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Christmas Celebrations, Palace of Placentia, Greenwich

~o~

Catherine

The twelve days of Christams had come with feasts and banquets and masques beyond count. The little pond in the royal gardens was frozen and many young squires tried their luck and walked on the ice. Catherine walked over the snowy paths, between frozen hedges that glittered in the winter sun as if they had been hung with crystals. The train of her crimson cloak, lined with vair, trailed behind her in the snow and she pulled it more tightly around her chest. The morning was not over yet but for the great lunch and the festivities that followed, she had to go back and get ready soon. She turned around to see how far she had already walked only to find that apparently, she had been followed. It was the Duke of Suffolk who strode down the main path, snow splashing to the sides. She had half a mind to flee into the maze. Instead she forced herself to smile at him. He was the king's best friend after all.

"My lady." he greeted her with his usual irritating familiarity. Catherine did not bother to curtsey.

"Your Grace."

He did not even raise an eyebrow but she noticed his amusement.

"Winter is beautiful, isn't it?" he asked, looking at her. "But very cold."

"Oh, indeed. If we don't flee inside quickly, we might suffer frostbite." She said sharply.

Cat did not like his banter, nor his casual remarks. She had heard enough about him and his mistresses, about his wife, Queen Mary, and her sister of the same name. He does not try to charm me. That much must be said, he knows when he's fighting for a lost cause. Catherine did not like to admit it but it hurt her pride that he did not even try to pursue her. She was pretty enough, highborn, in fact of nobler blood than even his deceased wife, in all truth, and yet all he had for her was mockery and scorn. He is nothing to me. I do not care for his opinion of me. Father always said: Lion, do not concern yourself with the minds of sheep. Father is dead, though.

"It is endearing how you worry about my healthy, my lady, but I assure you, I feel the cold is soothing after the heat of the palace."

"I hope you will enjoy your walk, then. It is too cold for me." She wanted to go back but he caught her arm.

"My lady, I shall warm you." There was malice in his eyes when he took her gloved hand in his, pulled her arm through his. "Is this not better?"

No. But it was. She could feel his warmth through the thick quilted fabric of his sleeve, felt his breath warm on her face as he leant over. It smelled of cloves and cinnamon. He drank spiced wine in the morning. Catherine raised her gaze to meet his. The duke had eyes as blue as the winter clear sky above them, icy and cool. He is cold. He married the king's sister for her wealth, he brought shame upon Mary, he never cared.

She wrenched her arm free although she missed his warmth the moment it was gone. "No, thank you. I am not a little girl that has to be taken by the hand."

He looked her up and down. "You know, Catherine, I think that is exactly what you are."

That was outrageous. "I am sixteen, Your Grace, and you would do well to remember that." She insisted but he only smiled.

"Would I really? You are of an age to marry and as it happens, it falls to your warden to make a match for you. Tell me, would you like Northumberland? Harry Percy is married now, I fear, but he has younger brothers. Cousins as well, I think, but I do not seem to be able to recall their noble names. Or perhaps a Welsh marriage would please you? Sure, the Welsh coast is harsh and the landscape is rough and uninviting but if someone can feel at home there it is you, my lady."

Now, it was for her to smile.

"Threaten all you want, but you will not marry me off, my lord, not if the offer you ten thousand pounds." She took a step towards him, and another, until she was so close that the fur of her cloak brushed against the wool of his doublet.

"Ah, and why not? Because I have grown so very fond of you?"

"Because you love to tease me, to torment me. The blood of kings flows through my veins and your insults drip off me like rain off an oiled cloak."

She walked past him now but heard him call after her: "You know, Lady Catherine, I think you are not as rainproof as you think you are."

Fuming, she arrived at the castle. Sir Thomas More was in the yard, it seemed he had just arrived or was just about to leave.

