Mary Boleyn was in bliss. She was young, she was on her own, and she was in love with a king, for Louis had died and Francis had ascended the throne of France.
Mary Tudor was frightened. She had thought Louis's death meant her liberation, but she found herself in "white mourning" and forced to remain in France for six weeks to determine if she was with child. Not only that, she had come to realize how unsafe her situation was, and there was no one she could turn to for help.
Francis had made advances towards her, but she had refused him. Now things were worse, she had heard rumors that Francis was trying to find a husband for her to seal yet another alliance. The Duke of Lorraine had expressed interest, as had the Duke of Savoy, but also Emperor Maximilian, the Duke of Bavaria, and the Prince of Portugal. She was a valuable pawn and if she stayed in France her dowry would stay with her, and not return to England.
Mary came to realize she was just another pawn on the chessboard of Francis Valois. She was frightened of being trapped in another loveless marriage and confided her unhappiness to Charles Brandon, a long-time friend and companion of her brother who had escorted her to France.
"Charles, I'm so afraid. I had thought to escape another arranged marriage by agreeing to marry a sick old man who was not likely to live very long. I told my brother that when Louis died I would not consent to another arranged marriage. I thought I could trust my brother but now I am not so sure. I thought Francis was agreeable but now I know I can't trust him. He's trying to arrange some matches for me. I'm so frightened, I don't know where to turn." She looked at him beseechingly, her blue eyes full of sincerity and desperation.
Mary Tudor was beautiful, even the unflattering French "white mourning" garb could not diminish it. Her silky red hair was hidden by her coif, but it did not hide the appeal of her cornflower blue eyes. The sight of the tears in those lovely eyes weakened him, for Brandon was a man who loved women.
Marriage was not in his plans, but this woman, so sad and frightened, had confided her unhappiness to him and her sorrowful blue eyes filled with tears touched something within him. Her plight moved him, and he began to feel protective of her.
"I don't know what I can do but Mary, I swear, I'll find a way to help you. We will get you back to England where Francis can't touch you, you'll be safe, you'll see."
Brandon liked women, and at thirty-one he was already much married. His handsome looks appealed to the opposite sex, and he took full advantage of it. He was a close confident of England's young monarch and had recently been invested as Duke of Suffolk. Henry even entrusted him to accompany his sister to France, unaware that his sister might have designs on the handsome duke.
Mary Tudor knew just how much danger she was in. Not only did she have to worry about the machinations of Francis, but she was also afraid that her brother would seek out another marriage for her if she returned to England, ignoring her express wishes-and a promise he made that he might have had no intention of keeping.
Her period of mourning passed with no sign of pregnancy, putting her in imminent danger of Francis's designs. The young king had offered to put aside his wife Claude, and marry her, then sought to press his suit improperly and she knew she had to act.
"Your Grace, I cannot believe what you are saying to me," she told him coyly, "You've been given the title of 'His Most Catholic Majesty", and Queen Claude is virtue itself. For myself, I would rather be torn to pieces than be the cause of such a marriage torn apart. I am sorry, but I cannot accept your offer." She curtsied and excused herself, then all but ran to her chambers, locking the doors behind her.
Mary had thwarted Francis again, but he was sure that given time she would yield to him. In the meantime, there was that young maiden who had slipped into his bed so willingly. If he could not have the queen, he could at least have the girl who did not tell him no.
He sent for Mary Boleyn that night and for the first time, she was escorted to his chambers. He dismissed the chamberlain who had escorted her, then locked the door behind them.
"So, my little Mary," he said, "What do you think of the place where the king lives?"
Mary looked around her, at the luxury of the chamber, and the gold and furs covering the French King's bed. The palace was extravagantly decorated with carved beams, cloth of gold hangings, and paintings adorned the walls. The king's chamber seemed a miniature of his palace, no one could doubt that these were the rooms of a king.
"It's beautiful," she breathed and gave him her glorious smile. He took her in his arms and had her carelessly, as he always did, then sent her on her way. He had his chamberlain bring a bottle of wine, then sat in front of the fire in the huge marble fireplace, contemplating his next move.
