The Princess Elizabeth's indifference to her father's "advances" and increasing affection for her confessor had not gone unnoticed by her new stepmother and her potential brother-in-law either.

"It is all I can do not to laugh whenever I hear a spiteful tongue accuse my pure, beautiful little stepdaughter of not being my husband's child."

"Indeed, Your Majesty, indeed. Truth be known, it is one of the most nonsensical things I have ever heard. I mean, how could anyone possibly suggest for a moment that she is not her father's daughter? I have watched her, and I have seen His Majesty the King there in her gestures, in her grace and her dignity. Not to mention that she possesses a charisma that I have never ever seen in any other person, save His Majesty, and of course my precious, beloved Mary."

Queen Barbara's hazel-brown eyes grew sad. "It is a pity that there are such dark and terrible storm clouds between the father and the child whom, in my personal opinion, resembles him the most."

That was a fact.

It was becoming increasingly clear that, despite all that had been "proven" against her mother, Elizabeth was – out of the three royal children – the one who resembled her father the most, both in appearance and in certain aspects of psyche. Apart from the striking Tudor colouring, she had a look that Barbara had, so far, only seen from the older Tudor Princess, Mary. A modest woman always looked away or kept her eyes on the ground before their feet. But Elizabeth, like Mary, had the brave bold look of their father, the look of someone who had been bred to think that he might rule the world. She had his gaze: a straight look that a man might have, scanning one's face, reading one's soul through the eyes, showing one her own open face and her own clear eyes.

Little wonder that a few tongues had, more than once or twice, dared to say out loud that it was the greatest shame, the truest pity, that the Princess Elizabeth had not been born a boy.

Philip nodded. "Like a mountain of granite, the father. But the daughter is too a mountain, and a far more stubborn one at that."

"The King has told me that Charles and Anthony had suggested giving her more time, and that perhaps she can be brought around…"

"You cannot make a person what she is not." Philip smiled wanly at the beautiful young Queen whom he loved as a younger sister. "Forgive my bluntness, Your Majesty, but I do not believe that anyone can transform a person who does not want to be thus changed. No one has ever achieved true greatness using just the mind. One must also engage the heart. I do not think that the Princess Elizabeth will do that, because she does not want to. But…that is, of course, just merely my personal humble opinion of the situation. What do you yourself think, Your Majesty?"

Barbara answered carefully. "What do I think? Or what do I feel? Because that is what this comes down to, is it not? Elizabeth knows how to think, but she does not know to feel, and she choose to stay in that place of isolation. I do think that anyone would or could draw her away from that choice, as she holds it too close. There is great darkness in her heart, a darkness that comes from sadness. It is not of her own making or of her own doing, but it is there all the same."

"Elizabeth is as much a spirit of purity, light and goodness as my Mary is. She loves those whom she has her heart with every inch of her soul and being. She is gentle and kind to all those who are under her, and submissive and obedient to those who are her superiors. She has no great love for her father, but has always treated him with the utmost politeness and respect," Philip pointed out, jolted into defensiveness by his cousin's perspicacity. He knew how dearly his beloved loved her little sister, and he himself had grown to be deeply fond of her for her own personal sake, so much so that he was prepared to protect her if the situation called for it.

"I know that, Philip," Barbara replied, her sweet voice rich with an assurance that she bore no intention of offence. "But the fact is…I think…she is an angelic spirit who has been damaged by her human experiences, and this happened at a very young and vulnerable age. In all honesty, I do not know what it would take to crack her open and release the light that is trapped within her spirit. As you have said, she is as stubborn as her father is, and after all that has happened between her and her mother and her father, there is simply an overwhelming amount of sadness and sin and loss, perhaps too much for even the wisest of men to resolve. But…there is always hope. She is, after all, a pure soul capable of great love and tenderness, and hence I believe her capable of embracing forgiveness for others and for herself as well. I think I would advise the King to wait, to be patient and treat her with love, gentleness, and forgiveness, as our Lord taught us through his commandments, and see if that brings about a change in her."

"And…if it does not?" Philip asked quietly, a worried look darkening his arrestingly handsome face.

Barbara sighed, a deep and sad sound. "Then I shall have take the matter to God, and leave it in His hands. But surely He would not be so cruel as to condemn a poor, innocent little child to live in perpetual darkness and fear after He had already taken away her mother and her reputation."

"Amen to that."

Mary and Elizabeth were in their apartments sewing blackwork, the famous Spanish embroidery of black thread on white linen, when an unexpected visitor was announced.

"His Grace the Duke of Suffolk, Madams," said Susan Clarencieux, Mary's intimate friend and favourite lady-in-waiting.