"My lady. How are you faring?" Sir Thomas was always kind to her but Catherine felt as if he did it for honour's sake rather than for hers. He was still ashamed that he had not come to Edward Stafford's aid, that he had not insisted on a fair trial. Henry's will is iron and it bends them all. Catherine knew why, she felt why. Their king was enigmatic and people were inclined to please him. There was an air of natural ease around him, and he spoke commands, praise and censure as if he had been born to be king. He was not, though, he was a spoiled younger son, always in his brother's shadow, always expecting to become a man of the church one day, until his brother had died. It must have been like all twelve days of Christmas for him. The king's crown instead of the bishop's mitre, the tall, odd crown of the men of the church. A king's crown weighs more by far, and it is less easy to wear. Catherine tried to hate the king, really tried. But doubts came creeping up. Was her father really the man she thought he was? If he had been, why had there been no support for him? Why had the people not objected? Instead, there had been many spectators at her father's execution, and she had heard many mumbling agreement after their prayers. He was not loved. No, she had loved him, but she had never known him. How can I try to be true to my family when I don't even know them? Mary was at the far end of the world, it felt, high up in the North, and her letters held only complaints and requests. Elizabeth was at court from time to time but she treated her with cool, distant politeness. Henry was gone, far away in Flanders,too cowardly to return. His wife had fled to her family who tried to have the marriage annulled on grounds of precontract. Henry had been promised to a Percy, they claimed, and the king was inclined to give in. Whom did she have left, indeed? Anne. Anne was her friend, her confidante, her sister in everything but blood. But she was not her family, she was a Howard and they had been born to be rivals. She had her warden, a man only one step up from a knight in service, an upjumped footman who loathed her with passion and loved to make her life as terrible as possible. Katherine. The old queen was kind enough to her but her power faded like daylight in winter. Mary Boleyn Carey was the king's heart now, she rode with him and dined with him, danced with him and lead every masque. The queen had only one daughter and Henry was aware that one sickly daughter was not enough to hold a kingdom as divided as his.

All power derives from the king. Her father would have scorned her for it, but she needed to become the king's friend, and as far away from his bed as possible. I would rather spend all my days in Oxfordshire than one night in the king's bed like a whore. Everyone knew what happened to mistresses. They were spoiled goods for every lord with pride, the target of mockery, pity and malice. Mary would know that soon enough. Her star would fall, as sure as the sun would rise on the morrow.

"I am very well, thank you, Sir." Courtesy is my armour. The only protection I have and it serves me little enough. I cannot afford to be haughty and proud, no more than my father could.

She inquired about Sir Thomas's health, about the wellbeing of his wife and many children, about the progress his eldest daughter, Margaret, made in Greek.

"She is an immaculate example of diligence and assiduity. She never neglects her studies but she does well to concentrate on her domestic duties as well."

"I hear only good things about her, Sir, I would love to meet Mistress Margaret one day."

Sir Thomas nodded. "And you shall. Do you still practise your Greek?"

Greek will surely help me here.

"Not since then, Sir, I do not have the books anymore, and I fear I lack the time as well."

That seemed to taken him aback. "I am not pleased to hear that. Of course you know, my lady, that abandoning your studies is not sign of great perseverance."

As you might know, Sir, that Greek is a language that has to be studied diligently and that a lady in waiting has other duties than your well-protected daughter. Life was not fair but there was no use in complaining.

"I shall return to my studies when I find the time, Sir. You are good to remind me."

"I will send you the necessary books."

Catherine curtsied and expressed her gratitude eloquently when she saw the duke striding towards the castle. A short walk indeed. There's one you should teach about perseverance, Sir Thomas.

As quickly as she could without being impolite did she flee from another encounter. This one had been all she could stomach before lunch.

~o~

They sat at the ladies' table, not far from the dais, most of them dressed in gold and shades of red if their families could afford it. Jane Seymour was swallowed by a gown of crimson and sable. Only Mary Carey stood out in pale blue while her sister wore green so dark that it was almost black. It was a gown tailored in the French fashion and the golden B on a pearl string was the only jewellry she wore around her long slender neck. To comply with the custom at court, Catherine wore red, embroidered with holly leaves in emerald green thread and thread -of-gold. It had been an expensive gown and she was careful not to spill anything. It was worth it though, she thought, when she noticed the looks. A ruby hung from her neck that rested on her pale skin right above her breasts and she had pushed back her red silk French hood. Not many ladies wore it yet, Anne did always, Mary usually, Jane Seymour never, the pious milkmaid. Jane Parker emulated the upcoming fashion but did not wear it well, she did not push it back far enough and her features appeared even finer and slyer without the heavy hood to balance them.

