You also forgot the stillborn child that Isabella gave birth to right before Henry died.
An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
Yeah. An Isabella and an Elizabeth is less egregious than e.g. James III naming two legitimate sons James.
Dudley also had two sons named Henry, I believe.
I did not. I don't include stillbirths as you can see by the lack of Catherine's losses.
30th of March, 1535.
Nantes, Brittany. 30th of March, 1535.
Marie held Francoys close to her, rocking him slightly as the tears threatened to slip from her eyes. Her heart twisted deep into her chest, still broken even after an entire month of mourning and she couldn't keep lying to herself anymore. She was not a little girl any longer. She was the Duchess of Brittany, future Queen of France and there was no time for tears.
Her father was dead, her dear brother was King of England now and Marie couldn't even come home to stand beside him. She was an orphan, fatherless, motherless and yet… and yet she was still there. Still alive. Mother to a count, wife to a duke. Her brother's heir until John married. A woman.
Francoys' face was red in his sorrow. He cried just as much as she wanted to cry and Marie let him. Poor boy, never to know his magnificent grandfather. She pressed a kiss to his face and held him close, swaying around her room to try and calm him down.
Her father had been upset that Francoys was not a Henri, or that he had not been called to be one of the godfathers. Marie regretted this now. François and the King both insisted on prominent French nobles to stand for the boy that would one day be crowned at Reims, such as the Duke of Guise. And Marie had accepted. It made sense. Whenever she had a Henri, she was sure to honour her father and her son's English ancestry.
She thought she had more time. Her son was not even a year old and François promised her that he'd allow her body to rest for at least two years before they'd start trying for a second son. Marie blamed her mother's frequent pregnancies for her death and she wanted time to rest, to enjoy her son and her husband before she was once again called to do a wife's duty. She didn't want to be trapped in a constant cycle of conception, pregnancy and childbirth like her mother and aunt Maria were. She wanted to live.
Oh, how she regretted this now. Maybe if Marie had been pregnant, and with a promise of a Henri, her father might not have gone riding that day. An announcement letter from her would certainly have held him back and maybe he’d still be living.
Francoys calmed down in her arms and Marie sat exhaustedly in a chair by the window, looking out into the city. Just beyond the shores of Brittany, of which she could not see, laid England. Her home, her country.
She closed her eyes at the same time that her son began to play with her necklace. Her father was dead, her mother was dead and her brother was now King of England. She was an adult, a woman, a mother. She couldn’t cry at every moment. Her son needed her to be strong, her husband needed her to be strong.
Marie opened her eyes again. Father had been buried with her mother in Windsor, just as he always wanted. He had already prepared a joint sarcophagus for them and Marie remembered seeing it as a child. Their marbled hands clasped together, the bodies of her brothers and sisters buried at their feet. The white angels and cherubims flying over them, the Latin inscription promising of a reunion in Heaven.
The next child she had, Marie promised herself that it would be a Henri or a Catherine. François couldn’t deny her that, not when she did not deny him a Francoys. His younger brother was named Henri and Catherine was the name of one of her ancestors, a French princess who married Henry V and later bore the Tudor dynasty in her widowhood. She was a member of the House of Valois and none could deny her the chance of a daughter named Catherine.
Francoys’ wet nurse came to take him for a final feeding before bed and Marie remained in her chambers, writing by the window. Kate Parr had asked her to translate a work of Erasmus from Latin to English and Marie felt perfectly content in doing as her friend asked. Especially since Kate was at her husband’s holdings in Longueville, having just given birth to a second daughter named Marie, after the Duchess of Brittany. Mademoiselle Marie was her second child with the Duke, having an older sister named Inès and Marie was her godmother. She could afford to be generous, thus.
That was where her husband found her, writing and focused under the candlelight. When she heard the door open, Marie looked up with a smile. A smile that died as soon as she saw his face, pale and grief-stricken. Her heart began to stutter in her chest, as a thousand thoughts began to fly through her mind. His father was dead, one of his brothers was dead, one of his sisters was dead. Her son, her precious son, might have passed through her mind had she not just seen him, but still, Marie stood up, a hand to her heart.
“What is it?” she asked, practically begging him with her eyes to speak.
“Marie,” he said in French, stepping forward carefully. “Forgive me, please.”
“Forgive you?” she asked. “Why? Why should I forgive you?”
“The King, my father, has summoned me to Paris," François started. "He intends to go to war against your brother for Normandy."
"Normandy?" Marie repeated. "Normandy is my brother's inheritance."
François cringed, reaching for her hand. She stepped away, even at the sight of his face, features crumbling like he might burst into tears at any moment.
"Normandy is French," he said. "My father said that your father promised Normandy as your dowry, and now, he intends to take advantage of the King's death to take it back."
"Normandy as a dowry is ridiculous!" Marie replied, tears bubbling in her eyes. "You will go to war against my brother in my name?"
"Marie, please," he said and she turned away from him, her heart breaking. Whatever he could've told her, whatever other news he might have broken, it would certainly have been better received by her. Marie would have overlooked a hundred bastards, a hundred affairs, but he didn't. He betrayed her. "Please, allow me to do my duty to my king."
She looked at him. François was kneeling before her, clutching the red fabric of her skirts. She remembered her son, sleeping safely in his nursery, with his Valois brown hair and Tudor blue eyes. He was meant to be a symbol of peace, she thought. We were supposed to bring peace!
"How can you possibly expect me to choose between you and my country?" she asked, trembling with anger. With sadness. "How can you possibly expect me to approve of this?"
"Please, don't send me away with your curse, my love," he said, carefully.
Marie looked away. "Go," she said. "Do your duty, François."
"Marie…" he started.
"Go!" she shouted. "Leave me to my grief."
He stood up shakily, clutching her hands, her skirts. Marie looked at him as if she might look at a stranger. When he didn't move, even to leave, or to plead for her forgiveness, she sighed and gathered her skirts.
She left, even though it was her own rooms, and she did not look back.
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Isn't that just life?Because this is AH.com, where more than a few stories involve unhappy endings
That too. It's going to be a case of "A french bride? After this? Never!" and ruin it.
Well yeah, I needed a reason to break off the quasi-engagement between John and Marguerite
Oh my it is my hope that the Duke of Brittany comes back from this war unscathed, and that Mary will forgive him in time, at least for the sake of their marriage. Great chapter!
Well, I hope to be able to give Marie a happier life than she had OTL, so we'll see!
If Normandy was promised as Mary's dowry, it is due; but knowing Francis and the French Law of Territorial Integrity, I would not be surprised if that dowry was never formally agreed on. That said I nailed it.
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Mary's dowry was Anjou and Maine, which are already in French's hand. Normandy was never part of the deal. Francis needed a reason for the war that wasn't "I'm taking advantage of a boy-King to take back lands that were taken from me."