Chapter Nine - Your Heart is True

April 20, 1534 – Road to Kimbolton Catle

Sitting in the carriage, Mary anxiously clutched the chain of a gold necklace in her hands and ran her thumb over the jeweled pendant in the shape of a pomegranate.

Because Hampton Court was directly on the path to the Dowager Princess's estate, Mary and George were permitted to break their journey there overnight, though Mary was not granted an audience with her father. Instead upon arriving, a page gave her a note from Queen Anne requesting her presence. Mary, not wishing to give her father any cause to change his mind, obliged.

Upon arriving at Anne's chambers, she was conducted inside by Mistress Shelton. Anne was seated by the window, engaged in sewing a shirt. Mary curtsied to her.

"Your La-Majesty."

"Lady Mary, thank you for joining me. Please have a seat." She motioned to a chair. "Mistress Shelton, would you please fetch me that trinket I asked you to put aside this morning?" Madge gave a curtsey and went into an adjacent room. When she returned she had a gold necklace with a ruby encrusted pomegranate clasped in her hands, which she handed to Anne. "Lady Mary, since you are to see your mother, I was hoping that you might be kind enough to give this to her. You see, it is not much to my taste and it would be too much of a bother to have the royal jeweler refashion it. Besides, I believe it was a piece she brought with her from Spain."

At first, Mary did not know quite what to think. Was this some kind of cruel joke, to have her deliver a piece from amongst the crowned jewels, the jewels meant for the Queen, to her mother in exile? But as Mary read the expression on Anne's face she thought again. Perhaps Anne spoke truthfully that it was not to her taste, but it certainly would not have been a problem to have the jeweler refashion it. Hadn't numerous other pieces of her mother's already been melted down to satisfy Anne? Her father had already spent vast sums to have the monograms of him and her mother chipped away. So making over a little necklace would hardly have been a significant request. There was a sincerity in Anne's eyes, that for a brief moment reminded her of another Boleyn, which made her consider that this gift might truly be an olive branch of sorts. Despite the dismissive tone of her words, Mary was inclined to believe that this might be the first kind thing Anne Boleyn had ever done for her.

"Thank you, your majesty. I will see that it is delivered to her."

"That will be all." Their interview at an end, Mary stood up, made her curtsey to Anne, and left, feeling strangely obliged to her.

Mary had been so happy when George returned from court bearing the letter, she had launched herself at him, embracing him and giving him a kiss on the cheek, which made him blush. But now, a part of Mary was afraid to see her mother. They had not met for nearly five years, she had grown, and changed, she was eighteen now, a woman. Would her mother approve of her? In nearly all particulars she followed her mothers instructions, continuing to pray mass, say her rosary, and study her bible. Yet, she worried if that would be enough to satisfy her.

Though she would not admit it, she was also concerned about what her mother would think of George. They had been married for nearly ten months, though they did not live as husband and wife. Something in Mary desperately needed her mother to approve of him. Perhaps if her mother approved of George she would not be so racked with guilt when her mind drifted towards him at night.

Shaking her from her reverie, George's horse trotted up besides the carriage and he called inside to her.

"It should not be long now, perhaps another hour's ride before we arrive. Do you wish to press on, or do you need to rest?"

"I would like to press on." Mary wanted to get to Kimbolton before anxiety got the best of her and she had them turn around.


An hour later, just as George predicted, they arrived and Mary stood aghast as she looked at the manor in which her mother was housed. The manor itself was small and old. The gardens were overgrown around the outside and the paint around the windowpanes was chipped and flaking. George took Mary's arm and they walked to the door where they were greeted by the stern visage of Anthony Eddington, the keeper of the manor.

"Who calls?" Eddington growled in his low voice.

"George Boleyn and Mary Boleyn, Earl and Countess of Ormonde. I have a command from the King, granting us permission to visit with Her Highness, the Dowager Princess." George took the letter from this doublet and handed it to Eddington who read it intently.