The Queen was no longer beautiful or graceful but her figure commanded respect and her posture was that of a queen even if her appearance was no longer. She had grown stout and shrunk, it seemed, even though she had never been tall. Her auburn hair had almost entirely faded to grey and the wrinkles around her eyes never disappeared. She forced herself to laugh and smile too often. The king did not waste a look on her, why would he? She would be there, as sure as morning, always by his side when he needed her, looking away when he wanted her to. In her youth, Catalina of Aragon had been so lovely that she would have put all of them to shame. Now, though, even the foxish Jane Parker was prettier.

"Lady Catherine." Mistress Anne Stanhope, a girl of her age with dark hair and captivating hazel eyes, sat next to her.

"There are rumours that Sir Edward Seymour is mad with love for you."

Catherine knew these games.

"Oh, Sir Edward?" she whispered back. "You do not fool me, Anne, he has eyes only for you and you know it."

The girl had the grace to blush. "Do you think so?" She looked at Sir Edward, a handsome gentleman and brother to Jane Seymour, but without great inheritance and utterly insignificant in Cat's eyes. For a Mistress Stanhope he had a certain appeal though.

"Anne, don't stare at a gentleman, it is rude." Lady Mary Norris, the wife of Sir Henry Norris, scolded the girl softly. She was a cousin of Anne's, Cat knew, of noble but not distinguished birth, pretty but not outstanding. She had been in France with them, serving Queen Mary, but she had returned even before Anne, for marriage. She was pregnant with her third child. Lady Mary had an air of kindly authority so Anne did as she was told with a sulking glance.

"He will ask you to dance later, for sure." Cat whispered and that cheered her up. Anne was only two years younger but she was new at court and very excited.

There were many young, comely gentlemen at court, at some that were not so young but wealthy and influential. Catherine favoured Lord Francis Talbot, Baron Talbot, the eldest son of the Earl of Shrewsbury, not much older than herself and full of mischief. Sir Francis Bryan was even worse, but handsome, just like Sir John Dudley. They were close companions of the king. The Earl of Oxford was handsome, too, but old, almost fourty, and a man of great pomp and a horrible spendthrift, not so close to the king.

The king sent plum pastries down to the table of Queen Katherine's ladies and many rewarded him with sweet smiles and giggles. Only Anne did not. Is this her revenge? Or is this her family's plan? Anne was more captivating than beautiful, she looked exotic almost, alluring, dark. Her most enticing feature were her eyes, so dark that it was sometimes hard to tell pupil from iris, and with a look that made many men stare. Brandon never looked at her twice. The king had though, just now. Or had it been Mary Boleyn he had looked at? Rumours had it that their affair was dead or dying, that Mary bored him. Anne will never bore him, for sure. They were alike in many ways: Thinkers, fond of arts and music, with a keen interest in politics and religion, eloquent, wilful, stubborn, passionate, hot-headed. Anne is cleverer than him, though, and she has the mind of a woman. She was more subtle, indirect. Yes, Catherine could see Henry falling for her. And her for him as well, if she has not buried her bleeding heart back then. Harry Percy had been a dalliance, surely, and Cat knew him well enough to know that he was no match for Anne. She liked his face, his devotion and his title. But she would like Henry more. But never be his mistress. What was Anne aiming at? The crown? In previous times, it would have been impossible. But now...Katherine did not bleed anymore and Henry was desperate for a way out of this marriage that was a prison now, and a threat to his own bloodline as well. If he had ever hated something, then it was failure. And he could never abide the shame it brought to know that he had no legitimate son. Katherine's throne is shaking. She knows it but thinks she can steady it with strength of mind alone.

Henry's eyes lingered on Catherine for a moment and she gave him a faint, discouraging smile. If men loved one thing, it was discouragement.

The Duke of Suffolk sat at Henry's left, laughing and talking through all twelve courses without ever looking at Catherine once. He does not desire me. she realised, suddenly disappointed. Then, angry about her foolishness, she directed her gaze at other men at court. Lord Montagu was still young, not handsome but a descendant of Edward V with noble blood, the newly made Marquess of Exeter was both handsome and of noble blood, but married to the horrible Lady Gertrude Blount. Those of the noblest blood are mine own relatives. There was Henry Radcliffe, the eldest son of the Earl of Sussex, the son of Cat's aunt Elizabeth Stafford who had once shared the bed with the king, rumours had it. He was of noble blood but it was Cat's nephew Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, who was the best match. Henry was Cat's age, a year older perhaps, an outspoken young man with a sharper quill than even Thomas Wyatt, the greatest poet at court who preferred poems about love and death, melancholy and longing. Henry's poems were witty and sharp and ironic and would mean bring him into trouble one day.

