AN: It's currently the year 1541 in this AU.
What comes around…
"Your Majesty!" Anna of Cleves's voice soared high above the heads of myriads of courtiers swarming around the halls of Hampton court this day. "Your Majesty!"
Noticing her after the third attempt, the Queen turned around and, with a small but powerful gesture accompanied by a dark glance, blazed a trail through to her German guest.
"Your Majesty," Anna said once more, this time curtseying deeply.
"Lady Anna, I regret saying this, but I am on my way to the Princess Royal. Surely you understand that nothing can be of more importance now," the Queen excused herself. "Can we speak at tonight's feast?"
Anna nodded reluctantly. "I have very good news."
"Then follow me so we may speak as we walk," Queen Anne decided.
This time, Anna nodded more vigorously than before and accepted. Together they paved their way to the apartments of Princess Mary.
"My letter is finished, Majesty. I sent it on se way sis morning," Anna told her happily. "Wis any luck, it will be wis my broser in a week."
Anne raised an eyebrow. "And what did you write? Did you tell him what we discussed?"
"Yes, of course. I did exactly what we planned; I told him what he wants to hear. If we are lucky, he will take se bait and send over his wife as anoser guest to England."
"If we are lucky?" The Queen seemed doubtful.
"We will be lucky. Trust me, Majesty, after all you have told me, I am sure I know how to speak to my broser to make him do se right sings," Anna replied. "And it is so exciting – to sink sat sis is my first intrigue! I have never sought to be involved in sese sings."
Anne smiled. "It causes me grief to disappoint you, Anna, but one can hardly consider our plans to free Princess Jeanne an intrigue. Intrigues are meant to foster your own interest by making others miserable – there is always a winner who takes it all. But we do not mean to sow discord and work for our own profit. We are working towards a higher good and in time, even your brother will realize we have done him a favour. He can find another wife much more to his liking once this marriage is annulled."
"Yes, Majesty, of course you are right. But it is srilling, still," Anna agreed. "I will pray sat all will go well."
"All of us should pray for that. But now, alas, I must leave you. I am sure you want to prepare for the ceremony yourself and I find it paramount to have a last gaze at our bride before we part for Westminster."
Completely understanding the Queen's wish to be with her stepdaughter, Anna nodded and curtseyed and removed herself. Anne watched her go for a second, praying in her heart that time would prove her right and that Jeanne would soon be free. But after this second, she pushed away the thoughts to focus on what was really important today: Mary.
"How is the dress coming along?" She asked flamboyantly as she entered the Princess's apartments.
Everyone dropped the fabrics and needles they had been carrying and curtseyed before her – except for Mary, who was standing in front of a large mirror in order for the last preparations to take place.
"I hope it suits me well," she replied smiling.
Anne mustered her for a moment, pondering over the dress three seamstresses had worked on for weeks. It combined several of the fabrics the King and Queen had ordered all around Europe, all of them dyed silver, as was customary for royalty. Even though Mary was not marrying a foreign prince, the King had insisted on dressing her in silver. And pearls, you must not forget about pearls, Henry had said. Anne smiled seeing that he would certainly be pleased when he saw his daughter – on her dress, there were marvellous pearls everywhere. Even her tiara contained six pearls. She truly looked every inch a fairy-tale princess today.
"It suits you without question or doubt, Your Highness," Anne acknowledged. "Your husband might not be able to say his vows blinded by your beauty."
Blushing a little, Mary waved it aside. "You are flattering me."
"I am only making conversation. Tell me, dear, is everything prepared? Your carriage will arrive within the hour and we would not want to keep your guests waiting for too long, would we?"
Mary nodded. By now, Anne had paced towards her and gently pushed back one of Mary's brown curls behind her ear. There was something strange in the Queen's eyes, something unusually tender…
"Ladies, leave us for a moment," she ordered.
Long ago, Mary would have been frightened now, at least a little bit, but she had long learned to put up with her stepmother's moods and escapades. She knew there was nothing to fear from Anne, whatever may be on her mind. Anne's eyes scrutinised her, her wedding dress, her coiffed up hair, her lovely face. Was she remembering her own youth in Mary's mirrored image? No, the smile that graced her lips wasn't envious. It was generous, affectionate, and somehow reminded Mary of the way her real mother had used to smile.
"I have a gift for you, dear. A wedding gift," Anne then said. "It would have been your mother's pleasure to give it to you, but I believe I have justification to act in her stead as I have done for so many years now."
Mary nodded. "Of course you have." She felt a lump in her throat.
"What I want to give you only a woman can give you. It may not be shiny and shimmering and splendid at first glance, but you will receive much of that later, I promise. You know your father, after all." Anne paused, and both of them smiled. "But what I'm giving you now might prove far more valuable than that, for it cannot be taken away from you. I mean to give you wisdom, as a mother should do to her daughter on the verge of her wedding. Mine was not there to aid and counsel me and neither is yours… but I am here. I will not let you go alone as I was."
Tears already building up in the corners of her eyes, Mary took Anne's hand into hers. "Anne, I…"
"Let me speak and listen," Anne insisted nonetheless. "You have been told so much about what will happen tonight, good things and bad things alike, I do not doubt it. But I urge you now to forget all of it. Forget the fishwives' tales, the talk of wifely duties, forget it all. It means nothing. All you need to know is that you are blessed, dear, to marry a man you love and who loves you. That is all that matters tonight. Do not be afraid of what happens when you're alone… it's nothing but love."
Mary looked at her with an almost solemn expression on her face. "Will… it hurt?"
"Did I not tell you to forget about these stories?" Anne scolded her smiling, but then she sighed. "It might hurt, but not much. You have experienced far worse. It is not really pain, either, not like a broken bone or a knife cutting you. It's just a strange sensation, a sensation of… well, you will see. Trust in your husband. I have every confidence he will see you through it. As long as you trust Philip, you have nothing to fear."
"If you say so, I believe it. I trust in your wisdom far more than in any fishwife's," Mary responded.
"Good." Anne caressed her stepdaughter's cheek tenderly. "You look so very beautiful, Mary. So young and sweet and full of life. It is a pity your mother cannot see you."
