An Imperial Match: Anne Boleyn marries Charles V
- Thread starter pandizzy
- Start date
Nah. I'm Team John and Kitty. As long as she's against them, I'm against her
Yes exactly, she's grown up with Kitty as her lesser, practically a servant. Bessie, a young woman of much more prestigious ancestry is expected to treat her as her as her superior, while she expected her brother to marry someone of equal birth to himself. While I do think the truth is somewhere in between the opinions of John and Bessie, it's easy to understand why Bessie, who is just a teen, feels the way she does about her brother's Queen.
I kind of feel for Bessie, even if she's a bit spoiled. One day Kitty is her lady in waiting and then the next day the queen. No wonder she feels like Kitty is a interloper.
Bessie would've accepted any minor german princess as queen, if only they hadn't been her servant first.
I highly doubt bessie is going to be any happier in burgundy given juan's dalliance with the hanau girl...
Yeah, I get the feeling that while she might have been a bit snooty about the lack of attention still, it would mainly be an internal thing if John had married someone of a more acceptable status. I don't hate Bessie- she's definitely spoiled, and I really don't think she and Juan will have a love story for the ages, and of course I feel bad for Kitty. But Bessie's a teenager, and I'm sure even if she was the humblest princess ever she would be a little confused by having to curtsy to her former servant
Anyone would have a trouble with it. Isabella didn't just because she is that superior and likes to choose her own battles.
While I get that Bessie was being a brat, a lot of changes are happening in her life and the lack of sympathy is a bit upsetting cause like I get it she should be nicer to Katherine and her chances of a happy marriage with Juan are abysmal at best but like jeez not everyone is gonna be as patient as Isabella. I actually quite like her personality, she's different from the other women in this story (not to say they're bad or anything, Bessie is just unique and that's fun to read)
Well, I'm trying to create unique women. Not everyone wants or needs to be a bad bitch. Some women can just want love, children, security. Etc etc.
2nd of March, 1543.
Chapter first posted on my patreon.
“Get away from there, Your Highness!” said Doña Beatriz, tugging at Juanita’s dress. “You will fall off the carriage!”
Juanita rolled her eyes and sat back down, away from the covered windows. She huffed, looking at her companion and crossed her arms, bunching up the beautiful fabric of her pink dress. Beatriz, who had been Juanita’s best friend since they were small girls, rolled her eyes and played nervously with the white cuffs of her own dress.
“You will make me lose my mind,” she said. “We must be introduced first and fetched by a servant, Your Highness.”
“I know.” Juanita rolled her eyes again, trying to look out the window once more. She could see the enormous doors to the Hofburg opening, a large group of people filtering out to welcome them. "Do you think Maximilian has come? He was in Tyrol, last I heard."
"Of course, the archduke has come," said Beatriz. "It's his wedding. Why wouldn't he come?"
Juanita shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe he didn't like my portrait." A year before she was set to leave, her father had commissioned a portrait to send to Vienna, so her future husband would know her face.
“Why wouldn’t he like your portrait, Your Highness?” Beatriz asked, making a quizzical face. “You are and have always been the most comely girl at court. Archduke Maximilian will fall in love with you as soon as he sets his eyes upon you.” Juanita sighed, falling back against the cushioned seat. That was all she had ever wanted. “Whereas I will have to accompany you everywhere as you live through the most romantic years of your life, so sad and alone.”
“Nonsense,” said Juanita, unable to see her friend look so forlorn. “You will soon have your own Austrian count who will love and adore you, Beatriz.” Beatriz shook her head. “I’m serious! I told papa and I wrote a letter to Uncle Ferdinand as well. No Castilian lady will leave me, unless it is for a marriage to an important Austrian noble.” She wiggled her dark angular eyebrows. “Or a Hungarian prince.”
Beatriz giggled, swatting her with the back of her fan. At that same moment, heavy steps approached their closed carriage, a herald banging his staff against the hard ground. “Her Highness, Archduchess Johanna von Österreich, Infanta of Castile and Aragon.” The doors to her carriage opened and the sun filtered inside, a gloved hand slipping in to offer her some assistance.
Juanita knew she would have to go first, so she did, accepting the offered hand as she lowered her head to pass through the carriage’s doors. It was a warm day, despite the season, and her pink dress caught the bright light as she stepped out, straightening her back to look over at the crowd before her.
