Chapter 7

"Henry, you can't be serious! Me, curtsy to her? To that – that upstart?!" Mary Brandon stared at her brother, incredulous with anger, "She's a nobody!"

"Nevertheless, Mary, you will show her respect. I demand it."

"I'm your sister!"

"And still my subject. Bessie will be 'My Lady Blount' to everyone before the day is out and you, as the second Lady in England, will be the one to set an example."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you'll count yourself lucky if you're still a Duchess at the end of the week."

"You wouldn't! You wouldn't possibly hold Charles responsible? You know no man can control me, least of all him! Why on Earth would you strip him…Unless…Do you still hold our marriage against us? After all these years?"

"I suggest you don't chance what I would and would not do. Just do as you're told. I'm the King of England and I will be obeyed, do you hear?"

Mary began to retort, but bit the words back as the herald struck his staff against the floor, "The Lady Blount to see you, Your Majesty."

Instantly, the ire melted from Henry's face as though it were made of wax. He crossed the room in two strides and caught Bessie's hand in his before she had even begun to curtsy.

"Bessie, darling."

His voice was soft, tender. As tender as it had once been when he spoke to Mary. Or Katherine, his real Queen. It nearly made Mary sick to see him fawning over the young harlot as solicitously as one might a Princess of the Blood. Yet worse was to come.

"Sire," Bessie breathed, "I had hoped to catch you alone, but if you are occupied…"

"No, sweetheart, I'm not. Mary was just leaving, weren't you?"

The dismissal was final. Mary had no choice but to abase herself before the two of them.

"Your Majesty. My Lady Blount."

The words clumped in her throat, threatening to make her ill. Oh the shame of it! the shame that she, a former Queen of France and Princess of England and Duchess of Suffolk besides, should have to bend the knee to a mere Knight's daughter! Resentment, so long smouldering in her heart, sparked and burst into flame. In a matter of moments, she determined that, should it ever be possible, she would oust Elizabeth Blount from her brother's heart, no matter what it cost her.


Unbeknown to Mary, Bessie was struggling with a dilemma of her own. She loved the King, she really did, and she loved the way he treated her; as though she were the only girl in the world, but she was realising now that her carefree behaviour had produced consequences far greater and weightier than she had ever imagined it might.

She was kicking herself. She could try to pass it off as youthful ignorance, but, whatever people might think of her, Bessie knew she was intelligent enough to know that, at eighteen, one really ought to know better. Especially given what had happened to Queen Katherine less than a year past. Who knew how the King would react? Oh, he'd sworn to be Bessie's Sir Loyal Heart forever, to love her come Hell or High Water, but hadn't he sworn that to the Queen? Hadn't she died in childbed? Wouldn't that be the only thing on his mind, if she, Bessie, told him? Of course it would! So she couldn't tell him! She couldn't!

"Bessie. Are you all right?"

God, he was so sweet; so eager to check on her welfare. He had noticed her distraction and touched her cheek to recall her to him. Bessie turned her head to kiss his cheek.

"Of course I am, Henry. Forgive me. I was just thinking of the Midsummer's masque tonight, that's all."

"Ah yes! I shall be King of Summer and you shall be my Princess! Princess Elizabeth of the Roses," His brow cleared at her words. Soon he was lost in detailing the masque; the clothes they would wear; the lines they would speak, even the dance the two of them would dance together to bring summer to the Court and therefore to England. before long, he had pulled her up to rehearse it one last time and Bessie, relieved to have averted his attention so easily, was more than happy to go with him.


"You have to tell him. Beth, you have to tell him!" Cecily insisted, "You're not doing yourself any favours by refusing to tell him. At the moment, you might be able to fob him off with pleas of illness and your courses, but that won't last forever. Eventually, he's going to insist on bedding you again and that might harm the child you're carrying."

"I don't care! I don't care! I'll take the risk!" Bessie sobbed, feeling more like a child than ever as she buried her face in her hands. Cecily knelt down beside her, gripping her shoulders.

"Elizabeth Blount, you listen to me. You can't do that. You can't do that, not anymore."

"Why not? For God's Sake, why not?"

"Because you're not a child anymore. You're nineteen on your next birthday and a mother to be. The child in your belly is a responsibility, one you will have to bear, whether you like it or not. And part of that responsibility is telling the King. Do you understand?"