Mary frowned. "Why are you saying it? You and her… you didn't get along well."
"No, but it doesn't mean I would've denied her this. Every mother should see her daughter wed. God knows I pray I'll be granted that for Elizabeth when the time comes."
"And now you have me. In a way, you're my mother, also. My own mother, God rest and keep her soul, can surely see me from heaven today, but she is not here to guide me when my nerves fail me. That is why I need you here now, Anne."
The Queen smiled. "And I will be there. Now, let us finish the dressing and ride to Westminster. This situation is getting far too sentimental for my taste and it makes me feel old. Do I look old to you, dear? I could've sworn I saw more wrinkles in my washing water this morning."
Mary laughed heartily. "No, Your Majesty, it must have been waves, not wrinkles. You look no day older than me. People must mistake us for sisters!"
Anne joined in her laughter. Sisters, yes, she thought. Your sister I once promised to be, when I was even younger than you and you were but a lonely little girl… and look at us now. Look at how far we've come. God works in such mysterious ways.
The streets of London looked every inch like the fairy tale dream Mary had had as a small girl. Houses were decorated with Tudor roses, banners were flying everywhere, and above it all soared the sound of a thousand cheerful voices. After all the ills that had befallen England over the past years, everyone now seemed to crave a time of feasting and joy, even more so since it was their beloved princess's wedding day.
But for Mary, it all went by like a cloudy dream. She rode in an open carriage with her stepmother and sister, happily waving at the peasants and burghers waving back at her. They were shouting her name, shouting wishes of good will for her, but she barely understood them. In her mind, she was sucked far away from this, back to a wedding day in 1534 when she had witnessed her best friend Frances enter the bond of holy matrimony.
Back then, she had caught a glimpse of her future husband, a man she now knew to be Philip. Back then, she had wished for nothing else but to be as happy a bride as Frances one day. Now this day had come and Mary could barely believe it. Neither could the rest of her family, it seemed, for they all appeared to be engrossed and lost in reverie. It made them seem even more royal, somehow bigger than life.
If only my mother were here, Mary thought as she entered the church. But seeing the sculpted angels, she knew Catherine of Aragon couldn't be far away. She was surely watching her now somehow.
"Your Majesties, my Lords, good Christian people," Archbishop Cranmer began addressing them once everyone had taken a seat. "We have gathered here on this beautiful day to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony before the eyes of God."
Mary smiled brightly at his words, not knowing that she might have lived a life in which she would desire and achieve Cranmer's painful death. Yes, she disapproved of his religious stances, but how much did it really matter now that she felt so happy? Just looking into Philip's eyes made her forget about any unpleasant feelings she might harbour for Cranmer.
While he spoke, her gaze sometimes stole away from him and Philip to wander along the aisle. She saw her father, every inch the magnificent king, who seemed to all but burst with pride. She saw her siblings and their big, excited eyes. She saw her friends – Frances, Liz, Cate, Nell – and for a moment marvelled at how a lonely little girl like her could have made so made friends. She saw their German guest, Anna of Cleves, squinting away tears into a handkerchief graciously passed to her by Jane Boleyn. She saw Jane's husband, George, standing next to her, still the gorgeous and handsome man Mary had once fallen in love with. She smiled at the memory of her childhood love for him before looking at Philip again.
Then Cranmer initiated the vows. Mary's heart began to tremble as she and Philip spoke their carefully practiced words.
"With this ring, I thee wed, with my body, I thee worship…"
It still felt like a dream when his lips finally touched hers, thus sealing the sacred bond that had been established between them forever. The shouts of joy and applause following their kiss were almost deafening. Mary opened her eyes again fearing for a moment that it really was just a dream, but all she saw was Philip looking back at her.
"We ought to receive their best wishes now and wave at the people," he whispered.
"But I want to kiss you again," she replied.
Philip looked to his side, where the King was already approaching him, before winking at her and grinning. Then he kissed her again.
"We've waited a year for this," he whispered between breaths. "Let them wait, too."
"A Lutheran heretic," Pope Paul III exhaled in a deep, dark, saddened voice. "After all we have done to warm the King at our bosom once more, he still feels disposed towards these new heresies. I cannot bring myself to fathom it."
"But it is the truth, Holy Father. The Princess was married only two weeks ago with the blessing of every English Cardinal," his secretary affirmed.
The Pope sighed. "They are afraid, son. They remember what happened to our brother, Cardinal Fisher, and though there can be no more glory in this world than to sacrifice our flesh for the love of Christ, the flesh is weak and fearful. It is not our intention to judge them."
Another voice flew into the conversation. "I agree wholeheartedly with Your Holiness." It belonged to Cardinal Pole. "Still I feel the urge to express my sincere conviction that we must stand strong where they faltered. Something has to be done, if only for the sake of Princess Mary's saintly mother."
"Yes, Queen Catherine. It is quite a pity we never met her in person, for we have heard many things about her pious soul. Some might say she would have condoned this marriage, wishing for nothing but her daughter's happiness," the Pope remarked carefully, hoping to provoke a response.
The response was swift indeed. "But she is not happy, Your Holiness, she cannot be. I know the Princess – she would never truly accept a heretic as her husband. She couldn't," Pole insisted.
The old man dressed in finest white garment nodded slowly, apparently pondering the matter, while making a small, almost indistinguishable gesture towards his secretary. The man rushed from his seat to produce a large piece of parchment.
"What is this, Holy Father?" Pole asked.
"It is a letter written in the Princess's own hand," the Pope said, waiting for Pole to have a first glance at it. "She is asking for our blessing."
Pole's eyes skimmed through the text in growing disbelief and despair. He could not believe what he was reading – it just couldn't be true. He knew in his heart that the Princess was a faithful Catholic and his best, if not only, choice to return England to the safety of the Holy See for good. But with this letter, she was practically abandoning his course. Could that be true?
"She must have been urged to sign this document," he surmised.
"It seems genuine to us," the Pope returned. "And we accept that love is the greatest virtue our Lord has bestowed on us poor souls. It seems acceptable to think that He chose to spread love even amongst those who err. After all, the Princess's cousin, Emperor Charles, has only recently affirmed his wish to put a peaceful end to the German heresies."
