Welcome to new reviewers Evelyn-Sunshine, CalonLan, hazel's tears and "anonymous". I hope that you'll all stick around and continue to enjoy the story.
Author's Note I: Ages, dates, etc, are primarily based on the show but I'm also taking a few liberties with them.
Author's Note II: I'm starting a new story (another AU) today: "Three People In A Marriage". Does exactly what it says on the tin. :-) I'd love it if you could check it out and let me know what you think.
Chapter Ten
19th May 1536
Dr Linacre's face was almost expressionless as he examined Anne, being careful not to allow any emotion to show as he probed the swell of her stomach to judge the position of the baby, noting its movements before examining Anne for signs of dropsy or any other complications, finding none. Finally, with his examination concluded, he permitted himself a small smile, relieved to see that all was well.
When he was hastily summoned to the Queen's rooms early in the morning, he had feared the worst, as there were still a couple of weeks to go until the baby was due.
Of course, children could be born weeks earlier than this and still live and thrive but the Queen's pregnancy was a special one, of vital importance to the whole country, and he would be much happier if the baby was carried full term.
"Everything looks fine, Your Majesty, there is nothing for you to be concerned about." He reassured her kindly. "The child will not be born today – which is just as well, as it would be rather early for it to arrive – but within a fortnight, or perhaps a few days more, you will hold your baby in your arms, God willing."
"Are you sure?" Anne pressed anxiously. "The pains…"
"It is not unusual for a woman to suffer pains similar to those of the early stages of childbirth in the weeks before her delivery, Your Majesty." Dr Linacre told her. "But they are false pains, not true childbirth and while they are unpleasant, they do not do the child any harm and they are not portents of a difficult birth, I promise you that. If they return – and they may – I will give you some medicine to ease the pain, but there is no reason why this should not be a straight-forward birth, or why the baby should not be strong and healthy."
As he spoke, he said a prayer that this would be true; he was the one charged with ensuring that the Queen was cared for during her confinement and with ensuring that every possibly precaution was taken to ensure that mother and baby both came through the ordeal of childbirth alive and whole. He was afraid that if anything went wrong, he would be blamed for not being careful enough with them and if that happened, the King's wrath would be terrible.
Reassured by his words, Anne relaxed, lying back against her pillows.
When she began to feel the same twinges of pain that had preceded her labour with Elizabeth, she called for Mistress Porter immediately and the woman had taken charge straight away, issuing instructions to Anne's ladies-in-waiting like a general giving orders to the troops he commanded, dispatching them to fetch clean linens, to give orders to the servants to bring hot water up from the kitchens and to find Dr Linacre and bring him up immediately. However, before the preparations were complete, Anne's pains were already subsiding and when Linacre arrived and examined her, he explained that it was only a false alarm, an announcement that she was sure had caused considerable disappointment to quite a few people, her husband and father included.
"Mistress Porter tells me that you have not been sleeping well these past few nights," Although Dr Linacre's tone was conversational, he frowned slightly as he spoke, an almost paternally reproachful expression on his face. "You should have told me when you first began to have difficulty sleeping, Your Majesty, I could have given you something to help."
Anne didn't respond. It was irritating to know that her every move was being reported back to the physician, who was told every detail about her day, her progress and any setbacks. Dr Linacre was told everything from what she ate and how she slept to how often she used the closet! Over the past few nights, she had been woken by nightmares but hadn't felt inclined to share that detail with anybody, not wanting to talk about it.
The images in her mind were terrible and she couldn't bear the idea of voicing them to anybody, not even her brother or sister and certainly not her physician.
"I'll prepare a tonic for you to take tonight, one to bring a sound and dreamless sleep." Dr Linacre told her, his tone brooking no argument. "You will need all the rest you can get in the coming weeks."
Once she was safely tucked back into bed, with a hot posset pressed on her to help to calm her nerves and stave off any more false alarms, Dr Linacre departed, promising that he would be back to check on her the next morning, and Henry was admitted to the room for a visit.
"You gave us all a scare, sweetheart." He told her in a mock-chiding tone as soon as he entered, bending down to brush a light kiss on her forehead before he sat down. "I thought that our son was on his way, and before I had made proper arrangements for the celebrations or for the christening or anything else. I believe that Brandon and some of the others are also betting on the day of the birth. Whoever chose today will be disappointed – but Elizabeth will be pleased." He added cheerfully.
"Why?" Anne was curious about why her daughter would be pleased about the delay, given her impatience to meet her baby brother.
