Disclaimer: I do not own the Tudors.
Chapter Sixty-Four: A Wedding in Calais.
10th of December 1534 - Château de Calais
Linking arms with the Duke of Suffolk, Lady Margaret Douglas could not deny the nerves that bubbled inside of her at the thought that in a matter of moments she would be a married woman and her life would never be the same. She was wearing the necklace that Antoine had sent to her, which happened to match her dress perfectly; she had done everything in her power to look perfect for her wedding day.
Château de Calais had a small chapel in which she would be wed and Margaret knew that the small gathering in attendance were all people of importance; though her uncle and brother would not be here. Despite what her union with Antoine would mean for their countries, none of the Kings were in attendance to try and lower the risk that someone might discover the real reason that she was wed.
No chances were being taken with the alliance, the element of surprise was their greatest weapon and the monarchs were planning for their invasion of Italy without the Emperor noticing. It had been her cousin, the Duchess of Hertford that had helped her prepare that morning; she ever so grateful that Mary was here with her, the two had become friends while Margaret had originally been intrusted to Mary's household for a time before coming to court to serve Queen Anne.
Walking down the aisle, Margaret stared directly at the back of her groom's dark head of hair; he did not turn to face her as she approached and such an action made her feel uncomfortable. Her palms felt clammy and Margaret hoped that she would please him, she wanted so much to make him happy and his poem had been rather lovely.
Her eyes wandered to the faces that lined the aisle that had turned to see her entrance, they caught with a familiar remorseful set and her heart panging in her chest knowing that their goodbyes had not been enough. It had been wrong of her to hope that perhaps she could marry for love as her own mother had done, she was not of royal birth like her brother but she was the daughter of an Earl.
Moving past the man that she had once hoped to be allowed to marry, the man that she had long thought to be the love of her life; Margaret held her head high and ignored the lump that formed in her throat knowing it was not meant to be. Finally standing beside Antoine, Margaret offered a small nod of her head to the Duke of Suffolk when he left her side; her eyes staring right ahead for a moment at the priest before he started to speak in latin.
The soulful singing of the choir boy filled the chapel and Margaret's hands trembled sightly; she wished that her mother was here to give her guidance and reassure her. However, Margaret Tudor was back in Scotland acting as regent in the stead of her brother who was eager to do his part in this war; he would not sit back while Henry and Francis took all the glory.
Crossing herself, Margaret turned to take the hand of Antoine when she saw who was stood by her side; emotions swirled inside of her, rage being the one that stood out most. How dare he fool her in such a way, to come to her home and trick her into seeing him when they were to be married; surely, he could have introduced himself when he had come bearing gifts.
Squeezing her eyes closed for a moment to fight back the tears that had started to build, Margaret could not help but ponder the what if's of her life and another wedding that would have been much happier. The rest of the ceremony seemed to pass her by and Margaret barely paid any mind to the words of the priest, a part of her almost pretending that this was another such wedding and she was marrying her love.
She could almost feel his gaze upon her, she wished he had listened to her and not come this day though she was glad to see him even if they could not speak. Hearing the priest pronounce her married, Margaret plastered a perfect smile upon her face not wishing for any to see her sadness; she would come to love her husband that she knew. She could never allow there to be any doubt on such a thing especially when there was much at stake for her marriage to the new Duke of Calais to work.
"My dearest brother," King Francis greeted clapping his English counterpart on the shoulder, he had been most pleased that the English King could make it. There was much for them to discuss and he was hopeful that they could make a solid coalition. He was most eager for this alliance, and the months of plotting had been most pleasing to him, he was eager to strike back against the Spanish mongrel that had imprisoned him and his two sons years ago.
Memories inundated the French monarch's head. Francis himself had been kept in a cold, dilapidated castle, where he had contracted a severe fever and has been nursed back to life by his beloved sister who had come to Spain at the time of his illness. He had even wished to abdicate his throne in favour of his eldest son, Dauphin Francis, and it had been Marguerite that had persuaded him not to do so, for he had been close to death at the time.
Then there was the Emperor's treatment of his two oldest boys, who Francis had been compelled to part with in exchange for his own freedom; they had been held in awful conditions, deprived of even basic necessities. The longer the War of the League of Cognac of 1526-30 had continued, the more severe the conditions of the princes' imprisonment had become; even the Empress's kindness and that of his former wife, Eleanor of Austria, to the boys had been stopped by the villainous Emperor.
"Allow me to introduce my nephew, the King of Scotland," King Henry stated, signalling to the younger man that was beside him and knowing that the Emperor would have a great reason to fear them. Perhaps alone their countries had been weak, and he could have easily forced his will upon them, but now they could strike back and take from him the lands that Charles or his ancestors had stolen from them.
The three-party alliance appeared to be strong, and it started today with the marriage of Lady Margaret Douglas and Antoine de Bourbon, who was the King of France's cousin. They would celebrate of course then march for Italy to take it from the Emperor.
"It is an honour to meet my future son-in-law, and my daughter is most eager to meet her future husband," King Francis declared, nodding his head to King James, and eyeing the young man. This would-be James' first true taste of war, and Francis had hopes that the alliance would make Scotland strong, his daughter would be Queen there when she was married, and the Valois ruler planned to have a grand celebration for the occasion.