For her entire life, since papa told her she would marry her cousin, Juanita thought she would recognize Maximilian and his family at once. Blood called to blood, did it not?
But she didn’t recognize them. To her, the tall dark-haired man with her father’s eyes and a golden crown over his head was a stranger. He was her uncle Ferdinand, that much she could know, but his face was not one she knew well. He had a pronounced chin that was covered by a thick beard, though not as deformed as her own father's was. Next to him stood a small and portly woman, with wide hips visible after so many labours in the childbed. Her aunt Anna had just given birth to another baby; Helena, born in early January.
Juanita took a deep breath and stepped closer, her eyes focused on her aunt and uncle. She thought they would be disappointed if she looked away, to search for Maximilian. It took every ounce of her not to show her anxious nerves in her face, all thanks to many years of royal training.
"Juana," her uncle murmured as she stopped before him, "What a pleasure to meet you at last." He spoke in perfect Castilian, without a hint of accent underneath his words, and her heart beat twice as fast inside her chest.
Juanita made as deep a bow as she could manage without falling over. "Uncle," she said, still on bent knees, "It is a great pleasure to meet you for the first time. My father, the Emperor, always spoke highly of you." She straightened up when he gestured for her and Uncle Ferdinand stretched his arms forward, taking her hands in his.
"I'm happy to see that your beauty and your clear health were not an exaggeration," Uncle Ferdinand said. Juanita felt her cheeks flush and she smiled brightly, wanting to look away. "Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Queen Anna."
Though she was taller than the Queen of Hungary and Bohemia, Juanita still curtsied as deeply as she could for her aunt. She was a pretty woman with pale skin and blonde hair, curled up in regal ringlets. "Your Majesty," greeted Juanita and Queen Anna smiled warmly, taking her left hand.
"Dear Juana, how I have longed to meet you," she said. Her small hand reached forward to stroke Juanita's cheek gently. "You remind me so much of your father, in a certain light."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Juanita said with a gentle smile that she hoped looked both warm and open.
At long last, her aunt and uncle gestured to a man standing right behind the King. "Juana, please meet my eldest son and your intended, Archduke Maximilian of Austria," her uncle said, though Juanita barely heard him. She only had eyes for Maximilian, who walked forward to kiss her hand.
He was tall, much taller than his father or mother, with light blonde hair that seemed to shine like beaten gold under the sun. He had light blue eyes, a handsome long nose with a finely shaped pink mouth. A strong chin, beautiful hands and muscled arms. Her heart beat so fast inside her that she wondered briefly if it would ever slow down.
"Cousin," Maximilian said, his voice sounding like smooth velvet on her ears, "There are no words that can convey how much I longed for this meeting."
Juanita opened and closed her mouth, unable to think on what to say. She stuttered, "Funny. For it seems I lack the words to speak, Your Highness." Maximilian chuckled, his face brightening with his smile.
He was still holding her hand, gently caressing her knuckles. Juanita didn't think he had noticed, so she said nothing, still smiling. He was so handsome, so tall and fair. She could hardly think properly.
Her uncle cleared his throat behind her. "Max," he said, "Why don't you take the Archduchess to see the gardens? They are much different than the ones she will have seen in Castile."
"Of course," her cousin said. "Allow me, Your Highness." He held her hand as they walked inside the castle, guiding her to the gardens, surely. She tried not to look awe-struck as she walked beside him, even though it had become very hard to think with Maximilian's arm under her hand.
Juanita waited until they were away from his parents before she leaned in to say, "Please, call me Juanita."
He nodded. "I will," he said with a wink. "As long as you call me Max."
--
"A beauty," John declared, standing over the cradle. "Isn't she, mother?" He looked at the Dowager Queen, who clutched a rosary in her hands as she stood beside him.
"Of course," his mother said, leaning down to adjust the blankets around her granddaughter. The newest Princess of England had been born only a few hours earlier, coming by surprise at Sext.
John was in the middle of a hunt when his page came running in to warn him, out of breath as whispered in his ear. With the news of a healthy delivery, John brought the whole party to a halt and rode as fast as he could back to the palace where Kitty had taken to her lying in. It was a girl, who would be used for a marriage alliance in the future and could hardly inherit the throne, but he didn't care. Why should he? He already had a son and daughters were bound to come eventually. Better it be this one to start, this one baby who was pretty, with clear red hair and pink cheeks.