"She needs more time to be able to choose a gift for him," Henry explained. "She wants to have it ready for when he is born."
"I thought that she already decided on the hobby horse." Anne pointed out. Once Elizabeth voiced her intention to pick out a gift to give the baby when he was born, Lady Bryan was given access to funds to purchase whatever Elizabeth wanted and permission to send for merchants and craftsmen from London who could bring a selection of their wares to the palace to enable the little girl to decide on a suitable gift, a choice that she took very seriously.
George, who had been enlisted to help her make the decision, as his niece believed that he would be able to offer her valuable insight into the kind of gift that would be suitable for a little boy, brought Anne updated reports of the decision-making process when he visited, relating anecdotes about the toddler's earnest efforts to ensure that her choice was a perfect one and about her touching desire to welcome her brother into the world.
Henry shook his head, holding a finger to his lips. "Ssh – you're not supposed to know about it." He reproved her teasingly. "It's supposed to be a surprise for you as well as for the baby. And as far as the hobbyhorse goes, Lady Bryan told me that Elizabeth decided that she'd rather keep that for herself, so she needs to pick out something else to give the baby."
Anne laughed. The same thing had happened before, with the songbird. After careful consideration, Elizabeth had chosen the bird and the beautifully crafted cage, thinking that it would be able to sing to the baby, but she grew so fond of it after a few days that she couldn't bear to give it up and decided that something else would make a better present for the baby, so she was allowed to keep the bird in her nursery and Lady Bryan summoned the merchants and craftsmen back a second time.
Maybe it wasn't a good idea for them to be so indulgent with their daughter but Elizabeth's charms were hard to resist. In any case, Anne was happy that she didn't seem to resent the idea of having a baby brother and that she wasn't jealous over the fuss being made over the anticipated arrival of a prince and hoped that this wouldn't change after the baby was born.
Elizabeth might not be old enough to understand about the line of succession to the throne, what it meant to be the heiress presumptive or how the birth of a brother would mean that she was supplanted as the next heir but she was a very intelligent child and she was bound to notice that the ceremony for a prince was much more elaborate than it was for a princess.
"I have some more good news," Henry said cheerfully. "Ambassador de Bellay is going to hold the prince at the font when he is christened. Francis has agreed to be godfather, so his ambassador will be his proxy. Have you thought about who you want as godmother?" He asked. King Francis had proposed his sister, Marguerite of Navarre, indicating that she would be pleased to be godmother to the baby but the idea of asking a woman with whom he had had relations to stand as sponsor to his son when he was baptized was too obscene for him to contemplate. "What about the Duchess of Suffolk?" He suggested. He couldn't ask Brandon to be godfather ahead of the King of France, despite their close friendship but he could honour his friend's wife with the role of godmother. Anne didn't voice an objection but she visibly stiffened at the suggestion, the expression on her face making it plain that she didn't like the idea and this did not go unnoticed. "We don't have to choose her, sweetheart," he said gently, "not if you don't want to. Who would you like? Your sister? Or maybe your sister-in-law?"
"Mary." Anne decided. Her sister had acted as proxy for their step-grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, when Elizabeth was christened and she could think of nobody better to be godmother to the new baby. Mary had honoured Anne by making her the namesake of her little girl and now she could repay the compliment by making her sister her son's sponsor.
"Whatever you want. Her husband can be one of the men to carry the canopy over the prince – and I can knight him too." He added impulsively. Bestowing knighthoods on several favoured, loyal courtiers would be a wonderful addition to the celebrations in honour of the christening and it was only proper that Stafford, as Anne's brother-in-law and as uncle by marriage to the royal children, should be one of those elevated.
Anne's smile was genuine, lighting up her face. "Thank you."
"I'll make the arrangements." Henry promised, standing and moving to kiss her on the forehead again. "I'll leave you to your rest now." Anne's smile faded away from her face when she realized that the visit was over already and Henry hated to see the joy leave her expression so abruptly. He had seen her look unhappy on countless occasions in recent years but it seemed like a long time since it had had such an impact on him or since he had felt guilty for being the cause of it. It was as though a cloud had passed over the sun, leaving only darkness behind. "Cheer up, my darling." He said encouragingly, hoping to coax the smile back to her face. "I'll be back to see you later, and I'll bring Elizabeth with me. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, of course." Anne's smile was half-hearted and her blue eyes still betrayed her sadness, despite her efforts to conceal her disappointment at her husband's seeming eagerness to leave her side, to visit Jane Seymour, no doubt.
