A/N: Hey all! This is my first Tudors fic. I actually started it last year when I first started watching the DVDs with my roommate so I started it before I knew a lot about what was going on. That said, this is SO historically AU it's ridiculous. But hey, if you can't manipulate historical figures on fanfiction, where can you, right? So anyway, yes, I know now that Charles Brandon was married, and I know that Princess Mary would more than likely NEVER do what I'm having her do in this fic and there's probably no real time frame where this could have taken place, but hey...they are two of my favorite characters and I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it. So I'm going to shut up now because if I don't, this A/N may be longer than the fic. And I can't have that.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Seriously. I am a poor college student who has, like, zero possessions to my name. So don't sue. I have nothing to give you.
Shout-out: To the loverly sw1m4l1fe for being my beta and catching all my stupid mistakes AND for introducing me to the word "shan't" :) you're my hero!
A Beautiful Mistake
Charles Brandon, the Duke of Suffolk, sat alone at a table in the front of the grand ballroom, idly swirling what was left of his wine around his silver chalice as he watched what seemed like his best friend's entire court dance gaily before him.
He didn't feel much like taking part in the night's festivities; he was only there out of obligation to his king and to keep up his appearances at court. Charles knew that there were plenty of young women around to keep him occupied, but he honestly could not care less. Truth be told, chasing around harlots was growing rather old.
Mary Tudor, the now unacknowledged Princess of England, sat alone at a table in a corner of the grand ballroom, idly twisting her crucifix necklace around one of her small fingers as she watched what seemed like her father's entire court dance gaily around her.
She didn't feel much like taking part in the night's festivities; she knew she was only invited this night out of a sense of obligation from her father's new wife. Mary knew that her father could not care less if she was there or not, which, to her, was certainly not a cause for celebration.
Heaving a heavy sigh, Charles allowed his glance to wander from his wine back to the crowded ballroom. The sight in front of him was hardly different from the one he had seen hundreds of times before: men and women of the court dressed in bright colors and taking part in the three D's of King Henry's court: dancing, drinking, and debauchery. Then suddenly, like Moses parting the Red Sea, the crowd split into two lines on opposite sides of the room to prepare for a new dance.
And then he saw her.
Sitting alone at a table off to the side was a young woman dressed completely in black; a dark contrast to the rest of the ladies of the court who were dressed in vibrantly colored gowns, most likely to garner the attentions of the young men in the room. This woman, however, judging by the highly apathetic look on her face, Charles guessed she would have rather been anywhere else at the moment, and that interested him greatly.
And although she could not have been more than twenty years old or so, Charles could not remember the last time he had seen a woman so remarkable. At first glance, she was not classically attractive, but the more he studied her from his seat across the room, the more appealing she became.
Sure, her eyes may have been set slightly too close together on her face and her nose, perhaps, was a bit too wide, but she seemed to have an air of mystery about her, making her all the more attractive. Charles decided he had to investigate this further.
Never taking his eyes off the woman, he slid off his chair and made his way through to the crowd. When he reached her table, he cleared his throat to announce his presence. "May I sit?" he asked, looking at her expectantly.
At the sudden sound of an unfamiliar voice next to her, Mary let a small gasp of surprise. And once she turned to face whoever had joined her, she felt her breath leave her completely. Standing before her was none other than the Duke of Suffolk. Even though she had been away from court most of her life, news of the Duke's scandalous nature had reached her anyway. And now that he was standing before her, in the flesh, she could understand why he would hold such a reputation.
From his short dark curls on his head, to his strong jaw sprinkled with stubble, to his sensuous lips, and to his eyes, oh lord to those gorgeous blue eyes which somehow seemed to be flecked with gold, she could not imagine a more perfect-looking man.
Realizing she may have been staring a moment too long, Mary quickly gathered herself and finally answered the Duke's inquiry. "Of course, Your Grace," she said smiling, as she gestured to the seat next to her with a dainty hand.
"Pray, tell me, why I have not I seen you at court before? Surely I would have noticed a woman as striking as you," Charles said, looking directly into Mary's eyes.
Mary felt her heart quicken, but she was determined not to allow herself to be undone by his charm, as so many countless women before her had. So she simply smiled and answered as politely-and as calmly -as possible. "Your Grace is too kind. But I am afraid your flattery is completely unwarranted. I believe myself to be unworthy to receive such laudatory compliments, especially from a man with such high a stature as yourself."
Charles was surprised at the evenness of her answer, "Well, I can assure you that you are most certainly worthy," he said, shameless running his eyes up and down her body, pausing for a moment at her chest where her crucifix was nestled between her breasts, rising and falling with each of her breaths.
