5
Betrothals and Marriages
An hour later, I sat with Edward Seymour on a bench overlooking the fountain that Queen Anne had commissioned as a New Year's gift for the King some years before.
"Edward, what do I mean to you?" I asked, gazing lovingly into his deep, dark, trusting eyes.
"Mary, you mean everything to me, I swear before God. You are my sun, the only sun on an otherwise entirely grey, gloomy, dismal day at this supposedly glittering court. Why?"The compliment rolled easily off Edward's tongue, as he held my sapphire gaze. That was all very well, but it was not just courtly compliments that I was looking for, so I probed further.
"I've asked that before, I know. I got the same answer. Do I not mean more to you now than I did two months ago?"
"No, Mary." He replied, goggling at me in amazement as I forced his hand from my skirt, and sprang to my feet, cheeks flushed with anger and passion.
"Then, Edward Seymour, I shall leave you, and take my dowry elsewhere. Ralph Howard, I know, would snap it up in an instant!" Wrenching off my jewelled hood, I let my hair tumble loose down my back, and swing out behind me as I flounced away.
Edward took a moment to process what I had just cried out in my humiliation, but then he was after me, his strong young legs gaining on mine at every step.
He caught me by my pretty brocade gown as I fumbled with the latch of the palace gate, my vision blurring as sparkling tears gathered in my eyes, fracturing the light, and accordingly, worsening my ability to see, and having hands numb with the surprisingly biting September cold was not helping either.
Mary you cannot mean more to me than you did 2 months ago, for, even then; I loved you more than any other soul in Christendom!"
"Really?" It was so long since I had heard any sort of a proclamation of devotion, or indeed, of friendship, that I searched his face for any hint of falsehood.
"Really. In fact, Mary, would you do me the honour of becoming the one and only Mary Isabella Seymour?"
As he finished, Edward dropped to one knee with all the poise of a true courtier, and drew out of his doublet a little black velvet box. Opening it, he offered me its contents – a pretty ring; made of rose gold and set with an amethyst, my birthstone and favourite jewel.
For a moment, I was so overcome that I could not speak for joy, but I rapidly recovered the use of my tongue.
"Aye, Edward, I will become Mary Seymour, for better or for worse, and with a will, too!"
At once, he rose to take my hand, and carried it to his mouth for a kiss, saying "Come Mary, let us seek the King's permission."
Edward tucked my hand into the crook of his arm, and we set off for the Privy Chamber.
I had hoped my father would be alone when we asked his permission, but, much to my chagrin, he was not.
Anne Boleyn sat beside him, so close she may as well have been in his lap, and her dark head rested against his chest, as he ran his fingers tenderly through her raven hair.
Only when Edward dared to disturb this idyllic picture by clearing his throat, and murmuring "Your Majesties.", did my father, Henry Edward Robert Tudor, look up and inquire "Yes, Sir Edward? What can I do for you?"
"Sire, I come before you to plead for the hand of your gracious daughter, the fair Lady Mary, in marriage." Edward explained.
I truly believe that, had my father been alone that day, we would have obtained his permission, and been dismissed from the room in under five minutes, but as it was, Anna-Maria Boleyn sprang to her feet, jaw set, eyes flashing, voice ringing with indignation.
"Henry, this is impossible! How can you even consider allowing a Seymour to wed your bastard? Is there not a Howard who deserves the honour?"
"Anne!" My father exclaimed, staring at her in utter amazement. "Be silent!"
"No Henry, I will not be silent! I am your rightful Queen, though you seem to have forgotten it! Mary cannot marry a Seymour!"
"Why?" My father looked genuinely nonplussed. Anne hadn't lost her temper with him like this since George was born. He'd thought her fits of pique were things of the past.
"Because Howards outrank Seymours, and as Your Majesty's daughter, Mary deserves -"
"You lie, Madam! You seek to place a Howard in every single position of power in the land!" Father's bellow of rage drowned out the rest of Anne's sentence. Oblivious to the fact that at least half a dozen courtiers were present, Queen Anne spun on her heel to face my father, throwing back her hair, and stamped her foot, not much, but enough to emphasise her point. Every inch of her emanated regal fury, and irate determination. This marriage would not take place – not if she could help it!
