As time passed into summer life for the Duke and Duchess was easier. Well easier in security and life in Wales. Life was not easier, however, for Mary. She grew larger with child, or children, making her large and miserable. The heat of the summer, and especially of August, was dreadful. One of the hottest summers yet, or so Lady Flora claims. Not only is she huge or as she says "As gargantuan as Lady Molten's big mouth". Which is true. The lady is the biggest gossip in England. Everyone knows this and tries to stay away from her. She is also sweaty.

"Huge and sweaty are not attractive. It just isn't," she told Charles one afternoon. In the afternoons to escape the horrible heat, she's taken to lying upstairs on their bed. All of the windows are raised, so the breeze can drift through. She sheds her day dress for the comfort of a short cotton nightgown and a cold rag on her forehead. It's heavenly.

Ever since his wife's baby belly grew great, Charles has taken to being more supportive. He and Doctor Pearce had a "woman's pregnancy" conversation not too long ago. The doctor told him many things he would not have otherwise known. For instance, never say out loud "Don't you think one serving of custard is enough?"

He learned that lesson the hard way. It happened at dinner one evening. It was his wife, Lady Dot, Anthony, William, and himself at the dining table. The footmen brought out dessert, which was plates of vanilla custard laden with summer berries. He spied the plates around the table and noted Mary's was a generous helping. This is understandable as she's been eating a lot cause there are three people she's feeding. However, the trouble arose when she called for another generous serving.

His eyebrows rose, at her words. Then without thinking, obviously, he asked the infamous question of "Don't you think one serving of custard is enough?" You would have thought he had kicked her puppy by the response he got.

In a look of horror, his wife plopped her fork down onto the table. And her eyes narrowed at him. Her head grew three, he thinks, because she announced "You called me fat!" Then the tears came and her voice grew to that shrilly pitch all men hate. "You think I'm fat! That's what you meant!"

He tried to tell her "No, I did not in fact call you anything" but before he could say any words she had fled the room in tears. For her part, Lady Dot shamed him and asserted "Why did you have to say that?" Then she took off after his wife.

This left his two friends who laughed at his problem. "Oh, man! Thank God I'm not you. You might be sleeping out with the horses tonight," William joked. To show his annoyance, Charles threw a dinner roll at him.

The wise doctor also told him more things to refrain from saying, if at all possible. They are as follows: "I know how you feel", "Why are you crying again", "It seems like you've been pregnant forever", "Childbirth should be easy for you", "Did someone draw on your legs with blue dye"—- he had no idea varicose veins were a thing until he saw them one day—- "I had a really good sleep last night", "Try to keep up and walk faster", and finally "Let's have more babies after these two".

He would like to add to this list another little gem of truth. One day he had come back from a morning ride. Upstairs he glimpsed his wife directing servants in and out of a family room close to their own. They were busy moving furniture, rugs, and other such stuff. He asked what was happening and she let him know she is overseeing the decorating of the twin's room.

"Everything has to be in place. There's just so much to be done, especially since there are two of them," she stated. Then she turned back to instruct where to put the chest of drawers.

Thinking about this, and how long they have until the babies arrive, made him wonder something. "Mary, the babies won't be here for months. There's not a rush to clean out this room just yet." It was the wrong thing to say because the other side of the mood monster showed up.

She darn near bit his head off and told him "If you cannot be helpful then don't help at all." His opinion on the room was kept to himself after that. The other thing the doctor has been good for is helping him understand why his wife acts this way. Why she is happy one minute and sad the next, or angry. He let him know it's due to her hormones changing and went on to explain it all to him.

Apparently, they teach these things to physicians in academia. He did not know this, but it led him to wonder something else. If this doctor in Wales knows all about these things, then what has the quack in the royal palace been doing? Doctor Pearce is leaps and bounds ahead of that idiot. Thank the Lord.

Doctor Pearce also talked with him about pregnant sex. Now that Mary's larger, she's not as apt to want to engage as usual. They've also had to be creative. The insightful doctor made clear to him that in the latter months of pregnancy, which she is entering, the woman's sex drive tapers off. "Mainly due to her size and how she is feeling. You see the body undergoes such changes it's different and difficult. Just be forbearing with her My Lord. She needs lots of love and patience."

