Windsor, May 1530
It was a warm May morning and Henry and Marie were revelling in it, lying together in the great bed of state, luxuriating in the warmth of the rays that were spilling through the window of Henry’s chamber. Marie had her head on Henry’s chest, and he was playing with her hair, marvelling at the fact that, even after nine years of marriage, he could still be so entranced by the way her curls moved under his fingers.
“I had a letter from Sir Henry last night. It seems Lionel is doing marvellously well in his studies, particularly of Latin and Greek. We must have him correspond with the scholars at Cambridge. I hear there’s a new Fellow there who knows the language fluently. A man named Cheke. I’ll write and tell him it would please me mightily if he’d exchange letters with our son to help him improve his knowledge of the classical languages.”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Marie hummed sleepily, her eyes flickering open as she forced herself to concentrate on what her husband was saying, “My father always insisted that a good education would be of great help to us in whatever the future threw at us. I don’t agree with everything he did in raising George, Anne and myself, but I think he was right in that. I may not have benefited from it as much as my siblings did, but I still think he was right to try. And I agree we should give it to our children too.”
“Well, I’m sure the Bridgettines will see to giving Jackie an excellent schooling,” Henry smiled down at his wife, alarmed when she grimaced involuntarily.
“You want to give her to the nuns? Already? Henry, she’s only just turned six. She’s far too young!”
“Too young? Lionel has been preparing to rule since he was her age!” Henry exclaimed, but when he saw the tears pooling in Marie’s eyes, as she flipped herself over to look up at him, he softened his voice, “Come now, darling, I know you’ve always been protective of her, but we promised her to the church if God saved her and she’s well old enough to start preparing for her future. You know that. It’s not as if she’ll take her full vows for years yet. We can still visit her. She can still come to Court, occasionally.”
“Not Jackie, please,” Marie begged, catching at Henry’s hand, “Lionel, I understood. He’s our Prince of Wales, he was always going to be more England’s than mine. Dickon, too, needs to go to Normandy as soon as he’s old enough. His people need to get to know him and he needs to know them. I understand that. But not Jackie, please. Let me have her till she’s old enough to marry, at least.”
When Henry hesitated, she squeezed his hand and locked her gaze with his pleadingly, “I’m not saying I won’t give her to the church. I will. I swore an oath before the shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham. You know I’ll hold to that. But I’m going to lose Maria to Paris within two years. Don’t make me lose Jackie as well. Not before she’s a woman. Please.”
Her voice cracked on the last word. The tears swimming in her green-blue eyes threatened to spill over. Henry felt his heart clench. He’d never been able to resist her anything when she felt strongly enough about it to cry; not since the triplets’ birth.
“You’ll take Jackie to Syon,” he said at last, “You’ll take her to Syon and you’ll both swear an oath that she will return to take the veil as soon as she turns 12, do you hear me?”
“Yes, Henry! Thank you! Thank you!” Marie fell on top of him, embracing him and kissing him rapturously.
He chuckled softly and extricated himself from her death grip gently, pushing her away so he could look at her.
“I’ve been thinking. Marrying Lionel to Beatrice of Portugal is an excellent match, but Dickon needs a good match too. I’ll not have him resenting his brother because one of them gets a Princess and the other simply gets an English girl of good blood. King Christian of Denmark is in exile in the Spanish Netherlands with his son and two daughters. The girls are both only a few years older than Dickon. If we were to make one of them Duchess of York and Normandy and managed to reinstate King Christian on his throne, well, we’d have a very grateful trading partner in the Baltic, wouldn’t we?”
Marie couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at her husband’s words, “You’d marry our son off to a girl who’s been raised in exile? Who are you and what have you done with my proud husband?”
“It’s a gamble, I grant you,” Henry said carelessly, “But then, which major gamble of mine hasn’t come off in the last ten years?”
He winked at her, and she couldn’t help but laugh at his nonchalant confidence. Taking advantage of her distraction, he pulled her down into a kiss. Their lips met, silently sealing the unspoken pact between them: that they were in accord in terms of what they hoped to achieve for each of their children’s futures.