"Holy Father," Pole now returned more securely, "surely you are but testing my faith, for we both know that this is no matter of love. The question is theological and political at the same time, but not about love. The Princess cannot be married to a foreigner so far below her own status, least of all a heretic foreigner. I cannot believe her cousin would condone it if he knew! It is against the will of God and it pities me to see that even after the Pilgrimage, the King of England has not accessed a deeper understanding of the matter."
The Pope scrutinized him with unflinching eyes. "What do you suggest, then?"
"Deny your consent, Holy Father, and make it public that this marriage is unlawful in the eyes of God. With any luck, it will deter the King and cause him to procure an annulment, but if he does not desist…"
It was unclear whether the Pope was bored or curious about the matter, but he asked: "Yes?"
"If he chooses to pursue his sinful ways, we need to put an end to the English troubles. Holy Father, the Princess is in need of our support, and while we ourselves may not command armies, we have pious kings to do our bidding! We must not make do with beauty and truth if they go unheard."
Paul III nodded. "We might as well consider these means, but we are not yet convinced of the ends that justify them. If we were to ask our friends to muster troops and send them to England, if we were to dirty our hands in the realms of politics by removing a sinful king from his throne – how would we ensure we did more good than harm? Who could promise us safety for the souls of our English flock?"
There was a moment of sizzling silence. Cardinal Pole felt this was exactly the moment to make his intentions known, to show His Holiness just how much he was prepared to sacrifice for the union of his beloved Church and the well-being of his home country.
"There is another claimant to the throne," he began almost trembling. "A man with Plantagenet blood. Me."
"Ahh," the Pope returned, still carefully hiding the fact that he had seen this coming long before. "But you are a man of the clergy, unable to devote yourself to earthly matters."
"Which is why I would be prepared to deny my Cardinal's hat when the day comes that I can be of better service wearing a crown," Pole firmly proclaimed.
The Pope nodded. "And we assume that in this case, you would also be prepared to marry the Princess Royal as a means of making peace with the Tudor dynasty?"
Pole hesitated. "Your Holiness knows? How so?"
"We may be old and weak of body, Your Eminence, but we are still strong of mind and will," he countered smugly, now revealing in his face that he had known all along. He cleared his throat. Before Pole could say more, could explain his intentions, the Pope raised his voice once more: "We will take our time to consider the options. At the heart of our ponderings are the peace of body and peace of mind of many men, so we consider it appropriate to make a wise decision."
"Of course, Holy Father, but if you would just let me explain how I…"
"We understand your plight, son, and will act as our conscience dictates in due time," the Pope assured him a little less friendly. "You may go, Your Eminence."
Somewhere in the countryside, an old nobleman was buried in the yard behind his family estate. You would have expected his children and wife to be present, and perhaps the servants and some friends of the family, but not a queen or princess of England. And yet, both of them had rode far away from London to pay homage to a man one of them had gone through hell with – John Neville, Baron Latimer. Despite all their best efforts, the London air seemed not to have cured his bad health, and after years of suffering, he had finally closed his eyes forever. Now they all stood by his grave – his still young, still lovely wife Catherine, her closest friend Princess Mary, and Anne, the queen who might no longer be alive if not for his help.
But not everyone had come to his funeral and not everyone viewed it as a tragedy. For some, it seemed quite a fortunate event.
"Now that she's a widow, I think she might just be ideal for our purpose," Frances Grey said between two sips of ale.
Her sister Eleanor frowned, rubbing a hand over her swelling belly. She found it hard to concentrate on Frances's schemes these days as the doubt over her unborn child's parentage kept nagging her.
"That is, if we could manage to put matters before her without leaving her a choice. Our friend in the Queen's household tells me that Cate is secretly smitten with that airhead Thomas Seymour. Now, we might hope she possesses the decency not to run away with that oaf mere weeks after her husband's death, much more so since Seymour's in Europe, but I have given up hoping people might act reasonable. It's usually safe to assume the opposite – that they are irrational and self-destructive," Frances continued. "Are you even listening?"
Nell looked at her nodding. "Of course I am. You think she'll want to marry that Seymour numskull. And if it makes her happy, why not? She's close to your beloved Mary, why can't you just be happy for her, or for anyone, only once?"
But Frances only bristled with disgust. "Happy? If she married Seymour? Not even Mary would have cause to be happy then! He's so far beneath anyone, let alone a close friend of a princess! No, she could do much better than that and even Mary knows. And since they are so close, I think she might just be the person we need to keep that hotspur Howard in check. Don't you think Cate will be happier being Countess of Surrey, or even Duchess of Norfolk?"
Now Nell's eyes widened. "You don't mean that," she gasped, and when her sister all but grinned, she added: "You were the one who never wanted him to become Norfolk again or anything, and now you want to give him one of the best brides in the country?"
"Why wouldn't I? For she is exactly that – a good wife, as her idiotic loyalty to her dying husband has proven. She would surely be able to keep Howard in check. With her as his wife, we could even risk pacifying his desire to become a duke again, for we'd know he had someone by his side with direct contact to Mary, and thus, to sanity."
Nell wanted to protest, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. They had long agreed that there might come a time when they would no longer be able to keep Hal Howard from the duchy he so desired – why not give him a wife to make sure he did not overstep his boundaries?
"Think what you will, I am certain of my reasoning. Only I fret about how to initiate the matter… I'd tell Mary, but given her recent happy marriage, she'll probably want the same for her friend and thus won't see reason."
"I might have an idea," Nell interrupted her.
"What, you?" Frances raised an eyebrow. „A heartbeat ago you didn't even agree with my plan."
"But now I do and I know just who can help us."
Frances seemed unusually intrigued. "Who?"
"A friend. A useful friend. I'm afraid his name has to remain my secret," Nell said winking at her. "You're not the only one who knows people."
That argument seemed to do the trick, at least for now. The ever-curious Frances Grey allowed her sister to go and talk to said friend to set everything in motion. He, of course, was Tony Cornish, and through him, the sisters' plan made its way into the hands of two other conspiring chess players who had just been searching for something like it.
"It could work," George Boleyn stated. "I'm not sure that it will, but it might."