Yes but so does he. The husband has to endure all of these changes too. It's hard on him some days. However, he can't say that out loud for fear of bringing his wife's pregnancy wrath upon him. It's all about the woman during pregnancy. He will say, out of all the changes his Mary's body has gone through, the changes to her upper half are his favorite. Her breasts are even more glorious than they were before. Some days he can't help but stare at them. One day she caught him and said "My eyes are up here, Charles." It didn't deter him, only he stares a little less frequently so as to not get caught.

But he did ask the doctor, "Will her breasts stay that big after the birth?" He may or may not have prayed for a yes response.

After a hearty chuckle, Doctor Pearce answered his question. "Usually the woman's breasts return to their original size." While he did not enjoy hearing this, the set his wife had prior are pretty fantastic. So really there is nothing to complain about.

Laying beside Mary, he rested his hand on her big bump. "You're not huge and you're not sweaty. You're pregnant and that's the difference. You're turning into a mother and I guess, even though my own body has not changed, I'm turning into a father."

That word father fills him with nervous energy. Will he be a good one? Will his children be proud of him? There are a lot of questions and uncertainty surrounding the birth of their babes. One thing he knows is he does not, and will not, be the kind of father his wife has. He's already succeeded in that goal just by how he loves her. He treats her with care and respect. It's his love for her that makes him refuse to take a mistress, during these last months of pregnancy. This is to the displeasure of both Anthony, William, and probably even Henry (if he knew).

Mary must have sensed his anxiety, for she began taking care of him. She admits, she has neglected Charles's emotions for her own in a more frequent manner of late. It's shameful but apparently normal for pregnant women (at least according to Lady Flora and Mrs. Nevitt). Her hand stroked over his face and ran down his arm, to rest on top of his, resting on her bump.

She spoke sweet words to him. "You will be a great father. The way you talk to them in the womb and kiss them, even though you can't see them, shows me how much love you have already. We're a team and we'll navigate this together, learning all these new things as we go. We'll teach them good morals and values too, hoping they'll grow up to be decent lords and ladies."

Hearing an intake of air, and seeing his expression change, she took her hand off his and began running it through his hair. "You're a good man, Charles Brandon. One of the best men I know. I realize you worry about your past decisions and actions, but you're not that person anymore. And I don't think you ever truly were, not really. You were just looking for love in all the wrong places. But now love has found you and you've changed." Her hand kept running over his hair.

Feeling comforted and soothed, he proclaimed "I've grown up." He's better for it too.

In the late weeks of August, the Grand Duke received a royal message. It urged, no commanded, his presence is needed at Greenwich Palace. The King wants him there to witness, and celebrate, the arrival of his son. His arms crossed and he wore a deep frown. His head leaned onto the back of his desk chair, as he thought about how his wife would receive this news. With a long-suffering sigh, he got up and went to tell his pregnant sweetheart.

Sitting in the library reading, dressed in some blue and yellow sleeveless layered frock, Mary did not see him. He came up behind her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, as she bookmarked the page. While he came round the sofa to sit, she grabbed her water goblet to drink. Then replaced it and excitedly shared, "I have one more month to go and then our babies will be here. October is not so very far away. But Doctor Pearce still thinks they'll come early, by the end of next month."

Seeing the look on his face, she asked "What's wrong?"

He rested his head on the back of the sofa. "I received a letter from your father—"

Not getting to finish his thoughts, she interrupted with flippant words "Of course you did. He always impedes on our happiness. But he can't steal our joy. What does he want?"

Turning to look at her, he smiled at what he saw... his beautiful, pregnant wife. He didn't think it was possible for her to be even more gorgeous, but then she became pregnant and now she glows. It's even harder for him to take his eyes off her when she's in a room. "To take me away from you. He insists on me being there for The Whore's childbirth, the arrival of the prince— or so he says."

Then she sat up and began twisting her hands. "But, but I'm in my own confinement. What if he keeps you longer? What if you're not here for the birth of our children?" The tears came then and her breathing became choked thinking about it.