Henry wanted to say something else, to swear that he was only going to be speaking with Master Cromwell and his Privy Council, that only the affairs of state could drag him from her side and that he had no intention of seeing or speaking with Jane but he couldn't bring himself to say it. Anne was no fool and if she suspected that he was dallying with another woman, his denials were more likely to confirm her suspicions than to refute them but, more than that, he found that he couldn't say it.
He always tried to be discreet about the other women he bedded with – at least as discreet as a man in his position could be expected to be – and made sure that he saw them outside the palace walls, in secret with only a few trusted courtiers and servants aware of where he was. Anne might suspect that he had mistresses but she never had to see it, which meant that she could maintain her dignity and shut her eyes, if she was sensible, pretending that she knew nothing of it. It also meant that, since their courtiers were unaware of his infidelities, they couldn't whisper about them, mocking Anne behind her back or openly tormenting her with malicious gossip.
With Jane, it was different.
Their friendship was not something he hid from the court and it was not one that was hidden from Anne. She had seen them together and the resulting shock had almost cost them the life of their son, perhaps even her own life.
He couldn't pretend, not about this.
He couldn't look Anne in the eyes and swear that he had no intention of seeing Jane, that she had no reason to be jealous.
He couldn't lie to her.
As Sir William promised, the More had been thoroughly cleaned from cellar to attic and workmen had also begun to repair the damage caused by years of neglect, plastering the cracks in the walls, repairing the timber frames and restoring some semblance of order to the grounds, while Sir William sent a request to Master Cromwell for new tapestries to replace the old, moth-eaten ones now hanging on the walls. It would not be long before it was as comfortable a manor house as any other but Mary could take no pleasure in the manor, or in the fact that she was no longer a servant in her little sister's house, instead having a little household of her own.
She was a prisoner.
No matter how careful Sir William, Lady Margaret and the small retinue of servants were to treat her with the respect and consideration she was due as the King's daughter, she couldn't forget that, any more than she could forget that the house in which she now lived, the house where she could end up spending the rest of her life, was the same house that her mother had spent her last years in, living in loneliness and penury, her constant appeals to her husband – and Mary would never acknowledge that her father was anything other than her mother's husband – going unanswered.
She was still young, only eighteen!
How many years would she have to spend in this place?
Materially, her life was, in some ways, more comfortable that it had been during the years she spent at Hatfield.
Hatfield was a far grander house by far, furnished more splendidly, its walls hung with expensive new tapestries but at Hatfield, she was a servant, even if she was given the more honourable title of maid-in-waiting and held a place that the daughters or noblemen vied for. She was obliged to wait on her little sister, should she require anything, and to yield precedence to little Elizabeth at all times, walking behind her in the corridors and never even allowed to leave a room before she did unless the toddler granted her permission to do so.
Lady Bryan's demeanour always made it plain that she considered Mary to be the lowest ranking of the ladies in attendance on the child she pointedly referred to as 'Princess Elizabeth' or 'the Princess' at all times, as the other ladies could at least claim legitimacy, and as the lowest-ranking of the ladies, the humblest chores were Mary's lot. She was always the one sent running to Elizabeth's playroom to fetch a toy she wanted, or to deliver an errand to one of the house servants and she was always obliged to walk near the tail end of the procession when she accompanied Elizabeth on one of her walks, or to Mass.
At the More, she was mistress of the house, at least nominally and while many of the members of her household treated her coolly, they still treated her with respect, obeying her instructions and showing themselves willing to accommodate any reasonable requests she might make but regardless of how polite they were, she couldn't forget that she was as much a prisoner as the unfortunate souls locked in the darkest, dankest dungeons in the Tower.
When she learned why she had been removed from Hatfield, why she had been dismissed as one of Elizabeth's attendants and banished to the More, she was horrified.
Surely her father couldn't believe that she would ever poison anybody, not even Anne!
Sir William and Lady Margaret were clearly under strict orders not to speak of the matter to her and when she peppered them with questions about the reason for her removal to the More during her first days here, her questions were met with cold, scornful looks that she couldn't understand, not until a slip of the tongue on her maid Susan's part revealed the truth.
Once Susan told her what she knew, her exile made so much more sense, as did the fact that prior to her removal, she was told by Lady Bryan that she was no longer to be allowed to tend to little Elizabeth and that she was to remain locked in her own chamber until further instructions came from the King.
They had thought that she would hurt her little sister if she was allowed to remain at Hatfield and allowed to continue to act as one of her attendants, a thought that was both painful and infuriating.
