Tudor Pavanne: A Winter's Journey

"John? I... I have something to tell you." Belle's soft, hesitant voice, so at odds with her usual demeanor, alerted him instantly that something was wrong, and he put down the book he had borrowed from Sir Thomas. They were sitting side by side on the sofa in their quarters, the open window catching the cool September breeze freshening the evening air.

"What is it, Belle?"

She'd opened her mouth to reply when the name struck her hard, and suddenly nothing was more important that hearing her real, personal name from her husband's lips rather than her selected professional one. "Hannah," she said quietly.

He blinked. "Who?"

That brought an embarrassed smile to her face. "No.. I mean... I remembered that that's what my family used to call me. Hannah. And... I'd like it if you would call me that, too. Please."

"You mean your name isn't Belle?"

"No, it is – both of them are. It's just... Hannah feels more personal."

A slow smile stole across his handsome face, lighting it from within. "Then I shall call you Hannah, too. But was that what was troubling you?"

"No," she replied with a nervous little laugh. "It just... occurred to me just then. No, I... I have to tell you something else." Taking a deep fortifying breath, she looked away from him towards the fireplace and said in a small voice, "I'm pregnant."

She didn't see the smile dribble away, but she felt it in the way he slowly stiffened, then abruptly rose and strode to the window, staring out into the darkening sky. Finally, from a long way away, he asked simply, "Henry?"

"Yes," she whispered. "No one else," she added, hoping it would reassure him.

John nodded, not turning. Then, "Have you told him yet?"

"No. I wanted you to hear it first."

Another achingly long pause. "Well... as far as the world is concerned, of course, the child will be mine."

She bit her lip to hold back sudden unexpected tears. This wasn't what she wanted. The silence attracted his attention and he turned, catching sight of her strained face. He crossed the room again in two long quick strides and knelt before her, taking her hands. "Belle – Hannah," he corrected himself. "I'm sorry. I said that wrong. As far as I'm concerned, too. The child will be mine. Ours." His face twisted wryly. "The only way I'll ever get one, likely." He'd never touched her sexually in all their months together – she wasn't sure if it were lack of interest or deference to Henry's wishes, although probably the former, she knew.

Still, she had come to love him, if only as friends – best friends. "I never wanted to hurt you," she said earnestly.

Letting out a quick, pained sigh, John shook his head. "I am undeserving of you, Madame. Not worthy of your consideration."

Her turn to shake her head, much more forcefully. "No... don't say that... I'm the one who doesn't deserve..."

And all the months of lies and playacting broke on her head. She tore her hands from his, rose and raced from the room, knowing she was fleeing. What in the world has gotten into me?

^..^

It was hormones, of course, she told herself over and over.

Her scene with Henry a few days later, when she gave him the news, was in many crucial ways the opposite. Henry was ecstatic, not even stopping to verify paternity (blithely assuming it was his, of course), and chortling over having made two women pregnant at once. He caught her look and for once understood, hastening to assure her that he would never announce it publicly. Then, realizing, he speared her in return: "You aren't going to ask me to officially acknowledge the child, are you?"

When she mutely shook her head, he smiled grandly, promising to take care of her and the baby regardless, and never mentioned John once.

When he took her to bed, he was more gentle and affectionate than ever, and she tried hard to forgive him his faults. Then he said they'd have to meet more often to get as much of "this" in as possible before "you both are too big", and it struck her that she and Catherine were both going to be out of Henry's bed for several months.

Who is going to take our place? It never even crossed her mind that he'd go without. The question was whether he was going to welcome her back after the baby was born.

And whether she wanted him to.

^..^

The months wore on, the court moving from castle to palace every few weeks as was their practice. Christmas found them at Windsor again, and all the pageantry and feasting were, if possible, even more magnificent than the year before. Henry seemed determined to rid himself of all his inherited wealth before he turned thirty.

Catherine and Belle both heaved sighs of relief when it was all over, even though they then faced several dreary winter months of increasingly uncomfortable pregnancy. An interesting change had begun to slowly steal over John, however: he became more solicitous of his wife, sometimes even forsaking Henry's side to join her at Catherine's. Thus he was also there to witness as the Queen began speaking of her growing wish to retire from court for her "confinement", and find some quiet place outside of the city and all its bustle and noise – and danger of disease. No one knew what had killed the young baby Prince, of course, but the mystery just threw everything under suspicion. Belle had to keep biting her lips when "evil night airs" were mentioned.

Came the day Catherine again mentioned leaving London, perhaps to travel up north, when John spoke up. "Why not west, Your Majesty? You and my lady wife could both retire to our own estate. It's nowhere near as grand as your usual castles, but large enough to hold a small company quite safe and snug. And it's only a long day's ride from town, when the time comes for news." When both women looked at him in surprise and dawning excitement, he smiled. "It would be my honor to host and protect you, as well as Belle."

It took a bit of cajoling, but finally even Henry agreed – after riding out with John to inspect the estate himself. The King himself would not be joining them for the winter – no one expected him to be able to stay in one place for that long anyway – but he stationed a contingent of guards in the nearby town, already swelling with servants, tradesmen, and minor nobles attached to the Queen's retinue or transplanted there to see to her comfort. John let slip to Belle that he'd also quite pointedly asked Henry to open his royal purse, so that the long royal visit would be more of a financial boon to "his" townspeople than a burden – not to mention helping defray the expenses John's own estate would have to bear. (All three of them knew it was also in furtherance of Henry's promise to Belle and her child, but none of them acknowledged it by word or look.)

At any rate, everything was finally settled by the end of January, and a royal caravan made the trip west on the first day of February. Belle and Catherine huddled under heaps of furs in Catherine's own coach, while the men went in the King's ahead of them. Henry was only going to stay for a few days before moving on with the bulk of his retinue, making a winter progress around Wales and southern England – not so far from the Queen's side that he would be unable to ride there within a few days if necessary.

"This is the first time you will see your estate, isn't it, Bella?" Catherine asked her.

"Yes, it is." Belle was rather excited – just as with the issue of her title, she hadn't given much consideration to what else her marriage to John had brought her.

"They will be anxious to meet their new mistress," the Queen mused, gazing out the window. "You must take firm control when you arrive, and let them know you are running things."

Belle's stomach suddenly lurched, a reaction that had nothing to do with the coach or her pregnancy. Catherine turned and caught sight of her blanched face, her own expression turning puzzled.

"I have no idea how to run a household," Belle confessed, feeling panicky now. "Let alone a whole estate."

But Catherine just laughed. "I do. And I will teach you." And that was that.

^..^

Because the coachmen went so slowly out of deference to the women's advanced pregnancies, sparing them – on the King's orders – as much as humanly possible the constant jolting of the rough, barely-able-to-call-them roads that even the exaggerated springs of royal coaches couldn't tame, the caravan broke their journey for the night halfway there, taking over all of both inns in a small town and terrorizing the cooks. Thus it was a bright, crisp, clear late afternoon when Belle first saw the house and estate that were now "hers". Gazing in delight at the stately home nestled unpretentiously in a fold in the surrounding hills, the whitewashed walls glowing in the winter sun, the long drive curving in a graceful half-circle before the broad front steps, she couldn't help smiling contentedly. For the first time since she'd arrived in the sixteenth century, unaccountably, she felt as if she'd come home at last.

"Welcome home," came her husband's voice in her ear, unknowingly echoing her own thoughts.

"Welcome to Chateau Mauvais Loup."