The two sisters exchanged a confused, wondering glance, but Mary still turned her dark head to Susan and nodded. She laid aside her and Elizabeth's half-done sewing, and – more out of instinct and propriety than any genuine need to – checked their hair and their faces, and wrestled with imaginary wrinkles from their bodices and smoothed their skirts to ensure that both of them were indeed in immaculate, pristine condition.

Then they stepped forward to greet the man who was one of their father's most intimate friends, as well as the person who had played quite a major role in them both being shamed and bastardised and motherless, not that they knew the full exact details, of course.

Not for the first time, Brandon was struck by their radiant and unearthly loveliness. Beauty had been and always would be the quality he found most attractive, and both of King Henry's daughters were pure, yet real, living examples of this invaluable quality. When he came to compare them with the other ladies of the court, it seemed that, no matter how well-bred, how well-taught, how pretty, how charming, or how spirited they were, there was a certain uniformity about them and often one could mistake one for the other. But that could never ever happen to these two sisters. Indeed, the very sight of them, standing side by side, was dazzling and utterly distinctive. Providence, it seemed, had endowed the two Princesses with a kind of indescribable charm that was heightened and perfected by contrast: apart from the creamy fair complexion that both their mothers possessed, as well as the famous Tudor air of grace and authority that they had undoubtedly inherited from their father, their looks ran along the opposite ends of the spectrum.

Mary's face was rounded like a child, her nose, the Spanish nose of her mother, straight and long, her eyes alive with dancing lights of the deepest sea, and her mouth a perfect Cupid's bow. Elizabeth, on the other hand, had a heart-shaped face; her nose was small and fine, her eyes glistened like onyx, and her hair, the Tudor-copper hair, shone brighter than her sister's chestnut tresses.

Even the colours they wore were opposites: Mary was wonderfully gowned in wine-red velvet trimmed with the rich dark fur of rare black wolves, while Elizabeth was dressed in an exquisite Tudor-green silk shot through with silver thread, and matching silver baubles. Their glorious hair were loose, rippling down like waterfalls with fine golden chains braided into strands at the temples, and dainty velvet slippers set with great diamond buckles shod their feet. Brandon instantly knew, with a certainty that shook him to the core of his being, that the two sisters were completely dressed – from head to toe – in hand-picked gifts from their father the King, for wealth and style far beyond that of the Princesses' allowances and usual tastes showed in the quality of the velvet, fur and silk, in the expense of the cut, in the weight of the gold chains and the size of the buckles.

How ironic, he mused to himself, though of course he would never voice it out loud. How ironic is it that these two sisters should compliment each other so perfectly, and love each other so dearly, when their mothers had been the bitterest of foes. And how ironic is it that their son-obsessed father should only realise how special they are, and seek to bond with them after he had killed their hopes and had taught them that his love is something to be feared as much as it is to be revered.

And whose fault is that? A bitter, angry little voice that sounded remarkably like his friend, Knivert, snapped in his mind. Whose fault is it? Whose fault is it that the Princess Mary had lost her mother, her rank, and her prospects of a throne and marriage? Whose fault is it that the Princess Elizabeth lost her mother, her status, her reputation (forever), and was taught to fear her very own father as if he were a terror even among monsters? Whose fault is it that two of the best and most beautiful daughters a man could wish for lost all that they held dear in life forever? Was it really because of their father and their father alone? Or…was it because their father had been misled by friends who he thought he could trust with his life and his soul?

Wholly ignorant of Brandon's inner turmoil, Mary and Elizabeth swept him the most graceful and elegant of curtseys. "Your Grace."

At once he smiled his polite courtier's smile, and gave a low respectful bow. "Greetings, Lady Mary, Lady Elizabeth."

Brandon took a grateful mouthful of the rich, sweet wine that had been offered him after both he and the Princesses had made the conventional polite inquiries, and had seated for refreshments. His admiring gaze took in the vivid precious tapestries, costly Turkish carpets, and fine glided furniture. Bowls of daffodils stood out on the sandalwood tables and chests, and there were bright green velvet curtains at the latticed windows. The Queen, he remembered, had asked for the tables to be set in the window embrasure, so that her stepdaughters could get the best light for their reading and studies. "These are truly beautiful and charming rooms. Their Majesties the King and Queen, I believe, did a good deal to it when they decided that you two should be given permanent lodgings at court."

"Yes, Your Grace, I believe they did," said Mary, whose beautiful, serene face was warm with a heartfelt smile. One of the things that pleased her most in the world was a testament of parental love, as she had had the terrifying, nightmarish experience of losing the favour and affection of the very people who had given her life, and whom she had loved and revered with all of her heart since she learnt how to walk and talk. "And they could not have bestowed their kindness on two more grateful subjects. Is that not right, Beth?"