How dare they think such things of her!
Her custodians clearly believed every word they were told about her guilt and they were disgusted by what they saw as her pretence, her attempts to feign innocence in the hopes of evading a punishment they saw as more than deserved.
They would never believe her if she said that she had nothing to do with any attempt made to poison Anne – though, if Mary was honest with herself, she had to admit that she would have been far from sorry if such a plan proved to be successful.
She was sorry that such brave, loyal, devoted men as Chapuys and Brereton would have to pay the ultimate price for trying to restore her rights and she couldn't believe that her father thought so ill of her that he believed the lies he was told about her involvement, without even speaking to her about it or giving her a chance to refute the allegations made against her.
It was Anne's doing, she was sure of that.
Anne had always hated her and she was certainly unscrupulous enough to take advantage of the opportunity provided to her by Brereton's attempt on her life, and of the sympathy that Mary's father would undoubtedly have lavished on her afterwards, pitying her in her illness, especially given the fact that she was in a delicate condition, to fill his ears with poison about his daughter, convincing him that Mary was so wicked that she was prepared to commit murder to keep Anne from giving him the son he wanted so badly.
It was not enough for Anne that she had made sure that Mary was named a bastard, robbed of her rights as a princess and as her father's only true legitimate child and heir, not enough that she had secured Mary's rightful titles and inheritance for her own child, not enough that she had prevented her father from showing his daughter the love and affection he surely still felt towards her, not enough that she had broken her mother's heart and robbed her of the husband she loved and the titles that were hers by right, not enough that she had brought about Mary's mother's death through foul, evil, unnatural practices, now she had to persuade her father that she was a murderess, somebody who was prepared to go to any lengths to rid herself of a rival.
Even if she had tried to kill Anne, it would be no more than that witch deserved, Mary thought bitterly, brushing away the angry tears that coursed down her cheeks, despite her best efforts to keep them in check.
"I will write to my father, the King." Mary announced to Sir William as soon as she had made Susan tell her everything she knew. "I must let him know what happened."
"His Majesty does not wish to receive any letters from you, Lady Mary." Her chamberlain... her jailer told her in a severe tone. "He has given express orders that you are not to be permitted to receive any letters, from anybody, or to send any messages or to receive visitors without his express permission and that of his Privy Council."
Ignoring him, she marched back to her rooms, sitting down at her desk with parchment, quill and ink to write a letter to her father, assuring him that she had never known about any proposed attempt to poison his mistress, that she had not given her consent to any such attempt and that she never would have, even if the conspirators sought her out and begging him to allow her to come to court, or else to visit her at the More so that they could speak together and give her the opportunity to defend herself against the unjust charges.
Although she was well aware that she was forbidden to do so, that it was treason for her to do so and that the sight of it might make her father so angry that he wouldn't read what she had written, she signed the letter with her customary signature, unable to omit the title that was hers by right: Mary, Princess of Wales.
Once the letter was sealed, she brought it to Sir William's study, laying it on his desk and firmly instructing him to see that it was delivered to her father immediately.
He didn't glance at the letter, or even wait for her to leave the room before casting it on the fire.
Jane, Lady Rochford was not a member of the Queen's household but, as her sister-in-law, she was one of the few people outside Anne's ladies-in-waiting who were permitted to visit her, an opportunity she was pleased to take advantage of.
Anne didn't like her very much; Jane was under no illusions on that score. She had few women friends, preferring the company of her brother, the musician Smeaton, Thomas Wyatt and others of that witty, sophisticated circle but since she was confined to her bed, George was the only man of their circle allowed to visit and, while he was fond of his sister, he was not prepared to spend hours by her bedside every day, nor was any other man, even the King so, whether she liked it or not, Anne was mostly restricted to women for company, something Jane was absurdly thankful for.
She might not have been Anne's choice for a companion when she was well, especially since Jane was not as educated and did not share her interests in music or religion, but under the circumstances, she could tell that Anne appreciated her company, even if she rarely said so, and that she appreciated having a fresh face outside her usual household to speak to.
George doted on his younger sister, spending far more time with her than he did with his own wife... though even Anne couldn't compete with Smeaton for his time.
Jane hoped that if she could cultivate her sister-in-law's friendship, she would have the good will of the only woman in the world who could exercise any influence on George, somebody he would have to listen to when she warned him that his activities with Mark Smeaton were placing his immortal soul in jeopardy. If she had to, she could banish Smeaton from the court and keep him away from George.
