Chapter I
April, 1532
Charles Brandon, 1st Duke of Suffolk stared out the window, reminiscing of his brief, loving marriage with Princess Mary Tudor (Henry VIII's sister).
At the moment, he felt the same sensation he experienced when he married her.
Something's going to happen, he thought to himself. A turn for the worse. What Henry is up to, I dread to know! He's always determined to get his own way, and at times, he actually succeed. Why do I have a feeling it's to do with the women in his life?
"Charles," said King Henry VIII of England, walking up to him. "What are you doing here, staring out the window? I thought you would be chasing after some girl or spending your time in prostitution brothels like you always did. You can't keep being like this. My sister's been dead for two months. There was nothing that you could do about it. It seemed that destiny forbade you to have legitimate children and for a good, everlasting marriage. Come and hunt with Anthony Knivert, William Compton and myself like we used to always do! Stop being such a girl!"
Charles restrained himself from lashing out at his King.
"I'm still in mourning," he said flatly.
"That's for women!" snorted Henry VIII. "Women mourn for their husbands! Husbands don't mourn months for their dead wives! I'm sure we'll find a lusty wench for you in a matter of minutes! If you want a new wife, just pluck one from the English garden of fair maidens! I'm sure every girl in Court would love to be your wife and future Duchess of Suffolk!"
Charles said nothing.
Henry VIII won't understand. He never thought of anyone but himself. He believed that everyone loved him, while he only picked a few to love. Charles learnt that the hard way, losing two treasures most precious to him in the process of it.
He promised himself he'll never make that mistake again.
"Well?" said Henry VIII impatiently.
"I'm sorry?" said Charles, blinking and bringing himself back to the present time.
"I asked about your opinion on George Boleyn, Viscount Rochford," repeated Henry VIII. "You met him a few times. What do you think about him?"
"He's a young man," said Charles, surprised at the question. "The type that women admire. Probably he deflowered at least a quarter of the girls at Court like I did. I believe his father is Thomas Boleyn, 1st Earl of Wiltshire and uncle is Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk? He has powerful relatives. I think he has two sisters. Can't remember what they're called. George Boleyn seems to be an able man, and can provide well for his future wife and children. Now that I think of it, his offspring will marry extremely well to high-ranking nobles throughout England! Why do you ask? You interested in arranging a match for him? I thought he's betrothed to Lady Jane Parker?"
"Who? The 10th Baron Morley's younger daughter?"
"Haven't you heard about it?"
"Wiltshire and Norfolk haven't mentioned it. Yes, as a matter of fact, I'm planning to find him an eligible bride. One that will be out of trouble living in the country. You seem to be close to Sir Thomas More as a friend. Will you do your King a favour and talk to him on his behalf? More's a lawyer, and will be needed at Court as soon as possible."
Charles looked at him, his eyebrows raised.
"Keep this between us," whispered Henry VIII, steering him away from the window. "I don't want everyone in Court to know about it just yet. I finally made up my mind. I've been married to Catherine of Aragon for many years, and our life together was a lie. God had decided that our union is unlawful, and only granted us one daughter. Of course, you know that already. Catherine is already banished from Court, but that is not enough. I'll be declaring our union illegal and she will no longer be my wife. She will be given the title 'Princess Dowager of Wales'. She was never Queen of England."
"What?" said Charles, taken back. "You can't do that! The Pope will never allow it!"
"Unfortunately, I won't be granted a Catholic legal annulment. Catherine's damn cousin, Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor has the Pope a prisoner in one of his many Spanish castles, and there's no way the Pope will allow an annulment if he values his life. I've decided that I won't wait for his release. I will create a new religion, with me as the Head of it."
"No! What about Mary?"
"What about her? She's a bastard. Don't look so surprised, Charles! England will never have a woman to rule it! It'll cause disaster!"
"Have you thought about the reaction of the people? You are the King, but if the people grow restless, they'll rise against you! Do you really want to find yourself a pretender roaming on the Continent? What had made you think this way? The people are mainly Catholics, and will be furious if they find out you want to break away from Rome! Have you even considered the damage you'll do to Mary? Since her birth, she was raised a Princess and a devout Catholic. She will break apart when you shatter her world! The break from Rome won't be easy! Which woman is it?"
"What do you mean, by which woman is it?"
"Only a beautiful woman would convince you to do this. Who?"
"Oh, alright! You got me. You were probably deeply in love with your wife to notice the latest woman I was infatuated with. Her name's Anne Boleyn. Yes, she's one of George's sisters. She is a beauty, a goddess in every way! She suggested for me to make my own church and have sons with her! Think of it! The future generations won't have to confirm anything with that Bishop of Rome! Anne will be mother of my sons, and will be the perfect wife!"
