The Rose

Court was an intriguing place. The women loved to gossip, the men were no better, although they also enjoyed pursuing women to the point of harassment.

Jane Howard adored dancing. Her only setback was the men who thought that it was appropriate to lay their hands on a lady's bottom. She smacked their hands away, and was tempted to slap them across the face, but the King sat on his throne, watching the court. She did not want to draw attention to herself.

It didn't help that the man she was dancing with was the King's friend and Chief Gentleman of the Privy Chamber, Sir Francis Bryan.

"Lady Jane," he addressed, wearing a smirk on his face, "I know that you love the attention. Secretly, of course. A lady cannot show her provocation, but perhaps we can go to my chambers and I shall see it for myself."

Sir Francis was a dark-haired man, who wore a patch on his left eye. He lost his eye in a tournament in Greenwich. Her father, Thomas Howard, called him unruly and improper. He was Jane's cousin, but that did not seem to matter to one-eyed man.

Jane gaped at the horror. He wanted to deflower her! "No!" Jane shrieked, gaining the attention of many courtiers around them. Francis chuckled and Jane lowered her voice. "I shall not go to your chambers with you. Do you mistake me for a common whore?"

"No," Francis started, "I mistook you for a self-righteous whore who has a stick so far up her arse that the shit is coming out her mouth now."

Jane scoffed. "Well, that's certainly a clever way to get a woman into bed with you. Your use of vulgar insults is charming me to no end."

Francis grinned. "I know it is."

She rolled her eyes and spun around. A hand clasping her wrist forbade her from going any further. "Let me go," she growled.

He leaned in to whisper into her ear. "A time will come when you'll beg for it. When you're married to your pompous, idiot husband with pompous, idiot children, you will desire me more than anything. And I might not be so kind to give it to you."

Jane pulled her wrist away from him, giving him a look of pure loathing before storming off.

"He's arrogant," Jane ranted to her cousin, Mary Boleyn. Mary watched her youngest child and only son, Henry Carey. "He believes that I shall want to engage in coitus with him."

Mary didn't reply, she was too busy gushing over Harry. It was rumoured that three-year-old Henry was the King's bastard, as well as his elder sister, Catherine. Mary would never disclose that information, Jane's guess was that the two children were his. Henry shared the King's red hair and his fiery temper.

Jane had been spending a lot of time with Mary Carey (née Boleyn) since Thomas, her father, began orchestrating Cousin Anne's ascent to the throne by King Henry's side. Jane didn't think Anne was pretty enough to catch the King's eye – her only pleasing feature being her enticing, dark eyes – but she was proven wrong when his majesty fell head over heels for her.

She tapped her foot impatiently against the cold, nursery floor. Mary continued to ignore her. "Hello? Are you even listening, Mary?" She still didn't answer, speaking in a non-existent tongue to her toddler. Jane threw her hands in the air in annoyance. "Why do I even bother?"

She stormed out of the nursery and into the halls. The palace was enormous and had taken her weeks to adjust to, even months. She loved court. The atmosphere was always joyful, and there was always something she could entertain herself with. She was a lady in waiting to Lady Anne, who had become the Queen of England in everything but name.

Jane spent most of her day in Lady Anne's service, sewing, embroidering, reading or even just talking with the King's mistress. She never met Catherine of Aragon, the King's wife who was now living on her own in some castle, Jane didn't care enough to find out. The Queen was supposed to be extremely religious and pious, as well as stubborn. She refused to surrender to the King's demands, believing herself to be his true wife, even though she was married to his brother. King Henry found a text in the Bible… everything else was a blur. Her father told her about the sequence of events numerous times, but it seemed to just go in one ear and out the other.

"Have you had any admirers, Lady Jane?" the Lady Anne asked her one day.

She looked up from her embroidering. Her mistress rarely spoke to her, preferring her aunt, Anne Shelton – better known as 'Nan' – and other older relatives.

"Not really, my lady," she replied, laying the piece of cloth on her lap.

Anne grinned. "Don't be shy. I am sure a lady as beautiful as you has gained many admirers. I see Sir Francis Bryan is interested, though I hope you don't reciprocate his advances."