Gregory Cromwell frowned. "It all depends on the personality of that Cate Parr and her sense of duty. Do you really think we should rely on her? Could we not find someone else?"
"And who do you suggest? Where are we to look for her? A woman of eligible background and enough wits to be a match for Hal Howard? It's near impossible, for I grant him his wits. But she is not too dull and certainly a dutiful wife from what Princess Mary has told me. And what's more, her close connection to the Princess will make Howard believe he's marrying into the inner circle of trust. He'll swallow the bait, marry his own dog leash and everyone will be happy."
"Except Lady Parr," Gregory added. "Or do you think it's a pleasure to marry that man, wits or no?"
George shrugged. "Why not? He's the king's godson, a renowned warrior, a poet, somewhat handsome, and might even be a duke one day."
"And his temper? His traitor's blood?"
"No man is without faults. Not you, not me. And yet our wives still love us, don't they?"
Thinking about Elizabeth and Jane, both of them had to smile for a moment. And it also led Gregory to another thought – that not everyone loved their spouse before marriage, but still most people managed to lead a decent life together. Why not Howard and the Parr girl? It was as good a match as any, and Boleyn was right, it would certainly make things more controllable once Howard regained the duchy. Given that he was rising in the King's favours with every passing month, as it seemed, a new creation of the Duke of Norfolk seemed not too far away. Something had to be done to avoid another Norfolk disaster.
"I agree. Will you put it before the King? As his brother-in-law, surely he'll listen to your suggestions. And if the King offers her to Howard, how could he say no?"
George nodded. "Certainly. And I believe His Majesty has no reason to object to this marriage. He is, and has always been, quite fond of Surrey, and I believe he likes his eldest daughter's companion fair enough. It'll all be for the best, for all of us."
Now, Gregory nodded as well. "Then it is all settled."
They had barely exited the carriage when a familiar, melodic laughter reminded Mary on a very emotional level that she was back to court. Three months she had spent in Taunton with her newly-wed husband – three wonderful months, but now she was also glad to be back. They had returned to be part of the May Day festivities organized by the Queen herself. Mary would not miss it for the world, she had told Philip, and he had not objected. And now that she heard her stepmother talking and laughing, Mary felt at home again.
"Your Majesty!" She greeted her from afar waving her hands.
The Queen, surrounded by two of her ladies, was approaching her at a quick pace. "My dear Mary," she returned while opening her arms for an embrace. "It is so good to have you back."
Philip smiled watching his lovely wife hug the Queen. He had no idea that in another life, they would have been deadly enemies. For him, everything just seemed perfect as it was.
"And Your Grace," the Queen then added addressing him.
"Your Majesty," Philip bowed.
"Let me kiss you." Queen Anne bent over to place two small kisses on each of his cheeks as they did it in France. She wasn't this familial with many people, but for her son-in-law, it did not seem inappropriate. "The King is overjoyed to have you here at court for May Day. He is still busy with council matters, but he will receive you tonight when we may sup together. Katherine?"
The young Howard girl ventured forward, causing Mary to frown only a little. Her dislike for Jane Parker and Kitty had waned over the years, but never fully receded.
"Mistress Katherine, are Their Graces' apartments prepared?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Everything is waiting for them," Kitty replied proudly.
"Thank you, Mistress Howard," Philip said smiling. He had this charming way of smiling at everyone that Mary so loved, but always envied everyone else when they received it. "We would like to occupy the apartments now, if Your Majesty does not object. We are tired and dirty from our ride."
Queen Anne nodded. "Of course you must be tired. We shall meet again tonight."
They parted in different ways, Philip offering his arm to Mary and smiling. "Your mother seems in very high spirits today. She must have missed you."
"As I have missed my parents," Mary replied, keeping a thought to herself that perhaps there was more to Anne's happiness than just her return.
The Princess's conjecture came true at supper when, after some cheerful discussions and a few cups of wine, her father took the Queen's hand into his and cleared his throat to say something important. Mary put down her spoon curiously and looked directly at both of them.
"Sweetheart," the King began. "Your stepmother and I had agreed not to speak about the matter before summer, but we both felt that you ought to be let in on our little secret. We wish to share our joy with you."
The King turned to Anne, smiling as if to signal to her that she was to continue. Mary shivered seeing this. This display of genuine, deeply felt affection had not been seen between her parents since before the Pilgrimage, and Mary had grown sure that this part of their love was never to return. It warmed her heart to be proven wrong right now.
"I am with child," the Queen then announced.
Mary's eyes grew wide. Not knowing what to say, she clutched to Philip's hand, who immediately understood and took over the conversation.
"That is most joyful news, Majesties," he said. "And dare I say that my beautiful wife and I are very proud to share in this secret? Splendid news. When are we to expect this newest addition to the royal cradle?"
"By the end of the year," the King replied very proudly.
Mary was still stupefied by the thought of her pregnant stepmother, so Philip stepped in once more. "My sincerest congratulations, Your Majesty. And my best wishes for your health, my Queen. You are surely hoping for a boy?"
The Queen nodded smiling, but much to everyone's surprise, the King added in a lower voice: "Not necessarily."
"You don't?" It was Mary's voice finally, completely wrapped in awe.
"I would certainly never discountenance a son if God chose to grant him to me, but lately I have been thinking that I would be pleased with another daughter," the King replied.
After a short moment of silence, the Queen laughed. "That is quite a surprise to me, my love."
"Why would it? Mary is the pearl of my world and Elizabeth the apple of my eye," Henry returned in a somewhat stroppy manner. "We have three sons, but only two daughters. Perhaps this is the Lord's doing."
The three of them still didn't know exactly how to react, so Philip broke the silence by saying: "But Majesty, have you considered that if your daughter were as beautiful as her mother and sisters, every prince of Europe would soon beleaguer your court trying to win her hand?"
"I am willing to take that risk." Henry laughed.
Now, even Mary smiled. "Have you thought of names?"
"Not as of yet. I am only two months along," Anne cautiously replied.
But her husband seemed less doubtful. His voice sounded firm as he said: "Margaret or Eleanor."
"Beautiful names, Your Majesty. And for a son?"
