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“A midsummer wedding, perhaps?” the duke of Norfolk suggested, eyeing Robert Radcliffe, earl of Essex and new Lord Great Chamberlain, across the table.
“That’s too soon,” Essex responded, looking noncommittally at a parchment in his hand. “Though we expect to receive word any day now regarding the negotiations with the queen’s family, it is unreasonable to expect the king to officially annul his marriage to Anne of Cleves until the end of July.”
“A fall wedding, then,” the duke growled irritably.
“Nay, Norfolk. Much too late for king’s liking.”
Catherine Howard picked up her cup of wine and glared petulantly at the two men huddled at one end of the table. Her uncle and the Lord Chamberlain were two of the dullest old men alive—she was convinced of it. Staring at the Lord Chamberlai
