Author's Note: Hey everyone. Glad I could update before another three thousand years past. Couple housekeeping notes for this chapter: (1) due to some sloppy writing in my earlier chapters I never clarified how old Mary Boleyn's eldest children are, so I have changed their historical ages around in order to align to the events of the story (1522: Catherine Carey; 1524: Henry Carey); (2) Mary Howard, daughter of the Duke of Norfolk, was born in 1519, but I have moved her birth year down to 1521 in order to align it with the events of the story; and (3) please note the time jump at the beginning of the chapter.
As a reminder, this is an alternative history piece of fan fiction and is not meant to be historical accurate. I claim no rights over the characters of The Tudors or their historical counterparts.
Whitehall Palace
June 10, 1534
It had been over three years since his mother had passed and it seemed like the country had not been happy since then and had little reasons to celebrate. After a customary mourning period, Henry had not felt it appropriate to return to his normal wardrobe, wearing blue for over a year before finally relenting at Arthur's insistence.
"I miss her too, Henry, but we must move forward. She would not want this."
He had found it hard to dispute his point, but Anne had still worn blue at least three times a week, even now, and Arthur had not instructed her to change her ways. His brother could deny his wife very little, and Henry tried to understand that, even when Arthur seemed like the only person who could make her smile these days and Henry felt jealous that he could rarely make her feel that way, not since she had delivered their stillborn daughter.
After six months of mourning, Anne had been determined to conceive another child. They had both set about it with vigor that they could not recall since the early days of their marriage, and when Anne felt a child quicken in her womb, the whole country could rejoice. They had decided to name the child after Katherine or Arthur, depending on its gender, and Anne had taken every precaution, since she had not been pregnant in some time. Henry had been as solicitous towards her as he had ever been, and the thought of their fourth child had given him a renewed determination to learn the business of governing, so that he could continue the work of his brother and make the reforms he knew would ensure that his children could grow up in a golden world.
When she had entered confinement, she had cried because his mother was not with her, as if it was the first time she had realized that she was truly gone. Her sister and Katherine had done all they could to calm Anne down and keep her spirits high, but Anne was in and out of sadness, apprehension, and tempered excitement throughout her confinement.
When their daughter was born dead, he was not proud of his reaction.
She was crying, her gown draped on her body. She looked much older than she was, her hair knotted, her nose running. She looked dreadful, but he did not think she could match how he felt inside.
Linacre had warned him not to look at the little girl, that it would upset him. But he could not help himself, he pulled back the sheet covering his daughter's body. She was perfect, he thought, perfectly formed and he knew she would have been as lovely as Elizabeth. Her name would have been Katherine, but they could not speak it. She would not be buried in hallowed ground and she did not live so she would not be christened.
His daughter was never alive except in her mother's womb, and something had gone wrong while she was in there. The knot in his throat would not go away, no matter how many times he swallowed.
He felt disassociated as he came to the edge of Anne's bed. "How could you do this?" he asked, unaware of himself.
She stopped crying just to look at him. "What?"
"Arthur, Katherine, Linacre, your sister, they all warned you. They said that if you felt too upset about mother, you'd poison our child. There is no other explanation, for how we've had three healthy children but this one was dead."
Anne began to cry again, her hysterics drowning out the coos of her ladies. The only person who could control Henry's temper and cruelness was dead, and she was alone.
She did not even register when the Queen harshly told him to leave, telling him not to return until he could be kind to his wife.
Katherine had not been wrong, Henry knew. The infuriating thing about his brother and his sister-in-law was that they were hardly ever wrong or mistaken, but he was not always clear headed enough to realize that.
When he had come to apologize to Anne, she accepted it, but the smile she gave him for the next few months did not reach her eyes. She withered away from him and jumped whenever he yelled. He had woken up to her crying enough times to know that she was still mourning their little Katherine, and, as he felt uncomfortably aware of, that she was still upset at him, or perhaps blamed herself because of his words.
Things had progressed since then and she had told him that she wished to try again, but he had made her laugh and smile so rarely.
Today, though, the country and the family could celebrate. A French delegation, including King Francis, had come to formalize the betrothal between Elizabeth and the Duke of Orléans, Henri, his second son. All four of them, he, Arthur, Katherine, and Anne, had worked tirelessly to bring about this day. From their spot on the dais, Anne was smiling the widest he'd seen since, well, since he had forsaken their bed for that of Jane's.
He was so grateful Jane was not here today, as she was out in the country with her two-year-old son, little Charles, who she and Brandon called Charlie, even though her daughter—their daughter—was standing with her family. Little Mary Brandon was dressed in her finest clothes, and at three and a half carried herself with enough dignity to ensure that Brandon was comfortable enough to bring her to a solemn state occasion. It was the first time he had seen her in six months, and he was relieved that she still favored her mother. His nephew, the Earl of Lincoln, was obligated to be there as the cousin of Elizabeth and a member of the nobility, and at ten finally looked comfortable in the ermine robes he had been obligated to wear. Henry had not seen little Frances Brandon in some months, and was stunned at how similar to his sister she looked. Henry was happy for his closest and dearest friend, and looking at his growing family, one that included his daughter whom he could not recognize as his own, he felt even more renewed in his desire to see his friend raised to the ranks of the nobility the day he became King.
He smiled down at Brandon and his children, which Mary Brandon returned with a euthanistic wave. Henry returned her wave and favored her with an indulgent smile, and for the umpteenth time prayed that nobody thought that he was anything more than a loving uncle of sorts, instead of a guilty father.