The King seemed to ponder. "Edmund perhaps, or Owen. Tudor names." Then he smiled. "Of course I can expect to have grandson named for me soon?"
The question hit Mary like a blow to the stomach.
"Certainly we would be honoured to have a son who takes after his grandfather, both in name and nature," Philip assured him. "Though I, much like Your Majesty, can also entertain the idea of being blessed with a daughter."
"Excuse me," Mary interrupted them. "I need to walk a few paces. I feel a little faint."
Everyone now looked at her troubled, with Philip almost jumping to his feet, but before he could, the Queen took care of the situation.
"Allow me to accompany you. Our husbands can enjoy some men's talk while we walk," she said with a small nod in Henry's direction. Then she left, an arm wrapped around Mary, and led her away from the dining room. After they had come around a few corners, Anne finally addressed the issue. "What is it, Mary? You feel unwell… are you with child?"
"No," Mary returned and suddenly burst out in tears.
Completely surprised by her sobbing stepdaughter burying her face in her shoulder, Anne found herself awkwardly patting Mary's back.
"Dear, dear, what troubles you so?"
Mary whimpered. "It is just that, that what you asked." She looked Anne in the eye. "Three months, almost four, but my bleedings have always returned to me. What if I'm never with child? What if I can't have children? My mother had such difficulties, what if it runs in my blood? Philip will soon stop loving me and then I will be…"
"Hush, and speak no more of it," Anne said sternly, making it almost sound like an order. "You are imagining evil where there is none. You will have a child in time when God sees it fit to grant you one. He hasn't granted your father and I a child in years, and believe me, we've tried."
Both of them smiled for a moment at the sauciness of her words.
"But I love Philip so much and I would love to have his child. A little sweetling to cradle in my arms. I've seen how happy it made others, even Frances."
"Give it time, Mary. A few months is nothing. You'll be a mother soon enough. Just see it as a gift that God has not given you children yet. Every blood you have is another month for you and Philip alone. It is such precious time for a couple to spend alone and God knows I have had few of these moments with your father since I became a mother. Enjoy the time and trust in God, then everything will be fine."
Are you sure, Mary wanted to ask her, but she already knew the answer by looking Anne in the face. Her stepmother was always sure of what she said, a trait others often viewed as arrogance, but for Mary, it was now invaluable. If Anne was sure of it, as she had been of the fact that her wedding night would be a pleasant memory, then so could Mary.
"I am sorry, I made a fool of myself," she said. "You are right, of course you are. Philip waited a year for me, he can wait another few months for our child."
Anne smiled. "Well said. Now compose yourself and let us return, or else our husbands will have engagements planned for our children unborn before we can object."
She loved him so very much. Oh, why couldn't Jane Parker have introduced them earlier? How could any many be as perfect as him? Kitty Howard lay on her bed daydreaming about Thomas, the handsome groom her best friend had acquainted her with. His eyes… they were mesmerizing! Ah, if only he had not caught a cold hunting out in the woods with the King. How could anyone catch a cold during summer? Oh, how long would he have to stay in bed, away from her?
Kitty tossed and turned in her sheets. Thoughts were rushing through her head like lightning. There had to be something to ease her mind, to silence the thunderstorm inside her. She thought of the Queen, her cousin and idol, and what she might do in this situation. It was hard to imagine it, though, for Kitty could not think that her fiery yet always composed Queen could have ever been so desperately in love. But if she were… she'd probably write a letter or poem about it. Queen Anne was constantly writing things, for which Kitty admired her greatly. How learned she was! Kitty, on the other hand, had but a mediocre grasp of the English language and was well aware of it.
But maybe, it would work anyhow. It was worth a try, wasn't it? And still better than tossing and turning around all night. So she fumbled through her belongings to find paper and quill and began pouring her thoughts onto paper.
Master Culpeper,
I heartily recommend me unto you, praying you to send me word how that you do. It was showed me that you was sick, the which thing troubled me very much till such time that I hear from you praying you to send me word how that you do, for I never longed so much for a thing as I do to see you and to speak with you, the which I trust shall be shortly now.
That which doth comfort me very much when I think of it, and when I think again that you shall depart from me again it makes my heart die to think what fortune I have that I cannot be always in your company. It my trust is always in you that you will be as you have promised me, and in that hope I trust upon still, praying you that you will come when my Lady Rochford is here for then I shall be best at leisure to be at your commandment, thanking you for that you have promised me to be so good unto that poor fellow my man which is one of the griefs that I do feel to depart from him for then I do know no one that I dare trust to send to you, and therefore I pray you take him to be with you that I may sometime hear from you one thing. I pray you to give me a horse for my man for I had much ado to get one and therefore I pray send me one by him and in so doing I am as I said afor, and thus I take my leave of you, trusting to see you shortly again and I would you was with me now that you might see what pain I take in writing to you.
Yours as long as life endures,
Katheryn.
One thing I had forgotten and that is to instruct my man to tarry here with me still for he says whatsomever you bid him he will do it.
Were here thoughts confused? Kitty couldn't tell. Would it convey the message to him, to Thomas, would he know that he could ask her man, her messenger, to give her anything he wanted her to have?
A knock at the door startled her. It was Jane, her good friend, frowning at her night gown and the ink stains at her fingers. "Why are you not yet dressed? We must to the Queen in a moment," she hissed at Kitty. "And there's someone to see you. A Master Dereham?"
The paper slipped from Kitty's fingers as she heard the name. Could it be him? Could he have returned? But why now, now that she'd found someone to replace the hole he had ripped into her heart? And what could he want? Had he come to destroy everything she'd built during her time in Queen Anne's service?
"I'll change. Tell Dereham to await me outside the chambers," she mumbled as she got up.
Moments later, when she felt properly dressed as a lady-in-waiting to the queen, Kitty stepped out to face him. And it was him, truly him, her Francis, still as handsome as ever, though more finely clothed. He bowed before her and took off his fancy hat. Kitty trembled, trying to paper over the cracks of her confidence by fidgeting with her dress.
"Mister Dereham?"
"Francis, please, my Lady," he said leering.
Kitty tried to ignore it. "Why have you come here?"