"You are willing to sacrifice your kingdom and the love of your people just for one woman? Think before you act! I beg of you, Henry! Do not make a fatal mistake and rush into matters with dire consequences! Is there a reason why it relates to George Boleyn?"
Henry VIII handed Charles a rolled up piece of parchment.
Giving his old friend a rare look, Charles unrolled it.
"George Boleyn," he read aloud. "John de Vere, Thomas Cromwell, Gregory Cromwell, Henry Howard, John Astley. Henry, what's the purpose of all these names? Are you going to arrest them?"
"No!" laughed Henry VIII. "Why would I arrest these good men? Now that Mary's a bastard, I can't have her causing trouble for me by marrying a King or Prince, now can I? The people love her and to save myself from a rebellion in her name, and besides! Even if I do tear that little bastard's world to precious little pieces, what of it? If she's married to, let's say, George Boleyn, he can tame her from open action against me! I won't even mind if he beats her senseless!"
Charles stared at him, horrified.
He remembered the moments when the King himself called Princess Mary 'His Pearl of His World', and declared her the perfect child. An image of a younger Mary as a child, dancing enchantingly in the gardens appeared in Charles's mind.
How can an innocent, beautiful girl turn against her own father?
The idea's absurd!
Only a sly fox like Norfolk would insist upon the King's only legitimate daughter to be declared a bastard, her parents' marriage stated as unlawful, and for the King to marry a commoner, compared to his wife, Queen Catherine, who was an Infanta of Spain since birth! The thought of the delightful Mary married to a womaniser George Boleyn, was horrifying!
"I want you to give this piece of parchment to Catherine," Henry VIII instructed. "As her mother, I want her to agree upon her daughter's husband. My obvious candidate is George Boleyn. If she agrees with me, I will give her a thousand pounds per year. What do you think?"
Charles swallowed an insult he had hoped to say.
"The Princess Dowager may have a different opinion," Charles replied.
Henry VIII scowled a little.
"Have you told George Boleyn about being the potential husband of your daughter?" Charles asked, having a feeling that he already knew that answer. "I can see it in your eyes. You have told him, haven't you? Or did you tell his father or Norfolk?"
"You're right," said Henry VIII, with no hint of guilt whatsoever. "I already suggested it to Wiltshire and Norfolk, and asked George to announce to Mary that he'll be her future husband, and as my marriage to her mother is illegal, she is not a Princess and is now a bastard, and she will spend the rest of her life bearing children for him and will live as Viscountess Rochford. I suppose George is on his way to tell her as we speak! Good man! Why do you look so shocked, Charles? You said so yourself, that many women admire him, and he has powerful relatives. Perfect husband for a bastard. It won't be all bad for her. She will be sister-in-law to the rightful Queen of England!"
"That's insane! Don't do this!"
"Charles! What's the matter with you? If we're talking about our conquests over women, you would be slapping me on the back!"
"I'll marry Mary! I'll marry your bastard!"
Henry VIII stared at his best friend since childhood, astounded at the turn of events. He had never expected this! He always thought that Charles would remain a bachelor and spend his days chasing and sleeping with women, not marry into the royal family! He was stunned when Charles secretly married his sister, Princess Mary, and now, he was surprised he volunteered to marry his bastard daughter who will have no advantages for him! She won't even be given a large dowry! Charles stared back at him, stubbornness in his eyes.
"I guess you're not joking then," said Henry VIII, recovering from shock. "Go on! Marry her! See if I care about it! The sooner you marry her, the better! Take her away to Westhorpe Hall and keep her there! I want you to keep her out of my sight and come to Court yourself!"
"What about that?" said Charles, indicating to the parchment.
In response, Henry VIII ripped it to pieces.
"Where is Mary?" said Charles, fear rippling through his heart.
"Still in Richmond Palace, I believe," said Henry VIII carelessly. "Why?"
Having a nasty gut feeling of what George Boleyn would do to Mary on the belief he would be her husband, Charles bolted out the room.
Mary knelt quietly by herself, in the small chapel in Richmond Palace, praying, when she heard footsteps stop at the door of the chapel.
She rose and turned around, finding herself face to face with George Boleyn.
"Mary Tudor," said George, walking towards her, his heels clinking to the stone ground. "Why am I not surprised to find you here? Do I know you too well, or are you just so dull and predictable? That will have to change, don't you think? More time at Court, less time at prayers. I heard that you pray three times a day? Is it true, my dear?"
"What are you doing here?" said Mary, backing away slowly. "Why aren't you at Court with the King and the other courtiers?"
Pulling off his right glove and throwing it onto the ground, George advanced her, a look of hunger and lust painted on his face. He had missed the shrieks of horror from women who resisted his touches and advances. It felt good to see the terrified expression on Mary's face as she found herself with her back against the wall.
George took his time; she had nowhere to go.
