Oh for sure, I almost feel sorry for Isabella given that John asked her to find him a wife
From Bessie’s whining about having to bend the knee to her former lady in waiting lol
An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
Oh, yeah, her temper tantrums at this will be something to behold
Nice to see John taking care of his future brothers-in-law. Hopefully his ennoblement of them goes off without a hitch. How interesting that he married them off to two women who could be speculated to be his half-sisters. The main line Howards are gonna have an interesting time with their cousins rising high while they enjoy no improved favor.
Too true. Of all the men who do not need more titles, that man tops the list...
John would tell you that Isabella is his mother, not stepmother.
Who here hasn't heard the old phrase 'Mommy has a terrible headache. Can you please complain quietly?'
What would the difference be? Because Charles seems smitten already <3
The difference would be that Charlie might be smitten with his brother's wife... which always works!
13th of August, 1539.
Palace of Whitehall, England. 13th of August, 1539.
One day, the King might have hoped to make his wedding into a subdued affair. A private ceremony with his old tutor, Bishop Pole, present to oversee all religious aspects in the binding of two souls. In the royal chapel. Small, intimate, but still valid, with only the necessary witnesses to be invited. All members of the King’s privy council, of course, and important relatives from both bride and groom to celebrate with them. From him, they would need his mother, sisters and Lord Gloucester, the King’s half-brother there too. As well as their closest friends, obviously. Those who did not boast of blood ties with either half of the couple, but were still dear to their hearts.
Perhaps, that might have been the plan, in some other world or lifetime where older brothers might have lived, but alas, unfortunately no. That could not be. Such an intimate ceremony was not fit for the joining of a king and queen-in-waiting in holy matrimony. No, oh no. A king needed some measure of pomp and splendour to see him wed, the respect afforded to him by his rank and the court needed to see him with his blushing. Unfortunately, an intimate and private ceremony was not for the likes of John Tudor.
The ceremony was attended by six hundred of their closest friends and family. The bride’s kin were the clear majority, coming from all corners of the kingdom to celebrate their member’s success. Cousins, aunts, uncles. All those who claimed even a drop of Howard blood had come to see Lady Katherine, newly-ennobled by the king’s decree before her marriage. They all enjoyed the sight of their scion in her green dress, with a cloth-of-gold undergown visible in her fashionably puffed sleeves and skirt. Around her neck, there was a single rosary with emeralds and ambers, though her hands were naked from any rings or bracelets. She wore no hood, but her dark hair was worn down and loose, a sign of her virginity and assured fertility.
King John II was the only surviving son of King Henry’s two marriages and had no cousins in the male-line to share the burden of ruling with him. Perhaps, to some, Katherine Howard’s lack of political power might be regained in the large brood that she was sure to produce. And as a way to compensate for her low pedigree. Her mother had, after all, eleven children. Young Katherine was sure to follow in her steps.
The King too looked magnificent in cloth-of-gold and red, the Tudor rose signified by two roses attached to his feathered hat. One red rose, one white, to symbolise his legitimate claim from both houses of the Plantagenet dynasty, as his father’s Lancastrian blood had been boosted by his mother’s own descent from Philippa and Catherine of Lancaster. He wore splendid rings on both hands, including his own coronation ring, to remind all that he was the King. As if they could honestly forget.
The ceremony was led by Reginald Pole, the King’s old tutor and cousin. Archbishop Stephen Gardiner, the prelate of Canterbury, might have been offended by his own rebuttal had he not been promised by the king to baptise all future children born by the then-Queen. As well as being the one to perform her coronation, a few months after she bore her first child. Thus, he was in attendance, and his gift to his new queen was considered quite fantastic by all present: eight horses, to pull her carriages, as well as a magnificent manor built down the Thames. A private retreat, for use whenever court became too stifling to the young girl. Katherine Howard was, after all, still five and ten. The King, not much older, stood at sixteen.
Many might have attributed the King’s decision to his young age and some of those many remembered the King’s own father's rather rash decision in marrying Catherine of Aragon, his older brother’s widow and a woman of great dignity. She was, after all, seen as the second choice when it came to being Henry Tudor’s bride, as he was still betrothed to Eleanor of Austria when his father died. It was a romantic story for the ages, though, his decision to marry Catherine and stand by her side through so many losses of children and babies throughout the years. And Eleanor had found a great love in her cousin, the King of Portugal, too and the building of a large family with His Majesty John III. Thus, everything had worked out, in the end.