He had tried to pay as much attention to the girl as he could without bringing suspicion onto his head, or Jane's. Mary was a charming little girl, who was smart like all of his other children. He longed to recognize her, but it would bring pain to Charles, to Jane, and most importantly, to Anne. He did not visit Wolf Hall after her christening, and waited patiently until she was moved to the nursery with her half siblings, taking the spot of her elder brother when he was moved into his own apartments as befitting his station. She and Frances, despite their age difference, seemed to very close.
He told himself it was normal for a man to take an interest in his niece and nephew, and their siblings, and he was not there frequently, and had not been in some time due to his continuing duties as President of the Privy Council. If the courtiers at Hampton thought differently, he had not heard mummers of it yet. He did not care, in any case, as long as it never got back around to Anne.
He could not do any further damage to his marriage without his wife growing permanently icy towards him. Her smile was dazzling today, and he relished in it.
She was happy the week previously, too, even before the French arrived. In honor of Elizabeth's betrothal being finalized, Arthur asked her if she would like any men raised into the peerage. Elizabeth, constantly concerned about the wellbeing of her older brother, had proposed Hal.
The room had fallen silent when she had proposed it, but Anne broke it, praising her daughter for her thoughtfulness. When Elizabeth had left, they had considered the merits without her.
Arthur, Henry could tell, had broached the subject with as delicately as he could expressed that while Anne loved him like a son and Hal and his siblings were as close as any other siblings could be, and Hal loved them without any animosity due to their disparate positions, he was worried that Hal may one day grow resentful of his reduced status and strike out against his brother. Arthur also expressed concerns about Edward's continued problems with literacy and determined that a dukedom was out of the question, and an earldom would put him on equal footing with his brother, who was styled the Earl of Kendal as his father's secondary title.
Katherine had suggested Viscount Beauchamp as a happy alternative, citing Elizabeth's love for her brother and Hal's otherwise honored position, while not overshadowing his brother. Anne also noted that they would not need to fear his loyalty, as her Uncle, the Duke of Norfolk (at Anne's bidding), had proposed his daughter, Mary Howard, as a wife for Hal. Henry had accepted, to Anne's delight. It was a fine match, and would ensure that Hal would stay loyal to her family regardless of any potential resentments that could arise when he was older.
Anne's smile was wide and encouraging as Hal was given his patent of nobility and finally raised into the peerage. She turned to smile at him that night, "I'm so proud of our boy. I cannot wait to plan his wedding in a year."
Henry knew that he was so blessed to have her at that moment, a woman who accepted his bastard son from a previous relationship without ever expressing jealously or resentment towards him. She loved Hal like her own child, and wanted him to be happy, just like she wanted their children to be happy. He regretted any implication he had ever made that she did not have his children's best interests at heart, all of them.
Nonetheless, he did not regret not claiming Mary Brandon. Anne would not have kindness for his and Jane's daughter, regardless of her kindness towards Hal.
Right before she died, his mother had sternly informed him that whatever his feelings towards his then infant-daughter, he could not claim her.
"In this, darling, think of your wife. She has suffered due to your relationship with Jane," she paused to cough, also thinking that Jane had suffered for her relationship with Henry too, and Mary would be better off as Charles Brandon's daughter than her son's. "Anne is a good woman who loves Hal, but it would be too much to ask of her to love that little girl the same way."
Two days later his mother had died, commanding him to be a good father to all four of his children in front of the entire family, making her thoughts on the matter quite clear. Henry regretted that she had worried about him while she languished in her final weeks, but that had always been her way.
He felt so lonely without her. He had found himself, even years after her death, still heading towards the apartments she had long-occupied at Hampton Court whenever he was hurt or upset. When he went to the nursery, he had still expected her there. He felt her presence sometimes in the chapel she was buried in. It was an indescribable loss.
She would have been thrilled with Hal's betrothal to Mary Howard, and she would have been beaming with pride at her little namesake, who looked every inch a princess already.
Elizabeth, unlike other children of nine who had previously been in her position, was not nervously fidgeting at the prospect of meeting her future husband. Anne and Katherine had sat her down and explained very clearly what would be expected of her as the future Duchess of Orléans some months ago, when the betrothal had moved from possible to probable. Wolsey, now known as Pope Gregory XIII, had ensured that Catherine de Medici was no longer a valuable marriage prospect and had pressured King Francis to consider an English bride for his second son. It was only a matter of time before Francis had written Arthur, requesting that negotiations be opened for a possible alliance between the two countries.
It had a been a long time since a foreign delegation had come to England, and Henry knew he had no reason to fear that his bright, beautiful daughter would fail to raise to the occasion.
Arthur, sitting on his throne, looked healthy and happy, and Henry was glad to see it. He was not ready yet, he decided some time ago. He wanted more time to understand how to govern, and he did not know how his marriage would stand up under the scrutiny of a King's crown. He also knew how happy Anne was having their children at Hampton with them, and he knew once they became King and Queen it would be proper to establish separate households for them outside of London. Sometimes Henry worried that the risk of contagion was too great for all of them to be at Hampton, especially William and Edward, but Anne would be miserable without them. They were better off the longer Arthur lived.
Arthur patted Elizabeth's shoulder and she turned to look at him, as she had the place of honor on his right side for the occasion. Arthur erased the memories of his own daughter from his mind, which he found himself having to do more and more as he was focused on arranging Elizabeth's marriage, like he one day imagined he would have had to do with Mary. Elizabeth beamed her mother's smile at him, and his memories of Mary melted away. "I'm very proud of you," he expressed.
