Chapter Four – A Palace is not a Home

Beaulieu Palace – June 1536

The trip from Whitehall to Beaulieu took a full day of travel. Mary watched from inside the carriage as the landscape changed from the bustle of the city to the nearby towns and villages and finally to the sparsely populated countryside. The moon had just begun to rise in the sky when they arrived at Beaulieu. Mary wasn't expecting much. Anne would hardly have seen Mary living in a grand palace, but she was surprised by how charming a manor it was. The gray stone building was large, but not overwhelming and the land from the entry had a lovely small garden that she assumed was only a small portion of the estate's grounds. Unfortunately, it was too late for her to more fully examine her new home. Instead she guided inside by the servants who had been provided for them.

The housekeeper, Mistress Keppel, led Mary to her chambers while describing the history of the home and how many families had lived there. Exhausted, Mary was grateful to find that her bed was already made up and, when asked by Mistress Keppel if she would care to be readied for bed, she submitted to her ministrations without complaint.

After she was dressed in her nightshirt and her hair braided, Mistress Keppel gave her a bow and left her to her own devices. Mary felt terribly lonely. She knew no one here. The servants were unfamiliar and Lady Pole had been refused her request to accompany them. In fact the only familiar face in her new home was that of her husband. Mary frowned at the thought. She was isolated an unprotected. Despite his seeming kindness last night, Mary hardly felt the desire to trust George Boleyn. She took a chair from the table by the window, and pressed it against the door, under the handle so that it would not open, or if that did not work she would at least have warning.

Clutching her candlestick, Mary settled herself under the covers and tried to stay awake in case of an attack. Eventually though, her eyes grew heavy and her body gave into the exhaustion she felt.


George was pleased with his new estate. Large, but manageable, Beaulieu would certainly bring him a tidy income and it was pleasantly situated on the river. When he awoke his first morning there, before he went in to breakfast, he toured the garden, ambling through a path of blooming rose bushes. Looking up from the center of the courtyard he could see the windows that looked out from Mary's room. He wondered if she was awake yet and if she was clinging to a candlestick as she had the previous night when they shared a room.

He chuckled as he thought of her on the bed pointing a candlestick at him, fiercely defending her virtue. He had to admit that he was oddly charmed by her determination. Most young women he came across were willowy, fragile creatures, but Mary seemed to have an inner steal, uncommon for a noble lady.

Finished with his walk, George turned back inside and walked into the hall where a table had been laid for breakfast. He had no sooner seated himself at the table when his bride entered.

Mary was momentarily startled to find George already at the table but she quickly regained her composure and seated herself at the opposite end.

The hall seemed to fairly ring with a deafening silence for what seemed like hours until George decided that the lack of any conversation was more than a little awkward.

"So, how did you find your chambers? Did you sleep well?"

Mary simply glared at him refusing to engage in whatever kind of game he was attempting to play.

"Right, of course. I also find that silence is best during meals. Better for the digestion. Though I do find it make it much more difficult to acquaint oneself with a dining companion. Perhaps I should attempt to hold the conversation for both of us? 'How did you sleep?' 'Quite well thank you, and you?' 'Like a newborn babe.'"

Mary had to force her face into a frown as the sight of a man holding forth a conversation all on his own was more than a little amusing.

"What exactly do you think your doing?" She forced herself to think more of her frustration than his general demeanor.

"Merely trying to have a conversation."

"We have nothing to say to each other." Mary busied herself again with her breakfast, taking a sip of wine.

"Generally, I find that when two people have nothing to discuss, they engage in light conversation, and eventually they find something to discuss."

Mary placed her hands on her lap and looked straight at George. "Perhaps I should rephrase, I meant to say I do not wish to say anything to you."

"I understand. I simply thought that, eventhough you do not particularly wish to be here, we could at least attempt to be pleasant to each other. You know, make the best of a bad situation."

Pleasant to one another, Mary considered it. Here she was isolated, without her old friend Lady Margaret, or any other familiar faces. In fact, George was the only person with whom she was at all familiar. Suddenly, she felt incredibly lonely and the thought of a pleasant dining companion not a little tempting. And what was more, she was a princess, trained in the art of diplomacy and dealing with those she might not otherwise wish to. She could at least hold forth light conversation with the man opposite her.

"Of course. I'm sorry for my temper. Perhaps we have gotten off to a poor beginning. How did you sleep?

"Very well thank you. I found my bed a good deal more comfortable than a chair."

Mary made a small smile. "I should have thanked you sooner for that. I was very gentlemanly of you."

George noticed that when she smiled Mary had very appealing dimples in her cheeks. The strange fluttery feeling he had in his chest at the chapel two days ago returned and he coughed as he sipped his wine. "Not at all. It was the least I could do. Besides I didn't wish to have my head bashed in with a candlestick." George's smile was broad and warm. It might have been the effect of the wine, but Mary suddenly felt a little more at ease she let out a light laugh. Yes, she could at least find George company even while she did not trust him.