Catherine had not quite decided whom she would honour tonight at the dance, when the king ended the banquet and the ladies hurried to their chambers like a flock of half-mad chickens, to change into their dancing gowns. They tended to have fuller skirts and lower necklines, and less opulent sleeves than dinner gowns, as not to be a hindrance while dancing.

Catherine had chosen a gown the colour of French wine with sleeves lined with cloth-of-gold.

She kept her ruby necklace but took off the veil and French hood. As a maiden, she was allowed to wear her hair loose on an occasion such as this and she used that opportunity. Her dark blonde hair cascaded down to her hips in soft waves, and it caught the light of the candles and shone like polished brass. She whirled around and noted with satisfaction the distincitve swing of her skirts, the graceful cut of her sleeves, the elegance of the fancy headdress that rested on her part.

Yes, she looked good tonight.

~o~

Catherine walked down the wide stone stairs that lead to the main hall. The room was buzzing with courtiers, high lords and ladies, daughters and heiresses surrounded by gentlemen, young heirs leering after pretty maidens, older men staring with more subtlety. Catherine herself had found a few suitors as well, nothing serious, just the usual younger sons and ambitious upstarts that smelled a good dowry.

Francis Talbot was no different, neither was her cousin, Henry Radcliffe, although the latter would soon marry one of the Duke of Norfolk's many sisters, if the king allowed it. And the Howards were rising these days, thanks to Mary and her sweet face. But those two were highborn and wealthy and well-mannered.

"Lady Catherine." Lord Henry Radcliffe bowed. "You are the brightest star in this dark winter night."

"I would rather be the moon, my lord." she smiled.

"Sun, moon, and stars for me, my lady." He offered her his arm and she took it, allowed him to lead her through the hall, introduce her to this gentleman or that lord, a secretary, a council member.

He paused finally, to compliment her on her looks again.

How kind of you, dear cousin. Tell me, how is my aunt faring?" .he asked him, and noticed his discomfort right away,

"She misses her brother no doubt and her thoughts are with her beloved niece." And yet, she did not help him, neither did you. Elizabeth had seen her once or twice, and never talked to her as far as Catherine recalled.

"And mine with her." The air was stuffy and Catherine spotted Lord Francis Talbot, tall and handsome, not far from them, giving her a knowing smile and her cousin a look of mocking amusement.

"Shall I get you a goblet of wine, my lady? The air is dry from all the candles." her cousin offered politely. You do not seem to hold me very dear, cousin. But she accepted sweetly and he left her to fetch her a goblet of wine. That was what Francis Talbot had waited for.

"My lady Catherine, I get almost the feeling your cousin wants to have you all to himself. That is very selfish of him, and selfishness is such a sinful character trait."

"You must forgive him, my lord, my family is very close knit. And Henry is so very gallant."

Lord Francis Talbot smiled again, amused by her this time.

"Lady Catherine, you surely do not ask of me to stand here, in your presence, for which I have waited all night, and discuss with you the gallantry of another man? You cannot be so cruel." Against her, she had to laugh.

"It is not my intention to torture you, Lord Talbot."

Francis changed the topic with an elegant smile.

"It is one of the most spectacular Christmas festivities I have had the honour of witnessing." Indeed, garlands of holly and mistletoe, wreaths of pine twigs with red bows and silk streamers in Tudor green and red and white decorated the high hall, the tables were filled with flagons of the best wines, ales and ciders the cellars had yielded, plates with winter apples, pastries, plums and pears made sure that no one had to go hungry. It was an elegant society, for Christmas only those that the king had invited were allowed to be at court.

"It is breathtaking indeed." Catherine smiled. "Although the gardens in the white beauty were just as magnificent."

"The beauty of nature, what can man create to match it?" He looked at her and Catherine was well aware that he had intended it as a compliment for her.