Elizabeth nodded, a smile also on her lips. Brandon's experienced courtier's eye, however, saw that the smile was more polite than sincere, and that those extraordinary dark eyes – eyes of the woman whom he had indirectly murdered – were soft with wistful sadness, as if the young Princess had already, instinctively, foreseen that the impending conversation at hand was one that she was not going to enjoy at all. O, Princess, is your fear of your father honestly so great that it has even included his intimates as well…?

"So how do you find life at court, Lady Mary?"

Mary thought for a moment. "Invigorating, exciting, and highly enjoyable, Your Grace," she replied, her tone so earnest that no one could doubt that she was speaking the truth. "As His Majesty's daughter, I have a natural and tender love for the life of the court, one that is made all the more passionate by the presence of my entire family and my dearest friends. But I have to confess that there have been times, Your Grace, where I have missed my main residence of Hunsdon House."

"That is perfectly understandable, Lady Mary, perfectly understandable." Brandon assured, the smile on his handsome face now genuinely warm and friendly in the face of this exquisite young Princess' honesty. "Trust me; I know exactly how you feel. But…" he now turned to face the little Boleyn Princess, "what about you, Lady Elizabeth? How you do find life at court?"

For a moment, just a brief fleeting moment, Brandon saw the courtier mask of Elizabeth's face slip away to reveal a thoroughly surprised little girl, as if she honestly had not expected him to venture into such personal territory with her. Does this mean that she had believed that I care absolutely nothing for her, and have only been warm and friendly with her only for courtesy's sake? Brandon wondered worriedly, guiltily. He did not like the idea of being thought ill of and feared by any child, least of all a child as pure and as innocent and as beautiful as this Princess, who was one of the nicest persons he knew and to whom he already owed a debt so great that he can never ever pay it in full.

After a short pause, at a look at her older sister (it seemed to Brandon that she was drawing courage and strength from the warmth in her sister's smile and the love in her sister's eyes), Elizabeth responded with the only way she knew how.

With tact and elegance.

"Life at court is, as my sister had said, full of wonder and excitement. It is colourful, busy, and noisy, all the things that life in the nursery palaces is not, and the greatest of privileges would be able to stay close to His Majesty the King. As one of his children, I find myself courted and flattered, and it would be the most blatant of lies to say that I do not enjoy it."

She refrained from mentioning that, a young and ignorant little child though many might believe her to still be, she could sense the darker side of life at court: the insincerity, the vicious intrigues, the backbiting, the tensions and jealousies. And fear too…that was often palpable. How could it not be, when the King's displeasure could mean imprisonment, ruin, or even death?

Not to mention that it was all she could do not to run away, as far and as quickly as she possibly could, at the sight of the father whom she had grown to fear as a monster and a madman.

Brandon had to admire Elizabeth's tact. She presented all the favourable aspects of the court that everyone expected that a royal bastard like her would enjoy, but she did not reveal how she truly felt about anything and everything either. Strange to say, his admiration was not tingled with annoyance as one would have anticipated him to feel due to his not receiving the much-desired direct answer, but a sad disappointment. It was then that surprise reared its head. Had he really been expecting to receive a direct, honest answer from her like he had with her sister Mary, despite having learnt that the one and only person that she confided everything in was said sister? Had he really been hoping so much that the answer she gave would not be that of a classic child of the court, and that she was enjoying court life to its fullest, despite the fact that anyone with the least bit of common sense would know it was almost impossible for her to do so, given her history and her parentage?

She has a gift, this Princess, the gift, of making those who truly knew her not only unable to hate her, but also genuinely care for her well-being and her happiness. A rare and precious gift that, so far, I have known and seen only one person to possess and demonstrate…yes, she definitely is her father's daughter and a Tudor…she must have inherited it from her paternal grandmother, the late Queen Elizabeth of York…

"If you do not mind, Lady Elizabeth, may I speak freely?"

"You may, Your Grace."

"If I were to ask you to make a choice between Hampton Court and Hunsdon, which would it be?"

Mary stared at Brandon, her smile faded a little and the light in her dark blue eyes dimmed. Just what on earth was going on here? What was with all these highly personal inquiries? Her beloved little sister, she knew, did not take well to private questions such as these. Her protective older-sisterly instincts now aroused, she drew her chair a little closer to Elizabeth's, as if she would shield her sister from this courtier who was slowly but gradually turning from a pleasant visitor to a clever and cunning interrogator.

