AN: Henry Brandon/Eleanor Boleyn to John Donne's poem "The Sun Rising" Henry finds out that his wife is pregnant again. Set April 1538.
BUSY old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
I rolled over, blinking sleepily, as the first rays of sunlight crept into our rooms through the curtains. With a groan, I made to force myself out of bed. I was due to ride out to see to the estates this morning. I couldn't afford to delay.
Yet, as I looked back at my still sleeping wife, I felt a stab of regret that I should leave her so early. With her fair skin and gorgeous golden hair, she was still every bit as much my Duchess of the Summer Sun as she had been the day we wed. Seven, nearly eight years, and four pregnancies within that space of time, hadn't changed her at all.
I leaned down to kiss her as she slept and, as though she could feel my eyes on her, she stirred and woke.
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school-boys and sour prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices;
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
"Henry? What are you doing up? It's barely dawn."
Her voice was sweet and melodious as she reached out a hand to me. Caressing her fingers, I pulled back from the warmth of her embrace, hating myself for having to refuse it.
"I can't, Eleanor. I have to ride out to see the fields."
"At this hour? Anyone would think that you're as impatient as the King."
At her unconscious mention of King Henry, her face clouded over. As well it might. His Majesty had put her sister, his Queen Anne, not to mention her brother, Lord Rochford, to death on false charges two springs earlier. In so doing, he had nearly destroyed my marriage as well as his own, for, immersed in her own grief, Eleanor had withdrawn from me for well over a year. She had almost gone mad with mourning. She had almost gone mad and I hadn't known what to do.
I reached for her, but she slipped from my grasp, going to the window and standing with her back to it, so that the early rays of morning light danced in her curls, playing with them. Playing with the by now familiar throbs of my desire.
"Get back to bed, you vixen, or I'll never be able to leave you," I teased, putting my arms around her waist. She laid her hand on my chest, tracing my heartbeat with her touch.
I knew I should leave, but, God help me, I couldn't take my eyes off her. She completely bewitched me. And then she spoke.
"If you must go, at least take my news with you. Maybe you'll hurry back to me that way."
"What? What news? What news, my darling?"
Taking my hand, Eleanor drew me even closer to her than before and, putting her mouth to my ear, breathed, "I'm with child again, Henry. I'm carrying another of your children."
Thy beams so reverend, and strong
Why shouldst thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long.
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and to-morrow late tell me,
Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay."
I honestly thought my world had stopped. Stopped for joy. All I could do was stare into her beautiful blue could have told me then, in that instant, that I was King of England; ruler of the greatest Empire in the world, and I truly wouldn't have I could do – all I wanted to do – was stare into those sapphire orbs that were like hooks for my soul as I stuttered, "Are – are you – are you sure?"
At her nod, all thoughts of riding out that morning vanished from my head instantly.
"If it's a girl, we'll call her Eleanor, for her mother," I promised, stopping any protests Eleanor may have had by kissing her fiercely and drawing her back to the bed.
Her eyes flashed, but she let it slide as she rearranged herself beneath the bedcovers.
"And if it's a boy? If it's an Honourable rather than a Lady?" she murmured, stretching out her arms to hold me as I slid back in beside her. "What will we call him then?"
"I don't know. I had thought of calling him George, but since you stole that name for our first boy…Edward, perhaps?"
"After that Seymour whelp's brat? I don't think so." Eleanor's gaze snapped anger and I laid my hand on her cheek to calm her.
"Peace, sweetheart. We won't call him Edward if it displeases you so."
"Henry, for his father?" she suggested sleepily. I shook my head. "People would think you were naming him for the King."
Eleanor's nose wrinkled and I brushed it lightly with my lips as I thought back through all the family history I'd ever been taught. "What about William, for my grandfather?" I asked at last. "He fell carrying the Tudor banner at Bosworth."
"And it's the name of the Conqueror," she added, effectively removing any links to the Tudors from the name. "William Brandon. I like it. The Honourable William Brandon. The Honourable William Henry Brandon. I like it."
Her voice was little more than a drowsy whisper. I kissed her.
"Good. I'm glad. It really is the most wonderful news," I answered, mentally making a note of my favourite middle name for a daughter – Mary or Cecily – as I kissed my wife again, more deeply this time. I felt desire stir within my loins and began to act upon the impulse.
As she felt me enter her, however, she stirred, offering a token cry of protest.
"Henry, no! We mustn't. The child -"
"I'll be very gentle, love, I promise, "I assured her, delighting in the way she fell back instantly, the very picture of compliance.
She's all states, and all princes I;
Nothing else is;
Princes do but play us; compared to this,
All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world's contracted thus;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.
Desire sated, I fell back into sleep, only waking when the children came running in an hour or two later.
"Papa! I thought you were riding out!" Margaret exclaimed. With a glance at Eleanor, who still lay sleeping, I hushed our eldest, helping her up on to the bed.
"I was, but Mama persuaded me otherwise. We'll have some news for you when she wakes up," I explained, lifting little Annie on to the bed next and letting her curl up next to her mother.
George insisted that, at four, he was old enough to climb up by himself, so I left him to it and helped my niece, the former Princess, now Lady Elizabeth, up on to the bed instead. As soon as she was up, she, like Annie before her, tried to burrow as close to Eleanor as possible.
"Poor Papa. No one wants to lie next to him. Well, I will, so he doesn't get lonely," Margaret announced grandly to the room at large, proceeding to do exactly that.
The warmth of her little body against mine and her little arms around my neck was exactly what I needed to make my cup of happiness overflow. Holding her close, I stroked her hair.
"Good morning, jewel," I murmured, feeling as though I, not the King, was truly "Great Harry". Feeling as though I was King of the world.