"Indeed. Tall trees and green meadows, clear mountain streams and colourful flowers, what can be more beautiful?" she teased him, forcing him to become clearer. He enjoyed himself, a mischievous smile played around her lips.

"Not much indeed."

He was not one for plump compliments. Good. I found it hard to keep my wine down with Henry Radcliffe. Catherine saw her cousin out of the corner of her eye, a goblet of wine in his hand and a look of green jealousy on his face.

"Will you do me the honour, my lady?" Francis Talbot asked, and judging by his expression of satisfaction, he had noticed Radcliffe, too.

"I am horribly thirsty, my lord." she smiled, wondering whether he would be as foolish as her cousin, but he wasn't.

"I shall pour you a goblet myself, sweet Catherine, but I must ask you to accompany me. The vultures are waiting and I would miss your presence bitterly after I fought for it so vehemently."

He is slyer than Henry Radcliffe, and more direct as well. The Talbots were not half as noble as the Staffords although one of Francis's grandmothers had been a Stafford by birth and the other one a Neville. Well-mannered, clever, ambitious, ruthless. He had everything a man needed to rise high but she doubted he would prove a loyal supporter. Henry, boring, slow Henry Radcliffe would prove a better ally but also a less powerful one.

She allowed Talbot to take her arm but they did not walk over to the tables where the wine was served. He led her out of the hall.

"My lord-" she started but he turned around to her, a smile on his face. "No fear, my lady, my intentions are honourable. The wine in the hall is watered down and not worthy to touch those beautiful lips of yours." He grinned and took the severity out of his compliment. A servant scurried past them, soft-footed.

"Bring me a flagon of French burgundy." Francis ordered. "And two clean goblets."

The man bowed. The old earl was an influential man and his son both popular and respected.

"If you wish, we can go outside, for a walk only. Feel the snow under our soles."

"My dress would get wet."

"Then I offer to carry you, my lady." He was a charming man, and meant not a single word he said, always joking, jesting, mocking. He was entertaining though and did not have a dishonourable reputation.

"I can perhaps be tempted to look at the snowy beauty from the main terrace." she replied, carefully. The main terrace overlooked gardens and the river, and was never deserted so that she did not fear to be alone with him. However entertaining he was, trustworthy he was surely not.

"You should give in to temptation, my lady. It is Christmas." he kissed her hand. The servant came with the wine and the goblets and Lord Talbot took them gracefully with his free hand.

"You give wicked council, my lord, but this time I shall heed your advice."

"I am honoured, my lady." He led her out to the back of the Greenwich Palace, took off his half cape and covered her shoulders with it to protect her from the cold.

Then he poured her a goblet of wine. They were far from alone on the terrace, apparently others had felt a craving for fresh air as well.

She took a sip of wine, it was heavy and strong and French, no doubt, but it warmed her up.

"You are still unwed, my lady, why?" Lord Talbot asked, quietly.

She looked at him for a long moment. He was tall, dark haired and dark eyed, slim as a lance and well dressed. His eyes are warmer than the duke's. she tried to convince herself but somehow, the brown lacked expressiveness.

"You surely know about my family's difficulties. I was not yet fourteen when my father died on the scaffold, hardly old enough to marry. And now…"

She left the sentence hanging in the cold air like the cloud of her breath.

"There was talk of the Earl of Westmorland."

"There was talk of Mary Dacre." she retorted.

"The dowry." Talbot shook his head. "And she is as insipid as the overcooked pease we were served today. I know of course that Northumberland is bleak and dull and boring but I had no idea that the people there were the same. No, thank you, I would sooner become a brother at the Benedictine monastery."

Catherine had to smile. "Ralph was brought up by my father at Thornbury. He was to marry my sister Mary but … later, it was decided that it would be me instead. And then my father was found guilty of high treason and that brought an end to all marriage negotiations."

Ralph had been mad in love with Elizabeth, but Thomas Howard was not a man that accepted 'no' for an answer, and he had not wanted Mary. She herself had been too young at that time, so Edward Stafford had agreed, promised Mary to Ralph at the same time. The two had never gotten on well.

"That was ill done." Lord Talbot said but Cat did not trust him.

"My lord father was a traitor. He died a traitor's death and thereby atoned for his sins."

"You are heir to many of his lands and houses, I heard?" To what the vultures left for me.

