I'm back with another chapter! Seeing all of the positive reactions to this story has made me so happy, and I'm very glad that people are invested in the story. I love writing it very much!
For those of you that don't like the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk: don't worry, I don't like them, either. In fact, I kind of hate them! I intend for something to happen to them, but I have not decided what it should be yet. At the bottom of the chapter, there will be two polls. Please check them out! Now, onto the story! :)
CHAPTER THREE
October 12th, 1533
Edward, Elizabeth, Eleanor, and Edmund were perfect in every way.
Henry could not believe that only one month had passed since their children, their precious Tudor roses, were born. It had felt like only a few hours had passed since they welcomed the children into the world, although all of the celebrations in honor of their births made him feel like months upon months had passed as well. He didn't regret all of the celebrations in honor of his children– no, how could he? The fact that Anne had given birth to four healthy children, much less giving him two sons, was proof that his marriage was valid in the eyes of God, something that he rejoiced in. He knew that he had made the right decision when he decided to make Anne his wife and Queen, and together, they had proved everyone who doubted them wrong. Besides, it had been nearly eighteen years since the last time there had been a baby in the royal nursery, and over twenty since there was the last time that there had been a boy!
Things had been going according to his plan since the birth: Anne's reputation had begun to repair itself after the birth, with the people admiring her bravery during the birth and its aftermath, as well as the miracle of her giving birth to four children! Because of this, many of his subjects had gladly signed the new Oath being spread around. Little Edward had been proclaimed as the little Prince of Wales, much to the joy of the people of England, who have since begun to call him names like Little Prince Ned or The Golden Prince. Elizabeth had similarly been declared Princess Royal, and although she was not considered as important as Edward, the people had still greeted her kindly, calling her Sweet Little Bess. While the Bishop of Rome and Catherine of Aragon had still not yielded and accepted that his 'marriage' to her had been cursed by God, King Francis and other European monarchs had relented and finally began to acknowledge Anne as his Queen. The Holy Roman Emperor had only indirectly acknowledged her, something that he would address with Chapuys the next time that he saw the man. If Chapuys and his master wanted there to be any chance of reconciliation between England and the Empire, then Emperor Charles would have to acknowledge Anne as Queen and their children as his true heirs.
He smiled as he watched his wife and her ladies playing with young Edward, not minding that no one had noticed him yet. It was a beautiful sight, seeing Anne play with their son, the precious boy that he had waiting so long for. He felt a sense of pride as he remembered that their children primarily looked of him and his family, getting the Tudor coloring with a few Boleyn features scattered here and there. The Boleyn features were more prominent on Edward and Elizabeth, however; Edward had Anne's smile, but Elizabeth had those mysterious and beautiful brown eyes of Anne's that he loved so much, those hooks to the soul.
Henry was very pleased that Anne's recovery had gone well, and been fairly quick compared to Catherine's recovery after her stillborns or miscarriages. It was remarkable, the way that his wife had continued to dazzle and amaze him with her strength. He knew that the birth had been long and painful for her, and while he had been eager for his wife to recover, he was not going to rush her. It had been one of the scariest moments of his life when he realized just how long the birth had taken, and he had begun to fear the worst before the Duke of Wiltshire indirectly gave him the idea to go to his beloved wife. Even after the birth, he had been worried for her, but against all odds, she seemed to be fine. Anne had even hinted to him that she would like him to visit her bed soon, something that filled him with relief.
Anne's pregnancy had been especially hard for him, since her rapidly expanding belly meant that they had been forced to forsake their carnal visits until after the birth, so that they would not harm their children. Many beautiful women had come to court during Anne's pregnancy, especially during the last few months of it, and although he had not been tempted to take a mistress at first, Lady Eleanor Luke had certainly made him think about it after Suffolk pointed her out to him. She was exquisite– her blonde hair and soft face contrasted perfectly with Anne's more 'exotic' features, and the way that she danced with such confidence drove him crazy.
