Ah. Well, rest assured I have plans for Bessie, plans gruesome enough to satisfy even your hatred of her, I should think.
The Queen is Dead!: Katherine of Aragon dies in 1518
- Thread starter FalconHonour
- Start date
Ah. Well, rest assured I have plans for Bessie, plans gruesome enough to satisfy even your hatred of her, I should think.
Did I ever say I was butterflying him away? One does not necessarily preclude the other, you know.
Section XV - July 1519
“You have to tell him. Beth, you have to tell him!” Cecily insisted, “You’re not doing yourself any favours by refusing to tell him. At the moment, you might be able to fob him off with pleas of illness and your courses, but that won’t last forever. Eventually, he’s going to insist on bedding you again and that might harm the child you’re carrying.”
“I don’t care! I don’t care! I’ll take the risk!” Bessie sobbed, feeling more like a child than ever as she buried her face in her hands. Cecily knelt down beside her, gripping her shoulders.
“Elizabeth Blount, you listen to me. You can’t do that. You can’t do that, not anymore.”
“Why not? For God’s Sake, why not?”
“Because you’re not a child anymore. You’re nineteen on your next birthday and a mother to be. The child in your belly is a responsibility, one you will have to bear, whether you like it or not. And part of that responsibility is telling the King. Do you understand?”
“But I don’t want to!”
“It’s not a question of ‘I want’. It’s a question of necessity. The King must know you are carrying his child and there’s an end to it. Now, I’ll go as far as to say that if you’d rather I told him, then I will, but…”
“No,” Bessie shook her head, “He barely knows you. He’ll take it better from me. But I would like Mark to be there. I’m going to do this, then I’m not going to do it alone.”
“All right. All right. I’ll tell Mark to come and find you and the two of you can tell the King. Hmm?”
Bessie nodded slowly. Cecily breathed a sigh of relief and stood up. “Good girl. Good girl. You’ll see; everything will be much easier once you’ve told him.”
“Will it?” Bessie wondered, but there was no time to argue. Cecily, ever the prim yet pragmatic one of the two, was already gone.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do. Cecily will have my head if I don’t.”
“Your father will have your head if you do. If he finds out you’ve slept with the King and not taken precautions…”
“He’s going to find out eventually. One way or the other. I can’t hide this forever. If we can get Henry on our side, then I might be able to brazen the whole thing out. After all, there’s no shame in being the King’s mistress, is there? Especially when he’s not married.”
“If,” Mark repeated anxiously. But there was no time to say any more, for there were footsteps in the passage outside and Bessie’s page was crying, “His Majesty the King.”
Dazedly, Bessie rose to her feet and dropped like a stone into a curtsy. The King held out a hand to her, but she was blind to it. She remained in her supplicant position until the strain of holding it got to her and brought awkward tears welling up in her eyes.
“Bessie? Bessie, what is it, darling?”
His Majesty knelt down beside her, holding out his arms to her. She felt him embrace her and her defences broke.
“I’m sorry! I should have been more careful! Please don’t be angry!”
“I could never be angry with you, sweetheart. Never. I promise. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
Oh, he was saying all the right things, but who knew if he’d stick to them once he found out? Where would fine words get her if, in a few months’ time, she was swollen and heavy and unable to show her face at Court for fear of disgrace? If only he hadn’t lost the Queen in childbed! If only it hadn’t made him so mercurial! She wouldn’t be so scared.
As it was, however, all she could do was cling to him as a drowning man would cling to a rope thrown from a ship. “Please don’t be angry,” she repeated.
“Why would I be angry? What can you possibly have done that would make me angry with you?”
“I’m pregnant!”
Suddenly the dreaded words were out, blurted out in a strangled rush of desperation. Their effect on the King was immediate. His body went taut against her and his hands stilled in her hair.
“What did you just say?” he whispered.
“I’m pregnant,” Bessie repeated into his chest, silently begging Mark to help her. As though he could sense her predicament, Mark broke the silence, injecting an extra note of gaiety into his voice.
“Isn’t that wonderful news? Congratulations, Your Majesty. May I be the first to congratulate you on the prospect of a healthy son? And my best to you too, of course, dear cousin.”
“Of course you must, Master Blount. And you must take the very best care of your cousin now. Nothing could be more important than the child in her belly, do you hear?”
“Yes, Sire. You may count on me to do my level best, My Lord.”
“I know I can. And you must give Bessie everything her heart desires. Money no object. Her…My…Our future happiness depends upon it. This child must be swaddled in love and care before it even leaves Bessie’s womb. Understood?”
“Yes, Sire,” Mark nodded, clearly thrilled at how well the King was taking the news. Bessie felt her heart sink. The King appeared to be solicitous, true, but his concern had been general; focused on the child’s welfare and not hers. Not once, though she was still in his arms, had he bent his head and asked about how she felt about becoming a mother before she herself had completed a score of years on God’s Earth. Nor had he told her how happy she’d made him, as she’d always imagined her husband would do when she shared the news of her pregnancy with him. True, it could just be because Mark was in the room, but the presence of others had never stopped him declaring his feelings before. Bessie feared that this deliberate control of his emotions could be the beginning of the King’s withdrawal from her arms. Still, he hadn’t acted angry, so perhaps she didn’t have to start worrying just yet. Even if it had taken him a heartbeat too long to answer Mark. She leaned back against him and tried to take heart from the way his arms automatically tightened around her.