"Thornbury and its estates, a few other houses as well. A charming manor in Oxfordshire." She laughed.

"But they are not yours." He said that very matter of factly but she thought she detected a hint of disapproval.

"His Grace, the Duke of Suffolk, my warden, is so kind to take care of my finances until my wedding."

"If he has the wits of a turnip, he will not allow you to marry" Talbot said. "These upjumped commoners are all grasping and greedy." Just like those of noble birth.

"I am not sure about His Grace's wits, my lord." she smiled in reply and Talbot laughed.

"He has risen more quickly that decency allows and presides over all noblemen but Norfolk now." He shook his head. "Old Stafford would be rising from his grave if he knew."

"Headless and penniless, I fear he would not be of much help. Let the dead rest. This is the concern of the living, and me above all. His Grace has only shown me kindness." You never knew who listened, and Catherine did not know whom Talbot served.

"You have grasped the ways of court quickly, my lady. Ears in the walls, and eyes everywhere. I do hope you do not mistrust me, though."

"Oh, no, I trust you entirely, my lord." She finished her cup of wine.

"Shall we go back? The dance will start soon." he suggested and indeed, the terrace was almost empty. If he had dishonourable intentions, he would persuade me to stay.

"No one has asked me to dance yet, my lord." she replied with feigned disappointment and for the tiniest of moments, an expression of confusion danced over his face. Then he laughed.

"It is all Lord Radcliffe's fault, my lady. I ask you now then, Lady Catherine Stafford, will you do me the honour to dance with me?"

She took his offered hand.

"The wine has gone to my head, I fear, so I can only do you that honour if you promise to forgive me my missteps."

He laughed. "I will happily step out of line with you my lady and blame it on my dizzy head." He pulled her to her feet so vigorously that she stumbled against him and had to put her hands on his chest to steady herself.

"Forgive me." she felt her cheeks redden. He must think her terribly clumsy. But when she looked up, there was something else in his dark eyes.

"No, forgive me. I had a cup too much of that watered wine, it seems. Or I am drunk on something else entirely." He laughed. "Come now, my lady, there are a few feet we have to step on."

He was ecstatic and walked so quickly than Catherine found it hard to keep up. In the corridor, they met the Duke of Suffolk, with him were two French ladies, the pretty daughters of an ambassador. Despite herself, she felt a stab of jealousy when he saw him laughing, a throaty, charming laugh he had never laughed with her. Lord Talbot took her hand.

"Your Grace." he greeted the duke with cool politeness. They could have just walked past the three of them, they would not have noticed, but Francis was drunk, Catherine noticed, and the duke was too, judging by his eyes.

"Lord Talbot." he nodded curtly. "And Mistress Catherine." he grinned, the wolfish grin he had reserved for her.
"Lady Catherine. No one blames, you, Lord Suffolk, you are new to court life and manners." Francis smiled at her side, a smile as cool as the snow outside.

Suffolk did not even look at him, his eyes were fixed on Catherine.

"A pretty cape although perhaps not the most recent fashion in Paris, or is it, mesdemoiselles?" he asked the two ladies who started to giggle.

"You know more about fashion than me, Your Grace." she said in the sickenly sweet voice she reserved for him. "Lord Talbot was just so gallant to lend me his half cape. I am relieved that good manners are not dying out."

She gave the two French ladies a quick look.

"Enchantée de faire votre connaissance, mesdemoiselles." she said in quick French. For a moment, she considered to warn them, but they looked utterly frivolous...and pretty. Very pretty. Allez au diable. she thought, with some anger, and regretted it at the same time. It's not them I'm angry at, it's him, and I don't like the reasons for it…

The French ladies nodded at her, looking her up and down lazily.

"Trés anglais." one said to to other, meaning no doubt Catherine's attire.

"Well, we are in England after all, it might have escaped your notice." Talbot said at her side, and she heard his anger. "You will forgive us, my lord, we leave you to your two...companions. The first dance is over already and I have a promise to fulfil." He winked at Catherine and together, they walked past the duke without another look.

Talbot unfastened the cape he had placed around her shoulders.

"You are even more beautiful now." he whispered in her ear. "I pity the duke." he said then, grinning. He wanted her to ask him why and she obliged.

"Why, because he only has a way with women if they cannot understand a single word he says." he delivered his pun.