His hands went to her back. "Sweetheart, breathe. Take deep breaths." He doesn't like this. She doesn't need this kind of stress, especially carrying twins. The doctor said so. "Please don't worry. I will be back as soon as the child is born. I'm not staying for feasts and festivities. Not when my own wife is close to giving birth."

Nodding, she cried on his chest and couldn't help but be jealous of this new half-sibling. Not because they will have her rightful station. No. Nor because her father already treats the babe better than herself. But because the sibling has taken her husband away from her and their own babes.

Once she calmed, they went upstairs, which is SUCH A CHORE now. She hates going up the stairs and is tempted to take over a guest room with Charles going away. Pausing mid-ascent, she caught her breath. His Highness has taken to pausing with her. He didn't use to and rather urged her to hurry up like she's some horse out to trot and not carrying two babes.

Finally, in their bedroom, she bustled around bringing out doublets and breeches and sashes and jewelry. She only ever chooses colors that flatter him. And one thing she never has him wear are the ugly doublets with puffy sleeves. She hates those. The funny thing is she can say this now that she's pregnant. In fact, she can say lots of truths, that she's always felt, and chalk it up to hormones. No one is the wiser.

Like that one day, she was invited to take tea with the Earl of Gloucester's wife. Lady Flora and Dot were in the sitting room with her, when upon reading the missive she announced "Like I would have tea with that boring old cow." They both gave her a look. Then she stated, "I apologize, my hormones got the best of me." They laughed because they knew it wasn't true, those were her real thoughts coming out.

Two days later the Grand Duke departed for Greenwich Palace. The Grand Duchess was sad and cried a lot, but then Dot reminded her "You can have extra custard now." Although she missed him, she did perk up at those words. So while she was having multiple servings of sweets and visits from Lady Flora, he was in hell.

It all started upon his arrival. He did not have time to settle into his Greenwich apartments. No sooner did he arrive than he was summoned by His Majesty. He met Henry in his own royal sitting room, outside the royal bed-chamber.

His father-in-law greeted him with a hug. "Charles, I'm so glad you're here. It's been much too long since I've seen you last. How was the trip? How is Wales? How are you?" He moved to pour them glasses of wine.

Never once did the man inquire as to his daughter. It made Charles a little more than perturbed. "She is fine your Majesty. Just hugely pregnant with your grandchildren and wishes me with her," he mumbled to himself.

Motioning for the Grand Duke to sit, Henry asked "Hmm? What was that?"

His heart sped up at being heard. "I said the trip is fine. Wales is fine. I am fine Sire." He sat at the small table annoyed and picked up the wine goblet to sip.

The King looked at his truest friend and stated "Come now everything can't be fine. You were ambushed not too long ago. Have you found the culprit? How are the border fortifications going?" He began getting the cards ready for them to play.

Putting the goblet down, Charles told him "We have not found the culprit yet, but the border project is nearly finished. The new border is much sturdier, higher, and better than before. Life in Wales is good. The territory, as a whole, is more profitable and has become more industrious."

Henry eyed the man. His friend looks well but tired and nervous for some reason. He dealt the cards and said "Good, good. That's all good." Then they played a round.

The next two weeks were a waiting game for Her Majesty to give birth. Everywhere he went whispering and turned heads followed him, as he walked past. If he weren't keeping the King occupied then he was having to run some royal errand for him. This is what he left his wife for, controlling the King's moods and errand running. He misses her. The next day he, the King, the Howard men, and Boleyn men are supposed to go on a hunt.

He wonders if they'll be hunting him, as he reached his rooms. Having returned from meeting with a Yorkish group, trying to garner peace, his mind ached for the quiet of his bed. Upon reaching it he discovered something displeasing. A shapely, dark-haired, naked woman is laying on top of it.

Letting out a breath of frustration, he turned around (so as to not look at her) and told the woman "Get dressed and leave."

"But Charles, you and I always had such fun times together," she reminded him. Then she got up and brazenly walked over to him and put her arms around his waist. "Surely your little wife can't treat you the way I can."

