Chapter 38

True to her word, Mary began to spend more time with her sister-in-law over the next few months, trying to cheer her in the face of her youngest son's recent demise and her husband's neglect.

She knew her brother's treatment of Marie was bad, but it wasn't until she spent considerable time with her that she realised just how far things had deteriorated between them.

Henry only visited Marie briefly each day; just enough to still the Court's gossiping tongues. And even when he did, he would pointedly greet his wife with cool courtesy, kissing her hand and calling her 'Madam', while embracing Mary and calling her his "most dear sister". Often he would have his little Irish hoyden at his side, dripping in rose gold and emeralds.

To do the child justice, she never looked entirely comfortable during these visits, as though Harry had forced her into accompanying him to Marie's rooms so that he could watch Marie's reaction.

To Marie's credit, she never once blinked, always treating Honour with as much courtesy as she would any other lady who visited her. Mary hoped that Marie's clear indifference to Harry's clear philandering would eventually shame him into going back to her, but it was not to be. One morning, she entered the Queen's Apartments to find that Marie had barricaded herself in her bedchamber. Once she had cajoled her way past Lady Ormonde, who was determined to protect her daughter's privacy at all costs, she was alarmed to see obvious tear tracks staining the younger woman's cheeks.

"Marie! Sister, what's wrong?!" she cried, running to embrace the slight figure who sat dejectedly on the bed.

"It's Henry. And that Irish girl of his."

"Lady Dishonour? What have they done now? Honestly, sister, you should know better than to let them upset you."

"You don't understand. Honour made a joke last night. She said that instead of crowning a swan and holding out unrealistic hopes for eternal love, I should have kept Katherine's emblem of a pomegranate. She said it might have brought me better luck in childbirth."

"What!" Mary's jaw dropped open in fury, "What did my brother say?"

"He said...Oh, Mary, he said she was the cleverest woman in England and if wit was a permissible reason for granting a peerage, he'd make her the greatest Duchess in the land." Marie broke down in fresh tears and Mary instinctively tightened her hold around her.

"Oh Marie! You mustn't let him upset you. Harry's always liked clever talk full of symbolism. But this takes things too far."

"How have you not heard this? It's all over Court."

"I stopped listening to those slanderers a long time ago. And so should you. You've given my brother Lionel and that's worth more than a thousand unkind words. Mark my words, he'll come back to you."

"When?"

"Ah, well, there we may need to give him a bit of help. Dry your eyes and I'll call Charles. No one knows Harry better than the two of us."

Anne lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The child inside her tossed and kicked vigorously. She sighed.

"Will you be quiet?" she begged, "Maman's trying to rest."

Harry turned to her, "The child?"

She nodded, "Won't stay still for an instant. You've sired a real fidget, Lord Percy."

Harry chuckled, "Are you sure it's not your Howard blood? Aren't you always telling me that Howards never look back?"

He came over, placing a hand on her bulging stomach. The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment or two before Anne broke it.

"If it's a girl, I want to name her Margaret, after Madame Marguerite. And I want Marguerite to be Godmother."

"Godmother? Anna...you know what Anglo-French relationships are like at the moment. If the King finds out.."

"What? What can he do? He can't hurt my sister any more than he already has, not without publicly endangering her status as the mother of his heir. He won't go for George. We're in France. He can't hurt us any more. Please, Harry. Madame Marguerite is more of a mother to me than my own. I want to name my eldest daughter after her."

Harry hesitated, then sighed, "Only if we can name a boy Charles after the Duke of Suffolk. That ought to appease the English."

"Henry would appease them more."

"Yes, but there's too many Henrys in my family already."

"No there aren't. You just don't want me to have to name my son after the man who's mistreating my sister so."

Harry held up a hand under Anne's searching gaze, "Touché," he admitted and Anne blushed.

"You're so sweet, you know that?"

"You deserve it," he murmured, leaning down to capture her lips with his.

"What I'd really like to do is storm into Harry's rooms and give him a piece of my mind, but I know my brother well enough to know that that won't work. Not with the state of mind he's in," Mary sighed.

Charles shook his head, "It won't. We have to play on his superstitious nature."

"What do you mean?" Marie glanced from one to the other, nonplussed, even as Mary began to nod eagerly.

"My brother, though he'd never admit it, leans heavily on soothsayers."

"If I took him riding and an old woman was to cross his path and tell him that if, he was to deny himself the pleasures of his Irish harlot and return to your bed, he'd have a bonny Duke of York by the following year's end, one with hair as golden as the summer sun and eyes and mind as clear as a noonday sun, he wouldn't be able to climb back into your bed fast enough. It would be as though the last five months had never been."

"Dr Linacre does say it's safe for you to share a bed again, doesn't he?" Mary glanced at her sister in law, who nodded.

"Good. Leave this to me." Charles stood up and went to the door. At the threshold, he paused, "I can get him back into your bed, Marie, but after that, it's up to you. You need to do your part. Whatever you do, don't berate him. If he wants to grieve your lost son, weep with him. Is that clear?"

Marie nodded, "I shall be sweetness itself," she promised, "But Charles, Mary, why are you helping me? What have I done to suddenly deserve your friendship like this?"

"You've given my brother a son," Mary explained, rising to her feet, "You've done what he wanted most in the world; what he has wanted most in the world since he was seventeen and first took the throne. You've done what he wanted and given this country a secure succession. As his sister, it's my duty to remind him of that from time to time."

Then she kissed Marie, curtsied, curtsied so deeply that there could be no doubt as to who she now regarded as her true Queen, and followed her husband from the room.