His look did not go unnoticed by Mary, who felt color begin to rise in her normally pale cheeks. "I beseech you to cease the praises, Your Grace, for you are making me flush and that is something which is most improper on a lady."
"I dare say you wear it well," he answered, pulling the left corner of his lips up into a tiny smirk, his eyes studying her with an obvious intensity.
"Your Grace-" Mary began sternly. His charms were cute at first, but she was soon growing tired of being ogled like a piece of meat.
"Right. Forgive me, I shan't say any more," Charles amended, sounding sincere. "But I do have to ask, you repeatedly address me as 'Your Grace'. Am I correct in saying my reputation precedes me?" he asked curiously.
Marry nodded. "It does. After all, who at court has not heard of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, the infamous phil- " she had begun to rattle off all the rumors that she had heard from her ladies until she remembered that she was in the company of the subject of those rumors and therefore had to be careful with her words.
She looked at Charles, an uneasy expression on her face. "Oh, please. Do go on," Charles said, with a slight laugh. "I am eager to hear what opinions the court has of me. The infamous what?" he asked her, clearly entertained.
Feeling pressure under his gaze, Mary answered with the first thing that came to mind. "Philosopher," she said, in what she hoped was a convincing matter.
Charles out-rightly laughed at the absurdness of her answer. Mary, somewhat offended, frowned slightly. Seeing the look on her face, he quickly composed himself. "I beg your pardon, my lady, I do not mean to belittle your comment by laughing, but I am afraid I am known as many things, but a philosopher is hardly one of them. Are you quite sure you didn't mean 'philanderer'?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.
"I suspect 'philosopher' was not very persuasive, was it?" she asked wrinkling her nose, knowing full well what the answer to her question was.
"Not particularly, no."
Mary let out a frustrated sigh. "You could grant me some recognition you know, it is not particularly simple to think on one's feet when one is being stared at like that," she said, throwing her hands on her slim hips.
"Like what exactly?" Charles asked, genuinely curious.
She paused for a moment, considering the best way to phrase what she wanted to say. But after a moment of deliberation she decided just to go for it. If she could speak her mind to anyone, it would be the Duke of Suffolk. "I am sure you are very well aware of what I mean, Your Grace. Do you deny bestowing that same, ravishing look of yours upon countless ladies of this court just to get them to come to bed with you?" she asked, a pointed smile on her face.
Charles was taken aback by the bluntness of her answer. A woman had not been so honest with him since his wife Margaret, something which he missed. "I believe I am speechless," he said, smiling.
"Which I believe is a first of some sorts for you, is it not?" Mary shot back, a sardonic smirk playing on her lips.
He was impressed. It took a lot to keep up with him, and this young woman was doing it effortlessly. The longer he sat with her, the gladder he was that he approached her in the first place.
Hoping to keep the conversation flowing, Charles scooted his chair closer to hers and leaned in to her. "It seems that you know many things about me, yet I still have not had the pleasure of hearing your name."
Before hearing this, it had not occurred to Mary that the Duke did not know who she was. However, it did make sense; she had not been in court since she was quite young and no one would have expected her to be invited back. There would be no reason for the Duke to recognize her, and this she could use to her advantage. She would not have to be reserved on anything.
"It's Lady Mary, Your Grace," she answered, offering her hand politely.
Charles took it, and kissed it softly. "And is there a family name to accompany that, Lady Mary?"
"I am afraid not. I have no family to speak of."
A sympathetic expression crossed Charles's face. "I am sorry to hear that."
Mary waved him off politely. "Your apologies are most appreciative but also unnecessary. It has been that way for quite a while so as you might guess, I am moderately accustomed to it by now."
Charles was silent for a moment. It was hard for him to believe the way in which a woman as young as her was speaking. "If you would allow me to say so, it appears that you are insightful beyond your years," he mused, studying her carefully.
"You may," Mary said, flushing once again beneath his gaze and at the close proximity she now realized their bodies were to each other. "And I'm afraid that I cannot take any credit for that which you praise me for. It is the result of many long years with only the best tutors."
"So what you're saying is, you have no family but still somehow manage to employ top tutors? That is certainly unusual," he said, finally backing away from her and settling back in his chair.
"I am an unusual woman, Your Grace," she said, daring herself to look him directly in those gorgeous eyes.
"No. No, not unusual," he answered quietly. "I would go with…intriguing," he said, his voice becoming gruff for a moment as he found it getting harder and harder to act like a gentleman around this woman.
"'Intriguing'," Mary echoed, trying the word out. "Yes, that does sound better, does it not?" she asked happily, not catching the tone at which Charles had said the word.