"All right, I do!" she screamed at him. "It's only right, they are my family! Besides, every minute you spend obsessing over Mary's future is a minute you could spend thinking of Elizabeth, or George or Anne, or Edward, your precious Prince. Precious! Hah, you haven't even given him the highest title, the usual title – Elizabeth still remains Princess of Wales, while he is just the Duke of Cornwall!"
"That was your choice -"
"Yes, but you didn't care! You didn't countermand my orders! Oh, no! This bastard occupies your thoughts more than they ever do, even between them! I won't stand for it, I tell you! I won't! I'll knock some sense into you if it's the last thing I do!"
Queen Anne stepped forward, towards the King, and raised her hand sharply, as if to strike it into him, but he caught her wrists, and held her away from him, struggling furiously as she writhed and fought.
"Anne, please! Be calm!" Mary Stafford, the Queen's sister, rushed in, having heard the commotion, and threw her arms around her sister's waist, holding her as if all three of them were dancers in a tableau.
The King brought his face closer to Anna-Maria's, and began to croon "Anne. Do you want me to marry Edward and Elizabeth to the French Prince and Princess?"
"Oh yes, Henry!" she gasped, thrilled at the prospect of getting her own way, for she had begged for the double marriage for months, but the King had blatantly refused, at least until she gave in. Now it seemed as though he was considering changing his mind.
"And do you want George to be betrothed to Princess Jeanne of Navarre?"
"Yes." She breathed quietly, scarcely believing her luck, the Boleyn luck.
"And William of Orange for Anne, if we can get him?"
"Of course, Your Grace." the Queen dutifully murmured in reply.
"Well then, let me get Mary safely married off, and then I will write to Henri, and see to it that negotiations are reopened for your double marriage plans."
"Thank you, my love." Anne cooed sweetly.
"But you must treat Mary as though she were your own daughter – at least for now."
A look as black as thunder rapidly rolled across the Queen's face, before she pulled herself together, and nodded meekly.
They came across to us then, hand in hand, all harmony restored, and my father said clearly "Edward, I give you my blessing, as well as my permission. Mary may become a Seymour."
"Yes, and she must borrow one of my newest gowns for the wedding. Come, Mistress Seymour; you shall pick out your choice now in my trunks and chests." Queen Anne said, smiling in quite a friendly manner at me.
Astounded, I rose, but as we left, Anne threw me a glance that so clearly said "I'm doing this for the King, not for you." that I realised the hatred that blossomed between us was still as strong as ever, and oddly enough, was comforted by that fact, for I did not think that I could ever get used to liking Anne, never mind loving her as I used to love my mother.
True to her word, though, the Queen let me pick and choose among her best dresses, taking as long as I wanted. And when I could not decide between a sky blue satin and a pale blue watered silk, Queen Anne astonished me by saying "Take them both for God knows I have more than I could ever possibly wear."
I gasped and thanked her profusely, but she only said "Yes, yes. Get back to your Mistress – you've been away from her far too long. Send Eleanor Carey into me on your way out."
I nodded and forced a smile. Eleanor Margaret Boleyn-Carey was Her Majesty's niece, and favourite courtier. It was hardly surprising that she wanted her now – presumably to soothe her slightly before my father came to take her into supper.
Curtseying with the gowns draped over my arms, I rose and backed out.
****
Back in Princess Anne's rooms, all was chaos.
The maids flew about, gathering Anne's things together, and gossiping like magpies, and in the midst of it all stood Princess Anne Frances Cecily Tudor, Marquis of Pembroke, having a temper tantrum.
My eyes roved the room, searching for someone sensible, someone who might be able to enlighten me as to what was going on. They alighted upon Maria-Anne Howard, Kitty Percy's eldest daughter.
Dodging a flying tasselled pillow, I made my way to her side.
"Maria, what on earth is going on?"
"Her Highness came back from the Council Chambers in one of her moods, and then she wanted to wear her best dress to sup in. When we refused her permission, well – you know what she's like."
Maria-Anne gestured with her head to the sobbing, kicking and screaming princess. I nodded, understanding.
"Aye, that I do, but why all this hustle and bustle?"
"His Majesty is coming to sit with her after his archery, so she needs to look her best."
"Right. Now, if you'll excuse me?"
