Charles Brandon, Francis Bryan, Edward and Thomas Seymour, and Anne Stanhope were gathered in the parlour of the Seymours' apartments in Whitehall Palace. These most experienced and skilful of courtiers were having yet another one of their secret meetings, while eating rich pastries and drinking some excellent wine that Brandon had brought. Many candles had been lit and the fire was stoked. Edward had said earlier that he had something they needed to see, something that would be of remarkable interest to them, and they wanted to be able to see well, whatever it was that he had to present to them.
But now was still not the time for that…
"I would have thought that her mother's death would have served as a warning," Brandon said. He had, though the urging and manipulations of his wife, came to hate Anne Boleyn with a passion, and had played a major part in her fall from grace and subsequent execution. But his hatred did not stretch to the extent where it included her daughter. In fact, as impossible and absurd as it might seem, he had come to harbour a good deal of affectionate sympathy for Elizabeth, as much as he had for her sister Mary. This sympathy was further enhanced by the little Princess' genuine, irrepressible charm, his increasingly unhappy marriage life, and of course the guilt that occasionally plagued him – his guilt over the undeniable fact that he was a major part of the reason why an innocent child who had done him absolutely no wrong was forever branded a bastard of questionable paternity, and doomed to be remembered by history as the daughter of a whore of the lowest order. How Princess Elizabeth managed to always greet him with a sincere smile, and always treat him with politeness and respect, he would never know, but will never cease to thank Providence for. "But it seems as if she has not taken it to heart. I should warn her, else some misfortune befalls her."
Edward raised a thick eyebrow as dark as his eyes at this. "I have to say that I am genuinely surprised, Your Grace. I would have thought that you would be pleased if she falls out of favour with the King. She is, after all, the daughter of a whore that you and your wife hate to your very bones. And besides, what business is it of yours as to whether or not she is safe and sound?"
"I have no particular quarrel with, or grudge against, the Lady Anne Boleyn, my Lord. But Catherine did," Brandon corrected him with a sigh, a strange bitter seriousness that was truly rare for a man like him now entering his tone. "And in her quest to have Lady Anne disgraced, she turned me against her as well. She taught me to hate her, taught me to dance to her tune of grudge, and like a fool, I did exactly what she wished, as if I were a puppet and she the puppet-master, controlling my hands, my feet, my mouth and even my head with invisible strings."
Thomas shrugged, popping another pastry into his mouth. "No offense, Your Grace, but if she had not done so my sister, may she rest in peace, would not have able to become Queen, nor would she been able to give England the Prince it so desperately needs. What's done is done. And no one can say that it was not done for the best, the very best."
Brandon's lips curled into a smile so bitter that made him look as if he was chewing on lemons. "Yes. That much I cannot deny, I suppose. Were it not for Catherine's hatred of Lady Anne, the King would never have gotten the son he needs to make this country safe. But it does not change the fact that I have been used by her. Cruelly used. And now that she has gotten what she wanted, she has discarded me, as if I were a cup that she had used and wants to break it, a dog that she has grown weary of and wants to drown it – she had finished with me."
Anne stared at him, confusion written all over her sharp features. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but I am afraid that I do not understand you. Is everything well between you and the Duchess?"
The look that the Duke of Suffolk gave her in retaliation told her brutally that she was a fool for asking the obvious.
But he did not look angry, or annoyed, or frustrated. He simply seemed worn out, as if he was weary of the world and of women.
"The fire between us has died out," he said quietly. "And I think that there is no way to rekindle it, not when we have both lost each other… to this degree. She has become so cold and so distant. Every time she opens her mouth, it would only be to either rebuke me or humiliate me without mercy. I have given her property, gold, honours, everything that she could possibly want, and more…and she now repays me with turning me away and dismissing me as if I were a lowly servant. She says that we are no longer children, and that we no longer need indulge in even the smallest gestures of affection. In fact, I do not think I can remember when the last time she smiled at me was," he covered his face with his hands. "And now I am left with nothing but the pain and the humiliation of having been made an utter fool, and have to live the rest of my life with the knowledge that my hands are forever stained with the blood of people who might have been innocent of everything I indirectly accused them of, and that I not only cursed a poor innocent child to live forever in the shadow of disgrace, and even condemned her to fear her very own father above all things. And that father is one of the most important people in my life: my dearest friend and playmate since the days of my earliest childhood, the King to whom I owe loyalty and fealty, and the man who raised me – a lowly commoner – to the highest rank of nobility at a stroke, on a faint whim. He made me who I am today…and I repaid him by teaching his daughter to fear him as if he were a monster among monsters."