Examining her accommodations at court Jane Parker was distinctly displeased. Not only was she forced to share with other ladies-in-waiting, but also the room was musty and cold. She missed her family and she detested the thought of having to wait on Queen Anne. She and George had long ago been engaged to be married. But when Anne caught the King's eye and the family's fortunes were on the rise, a connection to the Parker family was no longer as desirable. Thomas Boleyn would not settle for anything less than an Earl's daughter for his son and now it appeared that George had married the daughter of a King.

Jane was now a spinster and appeared likely to remain that way. Her father had sent her to Court in the hopes that she would be able to attract some nobleman. She had little success so far, only the occasional flirtation, but no one who seemed genuinely interest. She blamed the Boleyn family for her current situation and quietly hoped that somehow in the future their overweening ambition would be paid back.

Unfortunately, Jane saw no possibility of brining about their ruin, not while Anne was pregnant and confidently expecting a son. But the other day Ambassador Chapuys approached her during one of the masques at court.

"Am I correct in believing that you find any more enjoyment in these spectacles than I do, Mistress Jane?"

Jane was standing off to the side of the chamber watching the King and Queen in case she was needed.

"No, I find them quite distasteful."

"Or, perhaps, like me, you find the woman who arranges them distasteful?" Chapuys stopped to sip from the goblet of wine and turned his back from the dancing so that he was directly facing her.

"I do not believe that it is proper for me to say. I am one of her ladies-in-waiting."

"That is true, but I am aware of the deplorable manner in which her family has treated you. You should know, mistress, that you are not alone in wishing her gone. There are others, some quite powerful-" at this he glanced in the direction of the Duke of Suffolk – "who are merely waiting for an opportune moment."

Jane turned away and began walking towards the back of the room. "Is that so, Ambassador? And what of your master, the Emperor."

Chapuys followed her. "My master is currently embroiled in his conflict with France and cannot risk His Majesty, the King's anger by taking any steps against his Concubine. But, I am sure he would look favorably upon those who, of their own volition, helps to end her reign.

That had been the extent of their conversation, but it had not taken much for Jane to understand his meaning. As a lady-in-waiting, Jane was privy to many of Anne's private moments and she was sure she could find something, even the most seemingly innocent, and turn it to her advantage. For her pains, she was sure that not only the Emperor, but the King and the whole of England would give her thanks.


The months after their marriage had passed easily enough for Mary, and, in spite of herself, she found she enjoyed George's company. He could tell a witty story quite well and they enjoyed some of the same books.

Their days were usually spent in separate pursuits, George visiting the farmers and other yeomen of the area, and Mary reading or keeping the household accounts. But at breakfast and supper, they would spend together in the hall. They would frequently discuss their day. Mary would review what she had read, and once they engaged in a lively debate over Plato's Republic. They did, however, avoid any mention of religion. The one attempt they had made ended disastrously.

"You know some of the books shelved in your library are heretical and have been banned by the Holy Father?" Mary noted between bites of her dinner.

"Certainly G-d has not come down an issued an edict regarding books? George responded with a raised eyebrow.

Mary pursed her lips. "You know to whom I was referring. The Pope has declared those books as heretical."

"And yet the King himself reads them."

"The King is not the head of the Church!"

"Bless me, I thought that was what the Act of Supremacy declared him." George wiped his mouth with a nearby cloth.

"A King can call declare many things but that does not make it so!" George should have sensed the warning in her statement that they were straying too far from the academic into the personal. It was clear which declaration Mary was referring to – and it was not the Act of Supremacy.

"A Pope can declare many things but he is still only the Bishop of Rome."

"The Bishop of Rome is the heir of St. Peter – the head of the Church! He is the final authority on the souls of its members!"

"And can a King not be? Should a man really be asked to split his allegiance – his body to his King and his soul to the Pope?

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"Because – because Kings can be wrong! Because they can act out of greed or lust or other immoral reasons and there must be some authority – some higher authority which can call them to account! To tell them that they may not act so!"

George finally understood and saw that his pressing would hardly win him a new convert to the reform movement. Mary's faith in the Church in Rome came as much from anger with her father as anything else.

"I think, perhaps we have chosen a poor topic this evening." He said softly, hoping to appease Mary.

"Yes I think we have." Mary's tone was waspish. They continued in silence for the rest of the evening.

Despite that one occasion, Mary found that she even began to look forward to their conversations and felt a distinct emptiness when he left to go to court twice a month. Of course she would not admit this.

Eventually, the summer began to give way and before Mary realized it, September was upon them and Anne had gone into confinement, expecting her child any day. Late one evening Mary had retired to bed, but a storm outside kept her awake. The wind whistled through cracks in the windows and the rain pelted against the panes. Hours later, sleep still not availing her, she heard a horse ride up to the front and the great doors wheeled open.

Mary was curious as to the visitor so she pulled on her robe and her slippers and padded down the back stairs so she could observe them unseen.