"Very well than. Lady Elizabeth Darrell can conduct you upstairs to Her Highness's chambers." They were then led into the entryway. "Stay here and I shall fetch Lady Darrell." Waiting gave Mary a greater opportunity to exam the surroundings. The wooden floors were old and creaked with each movement. A pervasive smell of dust and mildew overwhelmed the entirety of the place. Mary felt her heart sink. How could the King send her mother to such a place? Was he truly willing to submit his wife of twenty years to such poverty?

Soon they were joined by a somber looking young blonde woman who curtsied to both of them. "I am Lady Elizabeth Darrell, Her Majesty's lady-in-waiting. I will take you upstairs to see her." She pointed them towards a narrow staircase, which they began to climb, each step creaking and groaning from the unaccustomed weight of visitors. Mary followed directly behind Lady Darrell, with George behind her.

"How is my mother, Lady Darrell? The letter gave me only the briefest of descriptions of her condition."

"She is indeed in great pain, but says little of it. I try to keep her at ease with a fire and teas made with herbal remedies a local apothecary has provided. Her spirits are low though, I feel from lack of society. I believe your coming here will improve her greatly."

"Thank you. I am most grateful for you kind attentions to her."

"There is no need for thanks. She has always been a good and kind mistress, and it is the very least I could do."

"That may be so, but there are few who have." By this time they reached the top of the staircase and had walked to a door in the middle of a long hall. Mary's heart began to thud inside her chest as Lady Darrell opened the door. Inside the room was dark, with a small fire burning. Facing the fireplace there was a large, worn armchair where her mother sat. Seeing her mother, Mary had to contain her urge to dash to her and sweep her into an embrace. Instead, she remained in place by the door with George as Lady Darrell walked forward and announced them.

"Mary? My Mary, she's here?" Slowly, Katherine got up from her chair. Her face was older and more drawn than Mary had known it, but it was her mother. Katherine raised her arms up and Mary fairly flew into them. Lady Darrell left the room immediately while George remained by the door watching as mother and daughter embraced. She took Mary's face in her hands and studied it. "How did you manage to come here? Did Ambassador Chapuys manage to convince the King?"

"No, Mama. It was George, he spoke with him." Mary smiled as she looked back over at George.

"Indeed." Her look was icy as she took in his appearance. "Thank you for your efforts."

George bowed to her. "You are most welcome Ma'am. You must forgive me, but I think I shall allow you both to speak in private." Mary smiled at him in thanks as he bowed to them both and left the room.

"Well, now, let me look at you." Katherine placed her hands on Mary's shoulders and held her at arms length as she examined her. "You've grown into a fine woman. Do you go to mass regularly and study your bible?"

"Yes mama."

"Have you kept your word to me, have you kept him from defiling you?" There was a slight quaver in the old Queen's voice as she asked this.

"Of course mama, George has been most gentlemanly and most kind to me."

"Hmph." The Queen sniffed. "No doubt for his own purposes." She then returned to her chair by the fire. Mary followed, and knelt beside the chair.

"I assure you mama there is not the slightest pretence about him."

"No pretense? He is a Boleyn, and what is more he is a heretic! Has he completely fooled you? You must shake off these childish fantasies or you will be taken in completely."

"Mama, please, understand there have been many times in which he could have taken advantage of me, but he has not. He has sought to do nothing more than place me at my ease and see to my comfort."

"And you do not think he has some agenda of his own?"

"I know he has mother, he has said so himself. He has been most honest and frank with me in all things. Mama, let us not spend the few hours we have together in dispute. I have brought you something." She took from the necklace from its pouch and handed it to her mother.

"How did – who gave you this? Was it the King?" Mary could sense the small note of hope in her mother's voice. She could tell that, in her mind, if the King had sent it along it would be a sign that there was hope he would return to her. Mary didn't know if it would be crueler to let her mom live with that hope or to quash it forever.

"No, mama. The Lady Anne - " Mary could not call her by the title of Queen in front of her mother, even if it would anger her father " – she bade me give it to you."

"Did she, well no doubt the King directed her to see it was returned to my possession. My parents gave this to me when I left to come to wed Prince Arthur. That harlot has taken everything else of mine; I feared she had kept hold of this one keepsake of mine as well. But it appears your father has prevailed upon her."