"I came to give you this," Dereham replied handing over a small, sealed piece of paper. For a second, Kitty's heart stopped as she imagined him giving her a letter just like the one she had just finished for Thomas. What if he loved her still?
"What is it?" She managed to ask.
"A letter of recommendation from the Dowager Duchess. You do remember the Duchess, don't you, Lady Katherine?"
Kitty lowered her gaze. Dark memories of debauched years crept into her mind. "Why… do you need such a letter?"
"I believe such a thing is obligatory if one is seeking employment," he said in a tone dripping with irony. "When you read it, you will see that, since we last met, I've held a number of responsible positions in the Duchess's household for which she freely commends me."
She found it hard to read anything into his sarcastic tone or face. Was he mad at her for not waiting for him? Was he trying to exploit their former… friendship… for his personal gain? Was it just a way of getting close to her again?
"It is not possible for me to offer you employment… Francis," she tried to turn him down.
He pulled back the letter and smiled sadly. "But why not? You are part of a large establishment. Does the Queen have a secretary? I would make an excellent secretary."
There was something even more insinuating in his tone now that unsettled her truly. Was he here to tell the world that they had been lovers once, was he trying to destroy her reputation before the Queen?
"Surely you can understand why I cannot offer you anything," she said more sharply.
"But you found employment for Joan Bulmer, didn't you? And she knows what I know. So, what is the difference?"
Her throat seemed to clog. He couldn't mean it… he just couldn't. What if Thomas knew? She had already pinned her hopes on him asking for her hand in marriage and the Queen convincing the King to give him a title for it. Baroness Katherine Culpeper, wouldn't that have a nice ring to it? But Thomas would never ask her if he saw Dereham's dirty looks and listened to his filthy stories. Dereham would paint her in a very bad light if she didn't give him what he wanted, she was sure of it now.
"I can't," she whispered faintly.
"Oh, but you can," Dereham assured her darkly. "You are, after all, cousin to the Queen of England. You can do as you will…"
"All right!" Kitty gave in desperately. "Just take care what words you speak."
He leered at her again and bowed. "My Lady."
Kitty watched him leave with a pounding heart knowing very well that she might have dug her own grave now. But what choice had she been left with?
The Queen was stitching baby blankets with her ladies. June had come by now, making it unbearably hot outside, and with it the need to inform more people of her pregnancy. While Anne was not yet showing off too much, being only between her third and fourth month, the ladies dressing and undressing her would notice the little bump on her normally flat belly. And now that they were let in on the secret, why not make use of it and prepare a little something for the new prince?
She smiled solemnly as Madge announced to her that Anna of Cleves had come for a visit. Splendid, Anne thought. I had wanted to tell her anyway. Maybe there are some interesting German customs for this as well that she might… what? Anne interrupted her own thoughts at the sight of her namesake.
Anna's eyes were swollen and read as she stumbled towards the Queen. "Oh Your Majesty, forgive me, but it is a catastrophe!"
Immediately Anne dropped the blanket and rushed from her chair to comfort the lady. "Lady Anna, what is it? Has someone harmed you?"
"Oh wretched day, forgive me, my Queen, to come in here like sis. I am terribly, ever so sorry!"
"Hush now, sit down and tell me your sorrows. Lady Shelton, fetch a cup of ale for the Lady. Now, Anna, sit, sit down."
"Here," Anna returned and pushed a piece of somewhat scrambled parchment into the Queen's hands. "My broser's letter. What a misery! Tell me what I am to do now!"
Frowning, Anne took the letter and skimmed it quickly. The first part, however, made her question Anna's sanity, for in it, Duke William proposed to send his wife to England to "negotiate further". Obviously, he had tired of her quarrelsome nature and wanted to rid himself of her now, just as they'd planned! Jeanne would soon be free and in her care! Why on earth would Anna have cause to be so distressed? But as Anne read further, she began to understand. There was a flaw in their plan that had backfired seriously. Yes, William would send them Jeanne, but he asked for Anna in return.
Anne put down the letter and looked into Anna's desperate eyes. A year ago, she would have gladly traded the detested Duke's sister for the poor girl she'd tried to free. But now… she was no longer so glad.
"Please do not send me back," Anna begged her in a most gut-wrenching way.
"I don't want to," Anne assured her. "But he is your brother and sovereign lord. If he calls you back then you cannot disobey him. And we cannot risk Jeanne's safety by calling everything off. It's a girl's health and happiness that's at stake."
Anna sobbed. "And what is wis my happiness?"
It almost broke Anne to see her like this. No, she didn't want to weigh them against each other or to trade Anna for Jeanne. Not after what she'd heard about Duke William and his treatment of women. She knew what Anna could expect after she returned and didn't wish this fate upon any of her friends, perhaps not even her enemies.
"I'm sorry, but it is his right…" Anne murmured as she patted the crying woman's back.
"But please, please, Your Majesty! Do not make me go back there! You must know a way, there must be something, something! Anything! Oh please, for the love of God, don't send me back! I'll do anything!"
Anne had to turn her gaze away from her for a moment in order to keep her own composure. In truth, this situation made her not only uncomfortable, but also feel very helpless. As much as she wished to help Anna, what was there that she could do?
"Please, please, I beg you!"
Overcome by the desire to help, Anne embraced her namesake and hushed her again. "Do not fret, Lady Anna, do not fret. I shall go and confer with my husband straight away. We'll find something to do. We're king and queen of England, after all."
Now, Anna looked at her with a glimpse of hope in her swollen eyes. Anne nodded as if to reaffirm her own words.
"Just stay here and await my return. Lady Shelton, Lady Parker, please tend to my Lady of Cleves's every need until I come back," Anne ordered.
She kept her promise and rushed through the hallways and towards the King's council chambers. There was no guarantee that she would find Henry there, for she had not intended to see him before dinner and thus not asked his plans for the day, but luckily she found two grooms guarding the door. He had to be there, then. Without much ado, she made her intentions plain to them and pushed the door open. Inside she found the King and two of his advisors discussing some lengthy documents.
"My love?" The King asked stupefied as his advisors bowed before her.
