A/N: Hello everyone! This just a bit of 'background' on this story before I actually start. Basically, I watched The Other Boleyn Girl (2008, with Natalie Portman/Scarlett Johansson/Eric Bana) a few nights ago, and was heartbroken when George Boleyn died. It was so sad that such a innocent man died a supposed traitor, not to mention having to dispose of Anne's dead baby and having to marry Jane Parker. The morning after, I was thinking about how unhappy George seemed with Jane and what it might have been if he'd had a happy marriage with someone he cared for, and how this could have affected his end. Then I thought about the short-lived marriage of Anne to Henry Percy, which I'm interested in as well, and what it might have been like to watch the events of their little affair plot out. I knew that the Percys were quite an important and well-to-do family (Thomas Boleyn, in the movie, says he is a 'senior noble') and then it just came to me.
So this is the story of George Boleyn and a Percy girl he falls in love with. Everyone else's lives and the events (most of them...) stay on track. I researched the sisters of Henry Percy but they didn't suit my plan as much as I wanted, so I've wiped out Margaret and Maud Percy and replaced them with Elizabeth (Libby, born 1499, a year after Henry Percy Sr. and Lady Catherine Spencer wed) and Catherine (Cat, born 1504 and twins with Thomas). Henry is still born in 1502, Thomas is born in 1504 still (twins with my fictional Catherine) and Ingelram in 1506 like normal. Catherine/Cat is my heroine.
I hope this isn't too confusing. This isn't the most busy chapter but it lays the foundations down and you meet the most important characters. In the next chapter, we'll skip two years to December 1521, when Cat enters court. I do hope you like it and would adore it if you reviewed with your thoughts and tips. OK, OK, I'll stop rambling - here you go!
I - The First Meet
Winter 1519, Alnwick Castle, Northumberland, England.
'Girls, today the Boleyns will visit us, and I expect you both to be on your very best behaviour.'
'As ever!' I giggle mischievously, swapping grins with my sister Elizabeth.
'I'm serious, Catherine.' snaps our mother, standing before us with quite a severe look on her face. 'Both of you will be stood outside of the castle prompt at noon in your best gowns and pearls. You will smile and curtsy for Sir Thomas and Lady Elizabeth and be welcoming to whoever they bring with them, and when - if - they talk to you, you will be polite and courteous. You are representing us and any fault will be against the family name.'
'The Boleyns?' asks Elizabeth. 'I've never heard of them.'
Mother stiffens. 'They are… minor nobles. But Sir Thomas is a good friend of the King and I expect they shall be elevated higher into favour within no time.' She takes a step closer to me. 'Now, Catherine, Sir Thomas and Lady Elizabeth have a son, George,' she takes my hands. 'of your age. From reports, he is good-looking and kind-'
'I didn't know that you considered kindness and good looks as an advantage in matches as well as land and wealth.' I retort as innocently as I can.
She steps back and releases my hands as if I had just revealed I had a disease. 'Catherine, you are fifteen, a fully eligible age to wed. Girls age twelve and thirteen marry everyday; you should be grateful your father has waited so long. Elizabeth would be married by now also if she had the heart to accept a proposal.' it's Libby's turn to be glared at. My elder sister of five years cowers under our mother's sharp look; I can't blame her for refusing that Cavendish, though - he was twenty years her senior, with grey hairs and a beard!
'You will not refuse what will be arranged for you.' Mother continues. 'You will put on your best dress and have the maid arrange your gable hood and you will step outside and behave. No exceptions.' with that, she storms out of the room, her head held high.
Libby and I share a long look.
'The Boleyns, eh?' she says. 'Fancy being a Boleyn girl, Cat?'
I shrug. 'It depends on whether this 'George' is attractive.'
'Mother says he is.'
'Yes, Mother.'
She laughs. 'You can't remain unwedded forever. Eventually, you'll have to be married.'
'Yes, yes,' I say, crossing over to the window, the diamonds of glass dusted in frost. 'and I suppose I want to. Someone to cuddle when it's cold, someone to trust completely. I just want to know the man before we wed, that's all. It'd make things much more easier.'
'I know, I know.' my sister comforts me, coming to sit beside me on the window pane. 'But such things aren't done. We have to do what we are told. It is God's will.'
I lean my head on the cold glass. 'I'm afraid, dear Libby, that God's will is not mine.'
·*·
We retreat to our bedchamber within the hour. Our maids rush in to change our dresses and lace up our bodices of matching violet silk, and then we hear it. The shrill neigh of a horse has me and Libby rushing to the window. Henry Riddingford, chief of our family's household, hops off his stallion. 'The Boleyns!' he cries. A flurry of excitement and anxiety sounds from the staff in the courtyard and the flags with our family crest are hoisted up on poles for all to see. The breeze ripples the fine material.