The more time he spent at Hampton, in the nursery and in Elizabeth's own apartments, the more he realized that Elizabeth was the brightest child ever born into their family. He knew that she had surpassed both his knowledge and Henry's at age nine, and he was glad that he had installed a male tutor for her. Some may have told him that giving a girl the same education as her brothers was a mistake, but Thomas More had assured him otherwise, and assured him that encouraging little Elizabeth to learn was very important. Arthur agreed, knowing that when she was sent to France when she was far too young for her mother's liking, the knowledge she had accumulated in England would keep her as safe as a woman could be in a strange place.
"Thank you, your majesty," Elizabeth replied, bobbing a curtsey. If she were alone with her uncle, she would have kissed him and hugged him and thanked him for giving her the place of honor when they met the French delegation. But today was important, and everyone was watching them. She knew it was her responsibility to act like Lady Salisbury and Lady Bryan had always impressed on all of them, especially when they were at their uncle's court and not their papa's.
Arthur smiled and looked over at Anne, who was dressed in purple gown and looked as lovely as she did when she first married Henry. Anne had been very sad as of late, since her horrible stillbirth. Arthur and Katherine had spent nearly two months going back and forth between Hampton and Whitehall, making sure that Anne was stable before she was churched. The whole thing was macabre, something Katherine and Arthur knew all too well but had thought they would not have to relive, not when Anne had been so fortunate in childbed before.
He had wanted to punch Henry for how he had upset her, but instead he spent hours with her when Henry would not, before he apologized, and he had held her when her husband should have.
Sometimes he worried that he and Anne were too close for what was proper for their relationship. He felt no romantic attraction towards her, as Katherine was the only woman he had eyes for, but he worried that Anne had become dependent on him. He always made sure an attendant was in the room with them, or in the vicinity, when they were alone. There could be no hint of impropriety between them, so Henry could make no further accusation.
Anne had kept that secret from him for too long, that Henry had even suggested that Arthur had made him a cuckold. She had only told him about Henry's flippant comment during one of their arguments after he had upset her so badly when their baby daughter had been born dead. Arthur had felt anger and also shame, shame that he had somehow come between his brother and his wife. He vowed to make sure that he kept his distance after that, but he found that he could not keep away from her when she needed him.
Anne's smile at him was cautiously excited, and hopeful, and as she shared a secret smile with him. She stood next to Henry, who was on Katherine's left side, and as if she had remembered herself, she gripped her husband's hand, which he promptly kissed. Arthur was relieved to see her smile at Henry, and he could tell it was not feigned.
The sound of horns alerted all of them to the King of France's arrival, and they all straightened their backs. He put his hand on Elizabeth's shoulder and rose, knowing that the future of his dynasty was at stake.
Lord Henry FitzYork, Viscount Beauchamp, the eldest son of the Duke of York, knew that he could not escape the joust in honor of his sister's betrothal easily, despite how badly he wanted to. Due to his new elevation to the peerage, he was allowed to sit closer to his family than he was allowed just a week previously, before he was officially made a Viscount. Elizabeth, despite her attempts to act solemn and dignified at his ceremony, was bursting with excitement and had kissed and hugged him as soon as they were alone together. Hal suspected that his sister had more to do with his new title than his parents, but he tried to banish the thought from his mind, knowing that they were not prone to give into Elizabeth's whims when it dealt with something so important.
The joust today was not about him, but yet he knew that some were watching him, making sure that he acted as was proper for a viscount and the son of the Duke of York, who would be the King of England one day. He also knew that his future wife was watching him and he could feel her eyes bearing into him from her seat two rows above him, increasing his urge to run.
He had met Mary Howard just a month previous, when Anne had broached the subject with him. She had explained that her Uncle Norfolk was looking for a husband for his daughter and that they had all agreed that she would make a good wife for him. Anne had told him that her cousin was a lovely young lady, the same age as him, and was well-read and a splendid dancer. She had explained that Mary was a lady in her household and that he could be introduced to her as soon as he was ready, and that they would be married as soon as they were fourteen and the Pope granted them a dispensation, as Hal's great grandmother and Mary's great grandmother were sisters.
Hal was not impressed when he met the girl. Anne had arranged for the three of them to dine together, and Mary was perfectly pleasant then and had expressed all outward joy at their betrothal.
When Anne had tasked Madge Shelton with chaperoning them on a walk through the Hampton Court gardens, however, Mary had become a different lady.
"Do not think I am happy about this," she expressed, as soon as Madge was safely out of earshot. She casually disentangled her arm from his, and he felt guilty and embarrassed for offering his arm in the first place, as he was unsure of how it would be received but their supper had gone so well.
"Excuse me, my lady?" he asked, thinking she was referring to his gesture and not anything larger than that, a notion he was quickly disabused of.
"You are not a worthy husband for me," she all but spat at him, keeping her face in a practiced smile as to not alert Madge, another cousin of Anne's, who would then alert their cousin, who she could not disappoint.
When Anne had become the Duchess of York, her mother had informed her that Anne had reached far above her station and that she was unlikely to be successful or well-received by the royal family. When Mary had arrived at Hampton Court to become her lady-in-waiting, she was surprised to see that Anne enjoyed a warm relationship with the King and Queen, and her husband plainly adored her, even if Anne was cool towards him at times.
Hal was also well-beloved by the Duke and Duchess, but Mary could tell that Hal was never going to rise much further than the title given to him in kindness of "lord," even if he was given a formal title one day. She was the daughter of a Duke, the highest ranking after the Duke of York, and she was being forced into a marriage that was far beneath her.