But he had not strayed. During their years-long courtship, when Catherine of Aragon refused to yield and admit that she lied about her virginity and Pope Clement had dodged all of his attempts to speed up the annulment process, Henry had not had a thought or affection for anyone else, his eyes set only on the woman that he intended to make his new wife and Queen. The two had been tempted to make love with each other before they knew for a fact that they would be married, of course, but they had not actually lain together until that magical night in France, with the rain soft outside of their windows, the candles lit dimly, and their skin mingling together in a passionate embrace as they achieved what they had waited so long for. Anne had been worth the wait then, and after birthing four healthy children, Anne had proven that she was worth the wait once more. Perhaps if Anne had only given him a daughter, things would have been different, but it had not happened and he was grateful for it.
Of course, as the King, he was entitled to take a mistress as often as he wanted to, while his wife and Queen was expected to shut her eyes and endure his affairs. But with Anne, it was different. No woman had ever made Henry feel the way she had before. His abstinence during their courtship had been a testament of his love for her, a sign that no matter what, he would remain by her side and not let anyone influence his mind away from her. If he forsook her now, he knew that his courtiers would gossip about it, creating rumors that he had still not been pleased with two sons and that she had fallen from favor. He didn't even want to think about what Anne might think if he took a mistress, but his mind wandered back to the time that they had been walking together and he informed her that he would have to temporarily return to Catherine's table and bed. Not only had she been furious at the prospect, but she was genuinely hurt that the man she was promised to would share the bed of a woman that wasn't her. If Anne found out that he took a mistress, she would be heartbroken, and perhaps even start to think that he did not love her anymore. And he would never allow that to happen.
Lady Eleanor was tempting, but Anne was even more so.
"What are you doing?" Henry asked, a look of confusion sweeping his face as he saw Anne preparing to feed Edward. He chuckled softly at the looks of Anne and her ladies, who had finally noticed that he was there.
Anne instinctively clutched Edward close to her as Henry spoke, startling her. She had been on her toes since the birth of the children, and despite her family's insistence that Henry would never think to get rid of her now that she had borne him four heirs, she could not shake the feeling that something would happen. She didn't think that Henry would get rid of her in the first place, not even in her wildest dreams, but she did think that someone else might try to get rid of her, or even worse, the children.
There had been an assassination attempt upon her at her coronation, something that Henry and her father had tried to keep a secret from her. And although Henry had tried to persuade her that the assassination attempt may have been towards him when she confronted him about it, they both knew better: somebody had tried to murder her, despite the fact that she had been visibly showing in her pregnancy by then! Whether the assassin had wanted her dead or not, her children were innocent, and if they had no qualms about attempting to shoot her when she was with child, whose to say that they would have a problem with murdering her children now that they had been born?
"May I not feed him from my own breast?" She smiled, forcing her mind away from the dark thoughts that had begun to form. She frowned as Henry tsk'd at her and walked over, picking their son up and holding him close.
"Queens don't do that," He said simply, rocking Edward back and forth. "I'll bring him to his wetnurse." He handed the baby off to his wetnurse, a smile on his face, before he turned back to face Anne. "The children will soon be given their own establishment at Hatfield. Among others, the Lady Mary will attend them– the Prince of Wales, especially."
Anne could not believe the words that had left her husband's mouth. "Catherine's daughter?" She asked, shocked at what Henry had suggested to her. She wanted the Lady Mary to accept her as Queen, but she did not want it to be like this. There was no doubt in Anne's mind that Lady Mary would blame her for her miserable situation, never believing for a second that her father, who had once called her the pearl of his world, would do such a thing to her if it had not been at her urging. She knew that others, such as the few sympathizers that Catherine and Mary still had left, would share the view as well, and she felt as if it would cause the repairs being done to her reputation by the birth of the quadruplets to become undone.
"It is well that she knows her new place," Henry replied, frowning at the thought of his disgraced oldest daughter. Despite his belief that Mary would bend to his will and realize that his union to her mother was cursed and seeped in sin after the birth of the quadruplets, it had not happened, as Mary not only continued to insist that she was the Princess of Wales, but she had begun to claim the title of Princess Royal, too! And Catherine.. she continued to deny him, pretending to the title of Queen even after the entire world now believed their marriage was cursed.
He thanked God that he had decided to separate them, as there was no telling how many lies Catherine would fill her head with now. He still could not believe Catherine, the lying strumpet, had managed to turn the pearl of his world against him, hardening her heart and her head so that she would never hear a word against her mother. She had madd it so that Mary would only think of her as England's Queen, something that constituted high treason, and if it were not for the love that he bore her daughter and his sister-in-law, he would ensure their punishment for it.
