Blizzards, like people, come and go. The strongest ones start with a single, intricate snowflake. Its delicate beauty is stunning, but like all fragile things, they diminish and ultimately vanishes when handled too roughly. It's as if the flake falls to the ground, and the earth leaves it bruised, forever changing the pattern and construction.
Although a lone snowflake is tender to the touch, something marvelous happens when the flakes stick together. The whole world is blanketed when they join strength through nature's majestic force. Snow has no care for who or what it touches. It covers everything, turning even the ugliest things into something a little more appealing. But even so, beauty can be deceiving, like snowflakes fleeting in time.
Over Somerset, snow flurries began to fall, swirling around everything like dust landing on the shelf in sunlight or like Dollie spreading her honey on warm gingerbread. This winter wonderland was magical, and though it was lovely, it put a damper on things for the household of Wolf Hall. The snowfall was the spoilsport of moods, travel, and Yule tide merry-making.
Packing for court and the King's ball was halted indefinitely. Dollie unpacked her pretty dresses and said, "There go my hopes and dreams, scattered abroad like these stupid snowflakes."
Mabel and Cecily shared the youngest Seymour's sentiments, while the servants were delighted the family would stay on through the season. Where the family hoped the conditions would clear, the wintry mix turned into a complete blizzard within hours, and it fell to Edward to inform His Majesty of the impediment. He did not look forward to explaining the family's absence at court, even by letter. The King thinks all his noble subjects should be available at all hours, especially holidays, and he hates when anything fouls up his plans, including the weather. As if weather bent to the whims of earthly kings.
So, as the majority of the household lamented and bemoaned the circumstance, one person did not. Mary was as happy as a rosebush in the sunshine. In fact, she thanked the good Lord for sending a storm because that meant a delay where no penalty, disregard, or ostracism existed. It delayed seeing His Majesty, which is something to be grateful for.
The Duchess could do without the man's falsity this Christmas season, curbing any joy she might feel because he does that- impede happiness. Just mentioning her father seems to ruin any good spirits Mary might have otherwise had, and she would rather suck on a sack of lemons than see the man. Yule is such a lovely, glorious time where giving means more than getting; loving the unlovely is as important as receiving a new pair of socks. All of that cheer, the Duchess is feeling, is wrapped up in a neat, pretty package waiting to burst. Just like the sublime snowfall accumulating outside, everything at Christmas is softer and more beautiful.
And this year, Her Grace gets to spend it with people who embody the meritoriousness of family. While some folks, like the Seymours, grew up in loving households with tender memories, and the devotion of kin folk, Mary did not. She has no true enjoyable Yule memories that come calling each winter. Although there was this one time when the Duchess was knee-high to a grasshopper, her beloved mother spent time making Christmas baskets for the poor. That is something Her Grace has carried on in memory of the late Queen- the Christmas baskets.
Queen Catherine took Mary into the gift basket room and allowed her to help prepare them. That was one of the fondest memories of Yule, but it's not much compared to tales of families gathering by the fireplace. Her mother tried to make the time festive, but her father would end up spoiling it somehow, either through too much drink or harsh words. Other than that warm remembrance, it was primarily quiet dinners with no smiling or the Princess being sent to her rooms.
Now Mary gets to share the season with those who have welcomed her as one of their own, and she harbors that close to her heart. Because isn't that what Christmas is about? Sharing home and hearth like it's a conspiracy of love, even though it's no scheme at all. Blessed is the season. So, no. There was no need to put a damper on things with the actions and words of a greedy, piggish King and father.
Although, as not to give anything away, Her Grace made a good show of being disappointed. After Dollie came to complain about the nature of it all, Mary remarked, "I am just so sad we won't be able to make the trip to the palace and even more so that you won't be able to interact with your sister. That is truly egregious."
Her comments served to make her sister-in-law's spirits better for the time being. But the dismay settled over the atmosphere, like the smell of lively holiday cider wafting through every crevice bringing its festive fragrance to all it connects with. Ironically, Mary is all too familiar with this lousy mood because getting your hopes up can lead to much dissatisfaction. That's why the Duchess tried her hardest to uplift the household and not let Christmas turn sour.
She reminded the girls, "The Somerset Seasonal Ball is upcoming, and we have the party at the Earl's house in Bridgewater. So, you see, there's lots to keep us busy this Yule."