"She reminds so much of Katherine," his mother whispered, almost wistful. John looked at her in confusion.
"My wife?" he asked. It was strange. His daughter looked nothing at all like her mother, not like William did. She had his hair, his hands. His chin. His nose. Why should the princess remind the Dowager Queen of her mother?
But his mother shook her head. "Your twin sister," she said and John held his breath. He had not thought about Kathy in years, had not allowed himself to think of her and no one commented about her in front of him. It was what his father had ordered, not allowing himself to be reminded of the children he lost. To safeguard his heart. "You two were not much older than she is now when I met you for the first time." He said nothing, only staring right into the cradle.
The princess was sleeping, her swollen eyes closed and her little hands opening and closing as she dreamt about something unknown. Her wet nurse had fed her already and she seemed well. The doctor said she was healthy and likely to live too. Nothing at all like his sickly twin sister, who had left him and broken his heart on her way through the realms.
His mother finally saw the look in his face. “John,” she murmured, touching his arm, “Is there something wrong?”
At that moment, a servant stepped inside, wearing Kitty's livery. The Queen’s motto was embroidered in yellow thread around her cuffs, her black dress covered with an apron. Non autre volonté que la sienne. No other will but his. The servant stopped before John and his mother, curtsying deeply.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but the Queen has requested that the child be brought to her,” she said in a small voice. John nodded and stepped away from the cradle, allowing her to step closer. She leaned down to take the baby in her arms, careful not to jostle her too much and when she moved to walk away, the King smiled.
“I shall go with you,” he declared and followed her, leaving his mother behind.
Kitty was sitting up in her bed, her dark hair hanging down her shoulders. She seemed much better than when John had seen her hours earlier, much better rested. She must have slept then, and eaten a hearty meal to nourish her depleted body. Which was good. Very good.
“Hello, my little princess,” Kitty whispered as the servant placed their daughter upon her arms, a large smile cutting across her face. John sat down next to her in the bed, amazed by the sight of his wife and daughter together. All it needed to make the moment complete was William, but his son had been moved to Hatfield with his household in February for his own health. “She is so beautiful.”
“She really is,” John commented. Kitty raised her eyes to look at him.
“What shall we name her, my love?” she asked.
“Katherine,” John said, almost without wanting to. He was quick to add onto his words, almost to save face, “After her beautiful mother.” Kitty smiled and blushed, looking away.
--
Bessie had a pleased smile on her face as she walked into the great hall of the Hof van Savoye, happy with the sights of the extensive estates, the rich tapestries covering every inch of the walls. The expensive paintings and statues that seemed to greet her in the many corridors needed to enter. This was a ducal palace. This was a place where she could marry and have her children in.
The Duke of Burgundy was very rich. Extensively so. Maybe only the King of Portugal could claim to be his equal, even though they were partners in trade. Every pound of sugar that came from the New World in Portuguese ships was brought to Antwerp for refining and selling. The Low Countries were the textile centre of Europe. All that wealth, all those merchants filling their coffers and Bessie could probably bathe in gold without creating a dent in the ducal treasuries.
She looked around herself, examining the great hall of the Dowager Duchess of Savoy. Bessie couldn’t help it, even as her eyes dragged back to look ahead. Portraits of the Duke’s ancestors adorned the walls around the great hall. His grandfather and grandmother, Charles le Temeraire, old Margaret of York and her namesake, Margaret of Austria. But at the back, right next to the embroidered tapestry of the Duke’s coat of arms, stood a painting that was clearly loved and cared for.
The painting was a simple domestic scene of the Emperor and the departed Empress, seated at a table against a great expanse of Castile, partially obscured by deep crimson curtains. The Emperor was clad in black, trimmed in dark fur, a contemplative look on his face. Close at hand, the Empress sat, serene in a gown of the deepest emerald, sleeves dagged to expose the golden-embroidered fabric beneath. Her dark hair was piled high against her head, one hand settled on a book of devotions, the other gently draped across her husband’s arm. On her lips, there was the faintest smile.
It made Bessie think about what the Imperial ambassador had told her. The Duke was only two when he was sent by his father to the Low Countries, taken away from his mother whom he never saw again. Thus, there was every reason for him to take care so lovingly of this one portrait. This one image of the Emperor and Empress that he had with him.
