Greenwich Palace, January 1515
Catalina drummed her fingers against the chair in her privy chamber, glancing expectantly at the door every few moments. She dreaded this aspect of her position, as she was not a born disciplinarian. But still Catalina performed the role to perfection, as anyone who knew her knew that she would rather die than fail to live up to what was expected of her as queen.
Finally the door to the chamber opened and in stepped Lady Margaret Bryan, for once sans any of Catalina’s daughters. Margaret was a tall, plain, chestnut haired woman, not an attractive woman but not unpleasant to look at either.
“Your Grace,” Lady Bryan said, bowing in greeting to her queen.
Catalina smiled in greeting, “I must thank you for coming, Lady Bryan. I know that you are loath to be torn away from the nursery but this matter is urgent and...it concerns your daughter.”
Lady Bryan’s expression grew sour, “My daughter? Elizabeth? Your Grace, has she displeased you in some way?”
“Not strictly,” said Catalina, “But her behavior as of late is concerning. Particularly her behavior towards His Grace of Suffolk. She seems to be eliciting and encouraging his attentions in a way unbefitting of a Queen’s attendant and a noble, virginal lady.”
“God’s toes!” Lady Bryan said, looking somewhat horrified, “His Grace is betrothed, to Lady Lisle. What would you have be done, Your Grace?”
Catalina pressed her lips together, “You must remind her of the Duke’s engagement. Remind her of how her behavior will affect her future prospects. Remind her that she can never be anything more than a bedfellow to him, and that she is certainly worthy of more than that.”
Lady Bryan nodded in understanding, “Of course, Your Grace. I cannot believe that she is behaving in such a manner. Please, allow me to speak with her here, in your presence. I want her to understand the importance of this.”
“I will summon her now,” said Catalina. She rose and walked over to the door.
“Please fetch Mistress Bryan,” she said quietly to one of the ushers standing outside, then closed the door and returned to her chair.
Just a moment later, there appeared in the door Mistress Elizabeth Bryan. Elizabeth was newly 16, had her mother’s height and dark hair, and was of a charming, open, flirtatious nature. Catalina had been happy to accept her into her household, but this incident with the Duke of Suffolk was almost enough to make her rethink her decision.
“Your Grace,” Elizabeth said demurely, bowing to Catalina before turning to her mother.
“What is the meaning of this?” she said, her brow furrowed in consternation.
“Her Grace has concerns about your behavior towards the Duke of Suffolk,” replied Lady Bryan softly.
“Your lady mother speaks the truth,” Catalina said sharply, “Mistress Bryan, are you aware that His Grace of Suffolk is betrothed to Lady Lisle?”
“I am,” Elizabeth replied, with no small amount of curtness.
“Then what explanation do you provide for your closeness with him as of late?” Catalina demanded, “Surely you must see how this could damage your future prospects for marriage.”
Elizabeth shrugged, “His Grace enjoys playing the gallant. I am quite happy to go along with it, Your Grace, as I see no harm in it.”
“You should,” Catalina snapped, “And I would have you note as well that the Duke may not view it as you do. He may view the attachment as something more. Mistress Bryan, I must advise you to avoid Lord Suffolk for the time being.”
“But I enjoy his company,” Elizabeth said plainly, “I must disassociate myself entirely from him?”
Catalina nodded stiffly, “If you do not wish to ruin your future, you must.”
Elizabeth gave a soft sigh, as if at once bored and exasperated, “I see, Your Grace. I will avoid him. And I thank you for your counsel.”
“I am glad you are seeing sense,” Lady Bryan said, taking her daughter’s hand in her own, “You will not regret this, Bess.”
Hôtel des Tournelles, January 1515
Mary leaned against the cold glass of the window sill, watching as the physicians hurried through the courtyard, which swirled with snow flurries. She knew that Louis’s gout was getting worse - he had not bedded her since before Christmas, and she had seen little of him otherwise. The thought that he could soon be dead was both exhilirating and terrifying. She would be free of this union which she had resented from the beginning, but she would be thrown into limbo, at least until she married again.
“
Madame, would you like some pear?” one of Mary’s ladies, a short, buxom girl with fair hair and dark eyes, asked, holding a bowl of the fruit towards her mistress.
“No thank you, Mademoiselle Boulin,” Mary answered. She found herself far too nervous lately to eat much of anything.