Catherine would not be executed, nor would she be sent back to Spain for fear that she would call upon her nephew to raise an army and overthrow him. No, he would do something that would not only hurt her pride and vanity, but Mary's as well. It pained him to treat Mary like this, but if it was the only way to ensure that she and Catherine would yield to them, then so be it.
"And she won't try anything?" Anne questioned, eyeing Henry suspiciously as she spoke. It had been on the tip of his tongue to ask why Anne would ask such a question, until he remembered the assassination attempt in June. While he had attempted to assure Anne that perhaps the attempt was made on his life, he knew that Anne was not a fool. The assassination attempt had been on her; someone had tried to murder his wife, and while she was with child, too. She must have been so scared, he realized, his mind running through all of the possible scenarios of what might have happened on that fateful day.
She must be scared now, too. If her would-be assassin had attempted to murder her when she was with child, then it was likely that they would have no qualms about murdering her or the children, either. The assassin had never even been caught, the investigation into it opening and closing as quickly as it began due to a lack of evidence. Perhaps if he opened the investigation again, making it clear that he would not tolerate it being closed until they had successfully found the man who dared to harm his dear wife and children, she would be calmer.
"Of course, my love," Henry confirmed. "Mary might not be willing to accept our marriage now, but she would never harm a child, much less her own siblings." He did not have any doubts that Mary would love her siblings, regardless of her feelings towards Anne. Perhaps once Mary and her mother took the Oath that he had required throughout England, she would be able to reconcile herself with Anne, the woman that she had treated so poorly.
Anne did not truly believe that Mary wouldn't try anything, but she knew that Henry would not change his mind once it had been made up, so she agreed with him anyways. Her mind could not stop thinking about the possibility of something happening to their children, so she plastered a fake smile on her face as her husband continued to talk about the plans for what would happen when the children went to be resettled at Hatfield.
God help them all if someone tried anything.
December 17th, 1533
Lady Margaret Bryan, Lady Governess to the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York, prided herself in knowing what to do in any situation, but the prospect of the King of England's bastard daughter coming to Hatfield to serve as a lady in the household of his legitimate children was a bewildering one, and she did not know how to approach the subject. The Lady Mary Tudor would be arriving at Hatfield shortly, and while King Henry had sent instructions for how what his daughter's duties were to be in the household of the children and where he wanted her room to be, some things had remained unclear.
The King had made it plain that they were to treat Lady Mary as if she were any other servant until such a time came where the girl was prepared to sign the Oath, that much was sure, but he had not left specific provisions as to how they were supposed to handle her obstinate behavior. A regular servant she might be, but were there still natural boundaries that they were supposed to respect due to her being the King's daughter? Were there certain punishments that were off-limits? What were they do to about Lady Mary's prayer service, which she would no doubt want done in the Catholic manner of ways?
She did not know what was and wasn't acceptable, and that would put her in a tight bind until she figured out the boundaries expected to be kept between her and the young woman. It wasn't that Lady Bryan had no sympathy with the girl, as she could not begin to imagine how it might feel to be living in luxury as the prospective heir one moment and downgraded and forgotten the next, but she would not shirk away from her duties as Lady Governess to the Princes, nor would she allow her sympathy for Lady Mary to win over the logical decisions that she would have to make. After all, she was a relative to the Queen, and out of dozens of respective governesses for their two sons, the King and Queen had chosen her.
"The Lady Mary, Lady Bryan," One of the ladies, Lady Fitzwilliam, announced to her, causing her to turn her head and looked at the woman in front of her. Her resemblance to the King and Dowager Princess was unmistakable, her light eyes matching her father's and her strong, proud chin clearly coming from Catherine of Aragon. She looked much older than her years in the black outfit that she was wearing, her hair bound up in a style that made her look more like an aged spinster than a girl in her marriageable years, ready to leave her family behind to become a wife and mother.