His heart is broken, she thought. No matter. I shall be the one to mend it.
She looked forward to the carved seat covered in golden veneer and the young man sitting before her. He was tall and fair, and held himself with all the dignity that could be expected of a duke. Bessie held her breath at the sight of him, stopping only a few steps before his throne. The Duke stood up and came to her and she dared think that he was almost as tall as her father had been in his lifetime, though not quite as much.
He made her skin scrawl. The Duke had a defined chin, piercing eyes and a strong nose. Her mouth went dry, as if she had swallowed pure sea salt, and Bessie almost wanted to kiss him right then and there.
“Elizabeth,” he said, taking her hand in his. The Duke brought her knuckles to his mouth for a warm kiss and Bessie held her breath, her heart racing. “You are more beautiful than your brother’s ambassadors promised.”
“Your Highness,” she began in perfectly practised French, “It is a pleasure to meet you at last.” His lips quirked into a smile.
“Pleasure, huh?” he said. His voice sounded sultry to her ears, like a soft caress. The Duke stepped forward even closer, in the eyes of his court, so close to her that it could be considered almost inappropriate. His lips dropped to her ear, his cheek pressed to her temple, “If I could, I’d have you right now.” He stepped back once again, though his hand, the one not currently clutching her fingers, scraped against the side of her breast as he moved. It made her gasp, especially when he revealed to her the pearl that hid the pin holding her sleeves to her bodice. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Elizabeth.”
He spoke so lowly that she wondered if anyone else had even heard him. “We must wait for His Eminence’s blessing,” said Bessie, though she didn’t know if she was speaking to the Duke or to herself. She squeezed his hand, wanting to pull him closer, wanting to feel his lips upon her. But they would be married by the Bishop of Tournai in Brussels within a week. Only then, could they know carnal pleasure.
But the Duke of Burgundy shook his head. “I can’t,” he said. He brought her hand to his lips for another kiss and Bessie shivered. “Neither can you.” He stepped away from her and turned to a woman sitting behind him. She had dark hair hidden under a mourning cap, wearing a heart-shaped medallion. Bessie imagined she was Maria of Austria, Dowager Queen of Hungary. Juan’s aunt. “Dearest aunt, is your confessor in this room?”
Before the Dowager Queen could answer, Bessie spoke, almost without wanting to, “There is an ordained priest in my entourage.” She looked back and gestured for Robert Lawrence, her English confessor, to come closer. He did so with a bow. “The Duke and I would like to be married at once.”
Father Robert’s eyes seemed to bulge out of his head, but he quickly composed himself and nodded. A servant of his came closer, carrying a closed Book of Hours, and the priest crossed himself. “Kneel, please,” he said in accented French. Bessie and the Duke knelt, still holding hands, right before the priest, as his court and her household gasped in outrage.
But she didn’t care. Bessie wanted to be married. She wanted to receive her handsome husband in her bed and there was no one who could stop her.
Vienna, Austria. 2nd of March, 1543.
“Get away from there, Your Highness!” said Doña Beatriz, tugging at Juanita’s dress. “You will fall off the carriage!”
Juanita rolled her eyes and sat back down, away from the covered windows. She huffed, looking at her companion and crossed her arms, bunching up the beautiful fabric of her pink dress. Beatriz, who had been Juanita’s best friend since they were small girls, rolled her eyes and played nervously with the white cuffs of her own dress.
“You will make me lose my mind,” she said. “We must be introduced first and fetched by a servant, Your Highness.”
“I know.” Juanita rolled her eyes again, trying to look out the window once more. She could see the enormous doors to the Hofburg opening, a large group of people filtering out to welcome them. "Do you think Maximilian has come? He was in Tyrol, last I heard."
"Of course, the archduke has come," said Beatriz. "It's his wedding. Why wouldn't he come?"
Juanita shrugged. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe he didn't like my portrait." A year before she was set to leave, her father had commissioned a portrait to send to Vienna, so her future husband would know her face.
“Why wouldn’t he like your portrait, Your Highness?” Beatriz asked, making a quizzical face. “You are and have always been the most comely girl at court. Archduke Maximilian will fall in love with you as soon as he sets his eyes upon you.” Juanita sighed, falling back against the cushioned seat. That was all she had ever wanted. “Whereas I will have to accompany you everywhere as you live through the most romantic years of your life, so sad and alone.”