Her cousin, the descendent of a merchant on her father's side, had risen much higher than that. It felt unfair to her that she was marrying the Duke of York's bastard when she could boost better breeding than Anne.
Hal was stunned. "I will be kind to you, Mary," he sputtered, trying to recover what he could, unsure of why she felt that way. He knew that he had no title, but he was the son of the Duke of York and would one day be the son of the King. He was not a trueborn son, but he knew that Edward would need and want his help in the future.
"You may be the nicest boy in the entire world," and handsome, she noted silently to herself, as he did favor his father, "but that will never change the circumstances of your birth."
It had been so long since he had felt the sting of his status, and Mary Howard was the cruelest anybody had been since his nurse when he was a child, and had treated him coldly since their initial encounter. His parents had done the best they could to shield him from any mummers or shame about his illegitimacy, but he still was acutely aware of it at formal occasions, when he was not permitted to walk with his family.
He should have been thrilled to be close to them today at the joust, which was an acknowledgement to the French delegation that he was an honored member of the family, but Mary had made it clear that his title of Viscount Beauchamp did not change her view of him, brushing him off as politely as she could without alerting the Duke and Duchess that anything was amiss.
Hal knew that he could tell his parents how he felt, that the thought of marrying Mary Howard had become odious to him, but he did not want to disappoint them, or raise suspicion on his head. He knew that Anne had proposed the marriage, in part, because Mary Howard was in her family and he was less likely to cause trouble to his legitimate brothers if he was safely married to a woman in Anne's family. He was no longer three years old, newly motherless, and he had to tread carefully.
Any loyalty pledges he made now were worthless once Edward became King, at least in their eyes. He was thirteen now but found the thought of war to be horrifying, and the thought of harming any of his siblings to be even more so. The only advantage he had over Edward was his age, and, despite his parents trying to keep it from him, his success in the schoolroom.
Edward's tutor was specially assigned to him, and Hal had seen him once, when he was visiting the nursery to spend time with William and Edward. Edward was confined to his apartments that day, separate from the rest of the nursery and from the large schoolroom where the other children took their lessons.
Catherine Carey, who he referred to as Cathy, was now old enough to serve as Anne's lady but was still in the nursery then, had informed him that Edward no longer took his lessons with the rest of them. She had told him that sometimes Edward would grow frustrated and would scream at his tutor, but Lady Bryan had strictly commanded them to ignore any sounds coming from Lord Edward's rooms.
When the tutor exited minutes later and Edward shouted at him to shut the door on his way out, he rushed past Hal and the rest of the children. Cathy had looked worriedly at the door but said nothing else.
It was why he knew it was important for him to be married one of Anne's relatives, to soothe his stepmother's concerns about Edward's struggles, and his father had selected Mary Howard. He should not protest, even though there was another one of Anne's relatives he would rather be married to.
As if she knew what he was thinking, Cathy looked at him and he could not stop smiling at her. She, the refined lady she was, blushed and cast her head downward, waiting a few seconds before titling her head back up. Hal knew that her mother had been the rumored mistress of the King of France, and Cathy was just as beautiful as her.
Cathy was always the closest to him when he was still in the nursery, as she was only a year younger than him and had shared his sense of humor when they were children, and she was one of the few people in his life he could confide in about feeling sad about his status. When his Aunt Mary had married Baron Stafford in secret, Cathy had spent some time at Hever Castle, but returned when her mother was reinstated to her honored position as Anne's chief lady. He had not realized until then how lonely he had been without her, and regretted for the first time that he was no longer in the nursery with the rest of them. He found enough pretense to go there to visit his brothers, and tried to naturally see her as much as he could.
When she turned twelve this year and had moved into Anne's household, he found himself going to see his stepmother more and more, just to catch a glimpse of her, and to have a chance to talk and laugh with her again. They were too young, he felt, to propose anything more than just friendship, but he had hoped that his parents would have forgotten about him and allowed him to stay free of any promises, and allow him to continue his friendship with Cathy.
He was likely too young to know what love felt like, but he knew that in a year he would be old enough to marry, and he wished that it would be Cathy and not Mary. He may have been young, but he was old enough to know that life with Mary would not be a happy one, and life with Cathy would be so much better. She was the only person he trusted, fully and completely.
And she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen.
He had not yet told her that he was promised to Mary Howard, as it was not yet official, there had been no contract signed or formalized betrothal, but he knew she would be upset. They had never promised anything to each other, Cathy was too smart for that, and would have been groomed by her mother by this point about how to handle male attention. He would never pressure her into any relationship with him, or presume that she reciprocated his feelings.
But he could have sworn the last time they were in Anne's rooms, and he had sat with her while she was folding the Duchess's linens, she had leaned close to him and thought about kissing him, but remembered herself and remembered where they were. He did not come back for a few days afterwards, and when he did, both acted like nothing was amiss or changed between them.
He knew it was for the best, but they never got any time alone anymore, not since his free moments had been spent "courting" Mary Howard, who had not spoken more than a few words to him in all of their carefully arranged meetings or acknowledge that he had become a better prospect with his new title. On their way to the tiltyard, he had grabbed Cathy's arm and pulled her aside, and she acquiesced. He told her to meet him in his apartments after his father jousted, if she could get away.
A gasp from the crowd pulled him out of his thoughts, and he noticed that Sir Anthony Knivert had fallen from his horse. Hal was worried for a moment, as Knivert was his favorite among his father's close friends, but he noticed his movements on the ground and knew that he would be okay. People rushed over to him, and the crowd was distracted. He noticed Cathy feign distress and tell her mother and her stepfather that she needed to excuse herself. Hal looked up and noticed that his family, and his betrothed, were all distracted.