And of course, while some might have seen the King’s marriage as a foolish and impulsive choice, there was nothing to be done at that moment. When their hands were joined before Bishop Pole, when their tongues waggled in holy vows and the thought of a consummation loomed ever so close. It was too late to change their minds, and none could dare risk the King’s decision by saying something against it. Especially when, after all, there was nothing to say. Katherine was a woman from a great family whose marriage to the King would assure all that he was, after all, still English at heart and would never dare betray their beloved country for some measure of natal loyalty. Her heart could be faithful, they all trusted.
But there were still frowns in the crowd. Chief among them were those belonging to the Duke of Suffolk and his son, the Earl of Lincoln. The Countess of Lincoln was not present, heavy with her first child at Parham Hall, but her husband and father-in-law thought it necessary to make an appearance. The Willoughby inheritance was not completely settled, after all, and the King might have leaned towards his cousin in the matter, had he not hated the young earl with every fibre of his being since they were young boys.
Thus the Duke of Suffolk had come, hoping the joys of marriage had softened the King’s heart, but he could not feign joy. Because marriage meant children and children meant that his son, the only person of his generation besides the King in the line of succession who had the twin qualifications of being both English and male, would be further away from the throne. And Harry frowned, because Harry thought attending anything related to the King’s person was a terrible thing. Had anyone cared about his thoughts, he would have surely voiced them, except his wife had gone into confinement and all his sisters were married already.
One might think Queen Isabella would frown, as she had spent many months working to find a foreign bride for the King, whom she considered to be her own darling son, but she took good care not to show any hint of displeasure. John was her son, first and foremost, and she thought he needed someone to be by his side throughout everything. To show it, when the King came to present his choice of wife to her, all the Dowager Queen said was, “I have a new daughter,” before she embraced the girl and kissed her on both cheeks. And the old women at court always followed the Dowager Queen’s lead, including in a moment as important as the King’s wedding.
Eustace Chapuys was not frowning, not exactly, but those who knew him best would clearly point out his unhappiness. Thankfully, no one at the English court knew him well, so his face was seen as neutral, and rather bored with the events. In his mind, he thought that the Emperor was sure not to like this new development, but since he had thought necessary to mention the King’s reluctance in tying himself to Infanta Catalina, he was sure this would not come as too much of a surprise. The Emperor’s daughter was a lovely girl to be sure, even if Eustace had never met her personally, but she was still a child at heart. Only seven, too far away from her first courses and the constant cycle of pregnancy, labour and pregnancy again. Katherine Howard was already fifteen. She could be a mother already and considering the King’s lack of brothers, the Spanish ambassador was sure her future progeny was one of the reasons for her being chosen.
He had decided that he would be one of the first to congratulate the new queen, once the ceremonies ended. The Emperor might be upset about his actions, but Eustace knew that the empire needed England’s prime position in any wars against the French. And he was not named ambassador to only act with his liege’s blessing, something which was hardly possible considering the time that took between each letter. No, sometimes, he had to act on his own knowledge and he was sure that, eventually, the Emperor would see the benefit in respecting the new queen from the first moment. The King seemed utterly infatuated with her, and could hardly keep his eyes off her during the wedding. He would hear no word spoken against his beloved, certainly.
The rest of the court were smiling, or carefully paying attention, trying not to drool during the long tedious ceremonies of the Catholic church. Some of the guests, which included the bride, did not speak fluent Latin and could not understand what was happening. She was only told what to say in a precise order, warned by the timing through the discreet squeezes of the King’s hand upon hers. And when Kitty uttered the word, “Volo,” the King’s ring on her finger, Bishop Pole declared them wed in the eyes of the church. He blessed their marriage and union with carefully practised words in the name of the Holy Trinity and then…
The King pulled his bride by the arm and she giggled, blushing inappropriately as he drowned her in a flurry of kisses, each hungrier and more scandalous than the last. His hands seemed forcibly placed at her back, as if the King was physically stopping himself from taking her clothes off to consummate the marriage right then and there. At that moment, some of the more religious of the crowd averted their eyes and many finally realised that Lady Elizabeth, the King’s sister and the Queen’s old mistress, was not present. Already twelve, she would be considered old enough to attend the ceremony and her presence would be needed to let everyone know she did not disapprove of the match between her brother and her former servant. But she was not there.
Pity. That did not bode well for the future.
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Well damn, it looks like at the very least there won't be a lack of trying for a legitimate heir...
She’s gonna have to deal. Well, unless our author is cruel and kills Kitty in childbirth early that is