AN: George Boleyn/Jane Parker to I Never Told You by Colbie Calliat. Set in early 1543. N.B. I'm going by my head canon, so George is the youngest of the Boleyn siblings.
George Boleyn, Earl of Ormonde, watched his beloved wife, Lady Jane, being interred into the ground and fought back the tears. He couldn't cry. Not here, not now. He'd promised her that he wouldn't. She'd made him promise. She'd said the children, their beautiful children, needed him to be the strong one; that they couldn't see him cry. And she was right. She'd always been right about things like that.
George could see them now through the haze of his blurry eyesight. They were standing to his right, seven year old Henry holding his younger sister, Jane, close as she sobbed. Henry. Henry Boleyn, Viscount Rochford. His son and heir; their son and heir. It was clear even to George that his son was nothing more than a little boy desperately trying to act the man his sister needed him to be. Henry was trying to be Jane's rock, the way he, George, had always been, and still was, his own sister Anne's. It wasn't fair on Henry to be forced into this role. George longed to comfort him; comfort them both, but how could he, when he was bitterly grieving too? When he had no comfort to give them? When it was his fault their mother was dead?
I miss those blue eyes
How you kiss me at night
I miss the way we sleep
Like there's no sunrise
Like the taste of your smile
I miss the way we breathe
"Papa?"
A small hand slithered into his. George started, then looked down at his eldest daughter. Six year old Anne, who had his nose and spirit, but Jane's slight figure and sandy-blonde tresses. He gulped, trying hard not to show her how painful looking her in the eye was. She had his sister's eyes. That's why they'd named her Anne; because of her eyes, not because his sister was Queen and the mother of two healthy Princes, John and Edmund, as well as three Princesses, Elizabeth, Grace and Philippa.
Anna had the same eyes his sister had had at her age, but where her aunt's had darkened with the years, Anna's had not. Hers were still a light blue; the same light blue as her mother's.
But he couldn't think of that. Not now.
"Yes, sweetheart?" he asked.
Anna looked up at him, offering him a candid, characteristically brave smile.
"It's all right, Papa. I'll be your Lady Ormonde now. I'll love you and help you, just the way Mama did."
He couldn't help it. The innocent declaration of her love for him undid him. squeezing the little girl's hand, he wrenched himself away and hurried out of sight, not caring a whit for the disapproving murmurs it earned him.
How could he care for society's disapproval when his world had effectively ended? He couldn't go on without her. His Jane. And it was his fault. His.
If he hadn't given into her pleading; hadn't made her pregnant, she'd still be here. She'd been too old for it. She was only thirty-two, perhaps, but Jane's birth had been hard enough on her. Her body had been exhausted. And twins were always more dangerous. Everyone knew that. He should have never let her carry them to term. Never. He should have forbidden it.
But he hadn't and now he had a new-born son, Charles and another daughter, Amy, to care for, as well as the elder three. No doubt his father, were he still alive, would have been pressing him to remarry as soon as possible. But Thomas Boleyn wasn't alive and George could do what he liked.
Right now, that meant grieving for his wife. Or at least, numbing the pain so much that he couldn't feel it.
George locked himself in his bedchamber and drank himself into oblivion.
But I never told you
What I should have said
No, I never told you
I just held it in
And now,
I miss everything about you
Can't believe that I still want you
and after all the things we've been through
I miss everything about you
Without you
When he came back to himself, George lay there musing. He hadn't always loved his wife, he admitted. In fact, he'd hated her at first. Theirs had been an arranged marriage and neither of them had wanted it. He'd raped her on their wedding night, just so that he could prove to his father that he had done his duty by the Boleyns and then sought solace in the company of his drinking friends, his sister and his whores.
That had been the state of affairs for practically the whole of the first decade of their marriage. But then Anne – his sister Anne, whom he could never refuse anything – had given the King a son. She had given the King a son and in doing so, had secured herself in the hearts of both the King and the people forever, especially when Prince John had been followed a year later by Princess Phillippa and then again two years later by Prince Edmund and his sickly little sister, Princess Grace.
With her own marriage secure, Anne had turned her attention to her brother's. She had extended the hand of friendship to his wife, making her Mistress of the Robes and urged George to spend more time with her; to get to know her properly.
At first, he had done it purely for Anne's sake, but over the months, he had come to appreciate Jane for herself; appreciate her enough that bedding her was a pleasure rather than a painful duty.
And then Henry had been born. Their son had been the final seal on their love. The moment George had held him; he had known that he loved him…and his mother.