Catherine had to laugh at that, although she tried to hold it back. It rang through the whole corridor, no doubt he would hear it as well, she thought with a stab of guilt. He had granted her the allowance she had asked for...He has also said many despicable things.

"His French is truly poor. I fear 'mesdemoiselles' is the only word he knows."

Francis joined her laughter and when they reached the hall, the duke was all but forgotten. It was late and the proper dances were already over. What followed now were country dances, lively, wild, passionate.

She took her position opposite Lord Talbot who had draped his cape over the back of some chair to have his arms free. He had been wise. The king called for a Chiarantana, a vivid Italian dance with jumps and twirls.

Francis grinned at her. "It seems we will have numerous opportunities to step on someone's feet."

She was about to laugh when next to them, Brandon and one of the French ladies took up position.

Quickly, she counted the couples. The Chiarantana required a change of partners from time to time, when both dancers spun into opposite directions. This meant she would have to dance with Brandon, at least for a few beats, and Francis would get to hold the French lady's hand. He had noticed it too for he darted a dark look at Brandon, who smiled in reply.

"I find it hard to reject the joys of dancing." he said, to no one in particular but the Frenchwoman giggled nevertheless. She did not understand a single word.

"It all depends on the partner, I find." Talbot said sourly. He's a sore loser...and I am, too. She had felt exhilarated, now she was only tired.

The music started and she found herself in Talbot's arms.

"We could just refuse to come together in a quartette." he whispered.

It was tempting, but Brandon had chosen the daughter of an ambassador.

"If you refuse to dance with her, the French will see it as an affront on her person. You would not win, my lord."

He nodded. "Will you promise me to pinch him, my lady?" he asked, only half in jest it seemed, but she laughed anyway.

"Surely, he will be black and blue tomorrow."

Francis twirled her around one more time, then she had to reach her hand to the Duke of Suffolk, who held it tightly as they spun around, her skirts swirling and hair flying. He stared at her with unsettling blue eyes but she held his gaze until Francis took her hand again.

"She understands not a single word of English." he complained as he lead her. He was a good dancer, she found, more graceful than the duke, more playful. But when the time came for him to lift her up, only a moment, she found herself thinking of the duke's strong grip, his vigour. Francis lifted her up and spun her around elegantly though and she scolded herself for wanting to be in someone else's arms afterwards.

She was back with the duke then for a few steps, his hand warm on hers. When it came to dancing, he was like the king: vigorous, feisty, strong, virile.

For a beat, he held on to her waist, then let go of her to twirl her around one last time. Francis took back over.

"I see His Grace is not the most talkative dancer." He kept an eye on us.

"No, I fear my lord warden finds it too distracting." she smiled.

The fiddle played up, the dance was over.

Francis bowed, her hand still in his. She curtsied deeply and he pulled her back up again.

Their breathing had quickened, it had been a lively dance.

Catherine gazed over to the king, who had surely danced this one with Mary Boleyn again.

She saw, to her surprise, that she was only half-right. Anne Boleyn, not Mary.

Suffolk had seen it too. Anne had hinted at it the night before the last, when they had been outside with Catherine's lapdog. I can rise higher than Mary, higher even than the butcher's son. Catherine knew Anne better than anyone, had seen her flirting and playing in France. This was no different. When she wanted someone to desire her, she feigned utter indifference. She was a maiden, as far as Catherine knew, clever enough not to waste it on some French courtier.

Her gaze darted over to the queen. How did she take this change of personnel? As she took everything. With calm serenity. She has the temper of a saint. And she had suffered as much.

Anne turned away from the king now after a curtsey, left him standing there alone at the top of the column, talked to Thomas Wyatt, laughed, smiled, as if nothing had happened.

Henry was furious. Is a king only a man? That was the question Anne had to ask. If he was, why, then he would fall for her like every other man. But Catherine thought that this one might be different. Henry got what he wanted and surely he would be intrigued at first...but for how long?

"Shall we go for another, my lady?" Lord Talbot asked. "Maybe in better company this time?" He did not bother to lower his voice.

"The quality of the company is surely nothing you can be the judge of." Suffolk was boiling.

This is not good at all. She disliked the man, he had been so unkind...but she did not want to anger him this much. Because of the king. she added quickly. Only because he'd tell the king.

