Tudor Pavanne: John
Belle turned to her husband, her eyes sparkling from this, her first glimpse of her new home. He smiled back at her, continuing, "I hope you will be very happy here, Hannah," marking the occasion with a rare use of her private "family" name.
But she noticed the shadow behind his eyes, and her smile faltered. "You weren't?"
He hesitated. "My uncle was... harsh." A pause. "He adored my mother – his only sibling. I don't think he ever recovered from her dying while giving birth to me, or stopped resenting me for it." He sighed, his mouth twisting in a wry grimace. "The ghosts in the chapel were more cheerful and welcoming."
"What about your father?" She had never asked about his past before; it always seemed a closed subject.
"He died when I was four, in the battle at Bosworth. He had already left me here to go fight for King Richard – another sticking point for Uncle John, who backed the Tudors." He frowned and shrugged, the echo in his eyes of the lifelong pain of rejection belying the casualness of the gesture.
"Well," she replied after a moment, taking his arm and holding it affectionately. "Then you and I, together, shall do our very best to overlay all the bad memories in this house with happy ones. Perhaps we can even change this mauvais loup into un loup joyeuse."
He cocked an eyebrow, and a small but genuine smile slowly stole over his face. "If anyone can do it, Madame, it is you."
Of course, Henry interrupted their moment with loud protestations of how glad he was to be done traveling, and telling Catherine he was sure she would be comfortable in this "small, but well-appointed" house (which description caused John to roll his eyes at Belle before turning to add his assurances yet again). The bustle of arrival took over, then, as John escorted Belle and the royal couple up the stairs and across the threshold, and began giving the ladies a quick tour.
In the midst of inspecting the large banquet room, Belle felt John suddenly freeze beside her, and she glanced sideways at him to find him staring fixedly at something across the room. Quickly glancing the other way under her lashes, she found he'd locked eyes with a footman about his same age, both their faces carefully blank under their intense mutual stares.
Well. I guess not every memory was bad. Her hand was still tucked into his elbow, and she gave it a sudden, very sharp squeeze, covering his startled jerk by bending past him to pick up a small statue on the table they happened to be standing next to. "Watch your eyes," she whispered, very softly. "They give you away."
A quick, tiny gasp was the response, and he instantly began describing the statue to her – but as he took it from her to replace it on the table, he caught and squeezed her hand in thanks.
^..^
Admittedly, the house was tiny compared to the usual royal palaces. John had warned Belle that they would have to share one of the smaller bedrooms for the length of Henry's visit, as it was only proper and expected to give the King the largest, most comfortable suite – and Catherine the next largest. They would then take over the master suite when Henry left. That smaller bedroom turned out to be the one John had grown up in, although nothing personal of his seemed to remain – if, indeed, he had ever been allowed to add his own touch, which Belle suspected he had not. At least the bed was wide enough for two (well, two and a half, with her growing pregnancy) - barely.
Luckily they didn't spend much time there. Henry insisted on riding out to winter hunting every day, all day, dragging the hapless John along to act the proper host. "At least I'm a good rider," he told his wife wryly, "my uncle made sure of that, even though I dislike hunting." The proper court manners which required him to give all the good kills to the King also covered his own lack of "luck" at the hunt, and no-one noticed.
Belle, meanwhile, spent her days with Catherine, as before, and the Queen made good her promise, giving the new Viscountess a quiet crash course in managing a large household as they sat together in her sitting room or one of the large parlors downstairs. John had inherited a good, experienced staff along with the estate, which included a butler, housekeeper, and estate manager all with many years behind them serving the prior Viscount, so at least Belle had the advantage of stepping into a smooth-running operation rather than a dysfunctional mess which needed fixing. Nevertheless, she quickly learned which areas of life at a country manor she now had control over, and which she didn't. Catherine, gracious as always, undertook her tutelage so quietly that the staff never guessed their new mistress's lack of training for the role, not even her new personal maid, Mary.
At last, ten days after their arrival, Henry announced his departure the following morning along with his retinue (largely housed in town till then), never noticing the sighs of relief from everyone – including Catherine. Even with the advance warning, however, it still took until almost noon for the royal entourage to actually quit Mauvais Loup, Henry riding his favorite horse down the long drive for all the world as if he were leading a formal military parade. Catherine smiled tiredly at Belle, and retired to her rooms, requesting only a tray be sent up that evening. The housekeeper, informing Belle that Henry's own servants had kept all of the resident house staff entirely out of that hallway, promised her that they'd have the suite scrubbed and fit for "Your Ladyship" by bedtime.
When John was immediately swept up into a long-delayed inspection of the estate with his manager, Belle decided to take on the welcome work of moving all their clothes from their tiny room to their new quarters, with Mary's chattering assistance. (The girl's sweet, good-hearted temperament reminded Belle of the maid of the same name in The Secret Garden, one of her favorite childhood books, and she bade the housekeeper leave her in peace when she scolded.)