Leaving Maria-Anne, I ran to kneel at the Princess's side, and then, greatly daring, took her hand in mine. It was a mark of how upset she was that she didn't pull away at once, for, like her mother before her, she hated me with a passion. Never being a woman to let an opportunity pass by, I began to croon into her golden-brown hair.
"Come, Your Highness, what's all this about? Tell me, and I'll see what I can do."
"I want to be betrothed like George, and wear my silver taffeta to the party" she grumbled, not looking up. For once I was glad, for seeing me at her side would have made things worse – she hated me as much as her mother did.
"Ok, Anne. I'll see what I can do."I promised, rising to my feet, before looking down at her and announcing my condition.
"But you've got to be a good girl, and go and change into your silver damask, so your father can see you looking like a Princess."
As Anne reluctantly rose to her feet, Lady Shelton took her into the next room, flashing me a rare smile of gratitude.
I, meanwhile, sat with the rest of the maids in Anne's rooms, but, as I had been instructed, I left as soon as we heard my father's step in the hall. I withdrew, and began to plan for my wedding, which would take place in December.
My flower girl would be Katherine Stafford, as a gesture to the Queen that I recognised the Howards as her kin, and therefore as the first family in the land, save the King's own.
My bridesmaids were to be Jane Seymour, my new sister-in-law, and Kitty Howard's sister, Margaret Paulett.
My hair would be freshly unplaited, to make it curly, and rosewater, flowers, even sweet-smelling herbs, would be patted and woven into it. Of course, I would wear my newest gown – I was determined not to scrimp on this – the greatest day of my life.
****
Days later, we got a message from our ambassadors in the Kingdom of Navarre. The King of Navarre had set sail for England, bringing his daughter Jeanne with him in order to cement the betrothal between her and Prince George.
The King immediately cancelled our departure from Nonsuch, and transferred us to Richmond along with the rest of the Court.
On the 10th of October – two days before Anne turned 6 – the entire Court arranged themselves in the Great Hall and waited with bated breath for the nobles from Navarre.
Barely an hour later, they had arrived, with much swishing of skirts and capes, many dramatic bows, and a grand fanfare.
Among them was 4 year old Princess Jeanne, who, dainty and beautiful as a doll, went to her proposed mother and father, tossed her pretty auburn hair back lightly, blinked her glittering green eyes, and knelt before them.
Taking a deep breath, she spoke in her soft, almost scented English.
"I am proud and honoured to have been chosen to have you as my mother and father, and promise to do England proud, as its future Duchess of York and Countess of Wessex ought to do."
I doubt she understood the words that she spoke, but, as she'd been taught, she spoke them without hesitating,
"How enchanting!" Henry, we simply must have her for George!" Queen Anne cooed.
"You shall, Madam." The King of Navarre promised her. She flashed him a sleek, confident smile of delight, and then returned her gaze to little Jeanne, who, though trained not to show it, was trembling with fear and anticipation.
"Come, dear. I have a daughter about your age. Would you like to meet her?"she asked kindly, lapsing into her still fluent French.
"Yes please, Your – Maman." Jeanne replied, as sweet as she.
Queen Anne laughed happily, and then took Jeanne from the room, chattering to her like a magpie, still in French, which was Jeanne's preferred tongue. She took her straight past me, and though I merely curtsied to Her Grace, I gave Jeanne a little smile as she went past me, for I knew what it was like to be betrothed as a child.
Though I was only 27 in the year I married Edward Seymour, I had been betrothed four times already, once before I was even Jeanne's age.
****
The talks between my father and the King of Navarre concluded at sunset the following day, and then Prince George and Princess Jeanne danced a minuet together, both clad in elaborate midnight blue robes trimmed silver and ermine. Princesses Elizabeth and Anne sat together, one smiling broadly and tossing her flame-red curls around flamboyantly, the other barely suppressing a scowl as she watched her brother become the centre of attention. It was true it was her birthday the following day, and that we had planned a masque, fireworks, and even a tournament in her honour, but for now, she was not the centre of attention, and she hated it!
I happened to glance her way, and remembering the promise I had made to her, crossed the dance floor, until I stood beside Lady Marianne Stafford, Queen Anne's sister. Holding out my skirts, I curtsied, and she flushed, as she realised who it was.