"It won't be too bad," he said, his voice huskier. "You will be my wife in a matter of days."
Confused, Mary found herself frozen and too stiff to move.
As George reached out for her shoulder, Mary was suddenly knocked to the ground and George pinned against the wall.
"Stay away from her!" a voice growled. "Keep your perverted face and tainted hands away from Mary at all times! You have no right to go near her! If I find you near her again, you won't have any hands! I don't care if I'll be sent to the Tower, but I rather that than to see your filthy hands all over her! I thought your would have the decency to do what you're planning to do in a different place! In a chapel?! Are you out of your mind, you disgusting cretin?! Get out!"
In a second, George was out of the chapel.
Mary was helped up and when she turned to thank her saviour, she saw it was Charles!
"No need to thank me," said Charles, gazing at Mary. "I have news that might be unpleasant and surprising to you. You are aware that your father and mother's marriage is crumbling to pieces? Your father is planning to declare his union with her unlawful, and to proclaim you a bastard. He had wanted you to marry George Boleyn."
"I guessed it would happen," admitted Mary.
"I volunteered to marry you myself," said Charles feeling a little awkward. "I couldn't see you married to a womaniser like George Boleyn. He would've made your life miserable. I know I'm thirty two years older than you, and a commoner with no ounce of royal blood in my veins. I'm probably not the Prince you thought you would marry, and I did marry your Aunt Mary for a couple of months. If you prefer George, you can go and-"
"No," Mary broke through. "If it's my father's wishes for me to marry you, I will. I rather a commoner with no royal blood than to marry into the Boleyn family and have Norfolk breathing at my neck, and for me to have the continuous fear of being poisoned by those wolves."
Charles wondered whether it was a compliment or insult.
"What about being a bastard?" pressed Charles.
"It's Norfolk's doing," decided Mary. "My father will never voluntarily call me a bastard! He loves me, and I will always be a Princess!"
Charles truly felt sorry for Mary. Cracks had appeared in her emotional wall. He silently promised to himself that once he marries her, he'll treat her with the respect that's due to her. If she wanted to stay away from Court, he'll take her to the countryside.
"When will we marry?" said Mary quietly.
"The King never specified," Charles replied. "Probably in a day or two. I will let you know when we are to wed. It'll probably be a private ceremony."
Mary nodded sorrowfully.
Charles kissed her hand and left her to her prayers.
It was a bleak, cloudy morning when Charles and Mary stood in front of a priest in a garden full of unborn and dead flowers.
Only Mary's old governess Lady Salisbury, and Sir Thomas More were in attendance.
Henry VIII hadn't announced their wedding to the Court, and banned Catherine to attend. He himself wasn't there at his daughter's wedding. He did tell Charles that straight after the wedding, he's to take himself and Mary to Westhorpe Hall and stay there until summoned back. Charles realised that by marrying Mary, he had earnt himself banishment for at least a month, depending on Henry VIII's unreliable temper and mood.
"Your Grace," spoke Sir Thomas to Mary. "My apologies your mother could not come, but she wanted me to give you this package. She says for you to open it when you're alone in Westhorpe Hall. Will you permit me to visit you in a few days?"
Mary nodded, tears brimming her Sapphire blue eyes.
Charles longed to comfort her, but he didn't know what to say.
"Thank you, Sir Thomas," whispered Mary. "Please visit my mother often, will you? You have always been a good friend to her, and she will need you more than ever, now that my father decided that she has never been his true wife and is slowly breaking from Rome. You, Chapuys, Lady Salisbury, Charles and Maria de Salinas are all my mother have."
"Of course…Princess Mary," promised Sir Thomas. "You will see that there are many Catholics throughout England that support you and your mother. I rather die a painful death than to see England completely separated from Rome."
Charles felt his heart breaking at Mary's sadness.
How dare Henry VIII do this to his beloved 'Pearl'?! Does he have a heart at all?!
Lady Salisbury embraced her former charge.
"Have this, my dear," she said, placing a golden circlet studded with Diamonds on her head. "I was given it by my father when I was a young girl and a Yorkist Princess. My title of 'Princess' was taken away from me just like you. However, you'll have a better chance of earning that title back. I will visit you when I can, but I'm afraid the King had ordered me to remain in my estates for the time being. When the time comes and you bear your own children, I will be glad to be governess to them as I was once to you. Charles, be good with her, will you? I'm sorry to speak out of term, but I worry for her safety and wellbeing. The Boleyns and Howards are on the prowl."
"I will," Charles said, with a nod. "I'm against them like you."
Sir Thomas and Lady Salisbury waved goodbye as Charles helped Mary into the carriage. Mary gazed out the carriage window as they began to leave for Westhorpe Hall.