"It is not your fault, Your Grace." Francis drank the last of his wine and banged the silver goblet down on the cedar table violently. His dark eyes sparkled with rage. Nothing in the world made him angrier than the abomination of a woman bringing a man to a state so low. "Believe me, it was not," he repeated firmly. "You are not responsible for what happened to the Lady Anne, or all those men who went down with her, or the Princess Elizabeth. I may be no great philosopher or accomplished scholar, but even I know that everything happens for a reason. Since God has willed all of this to happen, it is no use pondering about what you have already done, or what might have been if you had acted differently back then. What's done is done, and there is no turning back the clock. What you should do is focus on is what you can control and change: the present, the future, and of course that accursed, undeserving wife of yours," his full lips curled into a dark, sinister smile that did justice to his nickname of "Black Pope", "In fact, I can help you if you want to. Just say the word…and I will teach that scheming, cold-hearted snake a lesson she would never forget."
Brandon shook his head, his bitter smile now softened a little. "No, thank you, Sir Francis. That would not be necessary. With things at this stage…I do not think that there is anything that would make it better. In fact, I believe it would not be long before we become estranged, as indifferent as strangers. But still… perhaps leaving it as it is would really be for the best. Like you all have said, what's done is done, and there is no way that I could turn back the clock. However much it galls me, however much it denigrates me and pains me, I must and will accept it." He sighs. "I will think of it as God's punishment to me, my burden to bear. I cannot change the past…but at least I can protect the future. And I shall do it by looking out for the Princess Mary and the Princess Elizabeth – especially the Princess Elizabeth – both of whom I have done the most terrible and unforgivable of wrongs."
Edward shook his head, a thoughtful expression on his face. "How is it that one little girl of seven is able to wreak such havoc and unrest among the greatest nobles in the land? At the very end she is just only a royal bastard, or an unwanted Princess, perhaps even a nobody. And her fate has already been unalterably decided long ago: she would either die a spinster due her illegitimacy, or be married off to some safe gentleman or – at best – a minor Prince, and followed by a yearly succession of children. She is absolutely worth no account."
"You do wrong to speak thus of her, my Lord," Anne sneered, as she always did whenever her proud, arrogant husband slighted one of or both the Princesses in favour of his nephew the Prince. Like Brandon, she was very fond of Mary and Elizabeth, knowing that they were two souls of rare and precious purity, and firmly convinced that each of them was something special despite their bastard status. "She is a most beautiful child, with a grace and a wit the like of which had never been seen. I have heard how her tutors say that she has a formidable – yes, formidable intelligence far beyond her years, and that her mind is as acute as can be. They say that they have never known a little lady with a quicker apprehension or a more retentive memory, and that she has a masculine power of application. They even say that if she continues as she has begun…" here a sly smile spread over her face as she regarded her husband triumphantly, "she would become the equal of men in learning."
Edward snorted and waved the words away as if fanning gnats. A mere child – and a girl one at that – becoming the equal of men in nerve and knowledge? "Flattery. Nothing more than flattery."
"No," Francis objected immediately, making the Earl of Hertford turn to stare at him in unmistakable surprise. It was so unlike this "Black Pope" to compliment a specimen of the sex that he had always deemed weaker, inferior, more ignorant, and not much good for anything except to "obey and serve". "Not flattery, my Lord Hertford. Your wife speaks of nothing but the truth. I have watched…observed her as closely and carefully as I did her sister. And I have to admit that she is the wittiest and most charming child I have ever seen."
"Not to mention that she is a pure and gentle soul," Brandon added, his smile turning from bitter to warm at the thought of the enchantingly lovely child who was always polite and respectful towards him. "She has an endearing charm her mother never had. The Lady Anne could turn every head in a crowd, but the Princess Elizabeth could warm a heart of ice. She is tremendously engaging, exuding a vulnerable yet lovable appeal from the top of her flaming head to the bottom of her dainty feet, like a young fawn you could resist petting, or a puppy that you could not help but cuddle."
"I must say, I have seen nothing of these qualities that you all claim to exist in her," Edward insisted adamantly.
"Then perhaps you are looking from the wrong places, Brother dear. Try the garden, behind the shrubberies. And maybe you will see what I – I mean, we – have all seen in her."
"Garden? Shrubberies? What in the Devil's name do you mean by that?"
"Exactly that, Brother," Thomas replied, his intensely dark eyes – eyes that had bewitched and broken the hearts of countless women – now sparkling with unholy mischief, making him look like some seductive yet impish trickster god from mythology. The mocking grin on his clean-shaven face set off the magnificent angular lines of his cheeks and jaw to full advantage, his rich, lustrous auburn hair seemed to sparkle with a life of its own in the firelight, and his broad-shouldered, muscular physique was accented by his new suit of dark-green silk. Little wonder as to why he was reputed to be one of the most handsome young men of the court, as well as being utterly notorious for seduction and heartbreak. "I hid myself behind the shrubberies and spied on the Princess Elizabeth as she took her walk in the gardens today."