Jane knew that she couldn't tell Anne about it now, not when she was with child. Anne loved her brother, and everybody knew that it was natural for a younger sister to idolize her older brother so it would be a huge shock to her, as it was for Jane when she first learned the truth. The Boleyn family would never forgive her if something she told Anne shocked her so much that the she lost the child she carried so Jane would have to wait until after the baby was born to speak to her about it. In the meantime, she could win Anne's friendship so that when the time came to tell her the truth, she would listen to what Jane had to say and believe her.
Anne was known to be devout, even if she was a reformer, and she had studied the Bible so she would know that if George insisted on continuing along the path he was treading, he would damn himself for all eternity.
Anne might be the only one who could help Jane save him.
The ladies of Anne's household were all gathered in the outer chamber when Jane was admitted to the apartment, each of them stitching at a tiny garment.
Mark Smeaton sat by the entrance to Anne's bedchamber, playing a soft, slow melody on his violin. He was the first to look up when Jane entered, giving her a slight smile and a nod of greeting as she entered but she refused to acknowledge the gesture, ignoring him entirely as she swept past him. She counted the ladies in the room and quickly established that all of Anne's household, even the midwife, Mistress Porter, were present and since she couldn't hear any voices from the bedchamber, it meant that Anne was alone.
She would have gone in, taking advantage of her family connection as a sister-in-law to enter without ceremony, but a hand on her arm stopped her.
"Don't," Mary Stafford, Jane's other sister-in-law, told her softly, her voice scarcely above a whisper. "Anne's sleeping and we mustn't wake her – or we'll be in trouble with Mistress Porter." She added lightly, leading Jane across the room to the cushioned window seat and sitting down, patting the space beside her invitingly. "How are you, Jane? I haven't seen much of you lately."
"No." Jane tried to keep the bitterness from her voice, smiling widely at Mary. Anne might have been glad enough of Jane's company earlier but since Mary had arrived, she was the one Anne wanted with her virtually all the time, which meant that Jane was able to see her only occasionally, interfering with her plan to secure her friendship. "I have been busy."
That was a lie.
With a husband who could scarcely be bothered to bid her 'good morning', let alone spend any time with her, and very few friends at court, Jane's days were very empty, especially since there were no masques or jousts or other diversions these days. If she had learned to play music when she was a young girl, she could have amused herself with that but she had not had the aptitude for it, which meant that most of her time was spent in the apartment she shared with George, occupying herself with needlework, mostly tiny garments intended for the coming prince.
She would have liked to be sewing baby clothes for a child of her own but given that her husband could barely tolerate her company for an hour, let alone a night, there was little chance of that.
"I was so surprised when I heard that George was married now," Mary remarked pleasantly, a warm smile on her face. "When we were children, he always swore that he would never marry. He was going to be a knight and go on a gallant crusade and he didn't think that he would be able to bring a wife with him for that. Of course, Anne disagreed with that," she chuckled a little at the memory of the then four- or five-year-old Anne's indignation at the idea that a girl could not be a warrior, "she thought that if she learned to use a sword, she would be able to fight just as well as George could – better – and she told him so in no uncertain terms. Our poor governess was horrified when she heard her. She looked as though she couldn't decide whether she should faint or wash Anne's mouth out with soap. I think she ended up doing both."
Jane smiled tightly, thinking that it would probably have suited George very well if he could go on a crusade somewhere, bringing Smeaton with him and leaving her behind. He would stay away for years if he could.
"I was sorry to have to miss the wedding," Mary continued wistfully, thinking about how much she had missed her siblings during her banishment. If she had been at court when Anne first started fretting about her husband's interest in Jane Seymour, would she have been able to keep her calm, to help her to cope with the knowledge that the King was unfaithful to her?
"I would have liked to be able to get to know you then." Jane responded politely, as if by rote, knowing that she was expected to say something like that and that she should not allude to the reason for Mary's absence from the wedding feast… even though it was part of the reason that the wedding took place in the first place.
After Mary disgraced herself and her family by secretly marrying a man who was far beneath her, Lord Wiltshire was determined to ensure that George would have no similar opportunity to provide him with a lowborn daughter-in-law so he decided to prevent that by choosing his son's bride for him and insisting that he marry straight away. He selected Jane, knowing that she was of good family and that he would never be ashamed to acknowledge her or her father as his relatives by marriage.
But for Mary, Jane might not be George's wife now.
The thought was enough to make her feel anger and dislike towards the elder of her sisters-in-law but she did not allow that to show, studying Mary's face closely and wondering if she too could prove to be helpful in convincing George of the error of his ways and encouraging him to return to his marriage and treat his wife kindly.