"Good evening, Lady Stafford."
"Lady Mary. How are you?"
"Very well, madam. And yourself?"
"Also well, Mary, as are my children, praise the Lord."
"Aye, Thank God." I crossed myself as we watched Mary's daughter, Eleanor Carey, newlywed to Henry Neville (on the Queen's orders) dancing in a set with him and half a dozen others.
"She's another Boleyn beauty, Lady Stafford." I remarked, as I found myself unable to take my eyes off Eleanor's glossy blond curls, flashing deep blue eyes, and lithe figure, as she moved around the floor with all the poise, arrogance and grace of a Boleyn, of her aunt. Lady Stafford smiled gently.
"Her sister's set to follow."
"Is she?"
"Yes. Fair as Eleanor with a sweeter, readier smile – that's my Katy in a nutshell." I chuckled, and then silence fell between us until I tried again to breach the subject of Princess Anne. I ought really to have gone to the Queen or my father about this, but, not surprisingly, I felt most at ease with Mary.
"Fine party, isn't it?"
"Yes, but I notice little Anne isn't enjoying it much."
"No. She wants to be betrothed too."
"Oh? To whom?" Lady Stafford looked askance at me in her great surprise.
"Honestly, Lady Stafford, I don't think it matters – as long as she's the centre of attention!"
"That girl is getting more spoiled by the day! All right, tell her I'll speak to my sister. After all, no Howard girl is allowed to look as sulky as a baited bear for long."
Hiding a smile at the metaphor, I bowed my head and dropped a curtsey. Then I left her, just as, three days later, after a lavish party thrown to mark Princess Anne's sixth birthday, we left Richmond with her, and went to Beaulieu for the months preceding the Christmas season.
****
On the 16th of December, after we had rejoined the Court at Greenwich for Christmas, I took Edward Seymour as my lawful husband, every eye in the Court upon us.
8 year old Katherine Stafford was perfect as a maid of honour, and my bridesmaids glowed with pride at being chosen to accompany the King's daughter up the aisle.
Every detail had been correctly attended to, and the dress had been restyled and made over until it fitted me splendidly.
The ceremony itself was a complete blur, but at last, at long, long last, amid the blaring of trumpets, I firmly murmured "I do" and felt, rather than saw, Edward lift my veil and kiss me passionately.
When, as the bride and groom, we led the guests through to dinner in order of precedence, my father the King, my stepmother Queen Anne, and my brothers and sisters; Edward, newly created Prince of Wales, Elizabeth, the new Duchess of Richmond, now that my half-brother, Henry Fitzroy had passed away without heirs, George, Duke of York and Anne, who had just been given the title Duchess of Buckingham, as well as Marquis of Pembroke, all dressed in their best, were of course, at the head of the line.
These grants had been handed out in a lavish ceremony the week before, supposedly because my father wanted to celebrate my marriage, but, as everyone knew, it was really to soothe Queen Anne's fears that I would still, even now, be restored to the Succession, above her children.
The wedding breakfast and traditional dances flashed by, and suddenly, without either of us quite knowing how we'd got there, Edward and I found ourselves in bed, together, behind closed doors – utterly alone.
A shudder of nervous excitement passed through me. This wonderful man was about to have me. Would I conceive his child? I, for one, certainly hoped so.
Before I had time to wonder anything more, Edward was gently pressing against my shoulders.
"Lie back, Mary, lie back." he coaxed. "I'll try my hardest not to hurt you." he promised, as dreamily, I did as I was told.
Levering himself above me, Edward slowly began to ease himself down so that he was lying on top of me.
Slowly, slowly…
Suddenly, I could bear it no longer. My every fibre crying out with lust, I reached up, encircled his shoulders with my arms, and pulled his body sharply, almost savagely, on top of mine.
It all happened so quickly after that.
One minute, Edward and I were still struggling to find a rhythm in our lovemaking, and the next, I was huskily crying out in a rush of joyful pain, as with a great heaving sigh of relief, he thrust himself inside me and released.
I took him into me with a low moan of pleasurable fear, and felt complete – more complete than I had in almost six years - ever since my mother died.
Exhausted by the lateness of the hour, and the joy we both shared, I rolled out from under Edward, curled into the warmth of his handsome chest, and drifted off to sleep.