Henry and Catherine did not dance together all that much, however. She noticed the frosty distance he now kept from Catherine but concluded that affairs of state burdened him.
He challenged Amethyst to a game of tennis one afternoon and she accepted, having played a few times on Matthew's court at Kenilworth.
He arrived in a light linen shirt and white breeches over white hose, a striking vision of athletic endurance. He sprinted round the court with his hard muscled legs. His strong arm whacked the ball with a graceful, practiced swing. She was no match for him as he had her dashing to and fro, chasing the ball, barely able to return it. At the end of the match he wiped his brow with a linen towel, laughing as she loped off the court, spent.
“So tennis isn't your game, is it, Lady Amet