"But I don't want to!"

"It's not a question of 'I want'. It's a question of necessity. The King must know you are carrying his child and there's an end to it. Now, I'll go as far as to say that if you'd rather I told him, then I will, but…"

"No," Bessie shook her head, "He barely knows you. he'll take it better from me. but I would like Mark to be there. I'm going to do this, then I'm not going to do it alone."

"All right. All right. I'll tell Mark to come and find you and the two of you can tell the King. Hmm?"

Bessie nodded slowly. Cecily breathed a sigh of relief and stood up. "Good girl. Good girl. You'll see; everything will be much easier once you've told him."

"Will it?" Bessie wondered, but there was no time to argue. Cecily, ever the prim yet pragmatic one of the two, was already gone.


"Are you sure about this?" Mark squeezed her hand gently. She shook her head, "No."

"You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do. Cecily will have my head if I don't."

"Father will have your head if you do. If he finds out you've slept with the King and not taken precautions…"

"He's going to find out eventually. One way or the other. I can't hide forever. If we can get Henry on our side, then I might be able to brazen the whole thing out. After all, there's no shame in being the King's mistress, is there? Especially when he's not married."

"If," Mark repeated anxiously. But there was no time to say any more, for there were footsteps in the passage outside and Bessie's page was crying, "His Majesty the King."

Dazedly, Bessie rose to her feet and dropped like a stone into a curtsy. The King held out a hand to her, but she was blind to it. She remained in her supplicant position until the strain of holding it got to her and brought awkward tears welling up in her eyes.

"Bessie? Bessie, what is it, darling?"

His Majesty knelt down beside her, holding out his arms to her. She felt him embrace her and her defences broke.

"I'm sorry! I should have been more careful! Please don't be angry!"

"I could never be angry with you, sweetheart. Never. I promise. Just tell me what's wrong."

Oh, he was saying all the right things, but who knew if he'd stick to them once he found out? Where would fine words get her if, in a few months' time, she was swollen and heavy and unable to show her face at Court for fear of disgrace? If only he hadn't lost the Queen in childbed! If only it hadn't made him so mercurial! She wouldn't be so scared.

As it was, however, all she could do was cling to him as a drowning man would cling to a rope thrown from a ship. "Please don't be angry," she repeated.

"Why would I be angry? What can you possibly have done that would make me angry with you?"

"I'm pregnant!"

Suddenly the dreaded words were out, blurted out in a strangled rush of desperation. Their effect on the King was immediate. His body went taut against her and his hands stilled in her hair.

"What did you just say?" he whispered.

"I'm pregnant," Bessie repeated into his chest, silently begging Mark to help her. As though he could sense her predicament, Mark broke the silence, injecting an extra note of gaiety into his voice.

"Isn't that wonderful news? Congratulations, Your Majesty. May I be the first to congratulate you on the prospect of a healthy son? And my best to you too, of course, dear cousin."

"Of course you must, Master Blount. And you must take the very best care of your cousin now. Nothing could be more important than the child in her belly, do you hear?"

"Yes, Sire. You may count on me to do my level best, My Lord."

"I know I can. And you must give Bessie everything her heart desires. Money no object. Her…My…Our future happiness depends upon it. This child must be swaddled in love and care before it even leaves Bessie's womb. Understood?"

"Yes, Sire," Mark nodded, clearly thrilled at how well the King was taking the news. Bessie, on the other hand, felt her heart sink. The King appeared to be solicitous, true, but his concern had been general; focused on the child's welfare and not hers. Not once, though she was still in his arms, had he bent his head and asked about how she felt about becoming a mother before she herself had completed a score of years on God's Earth. Nor had he told her how happy she'd made him, as she'd always imagined her husband would do when she shared the news of her pregnancy with him. true, it could just be because Mark was in the room, but the presence of others had never stopped him declaring his feelings before. Bessie feared that this deliberate control of his emotions could be the beginning of the King's withdrawal from her arms. Still, he hadn't acted angry, so perhaps she didn't have to start worrying just yet. Even if it had taken him a heartbeat too long to answer Mark. She leaned back against him and tried to take heart from the way his arms automatically tightened around her.