Mary felt a desperate need to change the conversation. Her mother seemed content to find some hope in the smallest of acts that somehow her claim to the throne would be recognized, her husband would return, and she would once again be proclaimed Queen of England.

"Mama, have I told you? I have been practicing some new pieces on the virginal, we have a very fine instrument at Beaulieu." Mary tired to interject cheerfully.

"I am glad to hear you have not forsaken it." Katherine smiled fondly at her daughter.

"Indeed, Mama. George encourages me to play and is quite an attentive audience." Mary could see her mother's eyes narrow at the mention of her husband, and she was surprised that more and more she had begun to think of him that way.

"Do you love him?"

"Mama, I – of course I do not." But she could feel her cheek begin to flush and she hoped her mother did not notice. "It is just that he has been good company to me while I am living at Beaulieu."

"Good. Never forget mija*, you are the heir to the throne of England. You are worthy of a far better man than the son of a knight, a man whose family not two generations ago were merchants. You are a Tudor, the daughter of a King and the granddaughter of their most Catholic Majesties Ferdinand and Isabelle. It is your destiny to succeed your father to the throne and to return this country to the true Church."

"Yes, Mama. She responded meekly. She knew what her mother expected of her, what Ambassador Chapuys and the Emperor expected of her, what every Catholic in the nation expected. But, a part of her no longer wished for that path. When her mother was first exiled from Court and it was clear what her father's intentions were in regards to the Lady Anne, Mary wanted nothing more than to retake her place. Now though, she could not deny that she never felt more at peace, more at home, than when she was at Beaulieu, playing the virginal, with George listening intently. However, she could never say this to the mother who had placed all her hopes of vindication upon her daughter.

"Mary, I am tired. Would you fetch me my shawl from the bed. I think I will rest here by the fire." Mary stood up from her position by her mother's chair and collected the worn shawl from the bed. She walked back to her mother and placed it about her shoulders and gave her a kiss on her cheek. "It warmed my hear to see you, my daughter. You have grown into such a lovely woman, and you will make a wonderful Queen."

"Thank you mama." She tried to keep the tears from choking her. Katherine closed her eyes and Mary turned and left the room. Walking downstairs, she found Lady Darrell seated in the drawing room stitching a shirt and occasionally throwing a sharp look at George who sat, oblivious to the piercing glances, reading a book.

Lady Darrell looked over at the doorway to see Mary standing there. "Is Her Majesty well?"

Mary nodded in response. "She has decided to rest."

"I would offer rooms for the evening, but we have none ready for visitors, seeing as we have so few."

"Thank you for your hospitality Lady Darrell." George stood up from the chair and walked over to Mary, noting her care-worn face. He softly asked her "Do you wish to find some place nearby where we may stay for the evening so you can visit again tomorrow?" Mary shook her head in reply. "Very well, we should bid our goodbyes then so that we may return to Court by nightfall."

Mary then walked over to Lady Darrell. "Thank you Lady Darrell for giving my mother such diligent care. You have truly been a good friend to her."

Lady Darrell made a deep curtsy to her. "Of course Your Highness. I hope that you will be able to return again soon."

"As do I." Mary replied sadly. With that, she and George left the manor. As she climbed into the carriage, Mary looked back at the decaying home before her and felt her eyes sting. Quickly she seated herself inside and gave a nod to let George know she was ready to leave.


Arriving back at Whitehall, Mary went directly to her apartment. She didn't notice George follow her in, until she heard the door close behind her.

"What do you want?" She said tartly.

"I wanted to see if you were well. You appeared quite upset as we were leaving Kimbolton."

"What do you expect!" She spat out. "My mother, the rightful Queen of England is living in exile in a decrepit manor with one lady to wait upon her while my father the King hold extravagant masks and banquets. While I – I am forced to pretend marriage to the brother of the woman who has caused her immeasurable pain."