"Lady Mary," She spoke, a genuine smile on her face at the newest lady of the household. The Lady Mary did not return the smile, though the hard look on her face shifting to one of surprise was an indication that she had indeed acknowledged what she had said. She motioned her hand out to indicate that Mary should follow her, turning around and beginning to give Mary a small tour. "Welcome to Hatfield, your new home. I am Lady Margaret Bryan, Governess to the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York."
She looked back and saw that it was on the tip of Lady Mary's tongue to say something, as she had opened and shut her mouth as soon as her head turned to face her. Satisfied, she turned back around and continued to lead her through the place. "These other ladies are also here to attend the Princes and Princesses, as, of course, are you." She led Lady Mary into the room where Mistress Katherine Champernowne and other ladies were tending to the young princes and princesses. "Lady Mary, may I introduce you to Their Highnesses: Prince Edward, Prince Edmund, Princess Elizabeth, and Princess Eleanor?"
Mary eyed the children suspiciously. Her rosary, the one symbol of her Catholic faith that had not been taken from her yet, swung like a pendulum against her neck, getting heavier and heavier the longer than time moved on. She might have liked to convince herself that the children before her were not her father's, instead the brats of one of Anne Boleyn's lovers or even the spawn of Satan himself, but the resemblance to her father was so severe that she could not bring herself to do it. A small part of her was elated that she finally had more siblings than a half-brother that she had neve actually met, but alas, the elation was overshadowed by a sense of pity for her siblings, who were illegitimate and would bear the stain of bastardy forever as a result of their parents' living in sin.
She, the true Princess of Wales and the Princess Royal, would never have to bear the stain of bastardy, no matter how much her father tried to convince the people otherwise. He may load Anne Boleyn and her children up with as many titles and rights as he wanted to, but it would not change the fact that she would never be the true Queen of England, and her children would never be his legitimate heirs, as Pope Paul himself, God's representative on Earth, had decreed their farce of a marriage to be null and void and all of its offspring would be illegitimate. Normally, her father, who had once been the most devout Catholic monarch in the world, would have submitted himself to the will of the Pope, but the witch Anne Boleyn had corrupted and bewitched her father's mind away from God, inticting him to live in sin with her so that she might drive England further into Lutherism, heresy, and immorality.
Part of Mary was still in disbelief that her father would ever try and set her mother aside, with or without the use of Anne Boleyn's heretical witchcraft. Her mother, her dear, sweet mother, was a pious woman and a true Catholic, someone who would never lie about her maidenhood in order to snatch the Queen's Crown away from someone else that might deserve it more than her, unlike the Boleyn strumpet. She knew of the gossip about her, and how she had been the lover of the poet Thomas Wyatt, Henry Percy, and dozens upon dozens of other men. Her mother, the true Queen, would have never.
When she and her mother were returned to her father's side, the Boleyn woman would be banished from court, or even better, burned at the stake as the witch she is. When the day of judgement came for her, Mary might pray for her soul, although she knew that the Concubine was past saving, given the way that she forced her father into tearing England and the Holy Church apart just so that he would be able to gain access to her bed.
Oh, if only God had not decided to test her like this!
The oldest daughter, Elizabeth, began to make a fuss, her eyes opening intensely as she sobbed. Seeing those eyes, the Anne Boleyn eyes, made Mary feel ill, as if she could not stand any longer. "This is your room, Lady Mary," She heard a lady say, prompting her to follow the woman into a small room that, in Mary's opinion, was not fit for even the lowest of the low. The lady quickly absconded from the room, leaving Mary alone to sit on her bed.
It had taken a moment, but the tears began to fall freely, her chest heaving as she thought about everything that had happened to her. How could this be the way things would go? Why had God decided to test her this way? Why would her father, the King, listen to the daughter of a knight instead of his true wife and child?
It was all Anne Boleyn's fault. Mary clutched the side of the bed tightly as she sobbed, so far away from the world that she had once known and loved that it disturbed her greatly. One question burned in the back of her mind: how far was the Boleyn woman willing to go to make her life miserable?
December 25th, 1533
The Christmas celebrations were glorious as ever this year.
Last year, the celebrations had been more dull, as so many of the women of the court had been in the household of Catherine of Aragon, or related to courtiers that supported her in his Great Matter. Him and Anne had been elated to spend Christmastide together, far away from the women who had tormented them for years by refusing to admit that she lied about her virginity, but this year, there had been much cause for the entire court to celebrate. Anne had given birth to the children almost four months ago, and as they approached the winter month of January, the children seemed to be in perfect health, according to the reports from Lady Bryan.
