Chapter 2

2 years have passed since Cromwell and Lady Sadb last saw each other.
Lady Sadb knew that life was supposed to go on, but actually, how could it go on the way it used to after that moment she had shared with Thomas? For a small fracture in time, she had been allowed to have her heart's desire, only to have it taken from her mere minutes later. When she thought back to that now unreal moment in time, she had to sit down for it literally took her breath away.
It had been the most exquisite moment of her life.
Sometimes, very late at night when the whole world was fast asleep, she was woken up by a tingly sensation right there where his lips had touched her hand. Then she couldn't help herself, couldn't fight anymore, couldn't resist. She was so tired of the constant need to keep up decorum, to keep her countenance, to act as nothing had ever happened to her, that not her whole world was blown to smithereens by that violent urge to be with Thomas Cromwell, a mere commoner and not her equal in rank, yet more than her equal in mind. To pretend that she was happy with her life at court and her life being completely governed by tradition and rules and wretched propriety.
And then she started to cry, cried herself to sleep only to wake up to a miserably wet, tear soaked pillow which made her ladies in waiting look at her confused and rather suspiciously.

It was a nice day in June when Lay Sadb, enjoying a walk through her gardens with her ladies in waiting, finally realised what she had to do.
On that day in June she decided to not allow herself to think about him anymore.

XXX

Cromwell returned to England yet the details of his return seemed to be rather blurry. "This does not matter", he thought. "The ship, the sea, the wind and waves, the King, the earl, anyone. This all does not matter." Cromwell alternated between utterly rejoicing in their mutual love, that she, the wonderful Lady Sadb deemed him worthy of her love and respect, - and also despair, for what was it worth to know of love but to never feel its touch?
Cromwell felt betrayed by fate, mocked and ridiculed – to find out that his love was not unrequited, that the Lady Sadb loved him back – loved him! And then to accept that this - their love, his love, didn't matter.

Thomas Cromwell was the second most influential man in England, he was Secretary of State and reported only to the King himself. If somebody had a solution for anything, it was Cromwell. If there was a problem, he would solve it. If there was an obstacle he would eliminate it. He was a brilliant thinker and highly capable, he was influential and discreet – but now, now his hands were bound. There was nothing he could do, no solution to this dilemma and it nearly drove him mad!

The days went by coated by the same haze, a thick fog of pointlessness which was threatening to suffocate him. For a long time, he had successfully suppressed, yes – banned! - his feelings for her into the last, most forgotten corner of his mind and he had managed, had he not? And now? He didn't manage at all. He merely functioned, but when the day's work was over and Henry had spent all his breath to complain and wish for extravaganza and order this or that and when even the King was – for a fleeting moment - satisfied, then Cromwell closed to door of his office, turned the key twice, went home to his empty house and locked himself in his library. And when all the books in it were read and re-read and re-re-read, and all philosophical thoughts were pondered...then, then she entered his mind, appearing before him as crystal clear as on that one day nearly 2 years ago, and he couldn't stop thinking of her. The look in her eyes that he could never forget, that faint smell of lilac now inseparable interwoven with the thought of her, the rhythm in which his heart had been beating, that most beautiful irregularity.

XXX

"My dearest daughter", Lord O'Brien boomed and she whole court applauded politely. "I have good news for you! Nay, not only you, but for all of us and all of Christendom!" Lord Conan laughed a roaring laugh and clapped his enormous hands. Her father was a rather tall and large man and demanded attention not unlike Henry Tudor. They were not alone in the grand hall and when he had finished his short speech, he winked at the young sleek looking man next to him. The preppy and smooth young man was the Prince of Italy and Lord Conan loved the Italians. "True Catholics", he would often say while laying his arm around her shoulder, with a rather knowing twinkle in his eye.
Dark eyes sized her up immediately and came after a couple of seconds to an apparently satisfying result. The Prince grinned at her brazenly and took her hand: "My Lady. Let me introduce myself to you. I am Prince Eugenio from the North of Italia and I must say you are the blossoming wildflower everyone describes you to be. Be assured of my deepest regard for you and your beautiful green country. I hope, in due time, we will get to know each other better. Or, I dare say," with a look at Lord Conan, "very well." Again his gaze inspected her in an impertinent way before his lips touched her hand. The same hand that...in a different lifetime...

She felt sick to her stomach. No. A wave of impotent anger washed over her and a white hot rage built up in her stomach. No. With wide eyes she stared at her father to rebut this proposition of the Italian Prince, to stop this intrusion, to stop this all from happening. However, Lord Conan didn't look at her but smiled benignly at Prince Eugenio as he patted him on the shoulder. When his eyes finally turned to hers he only nodded curtly and then turned to the Italian Congregation which had waited patiently in the background. "It is settled then!", Lord Conan boomed and the whole great hall filled with happy laughter and applause.

The world started to spin and everything went blurry. Her head told her to make a run for it. If she could just leave this hall, the castle, she could run into the woods...and and then maybe to... to...
No. No no no. No, not now not this moment, not now not ever.
Not him.

She stood there, transfixed on the spot, screaming at the top of her lungs. But no, she wasn't screaming. She simply lost the ground beneath her feet and started to slump down like a log of wood. Prince Eugenio came to her rescue and seeing this as an affirmation of her happiness, he caught her gallantly in his arms and propped her up again. "Oh My Lady, we will have a lot of fun!" he whispered hoarsely into her ears.
And now, now that dreaded moment had come: any minute now her father would announce that she was to marry the Italian Noble and Preserver of the Faith, Prince Eugenio.