The day of his wedding dawned. Charles awoke and greeted the day like any other. A lie in bed, a break of the fast, and a ride on his favorite horse. While he rode he thought. It is a peculiar thing to him, marriage. Marriage in general is strange. Committing oneself to being faithful and true to one woman for the rest of your life is a huge responsibility. To be honest, he is not the most faithful of men, nor is he the most responsible. His share of lovers has come and gone over the years, even while being married to his first wife Margaret. It is his vice, his flaw.
When he married Margaret, the king's sister, he vowed to be faithful. His vow turned sour after the constant strain of fighting and arguments the marriage entailed. It always felt like walking on eggshells around the woman. Some things are better left unsaid.
He doesn't know if he should laugh or not. This will be a second marriage to a royal princess. How did he get into this position? With his first princess, he knows how he found himself with her. The only thing about Margaret that was easy is how he married her. On impulse. A reckless decision. One should never make any life-changing decisions while drunk on wine and sex.
This time the decision was not entirely his own. Although he does bear some responsibility and burden. It was during a card game with the king. He remembers it well, almost two weeks ago. Getting down from his horse, he stood tall and inspected the land from his perch on top of the hill. His musings led him back to that fateful night.
On the verge of winning the card game. Henry told him, "Charles if you win you get a royal prize. If you lose then it will be your duty to help me in a matter. Win or lose you still help me."
At the word prize, his stomach twisted. Sometimes a prize to Henry is not exactly a true prize, but a false one with a price. Either way, he will be duty-bound to help him he said. Plus one can only assume the matter he speaks of involves the separation from The Queen and his charlatan mistress Anne Boleyn.
Giving nothing away, his eyes flicked to his cards. The king fixed his own eyes on the cards he held and placed down a full house. "Beat that Charles." He smirked.
With an air of mischief, he raised a brow. Then he laid his cards on the table. A royal flush. Henry's mouth gaped. "I win Majesty." His own smirk flashed on his handsome face. It's times like this that remind him of the fun he has with his oldest friend. The carefree spirit instead of the careworn mess of the court at present.
Shaking his head, Henry stated "Indeed you have bested me. And by doing so you have won the prize." His eyes twinkled as he grasped his goblet.
Leaning back in the chair, Charles eyed his friend. It sounds as though he is speaking as the king and not as Henry now. He must tread carefully. "What prize would it be Majesty?"
King Henry stood up and went to a table situated by his bed. The leather of his boots sounded as he walked. He retrieved a piece of paper. Sitting back down, he placed the paper on the table and tapped it twice with his slender finger. "That is a papal dispensation." He drummed the paper again.
A perplexed expression befell Charles's face. Not knowing to whom the dispensation is for or to what purpose, he sat wondering. Unless "You received a dispensation for your marriage to The Queen?"
A booming laugh flowed from the king's mouth. "Oh, Charles you are too funny. You should give the court jester tips. No. That my friend is for you."
What the hell? Crossing his arms, his heart picked up speed. "What pray tell, do I need a papal dispensation for? I am widowed."
"Right you are. You need this because you are marrying again. I am bestowing upon you the honor of the royal prize, Mary." The room buzzed with energy as His Majesty said this.
Surely his ears are clogged. There is no way he heard this correctly. Swallowing thickly, his voice spoke with unbelieving skepticism. "Which Mary would that be Sire? The palace is full of them." In his heart, he knows the truth but needs to hear it voiced.
The king's next words sealed his fate in every way possible. "My daughter of course. Catherine's Mary." He slid the accursed paper across the table. "You will marry my daughter. After she is declared illegitimate she will need a caretaker. I am not so unfeeling that I do not see the dangers lurking for her. There are wolves around every corner. I have already been broached about betrothing Mary to Lord Rochford."
Of course. It all comes back to the Boleyns and the Howards. Charles took a drink of wine to calm himself as he listened.
Staring his friend hard in the eyes, Henry carried on with the conversation. "After giving the matter consideration, I went in a different direction. While Mary is stubborn she is also sensitive. A man like Lord Rochford would break her. She does not need to be broken. She needs to be guided. And who better to do that than my most loyal and oldest friend? You. I had a letter drafted to His Holiness, the pope, on your behalf. He granted the dispensation. Now you are free to marry my daughter."
