Catherine was incapable of hiding any emotion she ever had. Anne of Cleves once noted that “she was too much a child to deny herself any sweet thing she wanted.” Which is fine, but do not put anything in writing. The fact that she was composing love letters at all, while married to a man who had famously killed her cousin for being an adulterous witch, strikes me as a kind of stupidity akin to women in horror movies walking into abandoned factories all by themselves.