Henry was pleased that the children and their households had seemed to settle into Hatfield well, the transition of residences not affecting their health in the slightest. Elizabeth and Eleanor's household had gotten off to a rough start, as they had not been able to find a suitable governess until the Lady Katherine Champernowne had been pointed out to them, but apparently the household had settled in quickly nontheless. He chuckled softly at the thought of the royal children having only two governesses, one for the boys and one for the girls. It had been Anne's idea, citing the fact that the children had all been born within minutes of each other and would likely spend every day together for years as reasons that they should not be assigned four governesses for each child, something he readily accepted. He knew the pain of being a second son, treated as not important compared to the other brother, and he would make sure that Edmund would never have to feel the pain as he did.
Suffolk had been at court for the first time in over two months, citing family affairs and his duties with tending to his manors as reasons that he would have to withdraw from the court. His wife and son were not with him, something that surprised him, as he had always seen them together for the Christmas celebrations. "Charles!" He called out to Suffolk, walking over to his dear friend with a smile on his face. He slung his arms over his shoulder and led him away from the person that he had been talking to, walking through the room with her. "Life at court has been dull without you," He continued, looking at his friend.
"And the matters of my estates have been dull without you, Your Majesty," Suffolk joked, the two of them sharing a hearty laugh. He hoped that Henry would not discover the real reason as to why he had not been at Court, withdrawing at his wife's request so that they would not have to deal with a court of Boleyns and their allies, the treacherous snakes that would stop at nothing to reach the top. It pained him to know that the common people had continued to accept Anne as the Queen and her children as the heirs, even in the face of Princess Mary being sent to Hatfield to wait on her children. Apparently, the people believed that the King's hand had been behind it more than the woman, now dubbed Saint Queen Anne by some hardcore religious reformers, as if the King would ever allow his daughter to be treated like that!
Mary had been the pearl of Henry's world, and knew that nothing would be able to stray him away from that if not for Anne Boleyn. His stomach twisted in disgust as he saw Anne dancing with her brother, the Duke of Buckingham, an enthusiastic yet determined look on her face. She must be delighting in her win over Queen Catherine, He thought bitterly, his face hardening at the sight. Did that woman have no shame?
"The Queen is beautiful," Henry declared lovingly, his features lighting up as Suffolk watched her dance with her brother. He felt as if he was going to be sick. He had purposely put Lady Eleanor Luke in the King's way, ensuring that once he saw her, he would be determined to bed her and make her his mistress, allowing her to whisper in the King's ear about Anne and undermine her in his affections. It had hurt him to treat his friend like that, but Anne Boleyn's hold on him needed to be broken somehow, and as the King's closest friend, he thought that it would be best coming from him. But, he had underestimated his friend and the Boleyn woman again, as somehow, she had managed to convince him to say that she was worth the wait after the birth of children, something which made him horrified.
If Henry took no mistresses, Anne's hold on him would last forever..
"Your Majesty," Anne smiled, walking over to her husband and the Duke of Suffolk and taking Henry's hand. He kissed it once, and smiled at Suffolk, leading his dear wife away from his friend with ease. Henry spun her around once, to move with the dancers on the floor, and Anne let out a laugh that echoed through the room as he kissed her, much to the delight of Henry. Anne's laugh was so beautiful, it sounded like an angel's singing..
"Come, my Love. I have a gift for you," Anne led her husband over to a table, where the small golden fountain lay adorned with berries and other assorted items. She grinned in delight as her husband examined the fountain, turning to her in bewilderment.
"It's fantastic! Who made this?" He asked, shocked at how anyone could make something so beautiful. His Anne, his beloved Queen, was so creative for her gifts, a testament of her love for him as well as her good tastes.
"Master Holbein," She informed him, rubbing her fingers against Henry's hand as he continued to examine the fountain. Hopefully, he had caught the hints that were on the fountain, although she would much rather tell him herself.
"That man's a genius," Henry declared, his astonishment plain on his face as he turned to his wife and stroked her cheek with delight. "As are you, my beautiful Queen."