Elizabeth, on her part, was surprisingly composed, as if she had long been expecting an "interrogation" such as this and had prepared accordingly for it. Without considering, without a moment's hesitation, she replied, "I believe that it would be Hunsdon, Your Grace."

"Hunsdon?"

"Yes, Your Grace, Hunsdon. As enjoyable and as exciting and as marvellous I find the life of the court to be, I have to confess that I, like my sister, have sorely missed the solemnity and peaceful order of Hunsdon House."

"It seems to me, Lady Mary, Lady Elizabeth, that that is proof of your personal attachments to Hunsdon. Both of you have become thoroughly and completely accustomed to the manor and the countryside, have grown to love it wholeheartedly as your personal haven and habitat, and hence would – sooner or later – be plagued by a sense of nostalgia if you were separated from them for extended periods of time."

"Yes, Your Grace, I think that would be the case," Mary said, almost glad that Brandon was now addressing both of them instead of only her sister. At least my Elizabeth is no longer a subject of his scrutiny…

As Brandon spoke, however, there was a sort of smile that Elizabeth fancied she understood: he must be supposing her to have grown tired of the constant hustle and bustle of court life, and longing to return to the quiet and uneventful life of Hunsdon.

Truth be known, she actually was.

She had missed – almost painfully – the grand, lofty mansion with all its elegant royal and guest apartments, music chambers, and the gallery filled with exquisite landscapes and portraits. She had missed taking part in the beautiful and serene world of nature that Hunsdon ruled – jumping over streams, watching the willows shimmering in the breeze, listening to the wrens calling to one another among the branches and the cattle lowing distant fields, and taking naps in the cool dark shade of trees.

Oh, other palaces could boast of being far loftier, far grander, and having more beauties of nature than Hunsdon, of course, but nothing could ever replace Hunsdon in Elizabeth's heart. For it was at Hunsdon where she was raised, where she shared a life with the older sister who was always so kind and so loving to her and whom she loved as a mother, where she actually felt completely and utterly safe…protected…from him.

Elizabeth would have blushed at having been found out by a man whom she barely knew, but she did not.

She silently blessed her sister, her governesses and her tutors for having sharpened her wits and rendered her nerves steady, because she could now come up with a logical answer at a moment's notice. Keeping her voice completely calm and confident, she said, "Each and everyone of His Majesty's residences is a home and a school to me, Your Grace, for they all individually offer me a chance to be taught about the world, and to acquire the necessary knowledge and mandatory skills that I need so that I may conduct myself in the proper manner befitting my status as His Majesty's daughter. So far, I have found that each and every one of them has their own splendours to delight in, their own pleasures to enjoy, and their own stores of wisdom to partake of. But I would confess, Your Grace, to having a partiality to Hunsdon. It is, after all, where I was raised, where I was taught to read and write, and to sing and play and dance. It is the place where I have spent the vast majority of my babyhood. I trust that you would agree with me, Your Grace, that it is perfectly natural that I – over the years – have developed a passion for Hunsdon and for the countryside. To say that I have grown to love it wholeheartedly as my personal haven and habitat is nothing but the truth, and the truth in every sense of the word."

"Both my sister and I have a passionate love for the countryside, Your Grace," said Mary, who could keep silent no more, and was anxious to distract Brandon's unwanted attentions away from Elizabeth. Her sister might not show it, but Mary knew well that conversation such as this not only made her intensely uncomfortable, but also took a toll on her spirits, making her drained and exhausted. It was becoming increasingly obvious that Brandon's visit was more than a courtesy visit, one with an ulterior motive. "We delight in the beauties of nature as much as we do jewels and adornments. We love to pick and bring flowers into our rooms. We make crowns and necklaces from daisies. When I kiss my sister goodnight," she turned to Elizabeth, the beautiful sisterly smile on her face, as if to assure her little sister that there was nothing to fear or be nervous of, as she was with her, "I often find meadowsweet or buttercups on her pillow where they have fallen from her hair."

These two Princesses do have a genuine love of the country, Brandon mused to himself. Picking flowers, bringing them indoors, plaiting them into circlets or tying them into garlands…the typical behaviour of country-people…none of the other ladies of the court would even think about doing that… "The King would not be pleased to learn that his daughters have grown to love being all on their own, and that they do not really need the court or even him."

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace?"

Brandon shook his head, as if he had been asleep for a moment. "Oh, nothing, Lady Mary. I was thinking about some things…"

TO BE CONTINUED…

Note: Hello, everyone, nice to see you all again, and no, I am not dead yet. Again, please tell me what you all think and always know that suggestions are forever welcome. A zillion thanks! Until next time…