"Blasted weather!" The rider muttered as he was stripped of his sodden hat and cloak. Mary quickly recognized the voice as belonging to George's father – Thomas Boleyn. He was escorted into George's study. Mary quickly walked down the small hallway that ran parallel to the one Thomas Boleyn went through, and came around to the back of the study where there was a small, undetectable hole in the wooden wall.

"Has Anne given birth? Is she well?" Mary could hear the agitation in George's voice, but she was more interested in what she had given birth to than in how she was doing.

"Blasted girl has ruined us all, she's given birth to a girl!" Mary's heart swelled at this pronouncement. Anne had failed! Perhaps her father would tire of her soon and return to her mother. Mary could not help but feel a sense of relief. She was about to return to her room when something made her decide to stay and hear the rest of the conversation.

"And how is Anne? Did she come through the birth alright?" George's voice was a mixture of agitation and frustration. Despite her feelings towards Anne, Mary could appreciate George's apprehension for his sister.

"She is fine." Thomas Boleyn's voice was full of disgust. May could not believe how unfeeling he was. She peered through the hole and could see George was slumped in his chair while his father paced the room. "Which I suppose is good. At least she can attempt to have boy next time!"

For the first time, Mary felt a tinge of pity for Anne – to have such a cold parent who saw his daughter as only a means to an end. With such a parent as that, no wonder she acted as she did.

"What of you George? Is your wife with child yet?" Her heart, which had been so light a moment ago, suddenly fell through her stomach.

"That would be rather difficult, unless of course she shares more than a name with the Holy Mother." George's voice was full of acid, but Mary knew somehow it was not directed at her, but the other man in the room with him.

"You mean you have not bedded her?" Thomas Boleyn stared, agog, at his son. "Do you have any idea what you are risking? Your sister has already failed us, I cannot afford for you to do the same!"

"Enough!" George said through gritted teeth, his voice was low but forceful. Thomas Boleyn was taken aback, and he was not the only one. Standing in her hiding place, Mary felt sure she had never heard George use such a tone. Even when they were in the midst of a serious discussion of the Plato or Aristotle, his voice had always been light and somewhat playful. "You have tried to turn each of your children into your own personal chess pieces and I have had enough! You forced Mary into the beds of two kings to help you advance at court, and now she can barely show her head without someone calling her 'the great prostitute'. And of course when Mary was no longer useful you shoved Anne in her place. You encouraged her to risk everything – even when you could see that she had already lost her heart to the King. Now you ask me to play the beast to an innocent girl and I have had enough of your games!"

"How dare you." Thomas Bolyen's face was red with anger. It was clear none of his children had ever dared speak to him as George had. "I am your father –"

"- You are my father, but this is my home and you are no longer welcome here!" George got up from his seat as he said this, the chair clattering to the ground, and opened the door to the study. Thomas Boleyn stalked out.

Mary couldn't identify the feeling that came over her as she heard him play his father so completely, but the corners of her mouth turned upwards. But then a wretched thought came to her. What if this had been an act, played for her benefit so that George could win her trust? Thomas Boleyn was clever enough for that, and George certainly had the wit. But something about the situation did not seem to fit that explanation. George believed that Mary was asleep and he had no reason to know of her fear of storms. She had been quiet when she came down the stairs – sure to make no noise – and no one had seen her so they could not have known she was listening. In spite of the tone of their words, they had kept their voices remarkably low as though they did not wish to be heard.

As she turned climbed back into her bed, Mary puzzled over the scene she had just witnessed. The more she considered it, the more it appeared to have been genuine. Yet Mary could not comprehend of a Boleyn coming to her aid. But in some ways, had George not already done so? He had every reason, and every right, to take her to bed, but he stayed away. Even his father had expected him to take his husbandly rights. Mary's head was awash in turmoil. Could she trust George Boleyn?


His head ached. For the first time in his life, George had disobeyed his father – even spoken roughly to him – and all he could think of was the throbbing in his head. What on earth had come over him? Perhaps it was the way his father had spoken of Anne, so without feeling for her plight. His poor sister. He wondered what their father had said to her, what the King had said to her.

Yet he was used to his father's business like manner when it came to his children's duty. It wasn't until he had spoken of bedding Mary that George had snapped. He resented his father interfering with his life here. Beaulieu was not ideal, but it was peaceful here, and Mary's company was enjoyable. She had a pleasant laugh and a lovely smile. Her mind was keen and he had never engaged in such intelligent conversations with a woman before. But for all her intelligence, she still was innocent as to the ways of the world. To her it was still a place of definite moral rights and wrongs. It was refreshing to be with someone who was so certain.

George sighed. After the confrontation he had with his father he needed rest. So he climbed the stairs and retired to his room, hoping to wake up more at ease.

AN: Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews! I also hope that you all go over and check out valleydew's Wind of Change. It's great to see another George/Mary fic out there, and its really well written!