He took his leave a few moments after Cathy did, noticing that a crowd of people were also leaving. He prayed that he had blended in and nobody noticed as he rushed to get to his rooms. His household staff was not likely to be back yet, and he did not want to leave Cathy in the difficult position of waiting for him at his door.
They arrived at the same time, as if they were supposed to be together at that moment. He opened the door for her, realizing that it was the first time she had seen his apartments at Whitehall and regretted that they were not more finely decorated. When his Uncle Arthur had given him his own apartments at Whitehall, for when his family visited, he had decorated them even less than he did his normal rooms at Hampton. Cathy was the daughter of a woman who had been raised in the French court, and she was finely dressed today, as befitted a lady of her station, as befitted the niece of the Duchess of York. Would she want anything to do with him, the bastard son of the Duke of York, with Spartan accommodations?
Cathy smiled widely at him after her eyes had scanned his sitting chamber. "This is so lovely, Hal. It's so wide and spacious!" she smiled at him, sitting down in the chairs by his fireplace.
Hal tried to think of what his father would do if he were entertaining a beautiful woman, and remembered that he kept ale and wine in his chambers on the rare occasion that the King or Queen came to visit him specifically. "Would you like some wine, Cathy?" he asked, anxiously trying to remember where it was kept.
"No, that's alright Hal. What did you want to talk to me about?" She motioned for him to sit across from her, confused that Hal had pulled her aside before the joust. She knew that they saw little of each other since she became her Aunt Anne's lady, but she thought it was for the best. She may have been the niece of the future Queen of England, but she knew that she could not marry him or presume to approach her mother or stepfather about it, knowing that they, along with the Duke and Duchess, would arrange a marriage for her. Hal would be married to somebody much grander than her, and the gnawing feeling of pain in her heart, like when her papa died, would eventually go away, she was sure of it.
However, even as she thought of it, she looked at him with his eyes downcast and felt her stomach drop. He was her best friend, and if he were married soon she would lose him, one way or the other. The thought of that had kept her awake some evenings, and it made her sadder than she could verbalize. Her mother had kept asking her if she was alright, over and over again, and she had lied each time.
"I have to tell you something, something I am not happy about," he swallowed deeply, all of the sudden wishing for ale for himself. "My parents have decided that I will marry Mary Howard, as soon as we both reach the age of fourteen."
Cathy cringed. She had only met her cousin Mary on a few occasions, and she was never kind to her, despite them being of similar age. She had made some unsavory comments about her mother, especially after she married her stepfather in secret. On more than one occasion, she had also made thinly veiled remarks about how lucky her Aunt Anne was to be in the position she was in and when Cathy had returned back from Hever, she had remarked how poorly dressed she was for the few months afterwards.
She was not a suitable bride for somebody as humble and generous-hearted as Hal, and she would make him miserable, if she had not already.
Before she could stop herself, she exclaimed, "I'm sorry!"
"What?" he giggled, unable to stop himself.
"Oh, Mary is just awful company. She is as spoiled as Lisbeth but has none of her intelligence or kind spirt. She is just as haughty as my great-uncle Norfolk. You must not marry her!" she exclaimed, once again forgetting herself around him.
She would never speak to any of the Duke's other children like this, but with Hal she never felt like she had to quiet or censor herself. She felt like she was with her brother, who she called Harry to keep all of the Henrys in her life separate, when she was with him, except she never had the urge to kiss her brother like she did with Hal.
"What can I do? I have to show I am loyal to Anne and her children, and that I harbor no further ambition for myself other than the title of Viscount Beauchamp. If I presume to challenge what they have planned for me, I could lose everything." Even as he spoke the words, he knew he was being ridiculous, at least that's what Anne would say to him. She would say she loved him as a mother and that he could do nothing to disappoint her other than fail to make his father proud.
Cathy knew that she needed to tread carefully, but she saw an opening and wanted him to see what she saw. Her mother had always told her that some men need prodding, and to be coaxed into seeing things differently. "Well Mary is not the only relative in our family that is of the same age as you. If you explain to Aunt Anne that she has been rude to you, she will surely wish to rescue you."
She knew it was not as simple as that because her great-uncle Norfolk would be upset if her aunt were to renege on the agreement she had likely had some part in brokering. And Cathy did not presume herself to be as attractive of a bride as Mary Howard, who would bring a larger dowry for Hal and a grander family name. But she knew that if Hal could get her Aunt Anne to rethink the agreement, that could be a start.
Hal smirked at her, knowing what she was hinting at, and relieved that his affection for her was returned. "What other lady in the Duchess of York's family could I possibly marry?" he asked, his tone mirthful. He consciously refrained from referring to Anne as his mother like he normally would have done, not wanting her to think that they were truly blood cousins, even though she knew that his mother was not truly Anne.
"Oh, there are many other Howard girls at court you could pick from," she responded coyly, trying to flirt like she had seen her Aunt Anne do many times before with her Uncle Henry.
"I can think of one in particular."
He could not control himself any longer, he pulled her off the chair and kissed her deeply. He could tell that she had never done this before, making him feel less insecure about his relative clumsiness. He had seen his father make his stepmother swoon at times, and a long time ago, he had seen him make Mistress Brandon weak as well, when she was known as Jane Seymour and before she married his Uncle Charles.