As Mademoiselle Boulin rejoined the rest of Mary’s ladies, who were sitting about embroidering, Mary thought again of Louis. She did not love him, and she did not want to be married to him, but he was a kind and indulgent husband. Indeed, it seemed that he was infatuated with her. Perhaps she should go to see him. Just because he did not ask for her, did not mean that he did not wish to see her.
Deciding that she would go to see her husband, Mary rose and left. She made her way quickly to Louis’s apartments. Standing at the door was one of Louis’s gentlemen, a tall, sturdy, and attractive man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Mary found herself focusing on the man’s lips, which were full and deep pink.
“Your Majesty,” the gentleman said, bowing.
“I wish to see my husband,” Mary declared, managing to draw her attention away from the way in which man’s eyes rested on her bosom, and the desire she had to feel his strong arms embrace her.
The gentleman shook his head, “His Majesty gave orders that you were not to enter. I am sorry, Your Majesty.”
Mary frowned, “I do not care. I am the Queen, I am
your Queen, and I demand that you let me in.”
“My lady-” the attractive gentleman began, but he got out only two syllables before Mary breezed past him and through the doors to Louis’s chambers.
The first thing that she noticed was a horrific smell. She could only assume that it was the poltices used to soothe Louis’s aching joints. She swept through his audience and presence chambers and then to his privy chamber. Mary opened the door and the sight before her almost broke her heart.
Louis was reclined on his bed, swollen legs out in front of him wrapped in wet bandages (wet due to a poltice, which was clearly the source of the smell). His face was grimaced in pain, and he looked deathly pale. A few physicians hummed around the edges of the room, their presence a reminder to Mary that Louis’s health was far more than the health of a man. It was the health of a king.
“Louis,” Mary said quietly, stepping forward into the room.
The King raised his head a bit and an amused look came to his face, “Ah, of course,
ma belle Anglaise. Somehow I knew that you would not heed poor Guillaume.”
Mary flushed a bit, “My lord, I could not bear not knowing how you were fairing.”
Louis smiled wanly, “Indeed. I had hoped you would not have to see me like this. I know I am old and weak. But with you…”
“I know,” said Mary, walking over to Louis’s side and taking his hand in her own, “You felt that I would be disgusted. That I would not let you touch me.”
Louis sighed heavily, “You should’ve had a younger man. A man more worthy of your youth and beauty. But I...I needed a son. And you seemed like the woman to give me one.”
“I wish I could’ve given you a son,” Mary admitted, “You have been such a good husband to me, you surely deserve it.”
“But you are not happy,” Louis said, reaching out and touching Mary’s cheek, “Are you? I am sorry for that. Just promise me, Marie, that you will think fondly of me, after I am gone.”
“I will,” Mary replied, before leaning down to give Louis a kiss on his cheek.
Richmond Palace, January 1515
Henry studied Katherine as she sat next to him in his privy chamber. He found himself surprised by how plump she had grown, and how wane her face now seemed. Of course, she had only recently been churched following the birth of little Margaret, their youngest daughter. Perhaps once she fully recovered from Margaret’s birth, she would come to look and feel more like herself, like the beautiful, vibrant, seductive young Spanish princess Henry had married four and a half years ago.
“How are our daughters?” Henry asked, by way of beginning the conversation. Elizabeth, Mary, Katherine, and baby Margaret had been left at Greenwich while their parents went to spend Candlemas at Richmond and he knew that it would be difficult for Katherine to be away from the girls - especially Margaret, who was barely a month old.
“They are well,” Katherine answered, a noticeable chill in her voice.
Henry nodded but said nothing else. How strange it was, that Katherine had come to his chamber and demanded to speak with him in private yet she seemed unwilling or unable to say much. Her dark blue eyes stayed fixed on the tapestry that hung above the fireplace, a depiction of the Rape of Europa.
Henry sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “Is there something bothering you, Catlin?”
Katherine looked at him then for the first time, and he could sense an anger smoldering in her, “My lord...I beg that you do not ask me that question. For there is a terribly important matter that has come to my attention and…” She cut herself off, turning away from Henry to look at the tapestry again.
“If there is something that you must tell,” Henry ventured, shifting in his chair, “Please, tell me. I am your husband.”
