me, d’you think? Just on your own, for my pleasure?”

And I, looking up at him, fluttering my eyelashes down as if I am overwhelmed by him, say: “Oh, Your Grace! I should quite forget my steps if I were to dance for you. I would have to be guided, every step of the way. You would have to lead me wherever you wanted.”

So he says: “Pretty little thing, I know where I would lead you, if I could.”

Oh, do you? I think. Well, you naughty old man. Can’t muster a salute for your own wife and yet whispering to me.

The king steps back and leads the Princess Mary back to the queen; the musicians strike a chord, and the young men of the court step forward for their partners. I feel a hand take mine, and I turn around with my eyes cast down as if I am shy at being asked. “No need to trouble yourself with that,” says my uncle Norfolk coldly. “I want a word with you.”

Rather shocked that it is not handsome young Thomas Culpepper, I let him escort me to the side of the chamber. There is Lady Rochford, as if waiting, of course she is waiting, and I am between the two of them and my heart sinks down into my little dancing shoes; I am sure, I am certain-sure that he is going to send me home for flirting with the king.

“What d’you think?” he asks Lady Rochford over my head.

“Uncle, I am innocent,” I say, but no one pays any attention to me.

“Possible,” she says.

“I’d say certain,” he returns.

They both look at me as if I were a cygnet for the carving.

“Katherine, you have taken the king’s eye,” my uncle says.

“I have done nothing,” I squeak. “Uncle, I swear I am innocent.” I give a little gasp when I hear myself. I am thinking of Anne Boleyn, who said those very words to him and found no mercy. “Please…” I whisper. “Please, I beg you… Truly I have done nothing…”

“Keep your voice down,” says Lady Rochford, glancing around, but nobody is paying us any attention, nobody is going to call me away.

“You have taken his fancy; now you have to take his heart,” he goes on, as if I had said nothing. “You have done beautifully so far; but he is a man of a certain age and he doesn’t want a little slut on his knee. He likes to fall in love; he likes the pursuit better than the capture. He wants to think he is courting a girl of unblemished reputation.”

“I am! Truly, I am! Unblemished!”

“You have to lead him on and bring him on and yet forever draw back.”

I wait, I have no idea what he wants of me.

“In short he is not just to lust for you; he has to fall in love with you.”

“But why?” I ask. “So that he gets me a good husband?”

My uncle leans forward, his mouth to my ear. “Listen, fool. So that he makes you his wife, his own wife, the next Queen of England.”

My exclamation of surprise is silenced by Lady Rochford, who pinches the back of my hand sharply. “Ow!”

“Listen to your uncle,” she says. “And keep your voice down.”

“But he is married to the queen,” I mutter.

“He can still fall in love with you,” my uncle says. “Stranger things have happened. And he has to know that you are a virgin untouched, a little rose, that you are a good enough girl to be Queen of England.”

I glance back toward the woman who already is the Queen of England. She is smiling down at the Lady Elizabeth, who is doing a little hopping dance in time to the music. The king is tapping his good foot in time to the beat. Even Princess Mary looks happy.

“Perhaps not this year, perhaps not next,” my uncle says. “But you must keep the king interested, and you must lead him into honorable love. Anne Boleyn led him on and held him off, and kept him coming on for six years, and she started when he was in love with his wife. This is not the work of a day. This is a masterpiece; it will be your life’s work. You are not to give him the least idea that he could make you his mistress. He has to honor you, Katherine, as if you were a young lady fit only for marriage. Can you do that?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “He is king. Doesn’t he know everybody’s thoughts anyway? Doesn’t God tell him?”

“God help us, the girl is an idiot,” my uncle mutters. “Katherine, he is a man like any other, only now, in his old age, more suspicious and more vindictive than most. He has enjoyed an easier life than most; he has been idle for all his days. He has had kindness everywhere he has ever gone, no one has said no to him since he got rid of Katherine of Aragon. He is used to having his own way in everything. This is the man you have to delight, a man brought up to indulgence. You have to make him think you are special; he is surrounded by women who pretend to adore him. You have to do something special. You have to make him aroused and yet keep his hands off you. This is what I am asking you to do. You can have new gowns and Lady Rochford’s help, but this is what I want. Can you do it?”

“I can try,” I say doubtfully. “But what happens then? When he is in love and aroused but trusting? What happens then? I can hardly tell him that I am hoping to be queen while I serve the queen.”

“You leave that to me,” he says. “You do your part, and I will do mine. But you have to do your part. Just as you are: but a little more, a little more warmly. I want you to bring him on.”

I hesitate. I am longing to say yes, I am longing for the gifts that will come my way and the fuss that everyone will make of me if I am seen to take the king’s eye. But Anne Boleyn, my cousin, this man’s niece, must have felt that, too. He may have given her the very same advice, and look where it got her. I don’t know how much of a part he played in helping her to the throne, nor whether he helped her onto the scaffold. I don’t know if he will take better care of me than he did of her. “What if I can’t do it?” I ask. “What if something goes wrong?”

He smiles down at me. “Are you telling me that you doubt for a moment that you can make any man fall in love with you?”

I try to keep my face grave, but my own vanity is too much for me and I smile back at him. “Not really,” I say.