They finally pulled away from each other. "They will all be coming back from the joust soon." Cathy remarked, hoping to remind him that his household staff would be returning soon. Hal responded by kissing her again, this time bravely placing his hands on her hips to pull her even closer. She did not fight him, like she knew she should have been. "Hal . . ." she lightly scolded, unsure of how to finish the thought.
"I can't promise you anything other than my assurance that you are the only woman in the world that I wish to marry." He knew that his father would probably remind him, if he was here, that he would meet many other ladies in his time at court, especially once his father was King and woman would take notice of him even more. Even with that knowledge, he knew that Cathy was his best friend and he would never grow bored of her company.
Cathy nodded, grateful that he was not filling her with false promises. "I know this will be difficult, but you will try?" she asked, still in disbelief that she had verbalized a thought that she could only have dreamt of just last night.
"Of course. You are most worth it, Cathy."
Hampton Court
July 1, 1534
Once the French delegation had left and the betrothal agreement had been signed, Anne was relieved to return to her home and have dinner alone with her family in Henry's private chamber, instead of front of the entire court and the French. She had enjoyed entertaining the French and seeing King Francis again, bringing back memories of her girlhood, but she was glad to be home.
She could tell that Francis was charmed by her daughter, who was impossible not to love. Her little Elizabeth had spoken flawless French to her future family, and Anne had to push the twinge of sadness she felt thinking about her daughter leaving her in a few short years. She knew it was the fate of princesses to leave their home countries, and she knew her daughter was proud to help her uncle and her father form an important alliance. Their parting would be difficult, but Katherine had reminded her over the past few weeks that it would be necessary, and that they would be able to write each other often, like she had done with her mother when she came to England all those years ago.
With God's blessing, Katherine had told her, Elizabeth would come to love her husband as much as Katherine loved Arthur, and she would not feel alone in her new country. Anne was warmed by the thought, no matter how unlikely it was, because she knew that Elizabeth was a special girl who had inherited the best traits from both of her parents. The young Duke of Orléans was a difficult young man to read, but Anne had noticed him smiling a few times at Elizabeth's comments.
She was so proud of her charming daughter, and she prayed that Francis's son would prove worthy of her and that he did not turn out to be a lecher like his father.
All of her children were old enough to attend dinner without their governesses fretting over their table manners. Young William was almost five and had progressed past his elementary lessons. Edward, near seven, was still her cheerful boy, but had become troubled by his struggles in the schoolroom and occasionally was in a dark mood when she came to visit him, which she did daily to ensure that the tutor was not abusing him. He was able to read some texts now, but had not made progress at the same pace as Elizabeth, or as Hal. The other children in the nursery at Hampton knew, but they had successful shielded the rest of the court from it. Edward had memorized all of his prayers when they attended chapel every Sunday, and was still a proficient speaker who could charm foreign delegates and courtiers.
She was proud of all of her children, and knew that Edward would catch up, at his own pace. She knew that he was working very hard, and was glad that Henry's wrath had not fallen on him yet. She knew Henry was impatient for Edward to make progress, but since they had lost their daughter he had been more solicitous towards all of the children and her.
She was weary of him but did not let it show. She could not put Arthur in an uncomfortable position again, and she had promised Elizabeth days before she died she would be patient with Henry and always love him. She did love him, and she always would, but she was still afraid that he would one day lash out against her for some other failure of hers.
She knew that she did not handle her pregnancy well and knew that she should have been calmer. But she was afraid to do it without Elizabeth and afraid that she would have a hard labor, like she had with William, and damage her body even further. Katherine had visited her every day in confinement, which made her feel guilty because she knew Katherine had tended to the affairs of state more often than Arthur. Even Henry could not visit her daily like he did with her first three pregnancies because he was so busy, and Arthur and George came when they could. She was surrounded by love and family and yet she could not stop feeling sad about the loss of Elizabeth.
The labor was not too taxing, the first time she had felt hopeful since Elizabeth had died, but then her daughter never cried. The best sound in the world after the birth of her three children was the sound of their crying, even though she immediately lost consciousness after William's birth she still remembered the first sound he made as he entered the world.
The silence in her chamber after her daughter—Katherine—had been born continued to haunt her. She vowed to cherish her four children after she lost her, and most days that was enough to keep her from feeling unbearably sad.
She had tried to block out her memory of how poorly Henry had reacted, and the pathetic way in which she had demanded to see nobody but Arthur, who held her as she cried.
She could never act that way around him again, it was not fair to him, and it was not fair to Henry, who deserved her complete devotion, or Katherine, who deserved to have the undevoted attention of her husband.
Hal was the first one to arrive, bowing and kissing her hand. She was so glad that her Uncle Norfolk agreed with her that Hal was a wonderful match for his daughter Mary. The courtship was going well from her vantage point, and Mary was kind and respectful as one of her youngest ladies and had seemed eager to learn and serve her. She expressed all outward pleasure at marrying Hal, and Anne was glad to see it. Her beloved stepson deserved to be happy, and Mary was comely and of appropriate breeding. Importantly, she was her cousin and Hal needed to know that he was accepted into their family, and Mary would have no reason to strike against Edward.
Anne trusted that Hal would remain loyal to her siblings, but she knew her and Henry's decision ten years ago to treat Hal like a true member of their family could have ramifications if Edward continued to struggle and they could no longer shield it from the court or the country. She knew that the memory of war between the Yorks and Lancastrians was starting to fade from public memory as those members of the royal family had passed away. She knew that the alternative could have been worst, if Hal had felt unloved or unvalued, or left to his own devices and open to people who had ill intentions.