Though it's not the same as the Royal Ball, it would have to do. Armed with a plan, Mary went to work to help lighten the rancid taste a countryside party brings versus one of the royal courts. When the peddler came by with his cart full of wares, she purchased bolt after new bolt of fabric. Burning the candle at both wicks, she and her ladies spent hours sewing new creations. After the sewing finished came the tedious time spent embroidering every intricate detail onto the dress's skirt and bodice, which turned out to be stunning beyond compare. Unique festive floral gowns of various colors were crafted for the holiday period.
With the help of Dollie's maid, Mary fitted the dress expressly for her sister-in-law. She also designed one for Liza, Cecily, Mabel, and herself. When the garments were finished, the ladies stood back and approved of their handiwork, taking it all in. It's amazing what a little ingenuity and creativity can accomplish. Two weeks out from the Somerset Ball, Mary invited Dollie to view the clothing.
The girl could not believe her eyes, which raised clear to the ceiling upon spying the creations. Dollie's fingers danced over the stitching and feminine elements as she came in for a closer look and couldn't help praising the pieces. "I can't believe something so beautiful was created for me. You knew exactly what I needed to boost my spirits, and this dress has done so. The handiwork on it is remarkable and so thoroughly artisan. It's beyond my wildest dreams. I'll surely be the belle of the ball beside you, Mary."
Dollie said something else just as the Duchess was set to thank her commendation. The girl's approving eyes and fingers felt the fabric of the other dresses in the room. She noted, "The only additional time I've seen such craftsmanship in tailoring has been with any dress I've ordered from Lady Wynter. She produces such exquisite styles, and these are so similar in quality. It's truly remarkable."
Mary and her two friends shared a look of understanding. None wanted to give anything away, or their jig would be up. Covering for them, the Duchess told her sister-in-law, "Thank you, Dollie. I'm so glad I could create something special for you and have you actually like it. Perhaps in the future, I could do so again. In the meantime, I hope your Yule present will bring you good cheer and a full dance card."
Dollie laughed, saying, "It already brings me joy just looking at it. As for the dance card, that's to be determined. If Lord Hamish isn't present, then I'll be happier still. He's rather handsy."
Cecily and Mabel filed that nugget away in their minds- say no to Lord Hamish. As the week progressed, so did the ball preparations. Everything amped up, including the servants, work around the manor, from the littlest thing like polishing doorknobs to major items like cleaning the windows. The decorations that littered the home's rooms were so extensive and pretty that they were fit for any palace, which was Mary's intention.
Wolf Hall is Her Highness's home, and she's its lady. For once, the Duchess has a budget that allows for elegance and a little extravagance. She may not be a Queen, but her mother was, and Mary learned from the best how to host parties and decorate palaces. This year is her time to put her best foot forward to host, garnish, and lead the Somerset province in throwing the season's finest social event. Let it not be said she didn't do her duty, especially since it's the initial rule of Edward as Duke and her as Duchess. It would not do well to flounder.
And while things took a turn for the better inside, it seemed to worsen outdoors. Like the changing weather conditions, it's best to keep an eye on the horizon to see what might be brewing. As surely as one flake of snow falls, another and another appear, creating a giant storm. Some storms are gentle, while others are a volatile combination of dangerous wind and ice, ushering in disruptions of all sorts. It did so in Somerset, causing transit delays and farming problems that might only be known in the Spring when everything has melted.
Amidst the flutter and flurry of the preparations and the storm raging outside, something else came to the family's attention. A message arrived early one morning, except it wasn't from His Majesty this time. Instead, it was from someone else. Edward somberly shared the news over breakfast, "Thomas is coming to celebrate Yule."
After communicating the necessary information, the Duke sequestered himself in his study. He did not leave it, not for anything. Naturally, this attitude did not sit well with Mary because a bit of melancholy followed after him. Even Dollie seemed more subdued than usual. Over afternoon tea which included Cecily and Mabel, the Duchess questioned this mood. The four ladies were gathered in the east wing sunroom enjoying pleasant conversation.
Mary wondered, "Why is the Duke's brother visiting cause for weariness?"
Dollie, who has something to say about everything, was quiet. That made the other three ladies pause. The youngest Seymour seemed strangely tense, but then she spoke. "Edward and Thomas are like vinegar and sugar. They don't mix, nor do they get along. Usually, it's our brother Henry that keeps the peace between them. Since Hen can't make it to the ball, it will make for a long Christmas between the two, you see."