"Your Majesty," she acknowledged him with a curtsey. "Lord Knivert, Master Tarley, would you please leave us alone."
It was plainly visible that her behaviour confused them, but they complied nonetheless. Her husband, too, seemed somewhat puzzled.
"Anne, I have told you before that such bold behaviour is unbecoming in a Queen," he reprimanded her.
"I beg your forgiveness, but it is of the utmost importance that I spoke to you now," Anne insisted. "A great misfortune has befallen us and I am in need of your help and counsel."
Henry sighed. "Very well then, sit and tell."
"It is far too important a matter to sit!" Anne shook her head fiercely. "Duke William wants his sister Anna back in return for sending his wife!"
"But, sweetheart, isn't this what you wanted?"
"No!" Anne exclaimed. "I mean, yes, once, but not anymore. How can you even suggest I would want to send Lady Anna back to that monster? You know, as does everyone, what a bold German brute he is. We cannot allow this to happen!"
"Since her father is dead, he's her legal guardian. Of course you know that, for you are quite clever, Madam. I do not know why you bother me with obviousness."
"Obvious? Isn't it obvious to you that she'll suffer if we send her back?" Anne yelled.
"Watch your tongue, wife, for I am still your King," Henry scolded her. "And what's more, I do not even disagree with you. Yes, I know well that she cannot expect happiness in Germany, who in their sane mind could? But it escapes my grasp to change anything about it. She belongs to her brother as his subject. I have no power over her."
"But you're the King of England! What if you made her an English peer, as you've done with me? Just a Baroness would do, anything to make her your subject!"
Henry shook his head. "She'd still be his to command. Anne, we have treaded very carefully thus far, and for a good reason, since we cannot allow ourselves to openly antagonize Duke William. I cannot steal his sister away from him and risk breaking our alliance. Surely you understand that?"
"Yes, but…" Anne sighed desperately. "Is there nothing we can do? Nothing?"
It pained the King to see his passionate, witty wife so lost and distraught. He would have never guessed there might come a day when Anne Boleyn was at the end of her wits, but frankly, so was he. There was just nothing to be done about the situation. Or was there?
"There might be something. Go back to your chambers and comfort the Lady Anna, will you, sweetheart? I need to make some inquiries."
"What is on your mind? Henry, please tell me."
"I cannot. There are questions to be asked first before saying anything," he returned, and when her glance told him she didn't accept it, he ventured forward and kissed her forehead. "Anne, for the love I've borne you for so long, accept my reasoning and trust in me. I will do whatever is in my powers. Please, say you'll put your trust in me?"
Anne lowered her gaze as a little wave of nausea rushed through her. Perhaps this frantic yelling was too much for her and the baby. She was, after all, no longer a young girl.
"I trust you, Henry. But if you just told me what you'll…"
"Hush," he said smiling and kissed her lips. "Return to your chambers and await my message, will you?"
Anne complied, kissed him again and then left. He watched her go and smiled before calling his usher and ordering him to fetch the Duke of Suffolk. A while later, he saw his oldest friend entering the room.
"Charles, sit. It is an important matter."
The Duke frowned, but did as he was told. At least he sits down once I tell him, Henry thought to himself. Less quarrelsome than Anne. But also less pretty.
"Majesty, what is the matter? You seem troubled."
"I am. Only a while ago, my sweet wife informed me that Duke William of Cleves intends to recall his sister Anna to their homeland, and that the Lady is very distressed about it. Being her friend, the Queen is naturally very distressed, also. Surely you can understand that seeing two such formidable ladies in distress gives me every reason to be troubled."
Suffolk nodded. "With all certainty, Majesty. Is there anything to be done about the matter?"
"Not to my knowledge, but perhaps you know better. You've known the Lady longer than any of us, Charles, and you've often spoken with her privately. What do you think?"
"She… she has every reason to be upset at her fate. From what I've been told, not only by the lady herself, her brother is quite an ungallant man."
"But nevertheless, she belongs to him. I have no power over her."
"Make her your subject?" Charles suggested.
"You sound almost like my dear Anne, but you think just as rashly as she. What could I do to make her part of my dominion? She is but a woman, Charles, and women belong to their fathers or husbands. Yes, I could marry her to an Englishman, then she'd be free of her tyrannical brother, but I'd not bet our peace with Cleves on the fact that he'd take such an offense lightly."
"And if he were a prosperous gentleman? A nobleman? What about Surrey?"
"Hal? He'd be nothing but an earl with a traitorous father in Cleves's eyes. No, Charles, do not bask in the illusion that William would easily accept any attempt to thwart his plans for Anna. If I do not offer him a Duke for her hand at least, it'd be war with Cleves."
Charles nodded in agreement, but his nods became slower as the implications of Henry's words dawned upon him. "You can't mean it," he gasped.
"Why not? She could give you many happy years, Charles, just imagine it."
"No, Majesty. I have long made up my mind never to marry again," Charles insisted.
"Once you were very eager to marry Catherine Willoughby."
"Which you withheld me from doing, and for a good reason."
"And you wagered me that you'd marry my own daughter, Mary," Henry added.
Charles seemed visibly shaken. "But a joke!"
"And Mistress Blanche?"
"Please," Suffolk hissed through his teeth. There was no mistaking the despair in his tone.
Henry sighed and fell back into his chair. He'd tried to push Suffolk into seeing his point, but now he couldn't push further, seeing that he was stirring in painful memories. Instead, he opted for reason again.
"You might not like it now, but it would be a good choice for both of you. Would you rather die alone than with a young wife you are clearly fond of? Would you rather remain a grumpy bachelor and see her return to her monster of a brother?"
"No," Charles mumbled beneath his breath. "But I cannot marry again."
"Do you regret marrying my sister?" Henry asked, much to his friend's surprise.
"What?" Charles blinked. "Certainly not."
"Even though you know it was a stupid idea, tremendously so? Even though you angered your sovereign lord? Even though your marriage turned out far less happy than you'd have expected?"
"Yes, despite all of those things. What do you want from me, Henry? Do you want to hear that I despise marriage in general? For you'll never hear me say that, and you want hear me speak ill of Margaret. No matter our troubles, I loved her and she me. It was worth every pain."