"Forgive me, Lord Talbot, but I am tired. Tomorrow, if you will?" she offered.

"I'll pin you down to that, Lady Catherine." Francis said. "A Volta." he demanded and she smiled her agreement.

"Whatever you wish, my lord. I bid you a good night."

She gathered her skirts to walk past the two men when Francis put a hand on her upper arm.

"Shall I accompany you to your chambers, my lady? It might be safer, with all the wine." Watered wine. She was not comfortable with him escorting her. With him in front of her chamber door. But how should she put that into words?

Help came from an unspuspected side.

"You're needed here, Talbot. My French is insufficient I fear but you are as eloquent in French as in English, I heard." Brandon smiled amiably.

"Mademoiselle." He pointed at Talbot. The French lady showered him with a torrent of French words. Francis was stunned speechless for a moment and not at all happy with the arrangements, it seemed

"You are the pride of England, Talbot." Brandon put his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"I will escort you to your chambers, my lady. You are my ward after all." he said to Catherine. Then he turned his had back to Talbot. "I know one French word, my lord, and that is touché."

Talbot was not smiling anymore when he looked at Catherine.

"Enjoy your night." she smiled.

"I would enjoy it more if you stayed, my lady." And the grin came back. He took the French lady by the arm, steered her away. Cat saw them talking to Henry Radcliffe whose French was not bad, she knew...He is quite cunning.

"Are you ready, Catherine?"

The duke asked, rudely. She did not blame him for his tone for once.

As they made their way up the stairs and down dark corridors, she snapped at him:

"Next time you want to settle a dispute with a gentleman, take it to the tourney grounds or the tennis court. I am not some kind of wager."

Suffolk stopped. "There's been no dispute between me and Talbot before tonight, my lady. You are the reason, not the wager."

Excuse me?

"The reason? Forgive me, but I do not see-"

"You do not because you are not half as clever as you think. Talbot has his eyes set on your dowry, lady, if I were you, I'd keep my distance."

"And wait for my one true love to sweep me off my feet?" she laughed. "You might think me a fool, but I'm not foolish enough to think that I will one day find a husband who is not interested in my fortune and name. You know best, don't you? Bought me from the king like a horse in the market square." They had reached her chamber door.

"You have no -"he said, and there was something in his voice that was not anger. His eyes were softer, too, like spring fed pools in summer. But then he swallowed and his eyes were cold again.

"I never bought you. I won you in a game of dice. You and a diamond bigger than that ruby." He gestured at the stone that hung from her neck and brushed against her collarbone accidentally. For a moment, they were both silent, staring into each other's eyes with anger. "And I tell you something, my lady, on this very Christian day, I almost wish that I had lost."

He turned around on his heel and stormed off with long strides.

Catherine opened her door, locked it behind her and sank to the floor. The tears came slowly, but then all at once, rolling down her cheeks and leaving salty sticky paths on her skin.

She was surrounded by enemies and fortune hunters, and she was lost. She did not want to marry but she saw no other way. She wanted to get back what her father had lost, but Henry would never bestow this title on a woman. What will I do with that stupid title if I get it though? It would not bring back her father, and it was not of much use to her either. All she wanted was a place where she belonged but she was like one of those stars that were not part of a constellation, lost amongst all the others. I have Anne. She would help her. And the king and queen liked her, too, Henry had called for her, after all, he had not forgotten about her. I am not part of a constellation, but I can shine twice as bright as them. Talbot had proven a promising candidate, although his conflict with the duke was troubling. She was not all alone. Talbot, More, Anne, Queen Katherine. King Henry liked her well enough and she was certain she could make him her friend. Father had not gift for it but I do. Queen Claude had been her friend, and Francis, too, Mary Rose Tudor had confided her secrets in her all those years ago. I will not take my father's path, and it is not his title that I want. Titles are empty. I want the position he should have had. A confidante of the king and queen, a companion, loyal and indispensable. Catherine dried her tears. She might need Brandon for this...I cannot. She could go to great lengths, but he positively loathed her, and she was not fond of him either, to say the least. I will try to be civil. I will try to be courteous. If he would, too.


Thank you for reading!

Next chapter is going to have Charles's POV again, and some Anne/ Catherine moments. And we will also see the start of Henry's courtship of Anne!