April 1521
"Lady Carey has given birth to a healthy boy, Sire."
The words reverberated in Henry's skull, echoing over and over until he couldn't be sure he'd heard them correctly.
"A boy?" he breathed, scarcely daring to hope.
Dr Linacre smiled, nodding.
"A boy, Sire. A boy as healthy as anyone could hope to see."
Henry's heart leapt. A son! He had a son!
"And Lady Carey? She is well?"
"A little tired, perhaps, but no more so than is to be expected, so the midwives tell me. I'm told she is eager to show her son off to his father."
Henry needed no second urging. He leaped to his feet.
"Send word to the Tower. Have them fire the cannons in thanks. And tell Westminster and St Paul's I want those bells ringing and I do not want them to stop!"
He didn't even wait for an acknowledgement. Within seconds, he was gone, haring down the passageway to do something he'd begun to think he'd never get to do. To go and see his son.
There was no need for the King to be announced when he reached Mary's rooms. She heard him long before she saw him.
"Where is he? Where is my son? Let me see my son!"
She nodded to the two maids in the room. One of them helped her to sit up, propping copious pillows behind her back. The other reached into the lavish cradle at the foot of the bed, rocking the startled baby slightly to calm him before placing him in Mary's arms.
When the King burst into the room seconds later, the two curtsied and withdrew without a word. They knew the new parents would want to be alone for this.
Mary mustered a smile and looked up at the King. She proffered the baby for his father to see.
"Your son, My Lord," she whispered.
"My son! I have a son!" The King swept the little one into his arms, his touch vigorous yet gentle enough one might have been forgiven for thinking the boy was made of glass. His father was certainly looking at him as though he were that fragile.
He said nothing for several moments, drinking in the sight of the tiny boy, revelling in the strength of his kicks against his swaddling bands. A grin so wide it split his face in two spread across his face.
"Lady Carey, I do declare you are the best girl in England. You've made me the happiest man in Christendom. What shall we call the lad?"
"How could he have any name but his father's?" Mary responded instantly, knowing Henry's sense of self-worth was too great to allow for serious consideration of any other name for this, his first-born son.
And indeed, his grin grew even wider at her words, "Henry. You do me honour, sweetheart. Henry Fitzroy he shall be. Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond and Pembroke."
He heard Mary gasp at his casual bestowal of a double dukedom upon a boy not even an hour old, but in truth, the thought was not a new one. He'd spent many of the weeks of Mary's confinement musing over what he would do provided Mary gave him a son.
He wished he could do more for his son, but there was no escaping the fact that Mary was married, so, even assuming he could annul his marriage to Katherine, there could be no marrying her and legitimisation of their son. Which made making the boy a Prince impossible. The Richmond and Pembroke titles, on the other hand, were both old family titles, first granted to his grandfather and great-uncle by that King of blessed memory, Henry VI of Lancaster. There could be no shame in granting them to his son.
As for Mary herself, well, he had it in mind to make Carey a Viscount. Viscount Hundson, as he'd once suggested to Will before he sent him to Portugal. At the time, he'd suggested a barony, but that would make Mary a Baroness, equal in rank to Bessie Tailboys, and Bessie had only given him a girl. The mother of his son deserved a higher title than the mother of his daughter, particularly since he'd never claimed the girl in the first place.
And wasn't her father Sir Thomas angling for the Ormonde title? Wasn't there some talk of Mary's sister marrying her cousin to tie up the competing claims? Well, they needn't worry about that now. He'd grant Sir Thomas the title outright, in gratitude for the birth of his son.
When he told Mary his plans, her jaw dropped.
"Your Majesty is far too generous!"
"Nonsense! You've made me the happiest man in Christendom, darling. You deserve to be rewarded."
Something sparked in Mary's eyes, but before Henry could consider what it might be, she had laughed brightly and leaned forward to rest a hand on the baby's head.
"A double duke indeed! He'll have every man and woman in England angling to be his godparents if Your Grace continues to show him such favour."
"I thought Wolsey for his godfather at the font, and Brandon for his godfather at his confirmation. I'll ask my sister Mary and my aunt Catherine to be his godmothers, if you have no objection."
"How can I think to object? Your Majesty knows the ins and outs of court politics far better than I. I'm sure you would not do your son wrong by choosing inappropriate godparents."
Mary smiled up at Henry, then, and his heart swelled. That was the most natural smile she'd given him in weeks. It seemed their son was breaking down the walls that had sprung up between them since she'd found herself with child.