"Mary –"

"No! Do not say anything!" Suddenly every emotion she had suppressed poured out of her. "I hate him! I hate my father for leaving her, for exiling her to that place! I hate Anne for seducing him away from her! I hate my mother for loving him still! And – and I hate myself. Why was I not born a boy? Why am I not enough for him as I am?" Giant sobs racked her body.

George walked over to her and caught her up in his arms. "No! I don't – I don't…" She pounded at his chest with her fists, but eventually she gave herself over to his calming presence. He stroked her hair and rocked her as she continued to cry. Eventually, she began to tire and she felt her self being lifted off her feet and placed on the bed. She opened her eyes and caught George's hand as he began to walk away. "Please, stay with me." George looked about for a chair. "No, here. I don't want to be alone."

George lay down on the bed next to her, and she curled herself up by his side and placed her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her. Her tears began to dry up and as she drifted off to sleep she thought she heard a small voice whisper in her ear, "You are enough for me."


May 5, 1534 – Beaulieu

The week that passed after their returned to Beaulieu was perhaps the most awkward since they had first arrived. Neither of them spoke of the evening they shared a bed together and neither mentioned Mary's impassioned outburst. Still, she wanted to thank him for convincing the King to allow her to visit with her mother.

One night a furious storm raged outside. Unable to sleep, Mary climbed out of bed and, grabbing her dressing robe and slippers, padded down the hall to George's chamber. George answered her knock obviously awoken from his sleep.

"I was having trouble sleeping. The storm – I have never slept well during a storm. May I sleep here?"

George nodded "Come in." He began to walk over to the chair by his desk.

"There is no need for that." She said shyly. "After all, we have already shared a bed once, have we not?" She let out a soft chuckle.

"Of course, if that is what you wish."

They lay there, silently for a while, neither knowing what, if anything they should say to the other. Eventually, Mary decided she needed to speak. "I wanted to thank you for helping me visit my mother. It meant the world to me."

"Your welcome. Though, it is truly Anne you should be thanking, it was she who spoke to the King and convinced him.

"And you convinced her, and I thank you for that. I also wanted to apologize for my outburst the other day. I was not myself."

"You have nothing to apologize for. You have been placed in a difficult position. It is only natural that it would provoke strong feelings."

"Thank you, again." Mary lay quiet, but then something pricked at her mind and she turned to face George. "You have been so good to me, since the moment we were thrown together, you have been nothing but kind and patient, even when you had every reason not to."

George turned to face her in response. "When I was first told of our marriage, I thought, now here is an easy way for me to continue my present bachelor life, for such a wife will never expect much from me as a husband. But, then I saw you, and you were so beautiful and I realized how innocent and how trusting you were. I could not take advantage of that. Whatever the rumors of my recklessness may be."

A curl fell onto his face and Mary moved to push it back. As she began to withdraw her hand, George caught it with his and bringing it to his lips, kissed the inside of her palm and then the back of her hand. Without thinking, or knowing what she was doing, Mary leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He responded to her kiss intently. Quickly the kisses grew deeper and more passionate, hands began to roam. Mary felt her heart beat faster as every nerve in her body seemed to respond to his touch. She wanted more. George rolled on top of her and she began to tug at his nightshirt, when he suddenly stopped and pulled away from her, leaving Mary momentarily breathless.

"Are you sure about this? You understand, after this, there is no turning back."

Mary smiled. "I know. And I wish to be your wife, in all ways." She then pulled him towards her and kissed him.

Mary had heard the term intimacy used many a time in different contexts, but she never truly understood the depth of its meaning until that night. It hurt a bit, though George was gentle and solicitous, but she would not have traded the pain away for anything. For that night they were no longer two solitary individuals. As they drifted into sleep together, Mary felt as though for the first time, the shifting sands upon which her life had stood the past few years had solidified.

*Mija is spanish for "my daughter"


A/N - Thanks again everyone for the wonderful reviews. They make my day. Its odd - I really had no idea of ever touching this pairing with a 10 foot pole. But eventually it hit me as an interesting idea so I figured, why not. Let me tell you, the more I've written them, the more I've loved them as a pair.