Stepmothers – Reflections of the two Princesses upon the remarriages of Henry VIII
Mary
Anne Boleyn -1536
She was a witch. An accursed sorceress who bewitched my father, and made him unable to be held accountable for his actions. Yes he denied the validity of his marriage to my mother, yes he stripped me of my title, my rightful title of Princess of Wales, yes he married her and had her crowned in a blaze of glory - all the glory he could afford, but he can be forgiven. He had run mad back then, run mad with unsatisfied lust, with driving passion.
She, on the other hand, had not, and as such, can never be forgiven. She knew what she was doing when she charmed him away from my mother's bed, away from my mother's side, and persuaded him to wed her. Wed her and bed her, as if they were truly man and wife, luring him with promises of his longed-for son. Anne Boleyn was playing for the throne all along, even when my father didn't realise it, and look what it brought her. Nothing but her just desserts. She failed to deliver on her promise; she failed to give my father a son, and now she is dead, her captivating dark head struck from her body, her body rotting beneath the floor of Saint Peter ad Vincula chapel, and her daughter, her clever beautiful little daughter, my bastard sister, finally recognised for what she really is – a child born out of wedlock.
My father, meanwhile, is courting his latest sweetheart, mistress Jane Seymour, formerly one of Anne's ladies. There are rumours that Anne died to make room for her in my father's bed, that she will become the next Queen. I hope there is truth in them, for England still needs an heir, and she seems the perfect woman to give us one.
Jane Seymour - 1537
She will be missed. Sorely missed. She is dead, dead of that accursed disease, the childbed fever. She, the sweetest and luckiest of my father's wives, never lived to reap the rewards of giving my father his heart's desire – a strong and lusty son and heir. My father has declared Court mourning, even here at Hampton Court Palace, where my infant brother, the Prince of Wales, Edward Tudor, suckles strongly and thrives more with every passing day. My father has had Jane interred in St George's chapel at Windsor Castle. He gave her a state funeral fit for a Queen, but he himself did not attend. He wished to be alone with his grief.
I attended though. In fact, I was Chief mourner, for I too will miss her. Jane was a good friend to me during her brief marriage to my father. It was she who had me welcomed back to Court and given a household of my own, as befits a King's daughter. She encouraged my father to return to the Catholic faith in deed as well as in word, and she had me named Godmother to my brother, Prince Edward. Through her, I was finally given something I that I longed for so much – my father's paternal affection. For years, while my father danced to Anne Boleyn's scandalous tune, I was starved of it, denied even the sight of my father, and was never even supposed to write to my mother, the true Queen of England. Jane changed all that. It was too late to help my mother, but she could, and did, encourage my father to reconcile himself with me, once I had signed the Oath of Succession. For that, I will be eternally loyal to her memory.
Anne of Cleves - 1540
Father married her because of the political advantages, I know that, and she never managed to improve my situation the way Queen Jane did before she died, but then, she was only Queen for six short months. I admire her, admire her for dealing with this shameful affair so well, and for keeping her head, unlike the first Anne.
She is more a Queen than that silly young minx who has captured my father's heart will ever be. To me, she will forever be a friend, and if, God forbid, Edward should die without heirs, and my father finds it impossible to father a second son, there is every chance that I myself will ascend the Throne of England. If I do, Anne, who is now known as "The King's sister" will be one of the first ladies I invite to stay with me at Court. This I vow, as God is my witness.
Katherine Howard - 1542
She is dead now and I am glad of it. I would never tell my father, but I am glad nonetheless. She was far too young, too silly to ever make a good Queen. In her defence, she was Catholic like me, and pushed into this marriage before she could truly think for herself, and I suppose she was kind enough, but nevertheless, I strongly disliked her. My last Christmas at Court was a nightmare. Little Kitty reigned supreme in my father's heart then, and I was forced to bend the knee to her, and to call her "Mother". Mother! As if that vain, merry, soft-hearted girl could ever have been a mother to me! She must have been five years younger than me, at the very least, and ten or twenty when it came to what she'd experienced in the facts of life.
I did it though. I had to, if I wanted to stay in her good graces, and as such, remain favoured by my father. I did it, successfully masking my contempt for her by my outward show of loyalty, but all the while, I felt painfully embarrassed on my father's behalf.
People say that my sister Elizabeth, Anne Boleyn's daughter, and as such, Kitty's cousin, has been truly shocked by the Queen's beheading. They say that she had to be given a sleeping draught to calm her, and that she has sworn that she will never marry, but I do not believe such claims. Elizabeth is a King's daughter, bastard or no bastard, and as such, she is bound to wed. She may well have been upset by the execution, however, for Kitty was kind to her, and she seemed to take pleasure in her company. I do not have such feelings. I suppressed my abhorrence of my father's fifth wedding because it would be prudent to do so, but now it has met its inevitable end, and I am relieved. Please God that if my father remarries yet again, he makes a more practical choice when it comes to his next bride.
Katherine Parr – 1548
Lady Katherine Parr is dead. Dead in childbirth – the child being her first natural descendant, for she alone of my father's wives remarried after his death. I miss her now, for she was always good to me. She was not a maternal figure to me – not the way she was to my siblings, for I was too old to need one, but she carried on restoring me to my father's favour the way Queen Jane had done, and she never held my belief in the one true faith against me, Lutheran though she was. She healed my father's broken family as best she could, and she was a keen scholar too, publishing at least two religious works of her own whilst she was married to my father. I prayed for her when my father died, when she married Sir Thomas Seymour and when she became pregnant with his child.
All in vain. She is dead, and nothing can ever bring her back. However, I will never forget her, nor what she did for me, for it was through her influence that both Elizabeth and I were officially restored to my father's line of succession. Her child survives – a daughter named Mary like myself. I shall take an interest in the child as she grows. Perhaps I can repay part of the debt I owe Katherine Parr by caring for her orphaned child the way she cared for me and my younger siblings. We shall see. I shall certainly try.
AN All right, all right. I know I should be updating my WIP, but I couldn't resist this! Read and Review - next up - Princess Elizabeth