“Nonsense,” said Juanita, unable to see her friend look so forlorn. “You will soon have your own Austrian count who will love and adore you, Beatriz.” Beatriz shook her head. “I’m serious! I told papa and I wrote a letter to Uncle Ferdinand as well. No Castilian lady will leave me, unless it is for a marriage to an important Austrian noble.” She wiggled her dark angular eyebrows. “Or a Hungarian prince.”
Beatriz giggled, swatting her with the back of her fan. At that same moment, heavy steps approached their closed carriage, a herald banging his staff against the hard ground. “Her Highness, Archduchess Johanna von Österreich, Infanta of Castile and Aragon.” The doors to her carriage opened and the sun filtered inside, a gloved hand slipping in to offer her some assistance.
Juanita knew she would have to go first, so she did, accepting the offered hand as she lowered her head to pass through the carriage’s doors. It was a warm day, despite the season, and her pink dress caught the bright light as she stepped out, straightening her back to look over at the crowd before her.
For her entire life, since papa told her she would marry her cousin, Juanita thought she would recognize Maximilian and his family at once. Blood called to blood, did it not?
But she didn’t recognize them. To her, the tall dark-haired man with her father’s eyes and a golden crown over his head was a stranger. He was her uncle Ferdinand, that much she could know, but his face was not one she knew well. He had a pronounced chin that was covered by a thick beard, though not as deformed as her own father's was. Next to him stood a small and portly woman, with wide hips visible after so many labours in the childbed. Her aunt Anna had just given birth to another baby; Helena, born in early January.
Juanita took a deep breath and stepped closer, her eyes focused on her aunt and uncle. She thought they would be disappointed if she looked away, to search for Maximilian. It took every ounce of her not to show her anxious nerves in her face, all thanks to many years of royal training.
"Juana," her uncle murmured as she stopped before him, "What a pleasure to meet you at last." He spoke in perfect Castilian, without a hint of accent underneath his words, and her heart beat twice as fast inside her chest.
Juanita made as deep a bow as she could manage without falling over. "Uncle," she said, still on bent knees, "It is a great pleasure to meet you for the first time. My father, the Emperor, always spoke highly of you." She straightened up when he gestured for her and Uncle Ferdinand stretched his arms forward, taking her hands in his.
"I'm happy to see that your beauty and your clear health were not an exaggeration," Uncle Ferdinand said. Juanita felt her cheeks flush and she smiled brightly, wanting to look away. "Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Queen Anna."
Though she was taller than the Queen of Hungary and Bohemia, Juanita still curtsied as deeply as she could for her aunt. She was a pretty woman with pale skin and blonde hair, curled up in regal ringlets. "Your Majesty," greeted Juanita and Queen Anna smiled warmly, taking her left hand.
"Dear Juana, how I have longed to meet you," she said. Her small hand reached forward to stroke Juanita's cheek gently. "You remind me so much of your father, in a certain light."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Juanita said with a gentle smile that she hoped looked both warm and open.
At long last, her aunt and uncle gestured to a man standing right behind the King. "Juana, please meet my eldest son and your intended, Archduke Maximilian of Austria," her uncle said, though Juanita barely heard him. She only had eyes for Maximilian, who walked forward to kiss her hand.
He was tall, much taller than his father or mother, with light blonde hair that seemed to shine like beaten gold under the sun. He had light blue eyes, a handsome long nose with a finely shaped pink mouth. A strong chin, beautiful hands and muscled arms. Her heart beat so fast inside her that she wondered briefly if it would ever slow down.
"Cousin," Maximilian said, his voice sounding like smooth velvet on her ears, "There are no words that can convey how much I longed for this meeting."
Juanita opened and closed her mouth, unable to think on what to say. She stuttered, "Funny. For it seems I lack the words to speak, Your Highness." Maximilian chuckled, his face brightening with his smile.
He was still holding her hand, gently caressing her knuckles. Juanita didn't think he had noticed, so she said nothing, still smiling. He was so handsome, so tall and fair. She could hardly think properly.
Her uncle cleared his throat behind her. "Max," he said, "Why don't you take the Archduchess to see the gardens? They are much different than the ones she will have seen in Castile."