His head is spinning. It has to be. Otherwise, he would not be feeling dizzy. With the king's mind made up, there is no going back. There is no use fighting this either. Moves have been made he did not know about. However, he must voice his opinion not to the king, but to his friend. "Majesty if I may address you as my friend, not the king. I am old and was married to your sister. That has made me Mary's uncle by relation. Do you not think it unnatural?"
Leave it to the king to think only of himself. "What is unnatural is me not having a male heir. Instead, I have a daughter. What good is a daughter to the king?" His hand struck the table hard in a fit of exasperation. Gazing in some unknown direction, a soft look came upon him."Soon enough I will have an heir. It has been promised. Once Catherine is set aside, and I marry Anne, everything will be in place. Mary's place is with you. Besides, you are younger than I. And I do not seem a day over twenty-five, at least." He spoke with finality on the subject laughing at his good-humored joke about age.
Not at all feeling good-humored, Charles then asked, "You said even if I lost I would still help you. What would have happened if I lost?"
"Then you would have helped me find a suitable match, after taking Mary as your ward," he stated with a smug expression.
Taking the dispensation in hand, his destiny has been sealed. "When will the wedding take place?"
Coming around to clap his friend on the shoulder, Henry announced "In two weeks. Before then there is an errand I need you to attend to." He then began telling him he was being sent to Scotland to consult on his behalf.
Taking a last glance at the cards on the table, he realized something. He had been, in truth, royally flushed.
The memories flooded back to him. Like a boulder on a catapult, the hand of fate toppled him down. Getting back on the horse, he set off at a brisk pace. The wind rustled his hair with the thrill of the ride. On the back of his trusty steed, he does not have to worry about marriage or life or the safety of the king's daughter. He only has to enjoy the fresh air, the rush of adrenaline, and the escape from the world. A good ride solves many problems.
Back at his home, he handed the reigns off to the stable boy and threw a stick for his dogs. Then knocked the dirt off his boots. Entering the manor, Lady Ashdown (his longtime housekeeper) greeted him at the door.
"Your Grace, where have you been? Today is your wedding! There is much to do. Just look at this house! It is filthy from top to bottom, as are you. You smell of horse and dirt. Not at all what a lady wants to inhale. Off with you to clean up. A bath has already been ordered." She bristled around shaking her gray head. The house stinks of bachelorhood.
Chuckling lightly, Charles informed his housekeeper that "I promise I will be polished and scrubbed before the wedding. My appearance will not bring shame onto my house or your good name, and neither will the manor. The house looks fine as always." He gave the lady a hug despite the teaching of not hugging below your station. She is like a mother to him, it's only right to hug her.
She shooed him off to wash while she began ordering the servants to their tasks. Great preparations have been made for Her Grace. Starting with the food, which reminds her to speak with Reginald the cook.
After stripping himself to the buff, Charles got into the tub. He dipped his head under the water and came back up dripping. He thought of his estate, most especially the house. His lady wife's rooms have been prepared for her use. Not knowing his wife, at all except for what he remembers of her as a child, he will not force her to share his room or bed. Yet. Hopefully in time that will come, once they are more familiar with each other.
He hopes the rooms chosen will be suitable for her. By way of company his ward, Lady Catherine Willoughby, occupies rooms on the other side of the manor. They are around the same age. Perhaps the two could get along. As for the marriage itself, he holds no hope for love. Love is a fleeting thing and he has never felt it.
Once before he thought he did with his wife Margaret. But thus realized it was lust, wild drunken lust. The best he can hope for is happiness and peace. Love requires worth and he is not worthy of it. If he did he would have found it by now. Besides he is a Duke, she is the only living true child of the king. Her blood runs pure with royalty. His only runs through with The Master of the Horse. Not so noble as that of monarchs on both sides of the parentage.
After cleansing himself down, he stood and dried off. Then he dressed in one of his finest tunics and overcoats of navy damask with gold buttons. His gold livery collar circled his neck and his finest leather boots are over his breeches. Before he left his chamber he took hold of two items. He pocketed both.
Downstairs in his office, he picked up the privy council folder. He can make good use of time on the carriage ride to Shropshire. Being co-president of the council always affords him endless reading materials and correspondence. Stepping into the hall, close to the entrance, Lady Ashdown sent him off with a basket of fruit and cheese. She also gave him her well wishes and her thoughts of prayer.
The ride to Ludlow Castle was tiring at best, tedious at worst. He did accomplish reading all of one bulletin, in the folder, before his eyes closed in slumber. When he awoke the carriage had made its way to Preston, just outside of Shropshire. Somehow he had managed to sleep the whole long ride. At least he's refreshed.