Their lips met each other's as Henry whispered the words, his heart fluttering as if he were a small schoolboy who had never kissed a woman before. Anne was such a mystery to him; the way that she made him feel unrivaled that of any other woman.
"I have another gift for you," Anne whispered to him, smiling at the look of confusion on Henry's face. It seemed that he hadn't caught onto the details upon the golden fountain, something that made her giggle, as Henry had always been great at interpreting things. "I am with child again."
Henry stared at her, feeling bewilderment and excitement at the news from his wife. Anne was pregnant again, the perfect gift for Christmastide, although the fact that she had gotten pregnant so soon after the birth of the quadruplets worried him some. What if Anne had complications during this birth? What if she did not carry the child to term?
The look on Anne's face was enough to drive the negative thoughts out of his mind, a smile creeping back on his face as she leaned over and gave him another kiss. He could worry about those fears at another time.
Sir William Brereton could almost not stand the sight of the King with the Concubine, who, if his ears served him well, had just confirmed herself to be carrying Satan's spawn once more. The shame and guilt over his failure to assassinate the false Queen racked over him, taunting him whenever he saw the heretical witch. "I could still do it, you know," He whispered to Eustace Chapuys, the Imperial Ambassador and his closest friend at the court. "I could find a way to poison her."
"No," Chapuys replied decisively, looking at the sight of King Henry with his whore with thinly veiled disgust. While his master, the Emperor had forced him to acknowledge the great slut as Queen in his stead so that the Empire might reconcile himself with England, he had no intention of doing so in private. "It would be blamed on my master – he doesn't need that right now. He has a war with the Turks to contend with."
Brereton was shocked at Chapuys's declaration, as he had been the one to proposition him to assassinate the Concubine in the first place! Had the Boleyn woman's dark arts bewitched him too? "Why should anyone ever know?" He asked, his mind's going over all of the possible ways he could poison the Concubine.
"Don't be stupid, Brereton," Chapuys all but snapped. "They would find you and torture you, and you would tell them everything."
"No, I wouldn't," Brereton huffed obstinately. "I would die a martyr's death." He remembered the words of His Holiness, words spoken to him in confidence: He must bring down Anne Boleyn, even at the risk of martyrdom.
"You've never seen a man being tortured," Chapuys hissed. "You do not act alone." He ordered, before turning and walking away from him.
Brereton continued to stare at the King and the heretic woman, long after Chapuys had walked away. He had not been certain of it before due to what Chapuys had told him, but there was no doubt about it now– he would have to murder the Boleyn harlot, and soon.
He did not have time to wait for the Emperor to finish war with the Turks, as England was falling deeper and deeper into heresy as the Concubine's hold over the King grew stronger. If the slut birthed another healthy brat, even a daughter, he feared that King Henry would be lost for good in her witchcraft and heresy, too far gone to be able to overcome any spell.
He stared at the false Queen once more as he began to formulate ideas, only scurrying away when the whore made eye contact with him. He would rest easy tonight, knowing that the Concubine would be dead soon and England would be free from her heretical ways, but for now, he needed to plan.
And, there you have it! Mary is at Hatfield, and while the common people of England are starting to accept Anne, Brereton is still going to be stirring up trouble... Plus, Anne is pregnant again! Hooray! :) Just as a reference, I use the 1507 birthdate for Anne, the one that I think they used in the show, so she is around 26 years old during in 1533.
And if any of you were wondering where Catherine of Aragon is, and why we haven't seen her point of view yet: don't worry, she'll be here soon! Also, Bishop Fisher and Sir Thomas More will begin to make more appearances.
Aside from that, I have two polls for you all: Should Anne's baby that will be born in 1534 be a boy or a girl? Depending on what it is, what should his/her name be? (I would prefer another letter besides E for the name, but I'm not picky. :D)
And, lastly, what should happen to the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk? I know that at some point, there will be some sort of (very) public confrontation with Anne, but what should their punishment be? It can be anywhere from permanent banishment from court, to Suffolk getting his title and lands taken away, to anything more extreme like time in the Tower or even death!
Please comment below what you think!
Don't forget that I love criticism. Please send it to me, as long as its constructive. Have a great day!
-Nan 👸