All in all, it was a long, exhausting day after a long, exhausting fortnight, and Belle had never felt more grateful to change into her nightclothes and fall into bed. Oddly, John was still fully dressed, puttering around the room as if nervous, then abruptly going to stand by the window and stare out into the dark. She suddenly remembered that afternoon, when she'd caught him and the footman (whose name, she had discovered, was William) repeatedly glancing at each other and then quickly away, as if scalded.
Suddenly he drew a quick breath, and began, "Hannah – " but his voice was strangled to silence before he could go on.
"Go," was all she said, but kindly.
He whirled around to stare at her, half fearful and half hopeful, and she smiled. "Go! I haven't forgotten – and I saw you two earlier." She shook her head. "I don't want to see you unhappy – not when happiness might be in arm's reach."
Still he didn't move. Finally finding his voice, he said carefully, "I have always honored you as my wife."
"I know," she replied, then practically pushed him out. "Go on. He's probably waiting."
With that, he suddenly made up his mind, spun around and marched quickly out the door. Then she squeezed her eyes tightly closed, trying to erase the memory of the wild, reprieved look in his, sighed deeply, and lay down, her back towards the cold, empty side of the bed.
^..^
It was still cold and empty when she awoke the next morning; he hadn't returned. Impulsively, she reached over and messed it up with her hands so it looked slept-in – no rumors would be started amongst the servants this way. She pulled herself out of bed and bathed at the wash basin, then got dressed in the cold morning light. She was standing at the window, staring out, trying to decide whether to go downstairs without him when she heard the door open behind her. Plastering a small, welcoming smile on her face, she turned...
...and the smile dribbled away, all the happiness sucked out of the room by the palpable cloud over her husband's head. He stood for a moment by the closed door, head down, staring at the carpet, then made as if to go to the dressing room.
"John?" her voice was a whisper, afraid he would shatter at any louder pitch; still, it stopped him with a jerk. Suddenly unsteady legs carried her to his side. "What happened?"
He wouldn't look at her, raising his head to gaze across the room at nothing, but after a moment, simply shook his head. His voice was broken when he at last found it. "It... wasn't the same. It's been too long. We... we've both changed too much."
"I'm so sorry." Stupid, empty words, but they were all she could come up with.
He shook his head. "It wasn't you."
"Still. I'm sorry anyway." She put a hand gently on his arm, fleetingly grateful that he didn't flinch away. Not wanting to pour on salt, she nevertheless gently probed, "Henry?"
His eyes sank closed again, but then he gave himself a miniscule shake and forced them open again. "Only partly," he said.
Wanting so badly to comfort him, but not knowing how far she could go – he had never welcomed much physical touching – she took a tiny step closer and softly laid her head on his shoulder, not saying a word. After a moment, his arms actually slid around her torso and he turned into her, resting his cheek against the top of her head so she couldn't see his face. She put her arms around him in return and simply held him for a minute while his shoulders softly shook.
When he raised his head again, sniffling hard, she pulled back just a hair, bringing her hands around to rest lightly on his chest and looking at them, knowing he still didn't want eye contact. She licked her lips and began hesitantly, putting just a hint of authority in her voice. "Shall I... let him go?"
He immediately shook his head no. "There's no need. He's already gone – his choice. He didn't want to stay." He swallowed, hiding a wobble. "I gave him enough money to live on until the spring hiring fair. I wanted to give him more, but he refused."
She nodded. Score one for William, then. I wouldn't have expected such a dignified exit.
She waited another few beats, then took a deep breath and made her voice a hair stronger, trying for a kind but pragmatic tone. "I tell you what. It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day – the sky is clear, and it feels like it might warm up. Why don't you," and she at last raised her eyes to his, "take me on a tour of the estate." His eyebrows flared in surprise at this unexpected request, and she snorted softly. "It's been almost a fortnight and I haven't once set foot outside the house. You can show me that haunted chapel you told me about." Pausing, her face softened, and she admitted the real plan. "We could spend the day together, just you and me. I don't think we've ever actually done that." She saw the question in his eyes and answered before he could speak. "Catherine can fend for herself for one day – I suspect she'll be glad of the chance for some solitude. Please? I'll ask the cook to make us a picnic," she added, trying to tempt him.
"I think it's still going to be too cold for a picnic," he replied, but not unkindly.
"We'll have it right here, then, in front of the fire. But I really do want to get out of these walls for a few hours, and just spend some time together with you."
She could see him struggling to put William and the long, black night behind him. Finally, he nodded. "All right. Just let me change my clothes first."
"Of course," she smiled back, incredibly relieved at his acquiescence.
As he turned towards the dressing room, though, he stopped, and surprised her by cupping her cheek with his palm, then quickly leaned over and kissed her other cheek.
"I want you to know," he began sincerely, "that I do know how very lucky I am to have you."
Her heart in her throat, she smiled tearily back at him. "Me, too. We're both lucky."
Nodding, he went then to change, and she turned back to the window, hugging herself, letting the realization wash over her. I really am incredibly lucky, that Henry chose to pawn me off on such a sweet, thoughtful, caring, intelligent man.
It could have been so much worse.