Chapter Eleven: Back in Black
Soaked to the skin and shivering, Mary Tudor stood before her stepmother in a puddle of seawater, feeling absolutely humiliated.
"But Harry, my love . . ." Jane Seymour was on the phone to her royal husband. She was using her "queen voice," which was always respectful, but at the same time playful and a bit sexy. Most of the time Jane's light, cheerful manner carried the day. But today was a different story. "Harry, my love . . . yes, of course. Yes, we will. I will see to it at once, Your Majesty. Yes, she has."
"How could father have found out about the accident so quickly?" Mary was terrified and bewildered by the way her sailing accident had instantly gone viral on the internet. Just half an hour ago she had been exploring ocean habitats with one of France's leading scientists!
"A dozen tourists with phones saw you and your scientist friend getting dragged ashore by the beach patrol." Jane's sweet and sunny manner had vanished the moment she put down the phone. Now she looked her soaking wet stepdaughter up and down and her sympathetic blue eyes were full of disappointment. "Have I not been a good friend to you, Mary?"
"Jane, I'm so sorry! You've been amazing, and I never meant . . . I never wanted . . . none of this is your fault!" Mary felt as though she wanted to crawl under a rock somewhere and just disappear.
"Yes, it is my fault." Jane's voice was crisp. "I brought you to France on diplomatic business because you are a member of the royal family. I left you on your own because I thought you were mature enough to use the time constructively. I should have realized you weren't ready for an adult role on the public stage. It's clear to me now that you require structure and supervision."
"Your Majesty, I am very sorry." Tears rolled down Mary's cheeks. She gazed at the saltwater stains on the thick carpet beneath her feet. Along with her humiliation, however, the Tudor princess felt deep inside that all this was very unfair. Gentle Jane was genuinely kind and caring, but while Mary was learning about the environment her pretty young stepmother had been spending an awful lot of time with that dark and handsome French diplomat. Which of them really needed more structure and supervision?
"Your father's royal jet will be here in just a few hours," Jane said. "You will be on it. The king will be waiting for you in London."
"Aren't you coming home too?" Mary hated how she sounded, like a teary-eyed baby begging for her stepmother's protection. Her true mother, Katherine, had been strong and regal. How ashamed she would have been of the mess Mary had made of everything!
"The king feels that my sudden exit from the climate conference would make the royal family look weak," Jane explained, smugly. "I am to remain here and continue negotiations with the French."
"He trusts you," Mary said, in a choky voice, looking at the floor.
"Your father is both my husband and my king," Jane said proudly. "Everything I do is always for him. Now go to your room and change out of those wet things. You look like a drowned rat!"
Mary realized that Queen Jane was right. After the way she'd embarrassed the royal family, she had to look her best when she returned to London. But while she was soaking in a hot bath in her own room, she began to worry about which dress she should wear. She wanted to look mature, but only in an understated way. She didn't want to turn any heads, or attract any photographers, because she knew they were always hanging around the airport.
Getting advice from Jane seemed like a good idea. Wrapping herself up in a robe, Mary grabbed a sensible black dress and a sexy blue dress, and she marched down the hall hoping that her fashion-conscious stepmother would enjoy choosing between them. She wanted to show Jane she was sorry . . .
"No, no, I can't!" Jane's voice was muffled by the wooden door. Listening from out in the hall, Mary heard a husky male voice murmuring something in French. "No, Bernard, we can't . . . we mustn't . . . oh, that feels good. Oh, Bernard! That feels so good!"
Mary didn't knock. She went with the black dress.