But he'd never told her. Not once. Not even when she lay dying. He'd never told her he loved her. He'd never told her and he'd never forgive himself for that.
I see your blue eyes
Everytime I close mine
You make it hard to see
Where I belong to
When I'm not around you
It's like I'm alone with me
But I never told you
What I should have said
No, I never told you
I just held it in
Closing his eyes, George saw her in his mind as he had seen her a thousand times. Sitting on the end of the bed, cradling one of their children. However, this time, rather than blocking out the memory, as he had done countless times in the last few days since her demise, he let it come. Let it wash over him until he was lost in it.
He peered round the door of the lying-in chamber, unable to help himself. The midwife nodded.
"You may come in, milord."
Without waiting for any more reassurance, he flew across the room and dropped to one knee beside the bed, "Jane. My darling."
"George. I'm sorry."
"Why?" He took her hands in his and kissed them, "Whatever have you got to be sorry for?"
"It's a girl. Another. I'm sorry. I know your father wanted another boy, in case anything happens to Henry. I should have given you that. I should have…"
She was distressing herself. George leaned in and stopped her mouth with a firm kiss.
"Hush, darling," he commanded, "You haven't let me down at all. You might be sorry, but I'm not. I'm not sorry at all. Henry's strong and healthy; nothing's going to happen to him. I promise. There's plenty of time for us to have another boy. And I've always wanted Anna to have a sister. A sister, so that there's two Boleyn girls, just as there were when Mary, Anne and I were young. I couldn't be happier. Honest. Now, can I hold this daughter of mine, please?"
Jane nodded, signing to the midwife to lay their new child in her father's arms. George took her, amazed all over again at the life and vitality that was kicking strongly in his arms. He always forgot how energetic a new-born was.
"What shall we call her?" Jane whispered, and George glanced up at her, locking eyes with her as he answered, "Jane. We'll call her Jane."
"You'd name her for me?" Jane sounded disbelieving. George nodded.
"How could we not name her for her mother, when she'll clearly be just as much of a beauty as you are one day?"
He pressed his lips to Jane's again and, when they drew apart, Jane looked up at him adoringly, "I do love you, George," she murmured.
Her candid confession caught George unawares. A surprising lump of emotion caught in his throat, so he said nothing, only took her hand again, squeezing it slightly, before placing his daughter in the already waiting cradle and turning to leave the room.
And now,
I miss everything about you
Can't believe that I still want you
and after all the things we've been through
I miss everything about you
Without you
Suddenly, the door swung open. George looked up in shock. His older sister Anne, Anne the Queen of England stood there.
"A…Anne," George stuttered, too astonished to show her the courtesy that he should have done. Anne pushed past him without a word, issuing orders to the maids who bustled in behind her.
"You, throw the windows open. It reeks in here. And someone get rid of those empty bottles. And make up the bed. Lord Ormonde can't possibly sleep comfortably on that. Be quick about it!"
"What are…What are you…?"
"Taking you in hand. God knows someone has to. You've done nothing but mope in here for three days."
"Three…"
"Yes, I said three days! Good God, George, how much have you had?! No one's seen you since you ran away from Anna at the funeral. Just think what that's done to the children. Anna's racked with guilt and Henry's trying to be the man but can't. Jane's barely spoken and even the babies can sense that something's wrong. I swear they can. They haven't stopped crying unless they're feeding. Or so the nursery maids tell me. No doubt you want to be left alone to be morbid and drunkenly maudlin. Well, it stops here. You are the Earl of Ormonde, as well as a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber and Earl Marshal to His Majesty. You have a duty to England as well as to your family. We need you back, George. I need my brother and your children need their father. Now get dressed, and for God's sake make sure it's something presentable!"
Anne shoved George roughly towards his clothes press. He went there without protesting, still slightly scared of his sister's mood, but the sight of the shirts Jane had made him and the scent of her perfume as he opened it undid him anew.
"I never told her!" he sobbed brokenly, turning anguished eyes on Anne. "I never told her I loved her! Seventeen years and I never once told her that I loved her!"
"Oh George!" Faced with her brother's evident distress, Anne melted instantly. Dismissing the maids with a wave of her hand, she came up behind her baby brother and wrapped her arms around him.
She held him, murmuring soothing platitudes as he finally broke down and sobbed out the grief he had been holding back for far too long.
But I never told you
What I should have said
No, I never told you
I just held it in
And now,
I miss everything about you
Can't believe that I still want you
and after all the things we've been through
I miss everything about you
Without you