embrace. One of his hands came up to hold the back of her head, while the other completely rounded her waist, and then their smiling lips met. It was a gentle, loving, sensuous kiss, filled with promise. Micheline felt weak with elation.
They stayed in the church to drink from a loving cup with wine sops, then accepted the first flurry of congratulations from Henry, Anne, and the other guests. Only Cicely, Iris, and the Duke of Aylesbury held back. The two females watched the bride and groom with resentment, but the sharp-boned old man was staring at his new daughter-in-law with tears in his eyes. Finally, when Andrew glanced over questioningly, the duke came forward. First, he extended a hand to his son, then turned to Micheline.
"You look every bit as beautiful as my Jessica when she wore that gown thirty-five years ago. Buttercups and bird's-eye primroses..." His voice was thick with emotion. "I'll wager she's watching right now and is as proud as I am to welcome you to our family, my lady. My son is a fortunate man."
Sandhurst felt a long-forgotten stirring of emotion as he watched his father. When Micheline replied by kissing the old duke's parchmentlike cheek, it seemed a symbolic gesture of peace. Somehow, Andrew managed to speak.
"I have you to thank, Father," he said softly. "You brought us together."
Part IV
Now welcome, night, thou night so long expected,
That long day's labour dost at last defray,
And all my cares, which cruel love collected,
Hast summed in one, and cancelled for aye:
Spread thy broad wing over my love and me,
That no man may us see,
And in thy sable mantle us enwrap,
From fear of peril and foul horror free.
Let no false treason seek us to entrap,
Nor any dread disquiet once annoy
The safety of our joy.
—Edmund Spenser 1552?-1599
Chapter 30
April 20, 1533
The wedding party adjourned to the great hall, a long, magnificent room with an oak-beamed ceiling, a huge fireplace with an elaborately carved overmantle, and white stone walls hung with priceless tapestries.
The marriage ceremony now seemed but a prelude to the real purpose of the day: serious gluttony and merrymaking. The next few hours passed in a blur for Micheline. She could scarcely hear the conversation at her table over the shouts of laughter. Meanwhile, dish after dish was offered, and it seemed that most of those present partook of them all. There was oyster pie; lettuce stuffed with forcemeat; spinach froise;; venison stewed in beer; salad of watercress, herbs, and cabbage; honey-glazed capon stuffed with apple, raisins, and almonds; and fried artichokes flavored with orange. More dishes were passed that Micheline declined, plus bowls of juicy new strawberries and an assortment of cheeses.
Throughout the feast, wine and ale flowed freely. Micheline sipped fragrant Burgundy wine from a jeweled goblet which intensified the currents of warmth she felt when Andrew's lean-muscled thigh pressed through her skirts under the table. Every time their hands brushed, color stained Micheline's cheeks. Even during their first supper together at Fontainebleau, she had not been so undone by his nearness. Shyness mingled with excitement in her breast when she thought fleetingly, constantly, of what lay ahead for them that evening.
Dozens of toasts were proposed, including several by Rupert Topping, who appeared to have imbibed too freely. At one point he staggered to his feet and shouted, "I propose a toast to the most splendid brother any Englishman has ever known!" He took a hearty swig, spilling on his doublet of purple satin, while the similarly overfestive guests drank along with him. "And a toast to Lady Sandhurst, whose beauty and charm make her the only woman in the world worthy to become my brother's wife!"
"Hear, hear!" exclaimed the king, drinking heartily. He and Anne Boleyn were seated across the table from the bride and groom. There had been little chance for conversation, but now, as the toasts subsided, Henry leaned forward, his beefy face ruddy with wine, and addressed Micheline. "I can scarce find words to tell you how pleased we are that you are now an English marchioness, Lady Sandhurst!"
Micheline made a demure reply, then looked at her husband with radiant eyes.
"In fact," Henry went on determinedly, "I wish that the two of you would consider traveling to France in the near future! What attractive ambassadors you would make! What do you say, my lady?"
Sandhurst intervened at this point. "We mean no disrespect, sire, but as I have already explained to you, Micheline and I would like to remain in England for the time