Not allowing himself to be deterred by her unintended dismissal, Charles pressed on. "Indeed it does. But tell me, Lady Mary, why aren't you out there having a good time with all the others, honoring our new queen?" he asked, nodding his head in the direction of congested dance floor.
Mary let out a less-than-ladylike snort which was accompanied with an even less proper eye roll. "Where would be the point in that? If His Majesty continues at such a pace as he is now, we shall be celebrating yet another new queen in a matter of weeks."
Charles eyes grew wide, both with shock and admiration. "You speak with such candor, Lady Mary, a trait which I have always admired in a woman, but I must advise you to do so with prudence. If anyone were to overhear you, it may be considered treason."
"I think I shall like to take my chances," she said confidently. She knew her father did not think twice about getting rid of the wives he was displeased with, but she also knew he would never do that to neither her nor her half-sister Elizabeth. He still loved his daughters even though he had them both proclaimed as "bastards".
Charles, still not knowing precisely who he was talking to, took her words of rebelliousness against the king as gumption, which impressed him greatly.
He leaned forward and slung his arm across the back of Mary's chair, bringing his face close to hers. "Really? That's quite intriguing as well. Are you a woman who enjoys taking risks?" he asked pointedly.
This time, the hidden meaning in his words was all too obvious to Mary. And this time, she did not mind. "If the risk is worth taking," she said, inching herself even closer to the Duke.
"And what would deem something worthy?" Charles asked, brushing a stray piece of Mary's hair that had gotten loose back behind her ear.
Mary closed her eyes briefly, savoring the rough feeling of his hand running over her soft skin, before answering. "The name in which it is done. God. Family…Love," she said throatily.
"Is that all?" Charles asked, his fingers now trailing across her exposed collarbone.
Feeling the shivers running down her spine, Mary snapped back to reality. What was she doing? If she gave into his advances, she would be no better than the large number of whores who had been there before her. Her mother had instilled in her strict, Catholic values and she was about a moment away from abandoning them. And for what? For one night of passion where she is sure to be tossed aside with the morning trash? No. She was better than that. She had to be logical. She had to regain control of this situation.
"What else is there in this life that is of more importance than those three things?" Mary asked, moving suddenly away from Charles's touch.
Surprised by the abrupt shift in Mary's demeanor, he recoiled, but not enough to back down. "Some would say lust is worth taking a risk for," he said with a sly smirk.
Mary folded her arms across her chest defensively. "Some would say, or you would say?" she asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
"It is true that I am of that opinion, yes," he answered, amused.
"Forgive me, Your Grace, but-"
"Please," Charles held a hand up, interrupting her. "I would say we now know each other well enough for you to call me Charles."
"If you so desire."
Mary, realizing that her choice of words may not have been in the best taste, continued quickly before Charles could throw in yet another innuendo. "Forgive me, Charles, but is it really appropriate to rank lust on the same level as the other three? Lust is nothing more than vulgar, carnal desire which is based solely on each other's physical attractiveness and not at all on mind or spirit, as love is and as what is important."
Charles pursed his lips together, considering her argument. "Is it not lust that leads to love?" he asked thoughtfully.
Now it was Mary's turn to pause as she reflected on his words. True, he was a self-proclaimed philanderer, but there seemed to be a second side to him; one which was introspective and multifaceted. "Well, Charles, it seems as though I was wrong before," she said finally.
"How so?" he asked, knitting his eyebrows in confusion. He was finding it hard to keep track of her mood shifts.
"It seems as though you may be a philosopher of sorts after all," she said honestly.
"Are you softening towards me, My Lady?" he asked, the sly smile of his appearing on his face once again.
She was, but she was not about to admit that to him. "My, you certainly ask a lot of arduous questions," she asked, changing the subject.
Charles knew that her adjustment in topic meant 'yes'. "Would it offend you terribly if I were to ask you to oblige me just once more?"
"I shall think not."
"What is the true reason you are not out there dancing?"
May smiled. "Well, that question is actually quite simple, Charles. You see, no one has asked me," she answered plainly.
"What would you say if I told you I was asking?"
"I'd say you told me that your previous question was to be your last," she quipped.
"You are teasing me," he said, looking at her through narrowed eyes, his voice indication that he was not sure if this was true or not.
"I wouldn't presume to make such assumptions if I were you, Charles," she stated, keeping her voice even.
"Now I know you're joking," Charles decided.
"Am I?" she asked, her blue eyes sparkling.
Suddenly, Charles pushed away from his table, and stood up so that he was towering over Mary. "Are you really going to deny me the pleasure of dancing with a beautiful woman?" he asked, feigning offense.
"I am considering it," she said, trying, and failing, to hide the smile that was beginning to appear on her face.
