female who takes to her bed at the least excuse?" She took a deep breath, hoping to ease the vague feeling of nausea that plagued her. "Besides, I wouldn't miss this coronation for anything."
Andrew threw up his hands and sighed. "What am I to do with you?"
"That's easy." She gave him an enchanting smile, but he only narrowed his eyes in return. "You'll take me to Westminster, Lord Sandhurst, and allow me to enjoy the pleasure of being presented as your wife."
"You'll tell me if you feel the slightest discomfort?"
"Did I not swear?" Micheline glanced back at Mary, who was taking in the scene with wide eyes. "Don't you think that my husband looks magnificent today, Mary?"
"Oh—oh, yes, but of course, my lady!" This was a major understatement, for the girl had been casting surreptitious glances of awed admiration his way all morning. Lord Sandhurst was clad in a slashed, tailored doublet and breeches of rich amber velvet sewn with gold thread and set with diamonds. The colors served to emphasize his tanned skin, warm brown eyes, and rich brown hair.
"Do you imagine that you can change the subject by appealing to my vanity?" Sandhurst was asking his wife, half amused by such an obvious ploy. Rising, he crossed over to look down into her eyes.
"A valiant effort, you must admit." She laughed.
He shook his head, smiling. Mary had finished with her mistress's hair and now stood back to admire the effect.
"You look glorious," he murmured, softening in spite of himself.
Micheline glanced in the mirror. Her gown, of soft violet satin set with sapphires and diamonds, parted in front to reveal a petticoat of sapphire silk lavishly embroidered with gold thread. The neckline was low and flattering, and the sleeves were puffed, divided by golden ribbons, and slashed to reveal more sapphire silk. Micheline wore a girdle of gold filigree set with diamonds that grazed her hips, from which hung a cordeliere with a small mirror attached. Her only other jewelry consisted of necklaces of delicate gold and pearls, small sapphire earrings, and her wedding band.
Sandhurst's warm gaze traveled over his wife's small waist, the curves of her breasts and throat, then lingered on her face. He adored the little cleft in her chin, her sensuous mouth, the tilt of her nose, and the eloquent beauty of her iris-blue eyes with their thick lashes. Reaching out, he brushed the backs of his fingers over Micheline's cheekbone and smiled when he saw a blush spread under his touch.
"It is I who will be afflicted with vanity if you continue to stare at me so," she whispered.
"The diamonds and sapphires in your hair dim in comparison to your eyes, my love. You're the loveliest woman in England."
"My nose is too short," Micheline protested weakly.
This statement, combined with the sight of little Mary bumping into furniture as she attempted to back out the door, drew a chuckle from Andrew. "Nay. It is perfect." He bent to kiss it, then grazed her parted lips. "Perfect because it is part of you."
* * *
The day passed in a blur for Micheline. She stood beside her husband in Westminster Abbey, watching as the new queen advanced up the aisle. Anne wore a robe and surcoat of purple velvet trimmed with ermine. Her train was carried by the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, and the laps of her robe were held by four bishops. Micheline recognized the man who walked in front, bearing the crown of St. Edward, as the Duke of Suffolk, high constable of England, who had tried with all his might since Cardinal Wolsey's fall to keep this event from happening. Anne's lips curved triumphantly as she stared at the duke's back.
No pains had been taken to disguise the queen's five-month pregnancy. Micheline had remarked on this to Andrew the night before, and he had explained that Henry VIII felt his subjects might approve the marriage because Anne would give England a prince. Apparently the king would not consider the possibility that he might have sired another daughter like Mary, Catherine's offspring.
At the high altar, Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, spoke in Latin, then anointed Anne on her head and breast. Slowly the heavy, jeweled crown was placed over her hair. She was given a scepter to hold in her right hand, a rod of ivory with the dove for her left. Victoriously the newly crowned queen of England turned to face the assembled guests.
"Well," Micheline whispered doubtfully, "I hope she'll be happy. She's certainly