Jane shook her head. "Just a little play, that's all. He's convinced that I will want to-" She stopped herself. It wasn't appropriate to speak so vulgarly to the Lady Anne. "Become… intimate with him."

Anne laughed softly and leaned in. She sat on the chair in front of Jane. "The best ladies make them wait. At least wait until he has proposed."

She went wide-eyed. She hadn't even thought of doing… that… with Francis Bryan. "I… I never… my lady… the thought…"

"Don't worry," she jested, an amused smile graced her lips. "I shan't tell your father. He has high hopes for you. I wouldn't be surprised if you were to wed a duke."

Jane smiled. She always wanted to become a duchess, like her mother. Although, her mother's position wasn't one to be in. Jane's father had taken a mistress, Bess Holland, two years ago and since then their marriage had deteriorated. Thomas Howard was a cruel man to his wife. Jane remembered when Elizabeth, her mother, was recovering from the birth of Mary, Jane's younger sister. The Duke dragged her mother by the hair around the house and wounded her with a dagger. Jane never did find out what she had done wrong.

"You shall become very beautiful," Anne started again. "But beauty without brains gets a woman nowhere. Look at Mary, twice a royal mistress, once a wife and now simply a disgraced whore." Jane suppressed a gasp at her unfiltered language. "Can you speak French?"

Jane nodded. "My governess taught me. I am not very good. Languages have never been my forte."

"Nonsense," she said. "French is a lovely, eloquent language. All of the intelligent ladies speak it. How do you ever hope to find a good husband if you do not engage in educating pursuits?"

Jane never saw the need for 'educating pursuits'. She was pretty, that was all that mattered. She knew that she was beautiful. Her hair was curly and blonde, her skin was pale and clear and her eyes were brown – doe eyes, her father branded them. Thomas Howard had not been able to shoot a deer since the birth of his eldest child.

"I can dance, my lady," Jane replied, "what more does one need?"

Since that day, Lady Anne hadn't spoken to her. They had conflicting personalities. Jane believed that beauty was of the utmost importance, Lady Anne did not. There was nothing more to it. She wasn't going to waste her time sobbing over one person who liked her.

Even if that woman was her idol.

Jane's posture was much straighter. The way she carried herself was so akin to the way the Lady Anne carried herself that even the most imperceptive of men now noticed her. Jane revelled in the attention.

Within the length of six months, Jane had become much more womanly. Her hips were more prominent and her breasts had grown much larger. Her hair stretched to her mid-back in an abundance of blonde curls.

Thomas Howard bought her many dresses, most of them were in the French fashion and in the brightest of colours. Jane loved the colour pink, with blue coming in a close second.

He watched his daughter dance with the nobles. Thomas had received many letters, focused on the marriage of his eldest daughter. Each time he replied with a line similar to 'it shall be considered'. He wanted to find the best match for his daughter. She didn't deserve a simple earl or baron, she deserved a duke. Beauty like hers could not go to waste.

"Your daughter has many admirers," Thomas Boleyn, Viscount Rochford and the Earl of Wiltshire and Ormond, spoke from beside him. "Almost as much as my Anne."

Boleyn spoke haughtily. Thomas never did like the man who married his sister, but unfortunately, he had to make due with him. Who else could he plot with?

"Jane receives attention by her beauty alone," Thomas bit back, "Anne is required to act like a French harlot in order to gain male attention."

Boleyn snapped his head over to meet Thomas' daring gaze. "You do not know who you are insulting, Howard."

"Indeed I do," he replied, smirking. "You are an earl, I am a duke. I am higher than you, Boleyn. I do suggest you respect your superiors."

Boleyn looked wounded, but then the corners of his lips curled upwards in a cruel smirk. "Oh, Howard, but my daughter is to be the Queen of England. Your daughter will be married to duke with little importance compared to a king."

Thomas turned his head to look at the King. Beside him, sat the Lady Anne, a look of dismay and utter unhappiness etched on her face. King Henry was not speaking to his wife to be, but rather looking into the crowd, watching someone.

He followed his train of sight. Thomas was surprised when it landed on his daughter. He smiled as Thomas Boleyn gaped at the sight.

The games had truly begun.

Author's Note: What do you guys think? Should I continue it? Jane won't be completely taking Anne's place in this. There will be some changes.