Then, Charles dropped down to his knees. Mary looked at him in alarm, suddenly becoming re-aware of all the people of court that were around and could easily witness their exchange. "Oh, please tell me you are not going to beg. It really is most unbecoming."
He took her small hand and enveloped it is his. "Lady Mary, will you do me the great honor of allowing me to dance with you?" he proposed theatrically, throwing in a pouty, begging lip for good measure.
For the first time that evening, Mary let out a real, melodious laugh. "Now, how am I supposed to resist that?" she asked gleefully.
Charles looked at her with such intensity that she could see a slight twinkle in his glorious eyes. "You are not meant to…" he answered with a smirk.
He got to his feet and since Mary's hand was still in his, he pulled her up from her seat as well. He led her out to the dance floor and as they turned to face each other to begin the dance, someone suddenly bumped into Mary, causing her to fall into Charles's arms. She landed hard into his body; he could feel her chest rising and falling against his torso. She made no move to disentangle herself from his arms and he made no move to detach her either. They just stood there, in the middle of everyone, eyes locked on each other.
Charles felt his breath catch in his throat. He wanted to make a move, but he had no way of knowing what her response would be, and he did not wish to offend her. Throughout their conversation, she had earned his respect, and he did not want to do anything jeopardize their potential friendship. She would be good for him. He needed someone who would keep him on his toes.
Mary felt her breath catch in her throat. Her body wanted him to make a move, but her conscious was screaming against it. Throughout their conversation, he had earned her respect. Yes, he was incorrigible and salacious but he was also surprisingly pensive. He was her father's best friend and it would be wrong in every way, but at the moment, she could not help but think how right it would feel.
"Would you like to go somewhere a little less crowded?" Charles asked. Mary could only nod, her eyes burning into his with desire.
He steadied her on her feet, and led her from the dance floor, to one of the rooms off of the side of the ballroom.
Shutting the door behind him, Charles turned around to face Mary standing in the middle of the room, breathing heavily, and obviously yearning with need.
Charles ran a strong hand through his hair. "I know this is extremely presumptuous of me, and I in no way would want to pressure you into anything, but-"
Mary crossed the room and cut him off with a swift, hard kiss.
"Does that answer your question, Your Grace?" she asked, her voice suddenly a few octaves lower than normal.
"This could be a grave mistake," Charles said, in disbelief that he was trying to convince an amazing young woman not to go to bed with him.
Mary, however, was not about to be dissuaded so easily. "But it would be oh, so beautiful."
"What about…well, you know-" Charles trailed off, gesturing to the cross situated between her breasts which suddenly seemed to be larger and shining brighter."
Mary twisted the crucifix around so that it was behind her and no longer visible to him. "I pray you, just shut up and kiss me," she said, reaching up and grabbing Charles and enveloping his lips with hers before he could protest any further.
Meanwhile, King Henry was seated upon his throne, gazing out onto the dance floor, scouring the crowd for someone. When he was unsuccessful in his search, he called out to a nearby attendant. "You there!" he shouted, getting his attention.
"Majesty!" he exclaimed when he realized who was addressing him, dropping to his knees.
"Have you seen the Duke of Suffolk? I shall like to speak to him about an important matter."
The attendant pointed to one of the hallways off the ballroom. "I believe he went that way, sire, but I also believe he was not alone."
Henry dismissed the attendant and stood up and headed off in the direction in which he was pointed, ignoring the salutations issued by his subjects as he passed. As he neared a random room, he heard noises, which he, himself, was not unaccustomed to hearing. More often than not, he was the one causing them.
Deciding, however, that he did not care if he interrupted his friend during his latest conquest, he opened the door. He was not surprised by the sight in front of him: Charles's head nestled in a young woman's chest with one hand raked in her hair while the other was journeying underneath her gown while the young woman was moaning in delight. What did surprise him, however, was that the young woman was very familiar to him.
"BRANDON!" The king roared, causing the two to tear apart from each other with a start; Mary pulling down her gown while Charles adjusted his pants.
"Majesty," Charles said, slightly embarrassed, quickly bowing.
"Father," Mary said, her voice devoid of any emotion as she, too, dropped in head in reverence.
Hearing this, Charles head snapped from Henry back to Mary. "Father?!" he exclaimed, his stomach suddenly twisting up with a sinking feeling.
Henry stood in the doorway, glaring at Charles with fire in his eyes. "What in God's name do you think you are doing with my daughter?"
Charles looked from the king, then to Mary, and then back again in a daze. He could not believe what was happening. Why hadn't he made the connection between "Lady Mary" and the king's daughter? While it was true he had made mistakes that had caused him fall out of the king's graces before, he knew this time was unlike any others. This time, he may not recover so easily.