The Tudor family was secure on the throne, but Anne had heard enough stories from Elizabeth and from Arthur to know that these things could change in an instant. Marrying Hal to Mary Howard would ensure that he was loyal to her family.
"How are you this evening, my darling?" she asked, motioning for Hal to sit next to his father. There was no need for precedence when they were alone.
"I am well, my lady mother," he responded, knowing that he need to do right by Cathy and at least explain to his mother that Mary had been cruel to him, but that it could wait after his younger siblings left.
He had thought about it in the weeks that the court was preoccupied with the French to notice that he had singled out Cathy more than his betrothed to dance with or talk to, and if Mary noticed she did not seem to care. Cathy had come to his room during the feasts and dances that the King and Queen had planned a few evenings, when nobody would notice them missing, and they would spend hours laughing and drinking the wine that he knew he was supposed to save, and had exchanged a few more kisses. He would not go further than that until they had a more definite plan and a way out of his marriage.
Cathy had proposed telling his parents about Mary's cruelty first, releasing him from their betrothal, and then he could propose Cathy as a suitable replacement after enough time had passed. Cathy had promised to say nothing to her own parents, as not to alert them and have her mother share her suspicions with Anne.
He had hoped his parents would understand that he wished to choose his own bride, as they had chosen each other despite his father being a prince who would have been valuable for alliances. He wanted another a girl in Anne's family, and replacing Mary with Cathy would not upset anybody other than Anne's Uncle Norfolk.
Still, he would have a pleasant dinner with his family first, before he could possibly upset his parents.
Anne happily greeted Edward as Lady Bryan walked him in. She was struck by how similar he looked to her lately, other than his brown eyes that were clearly her husband's, his deep black hair and facial structure was almost identical to hers at his age. Elizabeth walked in immediately behind him, her smile and face betraying no signs of exhaustion from her three weeks of being the star of the English court. William walked in just a few moments later, pulling free from the grasp of his governess and running to greet Anne and Henry, unlike his siblings who bowed and curtsied appropriately.
Anne knew that soon William would stop running up to them with such childlike exuberance, like Hal, Elizabeth, and Edward before him, but it made her too sad to think about it, or to think that he may be her last child, meaning she would have to wait until she had grandchildren, if she were lucky enough to live long enough to meet them, for them to run up to her like William just had.
It had all happened far too fast for her liking.
The meal had lasted for nearly two hours, and only ended because Anne could tell William was fighting sleep to stay with them all longer. William had been escorted out of the room by Nan, who had stayed by to attend them but had stayed in the shadows to provide them with a measure of privacy. Edward had excused himself shortly after, expressing a desire to go over his lessons again with his tutor, who Anne had granted large lodgings at Hampton to ensure that he and Edward could meet whenever they needed to. Elizabeth and Hal stayed longer after their younger siblings had left, showing off a new dance that they had learned together from one of the French entertainers.
Elizabeth left eventually, and Hal would normally trail after her, but Anne and Henry showed no eagerness for him to leave, so he stiffened his spine and ignored the pit in his stomach. He needed to set the wheels in motion to free himself from his future marriage.
"Hal would you like something else for dessert? I'm sure the cooks can make you something if we ask," Anne expressed, remembering her brother George at his age and how often he would demand the cooks at Hever make him rich desserts even after they had dined.
"No, thank you lady mother." He met both of his parents' eyes and saw only kindness. He felt brave for the first time all day, the nervous cloud hanging over him finally passing. "May I tell you both something and you promise not to be cross with me?"
Henry answered him quickly, knowing how nervous his son could be when he needed something. "Of course we will not be cross with you, son." He had hoped Hal would ask for redecorators for his chambers, knowing that, unlike Elizabeth, Hal was likely to spend the rest of his time at Hampton there. He thought that his son's chambers were far too dull for a young man who was soon to be married.
"Well, it is about Mary, Mary Howard," he clarified, thinking of all of the Marys in his family. Yet another reason not to add another. "She has been . . . discourteous towards me."
"How so?" Anne asked, trying not to panic.
Hal swallowed deeply again, knowing it would do no good to lie or to sugarcoat things. He did not wish to badmouth the Howard family needlessly, but Cathy's face popped into his brain, and he knew he needed to be strong. "She has referred to me as a bastard on more than one occasion, and said that I was not a suitable husband for her due to my birth."
"Did you remind her of how beloved you are in our family, and how valued you are?" Henry asked sharply, thinking that his son needed to stand up for himself sooner rather than later. He did not wish for him to be in a miserable marriage with a woman who did not care for him, but he knew that Hal was occasionally too spineless for a boy his age. "You will be her husband soon, my boy, and you must teach her to treat you with respect."
Anne looked over at him, her eyes conveying a warning. Henry needed to tread carefully with Hal. Though Hal was a young man and now a viscount, he was still sensitive. She did not want her children to be harsh and cruel, especially her boys. If Hal was not rude to Mary, to try and keep the peace, she did not think that was a bad thing.
"I have tried, father, I have reminded her of my new title and how well you both treat me, and how much Edward loves me." Hal had even told her that he was likely to be a trusted advisor to Edward at some point, and that his father was likely to entrust him with duties as he got older.
"What is her problem then, exactly, with you? You must have done something to upset her, don't lie to me." Henry firmly insisting, wanting to take Hal at his word but having a difficult time with it. He had hoped that Hal's status would be overshadowed by his new title, and he and Anne had worked very hard to ensure that Hal was treated with honor and respect. He was sure that Mary Howard was aware of her great family name and took great pride in it, but he would not allow her to be disrespectful to his son, if Hal were telling the truth. He may have been born on the wrong side of the blanket, but he was still his son, and therefore had royal blood running through his veins. But Hal could be a sullen and difficult boy, especially when it came to his status, so he was not sure what to believe.