“I don’t care! I don’t care! I’ll take the risk!” Bessie sobbed, feeling more like a child than ever as she buried her face in her hands. Cecily knelt down beside her, gripping her shoulders.
“Elizabeth Blount, you listen to me. You can’t do that. You can’t do that, not anymore.”
“Why not? For God’s Sake, why not?”
“Because you’re not a child anymore. You’re nineteen on your next birthday and a mother to be. The child in your belly is a responsibility, one you will have to bear, whether you like it or not. And part of that responsibility is telling the King. Do you understand?”
“But I don’t want to!”
“It’s not a question of ‘I want’. It’s a question of necessity. The King must know you are carrying his child and there’s an end to it. Now, I’ll go as far as to say that if you’d rather I told him, then I will, but…”
“No,” Bessie shook her head, “He barely knows you. He’ll take it better from me. But I would like Mark to be there. I’m going to do this, then I’m not going to do it alone.”
“All right. All right. I’ll tell Mark to come and find you and the two of you can tell the King. Hmm?”
Bessie nodded slowly. Cecily breathed a sigh of relief and stood up. “Good girl. Good girl. You’ll see; everything will be much easier once you’ve told him.”
“Will it?” Bessie wondered, but there was no time to argue. Cecily, ever the prim yet pragmatic one of the two, was already gone.
*** *** ***
“Are you sure about this?” Mark squeezed her hand gently. She shook her head, “No.”“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do. Cecily will have my head if I don’t.”
“Your father will have your head if you do. If he finds out you’ve slept with the King and not taken precautions…”
“He’s going to find out eventually. One way or the other. I can’t hide this forever. If we can get Henry on our side, then I might be able to brazen the whole thing out. After all, there’s no shame in being the King’s mistress, is there? Especially when he’s not married.”
“If,” Mark repeated anxiously. But there was no time to say any more, for there were footsteps in the passage outside and Bessie’s page was crying, “His Majesty the King.”
Dazedly, Bessie rose to her feet and dropped like a stone into a curtsy. The King held out a hand to her, but she was blind to it. She remained in her supplicant position until the strain of holding it got to her and brought awkward tears welling up in her eyes.
“Bessie? Bessie, what is it, darling?”
His Majesty knelt down beside her, holding out his arms to her. She felt him embrace her and her defences broke.
“I’m sorry! I should have been more careful! Please don’t be angry!”
“I could never be angry with you, sweetheart. Never. I promise. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
Oh, he was saying all the right things, but who knew if he’d stick to them once he found out? Where would fine words get her if, in a few months’ time, she was swollen and heavy and unable to show her face at Court for fear of disgrace? If only he hadn’t lost the Queen in childbed! If only it hadn’t made him so mercurial! She wouldn’t be so scared.
As it was, however, all she could do was cling to him as a drowning man would cling to a rope thrown from a ship. “Please don’t be angry,” she repeated.
“Why would I be angry? What can you possibly have done that would make me angry with you?”
“I’m pregnant!”
Suddenly the dreaded words were out, blurted out in a strangled rush of desperation. Their effect on the King was immediate. His body went taut against her and his hands stilled in her hair.
“What did you just say?” he whispered.
“I’m pregnant,” Bessie repeated into his chest, silently begging Mark to help her. As though he could sense her predicament, Mark broke the silence, injecting an extra note of gaiety into his voice.
“Isn’t that wonderful news? Congratulations, Your Majesty. May I be the first to congratulate you on the prospect of a healthy son? And my best to you too, of course, dear cousin.”
“Of course you must, Master Blount. And you must take the very best care of your cousin now. Nothing could be more important than the child in her belly, do you hear?”
“Yes, Sire. You may count on me to do my level best, My Lord.”
“I know I can. And you must give Bessie everything her heart desires. Money no object. Her…My…Our future happiness depends upon it. This child must be swaddled in love and care before it even leaves Bessie’s womb. Understood?”
“Yes, Sire,” Mark nodded, clearly thrilled at how well the King was taking the news. Bessie felt her heart sink. The King appeared to be solicitous, true, but his concern had been general; focused on the child’s welfare and not hers. Not once, though she was still in his arms, had he bent his head and asked about how she felt about becoming a mother before she herself had completed a score of years on God’s Earth. Nor had he told her how happy she’d made him, as she’d always imagined her husband would do when she shared the news of her pregnancy with him. True, it could just be because Mark was in the room, but the presence of others had never stopped him declaring his feelings before. Bessie feared that this deliberate control of his emotions could be the beginning of the King’s withdrawal from her arms. Still, he hadn’t acted angry, so perhaps she didn’t have to start worrying just yet. Even if it had taken him a heartbeat too long to answer Mark. She leaned back against him and tried to take heart from the way his arms automatically tightened around her.