Finally, Katherine turned towards Henry, her eyes flashing with anger, “Charles Brandon has impregnated one of my maids!”
Henry opened his mouth as if to say something, and then closed it. Brandon had gotten one of Katherine’s women pregnant? Well, he could not say that he was surprised. The man enjoyed female company and did not presently have a wife, so it only sense that he would seek release with young ladies of the court.
“Who was it?” Henry asked, standing up from his chair and beginning to pace.
“Elizabeth Bryan,” answered Katherine, “Not a week ago, the girl swore to me that their relationship was chaste. And then this morning, the mother of the maids comes to me and says that Mistress Bryan has not bled this month or the last. A midwife was called for and...she is almost certainly with child. She says it could only be Brandon’s.”
Henry exhaled, “What would you have
me do?
You must send Mistress Bryan away, to have her bear her bastard in seclusion, away from court. Perhaps replace your mother of the maids, since she has clearly failed in her duties.”
“I would have you speak with Brandon,” Katherine said, the expression on her face hinting at her frustration, “Tell him that he may cavort with as many serving girls as his heart desires, but not my noble maids. And what of Mistress Bryan’s honor? She may bear her child away from court, yes, but what worthy man would have her after?”
Henry bristled at this, “What do you mean? You mean to say…”
“If it were to me, I would have her and Brandon wed,” Katherine said plainly, “As soon as possible. Lady Lisle will not suffer for it, and perhaps she may find an even grander husband.”
Henry considered this. Certainly it would help preserve both Elizabeth Bryan’s reputation and, in a way, Katherine’s. Also, he knew that Brandon was growing weary of waiting for Lady Lisle to reach a suitable age for matrimony. And Mistress Bryan was a beautiful, charming girl. In fact, Henry had thought more than once of taking her to his own bed during Katherine’s last pregnancy. Overall, it seemed that Brandon would have little reason to object to the match.
“Very well,” Henry said finally, “I will speak with Brandon and Sir Thomas Bryan and see that it is done. But you will replace your mother of the maids who allowed this to happen.”
A look of relief passed over Katherine’s face, “Thank you, my lord.”
Hôtel de Clugny, February 1515
“His Majesty, The King,” Mary’s herald declared. Into her audience chamber, which was filled to the brim with ladies in white, the traditional color of mourning in France, stepped the new King of France, formerly François d’Angoulême. François was married to Mary’s step-daughter Claude, and Mary would be lying if she said that she wasn’t somewhat jealous of the younger girl. François was a tall, dark haired man, athletic and muscular in build, with sparkling dark eyes and a winning smile. Not that poor Claude had much chance to appreciate her husband - François seemed determined to forget that he was married at all, save for when he was trying to impregnate his wife.
“
Votre Majesté,” Mary said, rising and bowing to François.
François then bowed in return and smiled, “
Votre Majesté, it is such a pleasure to see you again. May I trust that your confinement is going well?” Mary had entered into confinement after Louis’s death back in mid-January, in order to ascertain whether she was with child. She had not yet received her courses, but she knew that they were coming - the timing simply did not line up for her to be pregnant with Louis’s child.
“It is going quite well. Though I must admit that I have been rather...lonely,” said Mary, flashing François a coy smile.
François smirked, “That is a shame. But I assure you, you will not be so lonely for much longer,
madame. For I have arranged a marriage for you with the young Duke of Lorraine.”
“Oh?” Mary asked in surprise, “What does my brother say of the match? Does he object to it?”
“I need not seek the English king’s permission,” François said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “As your late husband’s successor, your remarriage is my prerogative.”
“I see,” Mary said quietly, “So...when is my wedding to the Duke to take place?”
“As soon as you are out of mourning,” answered François somewhat brusquely, “His Grace is eager to take a wife, especially one as young and lovely as you, Marie.”
Despite herself, Mary flushed a bit, especially at François’s use of her given name, “I am glad to hear that. I hope that I do not displease the Duke.”
“I am sure that he will count himself among the luckiest men in Christendom to have you by his side,” François said, unexpectedly taking Mary’s hand and pressing a kiss to it. Mary’s breath caught in her throat as his lips touched her skin, and even as François drew away her body seemed to be humming with energy. Yes, indeed, it was very good that she was getting married again so soon. For who knows what would happen if she were allowed to remain at François’s court…