Impulsively, he leaned across over their son and kissed her.
"Lady Bryan can be his Lady Mistress, as she was Mary's. The Princess is five now, it's high time she had a proper governess anyway. And we'll not send him too far away, not while he's young. I thought Durham House would make a fine residence for him, what do you say?"
"Whatever you think best, My Lord. I know you've had plans for a son for a very long time."
"I have, my darling, I have. And now you've finally allowed me to put those plans into practice. How can I ever thank you?"
"You can thank me too much, you know," Mary chuckled lightly and Henry shook his head.
"Nonsense! Nothing is too good for you now, sweetheart. But listen to me going on. You must be exhausted. I'll take our son to meet his wet nurse and get him some lunch. You just rest, and when you've thought of something you want for yourself, you just tell me. Whatever it is, it's yours for the asking."
His tone brooked no argument, and Mary slid obediently beneath the eiderdown and closed her eyes, much as a child might. Henry looked down at her indulgently for a moment or two and then bent and kissed her.
"God Bless you, Mary Carey. You are the best girl in England," he said softly, before straightening up and carrying his son – his son! – out of the room.
Of all the boons Henry had thought Mary might ask of him as a reward for birthing him a son, this was most certainly not one that had crossed his mind.
He blinked at her, "You want me to recall Will from Portugal and send you both to the country?"
"Please, Henry, please! Why not? I've done what you wanted and given you a son. I've given you well more than a year of my life. Just let me go, let me be. Please."
Her eyes were round, swimming with unshed tears. She caught at his sleeve, every inch of her body pleading with him.
In the back of his mind, Henry registered the fact that this was one of the few times she'd felt bold enough to call him by his Christian name. She'd never done it before Hal was born, no matter how many times he'd begged it of her. Motherhood had clearly made her bold.
Part of him knew only too well why she was asking. To his chagrin, he wasn't entirely blind to the fact that Mary had felt forced into sharing his bed, that he hadn't always been a fully-fledged gentleman towards her. And, if he was honest with himself, he had no carnal need to keep her at his side, not now she'd given birth. Motherhood changed a woman, changed how she was in bed. Henry had never found himself to be particularly fond of the changes. Oh, he'd kept trying with Katherine, of course, but then, she was his wife. His Queen. That was a different kettle of fish entirely.
But whether he had any intention of calling Mary back to his bed or not was a moot point, at least compared with the babe squalling in the cradle.
"How can I let you go, Mary?" he asked bluntly, thrusting himself to his feet and pacing the room as he spoke, "How can I let you go, when you'll want to take Hal with you? Do you really think I am the kind of man who could let his son be raised by another man? Do you truly expect me to allow Hal to call Will 'Father', when it is only too obvious that he is my son?"
"No. You can have Hal! You can take him to Durham House and let Lady Bryan raise him, just as you planned. I'll never lay claim to him again, I swear it. I swear it on whatever you wish me to swear it upon! Just, just let me go, Henry, please!"
Henry reeled back at her words. Every fibre of his being wanted to rail at her, to call her unnatural for not wanting to mother her son, but as he whirled round to stare at her, something in her eyes, something feral, stopped him.
His voice dropped. "It means that much to you, that I would let you go? You are willing to bargain your son for your freedom? Did my affection for you truly sting so much?"
The old Mary would have cowered at the danger in his voice, would have dropped her head and murmured something placatory. But not this Mary. She raised her head, met his eyes with steel in her gaze.
"I would barter my son for my marriage."
Her words rang in the air, leaving only a heavy silence behind them. Henry searched her face for any sign of duplicity. Finding none, he sighed and spread his hands.
"On your head be it. But be warned that I'll not tell him of you. You'll not get a second chance."
Something flickered in Mary's gaze then, before she controlled herself.
"I am aware, Your Majesty. But, if God is good, He will see fit to grant me other children when the time is right."
King or not, Henry couldn't find the words to compete with the finality in her tone. He stared her down for several more seconds and then, for the first time in their relationship, yielded.
"As you wish, Lady Carey. I'll write to your husband myself."
He turned on his heel and strode from the room before she could form the words to thank him.
"My God, Mary, I knew from the day your siblings were born that you would never be the cleverest in the family, but I didn't ever consider you'd be this much of a fool. You had the King eating out of your hand, you could have asked him for anything in the world, and you asked him to let you go? What were you thinking, girl?!"