Unwrapping himself from Lady Tibbit's tentacles, he turned and stared at her face. His voice spoke in a harsh manner. "Get dressed and leave. What I do with my wife is none of your concern. I will say she does more for me than any woman I've ever had in my acquaintance, or bed, before."

Lady Tibbit became incensed. She dressed and blurted out "You have become an old dullard" before she left.

He lay on his bed and sighed. It's better to be a dullard than a harlot. Thinking of his wife, and the fun times they have, made him speak to the empty room. "I'm most certainly not a dullard. I'm just not a fool anymore." His eyes closed until the next morning.

Wishing he had stayed in bed, the hunt was tedious and he hated it. Having to spend any amount of time with The Whore's family rankles his nerves and stokes his ire. Plus the fact they have no clue how to hunt, claiming they don't particularly partake, leaves him wanting to know why they came along in the first place. "We leave the hunting to our servants," Thomas Boleyn announced. There was an air of snobbery present in his tone.

It made Charles wonder what the man meant. That he and His Majesty are ogres, uncultured, brutish for hunting? Not giving care he hunted and killed several deer and quail. On return to the castle, Charles found one of his best knights dead. His men are in an uproar over it. Alan, the top-ranking knight, informed him "One of Boleyn's men did it. How convenient to pass his dirty work off while you're on a hunt."

"Are you sure? We don't want to unnecessarily accuse someone. And do we know why Robert was killed?" Charles questioned. The ire he felt all hunt long grew to epic proportions. His hands ran over his face and through his hair.

Alan handed him a note. "This was attached to Sir Robert's chest."

The note read:

Call the Queen a whore again and worse will be done. Perhaps to your own bastard wife.

It's signed with the Earl of Wiltshire's signet ring. He crumpled the note up in his hands and turned back to Alan. "Do we know which of his men did this to Robert?"

Nodding, Alan stated simply "One of his squires. The young gangly one."

A look of shock crossed the Duke's face. "A squire? Was Robert drunk?" His knight's captain shook his head. If the man dares to lay a hand on his wife, much worse will be done to the Boleyns. It's not a threat. It's a promise.

Having to be around the evil man and his narcissistic family is disturbing. And all they do is blow smoke up Henry's butt. They have zero morals and principles. The only principle they adhere to is the one of "how do I look".

With quietness and covertness, so as to not arouse suspicion, the gangly squire was taken care of. There was no note. None was needed. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth is the only way men like Wiltshire can be dealt with.

Finally, late in the day of September sixth, Her Majesty went into labor. Before midnight Henry had Charles play chess with him. He went on and on about "Soon I'll see my son. A son! The heir to the kingdom is about to be born."

Charles's mind warred with disagreement. For his wife is the true heir of the kingdom, but he never spoke it out loud. He grew weary of hearing him natter on about "his son". This is why at almost one in the morning the King failed to protect his Queen. He had sacrificed her. Charles captured that playing piece with ease, much to Henry's display of temper.

After that, it was all downhill from there. The bed-chamber door opened and they were informed of the royal birth. The midwife entered, nervous as a mouse cornered by cats, wearing a half-smile. The Grand Duke knew in an instant there was no son to be had, no heir.

His Majesty stood up and grabbed the woman by the shoulders. "Well! Tell me! Does the kingdom have an heir? Can I see him?"

The woman wrung her hands and informed them both "I am happy to tell you that Her Majesty is well and is delivered of a beautiful, healthy, bony princess."

It was then, in a fit of rage, Henry turned over the chess table. He stalked out of the room to who knows where. Charles sat there relieved because for The Whore to have given birth to a boy would be the shame of the kingdom at large. When the Queen's family entered the room, he tried to not look smug. Although it was difficult not to. And judging by the looks on their faces they are just as displeased as the King is.

It only serves to remind him that circumstances can change at any moment. You may be powerful today, but there's always something lurking that's more powerful than you. That is time. And time was not kind to the King or the Boleyn's for all their scheming. It served them all a big blow. One that would not suit Charles well to interfere with. Time has a way of working all things out in the end.