If he did, Jane would be willing to forget the hurts he caused her in the past and be a loving wife to him, a loving mother to their children.
George was not as close to Mary as he was to Anne but he was still fond of her, Jane knew that, and he was sorry when she was banished from court after her unsuitable marriage.
Maybe if Mary spoke to him, he would listen.
This could not continue.
The thought echoed in his mind as he walked with Jane, offering her his arm as courtesy demanded and listening politely, with every appearance of being interested as she spoke.
As always, Sir John and his son, Edward, walked behind them, their presence ensuring that no shadow could be cast over Jane's reputation and that nobody at court could spread malicious rumours about her, implying that theirs was a carnal relationship instead of a game of courtly love.
And it was a game.
He could see that.
He asked to serve her, as Lancelot had served Queen Guinevere all those centuries ago, and Jane had graciously allowed him to do so, had done him the honour of accepting his chaste love and devotion, favouring him with her company and her friendship but, while it appealed to the romantic in him, Henry couldn't deny that it was a game.
Theirs was a relationship with no future.
He was a married man, pledged to love and cherish Anne until the end of their days, and Jane was a chaste maiden. She was so pure that she would not wish to become his mistress and he knew that he could not insult her by asking her to. If he was unmarried and could offer her a true, honourable love, he told himself that he would make her his wife but he had a wife already.
It was just a game but while it had started out innocently, the game had started to have serious implications. Every man and woman at court knew that he favoured Jane, knew of their friendship and most of them could not understand the beauty of their pure, chaste love. Most of them assumed that if Jane were not already his mistress, she would be before much longer. They assumed that Jane was a loose woman and he was sure that they were mocking him behind his back, whispering amongst themselves that their King was a fool to believe that he could conceal the truth – or what they believed to be the truth – from them with his pretence at maintaining a chaste relationship with Jane.
Both of their reputations were suffering and they would continue to suffer as long as the relationship continued.
And it was hurting Anne.
He could weather out the gossip, which would surely die down once Anne gave birth and was allowed to leave her bed and rejoin the court, after which the courtiers could see for themselves that his relationship with Jane did not mean that he was any less devoted to his wife but he could not deny, even to himself, that the game he was playing with Jane was hurting Anne and that was something for which there was no easy remedy.
Anne couldn't understand that while he might single Jane out for his attention and conversation, it did not affect his feelings towards her and it was not a threat to her place in his life. She couldn't understand that Kings took mistresses almost as a matter of course, that it was their right to divert themselves with a willing lady if they so chose and that it did not affect their feelings towards their Queens in any way. She loved him so much that it was natural that she would be jealous of any attention he paid to another woman. Knowing that, he had tried to shield her from the knowledge that he had taken a mistress by being as discreet as possible with his liaisons, ensuring that they took place outside the palace and even lying about his identity to one of the women he encountered so that no hint of gossip or scandal could reach Anne's ears.
Jane couldn't be hidden from her, not any more.
If he was still spending time with Jane when Anne was on her feet again, she would assume the worst and he wouldn't be able to convince her that there was nothing for her to worry about.
He would have to end it.
By the time their son was born and Anne was churched, Jane would have to either leave the court or else be safely married to a suitable husband.
He was so absorbed by his thoughts that he did not notice when Jane's pace quickened. He automatically began to walk more rapidly, to keep pace with her and did not notice that Sir John and Edward did not follow their example and that the distance between them was stretching, not until Jane turned slightly, leading him to stand behind one of the ornamental shrubs.
"Jane? What are you…"
He didn't have the chance to finish voicing his question before she stopped his mouth with a kiss, pressing her body against his as their lips met.
It was the first time that she had ever initiated one of their kisses.
Usually, he was the one to kiss her, asking for her leave before kissing her chastely on the cheek, occasionally the lips.
"I love you, Your Majesty." As soon as she blurted the words, Jane lowered her eyes, a faint blush rising to her cheeks at her forwardness. "Forgive me, I…"
"There's nothing to forgive." He assured her kindly, touched by her impulsive demonstration of affection.
As he leaned closer to her for a second kiss, he was so caught up in the moment that he didn't see Sir John and Edward catch up with them, didn't see the rather shocked expression on the face of the father, or the calm, appraising one on the face of the son as they watched.
TBC.
I considered having the baby born on the 19th of May, but I decided that that would be too clichéd. Tune in next chapter for the birth. :-)