Brandon's mouth fell open. "What were you thinking, man? If the King found out he would have your tongue cut and your eyes gorged out!"
"She was dressed in a strikingly severe style – no gold or jewels at her ears or throat or hands, just plain black velvet and white silk, and her hair was worn loose," Thomas continued, completely ignoring Brandon's comment. "But it all suited her perfectly. Even without the sun, her hair sparkled with bronze and copper and gold, all the colours of gold in one gloriously harmonious curl. The simple yet elegant gown became her sleek and supple figure, and set off her porcelain skin to fullest advantage. There was a perfectly natural, light flush on her cheeks, like the pink of cherry blossoms in spring, and her onyx black eyes were as bright and glittering as two gems set in ivory. Each gesture, each turn of her head and hands, each step, was as graceful and gliding as a dancer, and her voice – I swear to God – was that of an Angel of Music. Like her sister, she has every right to be famed for beauty and charm. A delight. A very picture of a Princess. More than that, I think that she is the most beautiful creature I have ever met. Engaging…as if she was filled with magic, a glamorous power that none can resist once it was turned upon him or her. And such a radiance about her – a classic perfect child fit to be the daughter of the King of Heaven and Earth."
By this time everyone in the room was looking at Thomas Seymour, studying him as if he were a book that had initially been boring in the extreme, but later edited to the extent where they could not put it down, not even for one moment, as if the excitement and wonders it now possessed would vanish without a trace if they allowed themselves to be distracted by other things even for the space of an eye blink.
For there was something about his tone, something about his terms that suggested – unmistakably, powerfully suggested – that it was not the mere flattery of a skilled courtier to a lovely little Princess.
It was something more than that…it sounded more like…a man complimenting a woman he had taken a certain special fancy to…
And no, they were neither mistaken nor the victim of lewd fantasies. Born to be tale-tellers and yard-spinners, bred to be flatterers and liars, they had been trained in the arts of deceit and appearance every single day since they were born. The fact that they had every opportunity to horn their skills every single day, almost every waking moment, simply meant that each and every one of them could give the supreme master of all deception – the Devil – a run for his money. And it also meant that each and every one of them could almost instantly tell when a person truly, genuinely meant what he or she said or not.
Sure, Princess Mary and Princess Elizabeth had always been objects of infinite admiration and endless flattery from the moment their father had taken them back into favour, but the way Thomas spoke about the Princess Elizabeth…it…it…was something entirely different altogether.
And all of them noticed it.
"Have a care, Little Brother," Edward warned, as he poured himself more wine; on his lips was the thinnest of thin lines. "Courting and flattering a King's daughter is harmless enough, but…try anything else…you would definitely become a head shorter."
Thomas shrugged, as if his older brother's threats of the Tower and of the executioner's axe were so commonly employed that they had become rusty, and he was wholly immune to them. "If it is treason to be fascinated beyond redemption by the Princess Elizabeth, then I would think that I have already been beheaded a million times."
"Hush! Fool! Hush!"
"She is irresistible." Thomas insisted, a smug grin crowning his face; his dark eyes sparkled with mockery and amusement at the sight of his brother in such an unusual state of alarm and anger. "I feel the magic. I have neither love nor fondness for her whore of a mother – absolutely none – but still I feel her peculiar, powerful charm. She is a Princess beyond Princesses. And it is only a fool who cannot see that."
"That would be enough." Brandon spoke up before Edward could retort, his courtier's voice booking no argument. Part of him was astonished and severely displeased with Thomas' mad infatuation for Elizabeth, while part of him was now sorely regretting bringing up the exquisite little Princess as a subject of conversation. What would the King think – or worse, do if he had heard all of this? It was by sheer force of will that Brandon suppressed a shudder at this most frightening thought. "Let us get to the matter at hand. What is it that you wanted to show us all, my Lord Hertford?"
A slow dark furtive smile spread over Edward's face. "I've found the King a new distraction."
Francis chuckled. "Really? And who is she?"
"Katherine Howard. A distant relation of the Duke of Norfolk, and the Queen's newest lady-in-waiting."
Anne scoffed. "It seems to have become a tradition: the King taking a fancy to one of his wife's ladies-in-waiting. Strange, yet deadly, if you ask me."
"A strange and deadly tradition indeed, but most fortunately it is one that works to our advantage."
"I assume that she is young and pretty?" asked Thomas, popping another pastry into his mouth.
"Yes, indeed," Brandon confirmed. "I remember her. She is like a little work of art, capable of captivating any man."
"We are talking about a King who has a radiant, sensuous Goddess for a wife, and who has the most beautiful of women flinging themselves at him every night of the week. Are you sure she can do it?"
"See for yourself, Little Brother."
Edward snapped his fingers and a young girl stepped from behind a tapestry.