No. Mary did not see. This response only made her more curious, and bid Dollie to share more insight. The Duchess learned that the brothers are known to quarrel, sometimes without regard for those present. The two have deeply entangled roots that are seemingly impossible to cure because both sides are stubborn, and one is more undignified than the other. But Dollie never came right out and said that about Thomas. She hinted around it.
Again it only served to pique the Duchess's inquisitiveness. How is the younger Seymour brother undignified? Having not seen her husband all day, she went straight to the source. Mary softly entered Edward's domain, which was one hundred percent his, from the shelves of books lining the walls to the bear skin rug on the floor, the cart of wine and ale in the corner, and the parchments covering his desk. Even the smell is his: spicy and robust full of bergamot, oak, and sandalwood. It's everything that gives life to the man behind the titles, including his doublet, which he had shucked off and draped over the arm of the settee.
Since the two had been advancing in their relationship, Mary had no qualms about positioning herself on the edge of his desk. She drew him away from his work and out of his gloomy disposition. Although Edward's expression and the light in his eyes did not match his cheery greeting, it did nothing to deter his wife from seeking information. In fact, she scooted closer to the man she's married to and asked, "What has you so displeased about your brother visiting? And don't dismiss my question, Edward. I want to know because I care about what causes you grief."
The Duke set his quill on top of the half-written parchment and expelled a long breath. His eyes closed in thought, and before he knew what was happening, his wife had situated herself in his lap. She enjoys doing such a thing, and he relishes the feel of her and the gesture's sentiment because, for someone so high-strung, it's most welcome. Edward inhaled the scent wafting off her hair, some floral mixture that made a pleasant impact like the woman herself.
His hand stroked her side, which made Mary squirm, and His Grace wondered if she were ticklish. He'd figure that out another time. As the Duke held onto his Duchess, he started to talk. "How do I explain, my brother? He is to me like a gnat to a mule- it bothers, irritates, and is relentless in biting."
Mary huffed. "Come now. Surely your brother isn't like that; he isn't so bad. What did he do to make himself so troublesome?"
But the Duchess felt her husband grow tenser in her arms, and she knew he must be thinking of something from the past that bothered him. Her hand raised to his face, where she caressed it lovingly until he smiled and kissed her fingers. Then he clarified, "My relationship with my brother is complex. We had a good connection when we were younger but grew apart as we aged. Thomas came to resent my place as heir and all the titles I've since accrued. We've been known to enter heated arguments where it has come to blows a few times. As you can imagine, the King naming me Duke and marrying his daughter won't sit well with him."
Mary took in what he said and rolled it over in her mind. She only "Hmmed" in response, and since she remained quiet, Edward dispensed some more knowledge on the matter. "Once, after my ex-wife fled to the convent, we held a family dinner. My mother, whom you'll meet soon, was present. Anyway, the meal was served, and it was everyday dinnertime conversation until Thomas decided to give his opinion on the breakdown of my marriage. He essentially blamed it all on me, citing how I'm too cold and unfeeling. Never mind that I was away at war or the woman had relations with our father. No. It was all me, as most things are in his eyes. So, I had enough, and without thinking, I picked up my quick bread and threw it at Thomas. That started a food fight."
Mary's knitted together in fascination at the thought of Edward starting a food fight. She wondered, "What did your mother do?"
He laughed. "Mother chastised me, but she also did the same with Tom. It's odd. He was once my friend and now my rival."
The Duchess moved from Edward's lap, and he missed her warmth. She perched on his desk again and took his hands before saying, "It's easy to blame others for what they don't know or think they know. Your brother pointed his finger at you when he should have kept it to himself and offered comfort. He was too quick to see you fall."
Edward smiled again, which heated Mary's heart because she loves to see that grin and wants to see it more often. She captured his gaze, and they locked eyes. The air in the room changed, as it often does when their eyes meet for a quick glance or a full-blown stare. Either one leaves both wanting more, so Mary decided to give in to the desire by saying, "But he's wrong, you know. You're not cold. To those who know you, you're a burning fire. And really, I don't mind standing next to the flame. Edward, you've slipped into my skin, invaded my bones, and captured my heart."