Thomas Boleyn stared at his eldest daughter in consternation, part of him wondering whether it was too late to shake some sense into the chit.
He was so lost in his thoughts that it took him quite by surprise when Mary suddenly slammed down the lid of her travelling chest and turned to face him.
"I was thinking, Father, that I had served the Boleyns and Howards quite long enough, and it was well past time I put my mind to doing something for the sake of my marriage," she said acidly.
Despite himself, Thomas gaped at Mary. He wasn't used to the quietest of his three children challenging him quite so openly. The action only lasted a moment, but it was quite long enough to give Mary an opening.
"Oh, honestly, Father! Aren't you Earl of Ormonde now? Isn't George Viscount Rochford? Hasn't the King made my son a Duke twice over? You can't stand there and tell me that wasn't more reward than you ever dreamed we'd get from my dalliance with His Majesty when it first started. All right, so we haven't found a match for Anne yet, but she's only just fourteen. There's plenty of time to find a husband for the new Lady Anne Rochford. And do you really think His Grace could really be persuaded to be much more generous, even to me? The shine of his son will wear off in time, once he remembers that Hal can never wear the crown. And I, for one, don't intend to be here when that happens. I never wanted to be here in the first place. You can stay and fight with the rest of the dogs for a bone of favour if you wish, but I am done. I have given what should have been the happiest time of my life – the first year of my marriage – to the King instead of to my husband and I am tired. I am tired of the game and sick to my stomach at everything that has happened in the last year and a half. I am going to the country and nothing you can do or say will stop me."
With that, she pushed past her father, counting on the fact that he knew she was scarcely out of her lying-in to make him yield. She snapped her fingers at the page hovering behind her, "Take my trunk down to the yard and send it to Aldenham. I am going to Durham House to take my leave of my son and will leave from there."
"Yes, Lady Hundson," the boy murmured, starting at the unusual hauteur in the new Viscountess's demeanour. Mary swept down the passage without another word.
It wasn't until she was well clear of her father that she let herself stop. She leaned against a tapestried wall, suddenly realising how fast her heart was beating. How much she was shaking.
She'd never challenged her father like that before. Never.
Hal snuffled in his sleep, whining slightly as his little legs kicked. The early summer sunshine streamed through the nursery window, picking out the hints of copper in his downy hair.
Mary leaned over the cradle, rocking it slightly to send him back into a deeper sleep. For a moment, she longed for nothing so much as to pick him up and cuddle him close to her.
Before she could act on the impulse, however, Lady Bryan entered the room, dipping her knee just slightly.
"Lady Hundson. Mistress Joanna told me she'd shown you up. How wonderful to see you. I trust you find everything to your liking?"
"Indeed, Lady Bryan. I can find no fault at all."
Swallowing, Mary lowered her hand into the cradle, resting it on Hal's back for just the briefest of moments, before drawing herself up and turning to the older woman.
"And His Grace? How do you find him, Lady Bryan? Does he eat well? Sleep well? Behave for the most part?"
"He does, Madam," Lady Bryan glanced down into the cradle, a smile softening the hard corners of her mouth as she looked at the sleeping baby, "He has the lungs of a lion on him when he's hungry, but other than that…"
"Hmm," Mary scoffed lightly in amusement, "He's a Tudor, then. There's no doubt of that."
Silence fell between them for a moment or two before Mary put out her hand and clasped Lady Bryan's wrist.
"Take good care of His Grace, Lady Bryan. At this point in time, the Duke of Richmond and Pembroke is the most precious boy in England."
Lady Bryan looked askance at Mary's formality with her own son, but the truth of the younger woman's words was too strong to deny. She nodded.
"You have my word, Lady Hunsdon."
"Good. I know His Grace will be in safe hands with you, Lady Bryan."
There was nothing more to say. Mary went to the door of the nursery. She glanced back. She nodded at the older woman. She hovered for a moment, then physically tore herself away.
She'd made her choice. Hal was Henry's son, not hers. She'd made her choice. Hal was Henry's son, not hers.
Mary kept telling herself that as she walked down the gallery, descended the steps and nodded to her young son's Steward, John Chapman before climbing to her litter.
No matter how hard she tried, though, her composure didn't last past losing sight of the gates of Durham House. Shielded by the thunder of her horses' hooves and the curtains surrounding her, hiding her from prying eyes, she broke down into floods of tears.