"Then why not Lady Anna? Do you thinking saving her from William could not be worth the pain?" He rose and went over to put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I can feel your troubles, my old friend, do not think I have no compassion. Yet I think that if you deny this offer and let her go, you'll find yourself regretting this decision until your dying day."
After these grave words, perhaps some of the sternest ever spoken between them, followed a long silence. Then, visibly exhausted, Suffolk took his hands off his face again.
"Do you really think so, Henry?"
"I do," the King assured him. "I think that if you wed Lady Anna, it will eventually mean happiness for both of you."
Suffolk looked him in the eye. "Maybe… but I need to ask her first. I made wrong assumptions about a lady's feeling once and shall not make the same mistake twice."
Henry nodded. "Of course. Go ahead, I assume you'll find her with the Queen. Go and ask her all you must," he said, and before Suffolk left, he added: "Oh, and Charles? She's not your Mistress Blanche."
These words echoed in Charles's head as he paced towards the Queen's chambers, his heart ever pounding with each further step. Could Henry be right? Could he find happiness in a new marriage, even after all these years? And what if she turned him down like Blanche had? He couldn't go through another refusal, especially since Henry was right about his fondness of Lady Anna. He truly cared about her as a person, though he'd only considered her a friend up to this point.
But when he found her with the Queen, her maidenly face covered in thick tears and wretched sobs escaping her chest, he could only chide himself for refusing Henry's proposal immediately. Here she was, the ultimate damsel in distress, a lovely woman in need of rescue, and he had considered letting her down! What kind of man, what kind of knight would that make him? No, her trembling sight made him infinitely sure that if she'd have him, he'd gladly marry her to keep her safe. Hell, he'd fight a dragon to wipe away those tears and bring her under his protection!
"Your Majesty, ladies," he bowed.
"Your Grace! Have you news from His Majesty?"
He nodded gravely. "May I speak with the Lady Anna? In private?"
The Queen frowned at him and only reluctantly let her friend go. Charles followed the still trembling lady into an adjacent room and waited for her to seat herself. Sniffing and sometimes sobbing, she didn't dare to look him in the eye. This gave him time to think over his words.
But he found none. How could he say what he had to say? Wasn't it infinitely inappropriate to propose to a crying woman, and for no better reason than to save her from her cruel brother? It was nothing like the fairy tales Charles had loved as a boy. And yet, he had no choice.
"Lady Anna… dear Lady Anna," he began. "I have conferred with the King about your matter. It seems there is but one hope for you, and it comes at a price."
"Tell me. Anything, Your Grace, please, I'll do whatever it takes," she blurted out begging and looked at him. "Just let me know."
The naked despair in her eyes made him feel extremely uncomfortable. "I… um, if you were to marry an Englishman of noble descent, you'd be under your brother's care no longer but an English subject instead. Then His Majesty would never allow you to leave if not by your own wish."
He had expected her to flinch, to be disgusted at the thought, but instead she looked at him with these eyes that looked like a hurt deer's and said nothing. She seemed paralyzed. This was what he'd feared the most coming here to ask for her hand, and in his greatest fear, somehow Charles Brandon discovered his greatest strength. He knelt down to look her in the eyes and gently touched her shoulders.
"Marry me," he said, suddenly meaning every word he said. "Marry me and you'll never have a care in the world again. No one shall hurt you, be he ever so high or low. Marry me, Anna, and let us find happiness together."
She looked back at him, her eyes searching his, her breath rattling heavily in her chest. "Why? Why are you doing sis, Charles?"
"Because… because you're worth it. You're worth every trouble. Stay with me."
"As… as your wife?"
He lowered his gaze for a moment, remembering the last woman calling herself his wife and their frequent fights, and the time he had wanted another to be his wife who had bluntly refused him. Neither of them were anything like Anna. Perhaps they had a chance because of that. Perhaps Henry was right. Charles smiled.
"Ich mag dich einfach gern. Darum bleib, bitte*," he said in his shaky German.
Hearing her native language, even if it sounded odd, must have driven new tears to her eyes, for she sobbed once more. Charles doubted his decision for a second, but then she threw herself into his arms.
"Danke, Charles, danke für alles. Du hast keine Vorstellung davon, wie viel mir das bedeutet. Danke. Ich mag dich auch. Danke," she whispered all too quickly into his ear.
Stupefied by her reaction, but also by her sudden nearness, Charles simply closed his arms around her and waited. Once the waves of her tears began to cease, he dared to ask her the question he'd dreaded for so long.
"Was that a yes? Will you marry me?"
She pushed him back a little, but only so far as to look him in the eyes, and he could finally see a smile in her face again.
"Yes," she whispered, and as if to affirm herself, she repeated: "Yes, I will."
AU: Happy New Year! So, there it is, after such long time! Jeez, I've made you wait even longer than Henry made Philip wait for Mary. But well, it paid out for her and for you, didn't it? Hope the next chapter, which is called "…comes around" (and is thus directly linked to this one) won't take me as long. But there is hope that my horrible job days are over since I'll start a new one in February. Wish me luck!
A few notes on this chapter:
Yes, there'll be no Brigitte Rousselot in this story, at least not for Suffolk. Although I liked her very much in the show, it just didn't fit the flow of my story. Hope you don't mind the Charles-Anna pairing – it is a marriage of (in)convience, but I also agree with Henry and think they might find happiness together. And hell, they surely deserve it, don't they?
Yes, Lord Latimer died two years early in this story. Apparently, London is no good place for sick people (ask Jane Seymour!).
Yes, there'll be another royal baby – the ghost of Elizabeth Boleyn told us so long ago. Check the next chapter to find out more about the child and also about Mary's trials and tribulations.
Please let me know what you think about the pairings (Charles-Anna, Cate-Hal Howard) alluded to in this chapter. And feel free to join in the royal discussion about the baby's sex and possible names! And if you have any other comment about this chapter, just leave a review. Anything to help me get into the mood of writing ;)
Cheers, Rahja
* Translation
Charles: I just like you. So please, stay with me.
Anna: Thank you, Charles, for everything. You cannot imagine how much it means to me. Thank you. I like you as well. Thank you.