"I am a bastard, father, that is her problem with me. Nothing you or mother do will change that about me, despite how hard you both have tried." And he knew that they did try, which is why he felt bad that a hint of irritation had entered his voice. Their effort was not unnoticed, his whole life, since he was removed from his boyhood establishment and introduced to Anne and informed to call her mother.
He could barely remember his own mother anymore, she had beautiful blonde hair and a kind voice, and she would sing to him. But that was all he could remember now, he was integrated into his father's family after she had died and he knew that was blessed. But nothing could change the fact that but for his misfortunate of being born three years too early to the wrong woman, he was not in line to be the Prince of Wales but had to content himself with Viscount Beauchamp and likely married to a fine noble woman who would despise him forever.
At thought of the unfairness of the whole situation, he felt hot tears stinging in his eyes. He knew that could not cry in front of his father, as he had already grown irritated with his perceived weakness.
"Hal . . ." Anne did not know how to finish the thought, she tried to reach out to him but he pulled away.
Hal looked directly at his father, knowing that whatever disappointment he felt it was his father's fault, not Anne's, who had always done her best under a difficult circumstance. He did not know why he had grown so angry, but he had hoped that his father would want him to be honored, and would not question him this way. He should believe him, he had never done anything to make him think that he would lie to him to gain something.
He felt his voice rise as he finally told his father how he felt. "I had hoped, since nothing will ever undo the mistake you made in coupling with my mother—my real mother—without being married to her, that you would want me to be happy. I want to marry somebody who can stand the sight of me, and does not find the circumstances of my birth to be odious, as we both know that it cannot be changed."
"Of course, Hal, of course you have that right," Anne responded, holding a hand to still whatever Henry was going to do or say. Hal was only thirteen, but she knew he was intelligent. Mary Howard likely was unhappy with his birth, but Anne was not quite ready to give up yet on the girl. She was young too, and prideful. Anne was certain she could convince her to see the right way of things, and to explain to her how lucky she was. "I'm sure if I speak to Mary, she will understand how important this match is for all of us."
Hal knew that he should accept that, and he knew that he should not insist otherwise. But he had never asked them for any of this, to be given a noble bride or a title. He would have been content to be left alone. He wanted something for once and for himself, not for all of it to be chosen for him. Despite his best laid plans, he found himself telling them the truth, "I want another bride, mother."
"No," Henry responded before Anne had to. "Your mother has done a great thing for you, arranging you to marry the Duke of Norfolk's daughter. We will do all we can to ensure that it is not an unhappy union, but you do not have the right to pick your own wife." It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he would far better than many royal bastards, but he did not dare upset his son more, who had left him speechless moments before.
"Like you did?" Hal asked, never asking why his father did not choose to marry his mother instead of Anne, as the question would die on his tongue each time he formed the nerve. Anne made his father happy, and gave him siblings, but his mother would have been dead in time for Anne to have married him too, and then they all would have been legitimate.
"Hal! You cannot speak to your father that way," Anne scolded, shocked at his behavior. If it were not so serious, she would have been amused that Hal found the spine his father had lamented him missing while standing up to him, but she would dare not voice it.
"Who is the girl?" Henry asked calmly. Henry was genuinely curious, unwilling to admit that Hal had a point. Henry had defied Katherine's plans for him in order to marry Anne, but he had hoped his children would be more obedient than him. In any case, it did not matter who Hal wished to marry, as he was not useful for making an alliance, and he would not have cared if Hal was not already promised.
His brother's voice was running through his head, telling him to keep the family together, and to not drive Hal into a secret marriage. And his mother's voice was in his head, telling him to treat his children well.
"Your niece, lady mother. Lady Catherine Carey."
Henry looked at Anne, a mixture of rage and shock on his face. "Did your sister tell you about this at all?" he asked, trying not to let his anger infuse his tone with her, or to accuse her before he knew the facts.
"No, Henry, I would have come to you right away, I promise." If there was ever an issue with their children, she always went to Henry first, even when Elizabeth was alive, even when their marriage was in its darkest moments.
Henry kissed her hand, assuring her that he was not angry with her. "We must discuss this in private, Hal, and then we will inform you of our decision. In the meantime, I trust you have not dishonored her?" he asked.
"No, father, and I have made her no promises, as I know I cannot keep them." Hal did not mean to accuse his father, but he knew that it was possible he had lied to his mother all those years ago, and had prematurely promised Anne marriage before he could honor his promise.
Henry looked distracted and angry, but Anne thought Hal was very brave to come to them. She leaned over to kiss him. "Go to bed, my love. We'll talk to you soon, I promise."
Hal bowed once to his father and shuffled out of the room. Anne reclined back on one of the chairs she had just happily dined in earlier, wishing, not for the first time, that her mother-in-law was with them. She would know the exact right thing to do.
She heard Henry sigh and she looked up at him. "So, what do you propose we do with this mess, my love?"
Hi! Still alive. Hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I'm not super thrilled with the outing but I was also not ready to say goodbye to these characters that have been with me for nearly ten years. I apologize for any typos too, I wrote this in a bit of a burst of inspiration and didn't want to spend hours editing it. I hope you are all doing well, and I hope that you will all continue to enjoy this story and review. :)
-Marissa