Brandon, Francis, Anne and even Thomas could not help it – they gasped.
They gasped as a whole at the most impishly beautiful creature they had ever seen.
From her flaming head to her dainty slippered feet, she seemed to scream "seduction-personified".
Her red hair, which had been so lavishly brushed that it shone, swept over sweetly rounded shoulders like a mane, its unbound state betokening the modest yet alluring promises of virginity and innocence. She had been thoroughly bathed and scented with rose oil and lavender, if what they smelled were accurate. She was dressed in a gown of tawny velvet of highest quality, the sleeves trimmed with rich black sable, and the kirtle and under-sleeves of sea-green and golden brocade. It brought out the auburn in her hair and the dark, striking green in her sparkling eyes, and the tight lacing pressed her breasts into two mouthwateringly tantalizing curves of creamy flesh at the neck of her gown, and set off her waist – a waist so slender that two hands could have encircled it – to perfection. Free of powder and paint, her charms were completely natural – the crowning glory of which was the enchantingly winning smile that her lush, full cherry lips were smiling.
"Katherine," said Edward. "Here are the excellent people I have told you of. His Grace the Duke of Suffolk. Sir Francis Bryan. My brother, Lord High Admiral. My wife, the Countess of Hertford."
Katherine curtsied demurely, though there was a hint of dark challenge in her clear, unwavering green gaze. "Your Graces," she said, her voice as soft and sweet as water tinkling into a mountain pool.
Anne and Thomas stood and came close to the young girl.
"How old are you, Katherine?" asked Anne.
"Seventeen." Katherine replied, her expression now more alert, more challenging.
Anne smiled. "I wonder who taught you to count?"
Katherine lifted her chin all the higher. This was no shrinking maiden fearing shame or critical scrutiny. This was a girl coming to the edge of womanhood, with enough dignity and wit about her such that she was prepared to fend off whatever embarrassment these nobles - a million times worldlier and more experienced than her - might attempt to cause her.
"Tell us something of yourself," said Thomas, walking around the young girl, considering her assets from all angles. "Your parents. So on."
Katherine shrugged. "My mother died when I was little. My father remarried, but I did not know his new wife, really. I was sent to live in the household of the Dowager Duchess."
Thomas glanced at his older brother. "That would be the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk? Widow of the second duke?"
"Yes, Your Grace," said Katherine. "But I did not see her much. There were many other children there, from lots of marriages. We ran a little...wild. As wild as the nymphs who serve Artemis the Huntress, I might say. There was fun in it. More fun than one could ever, ever imagine." She sighed sadly. "Then the fun stopped."
Anne touched the girl's glossy red hair and stroked her smooth, round cheeks. She ran her hands down her arms and took her hands, turning them over to examine them closely. Not a flaw: a perfect pair of hands, as white and dainty as a fairy's, with long, slender, graceful fingers, tipped with French-manicured talon-like nails. Then, with the sly meaningful grin still on her face, she said, "Well, my sweet, beautiful child, I think the fun is just about to start again. What say you, Your Grace?"
Brandon crossed his arms and grinned widely. "I think...I think...she looks fit for a King."
Note: Hey, I am back. Again, SO EXTREMELY SORRY for taking so long, and for writing so short. It is just that...I swear to God that this is really as far as I can currently go for on. I have been having some troubles at home, not to mention that school and my muses are becoming real pains in my butt. My life has become much more complicated, and there are several times where I even thought about abandoning this story. In fact, if it were not for all your encouraging reviews, I honestly think I would not bother anymore. Please continue to review and tell me what you all think, though, and remember that I am always open to suggestions. Hopefully when my life gets sorted out, I would have more time to muse and to write.
One more thing: It is a matter of confirmed historical record that, after Henry VIII died, the Princess Elizabeth went to live with her stepmother and guardian, Queen Katherine Parr, turning down her sister Mary's offer to live with her at Hunsdon. But perhaps it would have been better off if she had gone to live with her sister, or if she had lived alone in her primary residence, for Katherine made the fatal mistake of marrying Thomas Seymour, who abused his position as her stepfather by playing some very inappropriate "games" with the maturing, fourteen-year-old Princess, all implying that he was attempting to seduce her. Hence, I thought that it would be interesting if I added a touch of Thomas' infatuation with Elizabeth here in my story. Then again, if he had really been in lust with her, it would not be exactly unjustified - apart from being a wealthy and privileged young lady, she was also spirited and pretty, and unarguably a wonderful prize for any man, though history states that she was not as beautiful as I had made her to be in story. But don't worry - I would not kill her off. This I promise. Please tell me honestly, though, if you do not like it and wish me to exclude it.
And again, please REVIEW and tell me WHAT YOU ALL THINK. Like I said, it gives me the ZEAL to KEEP ON GOING! Thanks!