"Of course," her cousin said. "Allow me, Your Highness." He held her hand as they walked inside the castle, guiding her to the gardens, surely. She tried not to look awe-struck as she walked beside him, even though it had become very hard to think with Maximilian's arm under her hand.
Juanita waited until they were away from his parents before she leaned in to say, "Please, call me Juanita."
He nodded. "I will," he said with a wink. "As long as you call me Max."
--
Hampton Court, England. 15th of March, 1543.
"A beauty," John declared, standing over the cradle. "Isn't she, mother?" He looked at the Dowager Queen, who clutched a rosary in her hands as she stood beside him.
"Of course," his mother said, leaning down to adjust the blankets around her granddaughter. The newest Princess of England had been born only a few hours earlier, coming by surprise at Sext.
John was in the middle of a hunt when his page came running in to warn him, out of breath as whispered in his ear. With the news of a healthy delivery, John brought the whole party to a halt and rode as fast as he could back to the palace where Kitty had taken to her lying in. It was a girl, who would be used for a marriage alliance in the future and could hardly inherit the throne, but he didn't care. Why should he? He already had a son and daughters were bound to come eventually. Better it be this one to start, this one baby who was pretty, with clear red hair and pink cheeks.
"She reminds so much of Katherine," his mother whispered, almost wistful. John looked at her in confusion.
"My wife?" he asked. It was strange. His daughter looked nothing at all like her mother, not like William did. She had his hair, his hands. His chin. His nose. Why should the princess remind the Dowager Queen of her mother?
But his mother shook her head. "Your twin sister," she said and John held his breath. He had not thought about Kathy in years, had not allowed himself to think of her and no one commented about her in front of him. It was what his father had ordered, not allowing himself to be reminded of the children he lost. To safeguard his heart. "You two were not much older than she is now when I met you for the first time." He said nothing, only staring right into the cradle.
The princess was sleeping, her swollen eyes closed and her little hands opening and closing as she dreamt about something unknown. Her wet nurse had fed her already and she seemed well. The doctor said she was healthy and likely to live too. Nothing at all like his sickly twin sister, who had left him and broken his heart on her way through the realms.
His mother finally saw the look in his face. “John,” she murmured, touching his arm, “Is there something wrong?”
At that moment, a servant stepped inside, wearing Kitty's livery. The Queen’s motto was embroidered in yellow thread around her cuffs, her black dress covered with an apron. Non autre volonté que la sienne. No other will but his. The servant stopped before John and his mother, curtsying deeply.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but the Queen has requested that the child be brought to her,” she said in a small voice. John nodded and stepped away from the cradle, allowing her to step closer. She leaned down to take the baby in her arms, careful not to jostle her too much and when she moved to walk away, the King smiled.
“I shall go with you,” he declared and followed her, leaving his mother behind.
Kitty was sitting up in her bed, her dark hair hanging down her shoulders. She seemed much better than when John had seen her hours earlier, much better rested. She must have slept then, and eaten a hearty meal to nourish her depleted body. Which was good. Very good.
“Hello, my little princess,” Kitty whispered as the servant placed their daughter upon her arms, a large smile cutting across her face. John sat down next to her in the bed, amazed by the sight of his wife and daughter together. All it needed to make the moment complete was William, but his son had been moved to Hatfield with his household in February for his own health. “She is so beautiful.”
“She really is,” John commented. Kitty raised her eyes to look at him.
“What shall we name her, my love?” she asked.
“Katherine,” John said, almost without wanting to. He was quick to add onto his words, almost to save face, “After her beautiful mother.” Kitty smiled and blushed, looking away.
--
Mechelen, Low Countries. 15th of April, 1543.
Bessie had a pleased smile on her face as she walked into the great hall of the Hof van Savoye, happy with the sights of the extensive estates, the rich tapestries covering every inch of the walls. The expensive paintings and statues that seemed to greet her in the many corridors needed to enter. This was a ducal palace. This was a place where she could marry and have her children in.
The Duke of Burgundy was very rich. Extensively so. Maybe only the King of Portugal could claim to be his equal, even though they were partners in trade. Every pound of sugar that came from the New World in Portuguese ships was brought to Antwerp for refining and selling. The Low Countries were the textile centre of Europe. All that wealth, all those merchants filling their coffers and Bessie could probably bathe in gold without creating a dent in the ducal treasuries.
