Bridewell, December 1522
Bleak days that only got bleaker when the King found out about Anne and Harry Percy.
They were sitting on the dais together, dining in public, as the season required of them, when Marie decided to chance telling him. She hoped that, in public, he might spare her the lash of his temper, if only for appearances’ sake. Unfortunately, she was wrong.
They were halfway through the meat course when Henry suddenly barked, “I’ve arranged to have Lionel betrothed to the Princess Beatrice of Portugal. She’s his age and comes from fertile enough stock. She ought to make him a good match.”
Having delivered this announcement with the force of a cannon, Henry took a gulp of wine, the rings on his fingers flashing in the candlelight as he raised his hand.
Had George not forewarned her, Marie would have handled the news far worse than she did. As it was, however, although the stewed venison lost its flavour, she merely put down her fork and summoned a smile.
“I’m glad to see you nurturing our new alliance with Portugal, Sire.”
“Are you? Wouldn’t you rather Lionel married a French Princess? After all, you always thought yourself a Frenchwoman, didn’t you, Marie?” he challenged through gritted teeth, masked behind a solicitous smile for the benefit of the watching public.
Marie felt her heart sink as she realised that he was in the kind of irritable mood that finds fault with everything; that searches for a reason for an argument.
Nonetheless, she refused to rise to his bait. Even if he was too soured by grief to care what image he gave to the public, she was a Boleyn, a Howard and a Queen of England to boot. She, at least, had been raised to have more dignity than that.
“It is true I have many fond memories of my years in France, Sire,” she responded calmly, “But if you think I ever considered myself a Frenchwoman, then you are mistaken. It was my sister who thought that. I always knew my first loyalty rightfully belonged to the King my father served, the King who sent me to France to serve his sister, the most glorious King in Christendom. The King who has now become my husband. I also know that England needs as many alliances as possible. Our daughter Mary is to become the French Queen. That is enough. By all means, let us balance our ties with the French with Portuguese ones. Let our future daughter – your heir’s future bride - be the Princess Beatrice of Portugal.”
Henry only grunted at her words, but he did appear pacified by them, enough to let her rest her hand over his, anyway.
“Perhaps we should have a double celebration, then,” she murmured, “Lionel’s betrothal to the Princess of Portugal and my sister’s marriage to young Lord Percy.”
“What? I thought we were going to marry them on her sixteenth birthday?”
“We were, but now things have changed. She’ll have to marry him sooner than March.”
Suspicion flared in Henry’s cobalt eyes, “Why?”
“Well.., Marie hesitated, then gathered her courage and blurted, “She and Lord Percy have already made their betrothal unbreakable. My sister’s almost four months gone with child.”
“Anne! With child! And I wasn’t told!”
“It hardly seemed the sort of news one could put in a letter, Sire,” Marie defended weakly, wishing wholeheartedly that she had put it in a letter after all, rather than deal with his direct wrath. He whipped his head round to her, pounding the table.
“You knew!” he accused, “You knew what they were up to and yet you didn’t stop them!”
“My Lord, I knew naught more than you until Anne confided to me that she was two months gone with child!” Marie exclaimed. Henry, however, was too deep into his fury to pay any attention to her.
“If you hadn’t given me a son, Madam, I’d wonder whether you deserved that crown of yours after all! If you can’t even control your own younger sister, how in God’s name do you expect to rule a country?!” he roared before thrusting his chair back with such force he gouged marks in the floor and striding to the door.
At the threshold, he turned. “Marry them if you must. But don’t expect me to welcome them at Court.”
Then he stalked out, leaving Marie stranded on the dais.