"You've been discovered," whispered one of the maidens when Mary returned from seeing the king.
"What?" she said, alarmed, "He has taken precautions to make sure we were not discovered, he told me so. Why would anyone even care?"
"She had you followed, Mary, so the queen must have suspected something, or maybe someone talked. Either way, she is writing to your father so that he can come and take you home. I'm sorry."
No, that can't happen, thought Mary, I can't be brought back to England in disgrace. I won't go back, I won't, Francis will see to that.
Mary Tudor, in the meantime, was making plans of her own. She had learned of matches that Francis was contemplating for her, and she was no longer certain that her fate would be left in her hands. France was no longer safe for her, but she knew that Francis might not allow her to leave on her own so there was only one solution.
She sent for Charles Brandon. He came into her rooms, bowed, and kissed her hand. "My lady," he said, smiling.
She was depending on Charles's vulnerability, she was desperate to secure her safety and leave France. "Oh Charles, I am so afraid," she said and burst into tears.
"There, there," he said, and took her into his arms. "I'll marry you, I'll take care of you. Henry will be angry but he will forgive us. He could throw me into the dungeon for treason, but I don't think he will. We may have to pay him a hefty fine, but it will be worth it to keep you safe. I can take care of you, don't worry."
She breathed a secret sigh of relief. Charles would take care of her, he would save her from both Francis and Henry's contriving. If she had been foolish enough to believe that Henry would honor his word, she realized that she could have been taken for a fool.
Francis had been ignoring her, and Mary Boleyn was too young and naïve to realize what had happened. Her smiles were ignored or met with his scowls, and there had been no summons lately to his bed. She knew what had happened between her mistress and the king and thought that was perhaps the reason—when his move improved, no doubt she would be back in his bed.
Only her hopes had been dashed when he took a new mistress. She was a member of the nobility, older than her, and sophisticated and Mary felt gauche and awkward beside her. Then came the day that she dreaded, Thomas Boleyn arrived in Paris and told Mary he was bringing her home.
"I've been told of your conduct with King Francis," he told her, his voice stern and unfriendly, "What were you thinking? You have disgraced yourself and our family. Are you with child? If not, you have been luckier than you deserve to be."
"No Father," she said, tears forming in her eyes. She was barely able to speak and she felt unsteady on her feet, like any moment her knees would give out and she would find herself lying on the floor."
"Have your maid pack your things, we leave tomorrow. Your mother has become a lady in waiting to Queen Katherine, perhaps in time, you can join the queen's train. Katherine is strict and devout, you can learn from her example. Your mother and I raised you better than this, I could not believe it when I heard of your conduct but I should have expected it. Anne would never have done something like this."
"You've always thought more of Anne. I am not intelligent enough, I am not clever enough. I am the elder sister, I should have been sent to Margaret of Austria but you thought I was not good enough."
"No, you were not good enough to send to Margaret, but it was an honor to serve Princess Mary. You chose to disgrace yourself and now you are going home. We leave tomorrow on the first tide. You are dismissed."
She curtsied and left him. The tears came now and she did not try to stop them. Her father thought little of her, he always had. Anne, the conniving, treacherous Anne had always been his favorite. She would never be good enough in his eyes.
Her rejection by Francis hurt, but worse was the fact that someone had betrayed her. "I wonder who betrayed me?" she wondered, "Who hates me so much that they would do this?" But she had no answer.
Note: As I was researching Mary's story, I found a source or two that indicated that after Francis had tired of Mary he "passed her around to his favorites". I'm not sure that is true so I didn't include it. I also read that he didn't refer to her as his "English mare" until after the problems began between England and France. (Which were ongoing)
As regards to Anne's reputation, I read a quote that implied that everyone who was a member of the French court pretty much lost their innocence because the goings on were so corrupt. Anne could have lost her virginity there, Mary could have been passed around but I'm not so sure.
Just one of those things that's so enjoyable about reading different books about a subject, and Anne and Mary were fascinating.