She looked around herself, examining the great hall of the Dowager Duchess of Savoy. Bessie couldn’t help it, even as her eyes dragged back to look ahead. Portraits of the Duke’s ancestors adorned the walls around the great hall. His grandfather and grandmother, Charles le Temeraire, old Margaret of York and her namesake, Margaret of Austria. But at the back, right next to the embroidered tapestry of the Duke’s coat of arms, stood a painting that was clearly loved and cared for.
The painting was a simple domestic scene of the Emperor and the departed Empress, seated at a table against a great expanse of Castile, partially obscured by deep crimson curtains. The Emperor was clad in black, trimmed in dark fur, a contemplative look on his face. Close at hand, the Empress sat, serene in a gown of the deepest emerald, sleeves dagged to expose the golden-embroidered fabric beneath. Her dark hair was piled high against her head, one hand settled on a book of devotions, the other gently draped across her husband’s arm. On her lips, there was the faintest smile.
It made Bessie think about what the Imperial ambassador had told her. The Duke was only two when he was sent by his father to the Low Countries, taken away from his mother whom he never saw again. Thus, there was every reason for him to take care so lovingly of this one portrait. This one image of the Emperor and Empress that he had with him.
His heart is broken, she thought. No matter. I shall be the one to mend it.
She looked forward to the carved seat covered in golden veneer and the young man sitting before her. He was tall and fair, and held himself with all the dignity that could be expected of a duke. Bessie held her breath at the sight of him, stopping only a few steps before his throne. The Duke stood up and came to her and she dared think that he was almost as tall as her father had been in his lifetime, though not quite as much.
He made her skin scrawl. The Duke had a defined chin, piercing eyes and a strong nose. Her mouth went dry, as if she had swallowed pure sea salt, and Bessie almost wanted to kiss him right then and there.
“Elizabeth,” he said, taking her hand in his. The Duke brought her knuckles to his mouth for a warm kiss and Bessie held her breath, her heart racing. “You are more beautiful than your brother’s ambassadors promised.”
“Your Highness,” she began in perfectly practised French, “It is a pleasure to meet you at last.” His lips quirked into a smile.
“Pleasure, huh?” he said. His voice sounded sultry to her ears, like a soft caress. The Duke stepped forward even closer, in the eyes of his court, so close to her that it could be considered almost inappropriate. His lips dropped to her ear, his cheek pressed to her temple, “If I could, I’d have you right now.” He stepped back once again, though his hand, the one not currently clutching her fingers, scraped against the side of her breast as he moved. It made her gasp, especially when he revealed to her the pearl that hid the pin holding her sleeves to her bodice. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Elizabeth.”
He spoke so lowly that she wondered if anyone else had even heard him. “We must wait for His Eminence’s blessing,” said Bessie, though she didn’t know if she was speaking to the Duke or to herself. She squeezed his hand, wanting to pull him closer, wanting to feel his lips upon her. But they would be married by the Bishop of Tournai in Brussels within a week. Only then, could they know carnal pleasure.
But the Duke of Burgundy shook his head. “I can’t,” he said. He brought her hand to his lips for another kiss and Bessie shivered. “Neither can you.” He stepped away from her and turned to a woman sitting behind him. She had dark hair hidden under a mourning cap, wearing a heart-shaped medallion. Bessie imagined she was Maria of Austria, Dowager Queen of Hungary. Juan’s aunt. “Dearest aunt, is your confessor in this room?”
Before the Dowager Queen could answer, Bessie spoke, almost without wanting to, “There is an ordained priest in my entourage.” She looked back and gestured for Robert Lawrence, her English confessor, to come closer. He did so with a bow. “The Duke and I would like to be married at once.”
Father Robert’s eyes seemed to bulge out of his head, but he quickly composed himself and nodded. A servant of his came closer, carrying a closed Book of Hours, and the priest crossed himself. “Kneel, please,” he said in accented French. Bessie and the Duke knelt, still holding hands, right before the priest, as his court and her household gasped in outrage.
But she didn’t care. Bessie wanted to be married. She wanted to receive her handsome husband in her bed and there was no one who could stop her.
Juana and Maximilian seems like they got of to a good start. Juan does give me the creeps however.... 😱
Baby Katherine! For her mother, grandmother and aunt.
Baby Katherine! For her mother, grandmother and aunt.