We allow our maids to finish their work and I run down the stairs, stopping only when Libby catches my wrist and smoothes out her skirt. We walk dignified into the courtyard, towards Father and Mother and our brothers Henry, Thomas and Ingelram. 'At long last! They have arrived!' Mother hisses at us and motions for us to step into our places. As we do so, Libby secretly squeezes my palm.
I see the Boleyn flag long before I see the Boleyns themselves. Sir Thomas trots in on his horse, wearing red and blue brocade with heavily slashed sleeves, with his lips relaxed into a friendly smile. 'Lord Henry!' he greets, striding forward to shake Father's hand.
'Sir Thomas, my pleasure,' Father answers.
A woman of graceful beauty wearing a riding habit of grey approaches my parents. 'My wife, Lady Elizabeth,' Sir Thomas introduces. Lady Elizabeth allows Father to kiss her palm and nods in recognition towards Mother.
'My wife, Lady Catherine.'
Stepping into line like we Percys, the Boleyn children mirror us. Sir Thomas and Lady Elizabeth's two daughters stand opposite Libby and I, wearing habits trimmed in stole, though not as fine as our gowns which Mother said was to be expected. One is a fair with a smooth complexion, and the other dark in both hair and eyes. She reminds me of a raven. Both drop respectful curtsies for Mother and Father. 'My daughters, Mary and Anne.' Sir Thomas gestures first to the blonde, Mary, and then the dark one, Anne.
Then their brother steps into line. He's tall, broad-shouldered and well-built, but then again I've never seen a man who isn't. He has a wavy mop of dark brown hair, gentle but proud eyes the colour of caramel, and dons a grey velvet doublet and hat, with a cloak trimmed in stole draped around his shoulders. Under the rounded brim of his flat hat, I feel his eyes inspecting my sister and I, and I have to vigorously fight back a blush.
'George, my son and heir.' Sir Thomas introduces.
Father steps towards us Percy children. 'Henry, Thomas and Ingelram, my sons,' he pauses for effect as the Boleyns take in the spectacle of my three dear brothers - two blonde and blue-eyed like Libby and Mother, and then Thomas, dark-haired and green-eyed like me and Father - and then, like hawks viewing all the possible prey in the forest, turn to the Percy girls. 'Elizabeth and Catherine, my daughters.' Father finishes.
Libby and I curtsy. 'It is a pleasure to meet you,' we chorus as instructed, so both Mother and Lady Elizabeth smile. Mary flashes us both warm looks, but dark Anne keeps her eyes on Henry, watching him twitch his hat brim. A playful quip lodges itself in my throat. Looks like a Boleyn girl has eyes for a Percy. She's got high hopes! I think.
'Shall we go to the hall for a goblet of ale?' Father offers, and the senior Boleyns nod eagerly and follow our parents into our home like pups pleading for bones. Thomas and Ingelram, looking too big for their doublets, follow and Henry gestures for George Boleyn to come. Kind Henry, attempting to break the ice. How I love him!
'Shall we?' says Libby, acting as the perfect hostess. The Boleyn girls scurry by our side into the hall. Our parents are in conversation by the fire and the boys opposite them, by the windows. Every person cups goblets of hot ale, avoiding sipping them in fear of a burnt tongue. Set on a table in the centre is a bowl of sweetmeats, the sugar dusting glinting in the candlelight. I wave at my brothers with their new friend and take a cup of ale for myself, brushing back a curl of my dark hair escaping from under the veil of my gable hood.
'Come sisters!' commands Thomas.
'Come sisters!' I imitate, walking over to them and kissing my twin's cheek affectionately. 'Come sisters indeed! Anyone would think you're the heir and not darling Harry.'
'That's how it is for now…' Thomas cracks a grin and I swat at his shoulder. 'You wouldn't dare harm our Harry. He's too precious.' I tease.
'Would I?' Thomas raises an eyebrow.
'Never!' I swear. 'Not as long as you live, Thomas Percy.'
The boys laugh and Thomas goes on the boast of his many hunting triumphs, and Mary embarrasses her brother George with a childhood memory of some sort. I laugh and kid them I'm listening, but I can't tear my eyes from the shadows of our group, where Henry and Anne silently communicate, their cheeks russet. When she sees me watching, Anne stops and peers into her ale.
Then I myself turn away, and catch George's eye. But he doesn't look away or cower into his goblet; no, the only Boleyn boy holds my gaze, as if working me out. What's there to work out? I'm just the other Percy girl, frequently being compared to my blonde, graceful sister, frequently chided for daydreaming and frequently looking odd in gowns too big or too grand. What could any man possibly want to look at me for?
George looks a little longer and then tunes into Ingelram ranting about scholars, allowing me to retreat to the table of sweetmeats, where I can blush childishly in the comfort of warm candlelight and tell myself that someone looked at me, and me alone, without looking at Libby first.