"We can see him again," Charles spoke. "We can see anyone you'd like. I won't hurt you. You'll love it at Westhorpe Hall. I can guarantee that."
Mary nodded silently.
Charles wondered if he had offended her in anyway.
"I trust you," she said softly. "I remember that you and Aunt Mary would visit me when my mother and father were with the Court and I was sent away with my own household. I remember you congratulated me when I pushed the Dauphin of France over in our betrothal when I was three or four. You were one of the few that did so. My mother was shocked, but I think she was secretly pleased. She never liked the French, and never pretended she did. You will never hurt or offend me. Hopefully our life together in the country will be peaceful with no interference from the Boleyns and Howards. I want a peaceful life with someone I can trust."
"I'm glad you trust me," said Charles, warmth filling in his heart. "Ever since your aunt's death, I haven't taken a single mistress. Even when Sir Anthony Knivert, Sir William Compton and your father urged me to, I refused. From this moment to our deaths, I'll be faithful and honest with you. I will never take a mistress, even if my life depended on it!"
"Do we have to consummate our union?"
"Oh, um…you are still quite young. It can wait a year or two."
"No. Not a year. A few days? May I settle in at Westhorpe Halle first? Lady Salisbury told me that it will be quite different to the palaces and castles I've been living in most of my life. I don't want our marriage doubted, but we do need a dispensation."
"Do not worry yourself about it. I've asked Lady Salisbury's son, Cardinal Reginald Pole, to ask the Pope for a dispensation. He'll send it to England if we're successful."
"I'm sure we have every reason to be."
"Don't be glum, dear Mary! I will love you!"
"I'm not used to travelling without Lady Salisbury."
"You will soon enough. Do you want to prove to your father and the Court what a gracious Princess you are? A graceful woman that can accept her destiny placed before her like food on a plate? Are you ready to show the world that you no longer need a governess?"
Mary stared at him, surprised.
"What?!" said Charles at once.
"You called me 'Princess'," said Mary, in wonder. "You believe that I would be reinstated as a Princess and will be the future Queen of England! You didn't marry me to be King! You didn't marry me on the orders of my father either! What kind of man are you, Charles Brandon? Are you an uncaring womaniser, the King's loyal lapdog or a man who believes in truth?"
"I am neither the first two options," said Charles steadily. "I used to be a womaniser, and the King's my lifelong friend, but I will not do what he thinks it's right, but is actually wrong. Your Aunt Mary was the one that changed me. You might change me again."
Mary genuinely looked happier, and smiled at him.
Charles grinned back at her.
She must've thought I married her at Henry VIII's wishes, Charles thought. I would've never allowed her to marry a Boleyn. Her happiness is now the world to me. Once, I loved her as a niece, and now I will love her like a wife.
"Did my father bless us for our marriage?" inquired Mary.
"Oh! I almost forgot!" exclaimed Charles. "Forgive me for my forgetfulness, dear Princess! The King wanted me to give you this! He didn't say anything about going or not going to our wedding, but he sounded caring when he handed it to me. He does care for you as a father should to his daughter! He gave it to me in one of his rare moments away from Anne Boleyn. Lady Salisbury's right. You will be the true Princess of England again."
He rummaged through a small bag and handed Mary a velvet pouch.
Mary took it and opened it curiously. Charles glanced at it and noticed there was a letter accompanying a small gift from the King.
Leaving the letter alone, Mary pulled out a bracelet, decorated with miniature Tudor roses made of melted jewels, gold and silver. Charles assumed that deep down inside the selfish King was a devoted, caring and loving father.
"Aren't you going to read the letter?" Charles couldn't help asking.
"Later," said Mary absently. "When I settle in Westhorpe Hall."
"Sensible idea. Very sensible. Since we're halfway there, would you like to know more about the servants and maids? You're now my wife and the Duchess of Suffolk. With that, you'll be the Mistress of Westhorpe Hall, when I'm there or away."
"Yes please."
"The housekeeper is Mistress Margaret Fitzgerald. She has noble blood, but it is very weak. Her grandfather is Sir John Fitzgerald, and her father is his second son, Henry Fitzgerald. Mrs Fitzgerald is unmarried, and very kind. She will look after you for as long as you need. She has a sister, Mistress Joan Fitzgerald (now Lady Clarke) and a few young nieces and nephews. Perhaps when we have children, they will associate with Lady Clarke's children? It'll do them good to associate with other children. She's the main person you need to know. The rest of the household are made up of the usual maids, servants, gardeners, you know. Mrs Fitzgerald will meet us when we arrive. You might find Westhorpe Hall a little empty and lonely…"
"I'm sure I'll be fine. You'll be with me."
Charles allowed her to snug up close to him, a nagging feeling at the back of his mind. He hadn't told her that he might be called back to Court at anytime…
Without her.
First Charles and Princess Mary story! Please review!