The Duke's well-maintained control began to wear thin because if he's the fire, he wants to burn her up. That's when he knew. If someone's right for you, the things they don't have to say are even more important than those they do. And if Mary can care for him, an imperfect man, then maybe he's finally found a soft place to land. He supposes it takes a rare ability and an even rarer individual to do such a thing- regard someone despite their flaws. He's only known her for such a short time, yet it feels like forever.
Edward expressed his thoughts. "My chest feels full of sunshine and wind, as it used to when I was young and spent time riding my horse. Riding at twilight was my favorite thing, the dusky hues encouraging the moonlight to fill the sky. In the saddle, I felt high enough to catch the stars; at the time, I thought I could. I'd spend hours in the meadow looking up at them and wondering how they light up the darkest night. Catching them, I know, is futile because no one can reach that far, but I feel like I have one now."
He scooted closer to where she was perched and held her gaze before uttering, "Because you're my star. You're the star that beats all others because you inspire them to crawl into heavenly places and shine bright."
Mary broke his heavy gaze for a moment. She folded her hands in her lap, fully aware of the furious blush spreading from cheek to cheek. Then the Duke said, "I've wanted to tell you that since I first laid eyes on you. I knew I had to wait until you were ready to hear it."
The Duchess turned her head and recaptured their lost gaze. She moved her head forward and let their foreheads touch. He whispered, "Say my name."
Mary smiled broadly and declared, "Edward, be quiet."
They both were laughing and then kissing. At first, it was quick and filled with need, but it turned slow because why hurry when forever is spread out in front of them? They have the rest of their lives together. The Duchess noted how his lips tasted of honey, and she supposes that's true because there's some of it on a plate on the corner of his desk.
But the careful, meticulous way Edward moves his lips against her own makes Mary melt. Her Duke never does anything by halves, and she's glad for that because it meant a passion-filled kiss. And she knew he was savoring her flavor too, which she prayed was not repulsive. It wasn't, for it was just as sweet to him. Every kiss seemed to say I love you. I love you. I love you.
That's the best kind of love. The kind that happens at will and isn't forced or coerced by some ulterior motive. It is an intensity that awakens the soul and ignites a fire in places that have been burnt down. Despite that, it also brings peace with it. Because the soundest, most ardent connections are made with the heart and inspired by the mind.
When the two parted for air, still connected with his hands on her thighs and her arms around his neck, Edward knew he was lost. Somehow that's alright because his wife holds the key that opens all his locks, and he wants all of them opened, especially the one that ardently longs for her. Yet, her fingers grazing over the nape of his neck may be his undoing.
A servant knocked on the door, and Mary stood beside his chair. She beamed at him and said with good humor, "I'll go oversee the preparations for your brother. Perhaps we can put him in the east wing where no one dares to venture unless for social gatherings."
Edward chuckled and let out a deep breath which helped to right himself. As his wife began to depart, he wished she'd stay. That's how the Duke knew it might be time for her to move into his rooms. He decided to discuss it with Mary later, but that didn't happen because the servant said the winter storm had frozen the lake, and the Earl of Taunton's daughter was trapped. Just like that, the Duke's afternoon took a different turn.
While His Grace helped with the icy situation, Mary oversaw the servants preparing for Thomas's arrival. She and the ladies also prayed for the Earl's daughter and made a note to send a care basket the following day. It was late when Edward returned, but he bore good news that the girl was pulled to safety though chilled to the bone. The doctor believes she'll survive. The ordeal made the Duke realize how fleeting life can be, which helped him make an unshakeable decision.
Three days before the Somerset Seasonal Ball, Edward took his wife aside and communicated his wishes. "Mary, you have no idea how much our time spent together means to me, and I desire more of it. I think we've reached a point where sharing a joint bed chamber might be rewarding and beneficial. What are your thoughts on that?"
Mary held her head high and let her joyful voice do the talking, along with a sparkle in her oceanic eyes. "I think that's a splendid idea, Edward. I have been hoping it would come to this point."
They clasped hands, and the Duke had never felt more uplifted. He's heard people say that a man needs only three things to be happy in life- someone to love, something to do, and something to hope for. Edward has all three for the first time in the face of a long dry period, which is truly incredible.
But the Duke's spirits drooped as the snowstorm continued its onslaught of Christmas white. In the middle of the doorway, his brother blew in. And just like that, Edward's body wound up as tight as a snake, ready to strike. Mary noticed and stood firmly beside him, offering what comfort she might give.
"Hello, big brother and sister-in-law. My, what a lovely Duchess you make," Thomas greeted them.