"The pleasure is all mine," responded the King of Scots moving forward to clasp hands with the Frenchman in greeting. He might be young but his mother had pressed upon him the importance of such an alliance, for they could not find themselves alone when the might of England and France were united.
"Let us celebrate, my brothers, for soon the Spanish dog shall know our rage," King Henry insisted leading the way. He hoped that his arrival in Calais had gone unnoticed, especially with his wife, Anne, now serving as regent in England during his absence. The three kings entered the banquet hall and seated themselves in ornately carved thrones on a dais under a canopy of cloth of gold.
The sumptuous feast around them was a pleasant enough distraction while they discussed such military matters. There was much still being planned, and they needed to act swiftly if they did not wish for the Emperor to learn of their plans, he had high hopes that his arrival in Calais had gone unnoticed especially with Anne now regent in England.
Taking their seats on the thrones, the monarchs seemed most pleased with how their meeting was going; none could deny that the alliance was vital especially against an unscrupulous man like such as the Emperor was vitally important. Despite still licking his wounds because of the whispers that his line carried a madness, Charles was still dangerous, and they had no doubts that he would launch an attack on their countries if he so wished.
There would be no alliance between Scotland, France, or England with the Habsburg realm. For now, the three rulers were united against their common enemy and would consider no such match with him or the Empress for any of their children; they would strength themselves first through marriage. King Francis had already begun to seek out a new bride, he might have many children from his marriage to Claude but he was eager to further add to the royal nursery when there was no sign of a grandchild on the horizon.
Dancing with his wife, Ippolito could not deny that she looked rather beautiful with such a smile upon her face; he had hoped she would remain in England until Florence was claimed but she had insisted on traveling with the army. If she was going to rule alongside him as Duchess of Florence then she needed to be by his side through this, she had said, she wished the people to see her not as an outsider but as part of them.
"Why do you smile so?" Mary asked him, her eyes taking in the look upon his face while she moved gracefully on the dance floor; the music was beautiful and the banquet hall was decorated in all its finery. No expense had been spared and Mary knew that it would be a long time before things were joyful like this again, war was nothing something that she had ever experienced.
"You are so very beautiful," Ippolito told her quietly, he could not have ever planned such a match for himself and he had found himself with such a wonderful wife. He was not a man that often expressed what he was feeling, though he had seen love and had hoped to truly have it for himself one day; he had once thought that he would have a marriage like his father's.
The band continued to play and the music seemed to quietened the celebrations that were happening around them, for the couple it seemed for this small moment that they were very much alone. Moving closer to Ippolito, Mary could not help but feel brave and she tilted her head up to look at his face for a moment; her eyes searching for something before she spoke again.
"It is only because I am a woman in love," Mary whispered to him, her lips brushing against his ear at her words for she did not wish for anyone else to hear such a confession from her. She was not sure that she had ever confessed such a thing to him before and she was most certain that the fine wine that had been imported to celebrate the wedding might have something to do with her sudden bravery.
"No, it's because I'm so in love with you," Ippolito replied, his smile slowly widening at her confession and he thought that perhaps he would be most happy when they were settled in Florence. He already had plans for them to live at the Palazzo Medici, they would be most comfortable there and he was sure that they would have many more children to fill the halls with laughter.
"Then love has blinded you?" Mary asked him teasingly, she twirled away from him and could not hide the satisfaction that she felt along with the joy to hear that he loved her; she had feared his rejection especially in the face of her feelings. Ippolito held himself back at times and Mary could not help but adore his reserved behaviour for she had no doubts that he cared for her and their daughter when he did such sweet things for them.
"That's not exactly what I meant," Ippolito replied, a shake of his head and he drew her closer and cupped her face; she was a beautiful woman and he had never seen the like. She had a mind like no other woman that he knew and Ippolito adored the long talks that they took when they had walked in the gardens back at their home in England.
The way that she smiled when she held their daughter was his most favourite thing about her, it was close to the smile that she got when she was reading; a clear sign that his beloved was at peace. For all that she was willing to sacrifice so that she might come with him and rule in Florence when she could have easily stayed in England to follow him later on.
They kissed softly, his hands cupping her face and his rough thumbs caressing her cheeks; she could have had a much simpler life but Ippolito was most thankful that she was here with him. Mary could not help the blush that filled her cheeks, her heart pounded in her chest and she stared up at him for a moment before she made her decision.
"Shall we go to bed my love?" Mary asked of him, her fingers moving to brush his cheek and she had never felt so bold to ask him such a thing when she usually just accepted when he would visit her chambers. Surely, they would not be missed at the celebrates, they had played their parts and Margaret was wed now; no one would care if they excused themselves for the night.
With a nod of his head, Ippolito took Mary's hand and pressed a kiss to it before they made their way from the dance floor; they would enjoy their last nights of comfort while they could before they marched on Florence.
Highly recommend Athenais Penelope Clemence's story, Chained by Love and War as well as the short prequel An Enchanting Dance in Calais by Countess of Sherwood. I also recommend For Even as Love Crowns You by wizardfantasy and Sanctuary by Cattyfan.
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