As the carriage made its journey the rest of the way, he began fiddling with the papers in the folder. When he is nervous, as he is at present, his hands always need to be doing something or him letting out the energy. Shuffling the papers is somehow aiding in the calm. He cannot help but wonder what his soon-to-be wife looks like.
Having not seen the girl in years, is she grown? Yes, she is eighteen. But does she look like a child? Is the girl at least passably pretty or he is going to have to avert his eyes to not show his repulsion? Will she be pleasant of personality or a badgering irritant like his late wife (God rest her soul)? Also, will his new wife try to help him run the estate or leave it all on his shoulders, again like his late wife who had no interest in estate running whatsoever?
In truth, he hopes this will be for the best. He hopes there is something about her he likes and can be companionable with. Someone he is not disappointed with and someone who will not be disappointed in him.
He saw the castle well before the carriage stopped. Dark and dreary and somber of character. It does not boast of joy. And that does not bring warm feelings to his heart. If the castle is anything to go on, then its inhabitants are likely the same.
The minute the carriage pulled to a stop, he became thankful. Getting out he stretched his long legs. They were met in the courtyard by Lady Salisbury. She greeted him warmly and offered a cold drink, then led him to the chapel. The pair made small talk. She let him know the Ambassador is here, and her thanks spilled out of her mouth for that mercy. It is the least he could do since Lady Mary's parents would not be in attendance.
Hell, no one apart from himself, Mary, Lady Salisbury, her two ladies in waiting, the priest, and the Ambassador will be attending. How sad that the day a princess of England is to be wed no one knows or cares? No great feast. No throngs of people lining the streets. Nothing but quiet.
At the chapel, he greeted the priest and waited for the Lady Mary's arrival. Since he no longer has papers he took to fiddling with the items in his pocket. The sound of feet approached. He put on a winsome smile and glanced in the direction of the feet. What he saw left him breathless.
His heart sped up and his palms became sweaty as if he had been getting exercise. He only hoped his mouth did not drop open. That would be profoundly ridiculous and highly embarrassing.
The king's daughter is arguably one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen. To be fair he has seen many pretty women. This creature was once considered her father's pearl, a jewel in his crown. Now she is on the verge of being declared a bastard. Regardless, it seems time away from the court has served her well. It allowed her the chance to grow up without the watchful eyes of the blood-thirsty murmurs.
Seeing her now makes him thankful she has been hidden away, undiscovered. For it falls to him to be the one to discover her and all the secrets she carries. Her shimmering eyes, her glowing complexion, her figure (definitely not girlish), and even her innocent blush move him. He cannot for the life of him remember feeling this way. Maybe when he was much younger, but not now. Surely it's just the nerves for the ceremony.
It also befalls him to care for this woman. Heaven help him if she ever got ill to the pang of death. He would be beaten within an inch of his life for sure. Even though the king is declaring her illegitimate, buried down deep in her father's heart is some care for the girl.
Using his best manners, he bowed to her. She held out a shaky hand. He took it in his own and placed a tender kiss. Before letting go he gave it a gentle stroke. She fast dropped it to her side as if he had leprosy.
"Your Grace, I am most humbled to have you here," she acknowledged. Dear God. The last time she saw this man he was her uncle and she was no older than... quick calculations ran through her mind... at least twelve, perhaps thirteen. She has always known The Duke to be athletic and handsome in appearance. However seeing him now, after so long, she felt the need to repent. He is most fetching and fit. Her stomach retained its knots and added more at the sight of him and again at the stroke of her hand. She passed the knots off to the fretfulness of the day.
Responding to her, he let her know "You look well." Surely he did not say that out loud? She looks well... No. There are a million other alluring things that she looks like. Well-being is the least of them. "And lovely, for the wedding of course." There that is more like it.
Not used to the compliments of men, Mary smiled with courtesy. "Thank you, My Lord." Heat rose from the tips of her toes all the way to her face. All of a sudden it became very warm outside, even though it is fall and a light breeze is blowing.
Sensing her unease, he gallantly held his arm out to her. "Shall we?" He saw her small nod and soft smile, as she took his arm. Together they stepped forward into the chapel and into their destiny. He has never been so glad to have been wrong in his life. The inhabitants of this castle, mainly Lady Mary, are not cold at all.