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See! No butterflying Henry Fitzroy away... He's just a bit younger than his OTL counterpart...
Well of she has a stillborn child or misscarriage she might loose the kings favour.
As Henry VIII would (probably) say, "Children are for wives, not mistresses"...
Without giving anything away as to who it is, I have just sorted out Section 36. England has a Queen again, roughly 20 months after the death of Katherine of Aragon. I thought you might all like to know. 
XVI: September 1519
Henry didn’t say anything, but Charles wasn’t blind. He could see for himself that the Blount girl was no longer in quite as much favour as she used to be. Henry used to practically be joined at the hip with the girl, but now it was possible to speak to him alone; to take him riding for an afternoon without her tagging along.
And sometimes, just sometimes, he would come and join Charles in flouting convention to dine with Mary in her confinement and the three of them would sit and laugh and talk about their days in the nursery at Eltham, just the way they used to. The way they used to before everything had happened.
So it was hardly a surprise when the Blount girl’s belly started to swell. No wonder Henry had been so distant towards her. He would be worried that he’d lose her in childbed just like he lost the Queen. Still, that child was his. It could be his son, his heir. So why wasn’t he making moves to marry her? Why hadn’t he even acknowledged the pregnancy? With the way he’d doted on her all through the spring and early summer, Charles would have expected him to do nothing less. Yet he wasn’t. Instead, he was withdrawing into himself, becoming quieter and quieter as Bessie’s pregnancy became more and more pronounced.
The fact that Henry didn’t mention Bessie’s pregnancy meant that Charles couldn’t either. In fact, it wasn’t until Mary’s own pregnancy came to term that September and Henry congratulated him on having expanded his family yet again, with another daughter this time, that Charles dared to lean on the years of friendship and honesty between them and say, “Thank You, Your Majesty. As you may imagine, Mary and I are delighted by Lady Eleanor’s safe arrival in the world. May I in turn, offer my humblest congratulations to you?”
“Congratulations? Whatever for?” Henry sounded nonplussed. Baffled, Charles took a step back.
“Well, the Lady Blount, of course. The child must be yours. After all, you’ve scarcely been apart since the spring.”
“Oh, that, of course. Thank you,”
“If I might be so bold…You don’t sound especially pleased, Your Majesty. Surely a child at this time is a blessing; a fresh start?”
Henry’s eyes darkened momentarily and he flashed them to Charles’s face before sliding his gaze away. Charles reached a hand towards him inquiringly, “Your Majesty?”
“If it were legitimate, yes. But even if it is a boy, that child is a bastard. It could never take my throne. What good is that for England? What good is that for me?”
“It’s not too late. You could marry her. Marry her now and the child would still be born in wedlock, which is the important part. You could have your Prince, Sire. You and the Lady Blount could be King Henry and Queen Elizabeth, just like your parents were and, like them, you could have your Prince Arthur within the year.”
For a moment, Henry’s face lit with hope; then, mere instants later, he shook his head, “I can’t.”
He turned away. “I can’t,” he repeated.
“Why not?”
It was too direct a question to put to one’s King, really, but Charles sensed that this wasn’t the time for protocol. Watching, he saw how Henry’s shoulders tensed, then slumped as he exhaled.
“Because I’d curse her if I did. I’d curse her. Our child would be born dead, I know it. Or else I’d lose her. As a punishment for not staying true to Cata’s memory. Or else because my father took the throne by force and not by right of blood. No. I can’t do that to her, not to my beautiful Bessie. I can’t.”
“But now? What if the child lives? Will you at least acknowledge it?”
“Oh yes. I owe her that much, at least. And I’ll see her taken care of. God, if I could be sure that the child would live; that they’d both live, I’d marry her tomorrow. But I don’t and I can’t make the same mistake twice. I did it to Cata and I won’t do it to Bessie. I won’t do it to another woman I love. I won’t.”
“Harry…” Charles started, then sighed. He could see it was useless. Henry was determined to be melancholy tonight. He would just have to hope that, the next time Harry fell for a girl, he was able to put aside his worries for long enough to do his duty and beget a legitimate heir on her.
And sometimes, just sometimes, he would come and join Charles in flouting convention to dine with Mary in her confinement and the three of them would sit and laugh and talk about their days in the nursery at Eltham, just the way they used to. The way they used to before everything had happened.
So it was hardly a surprise when the Blount girl’s belly started to swell. No wonder Henry had been so distant towards her. He would be worried that he’d lose her in childbed just like he lost the Queen. Still, that child was his. It could be his son, his heir. So why wasn’t he making moves to marry her? Why hadn’t he even acknowledged the pregnancy? With the way he’d doted on her all through the spring and early summer, Charles would have expected him to do nothing less. Yet he wasn’t. Instead, he was withdrawing into himself, becoming quieter and quieter as Bessie’s pregnancy became more and more pronounced.
The fact that Henry didn’t mention Bessie’s pregnancy meant that Charles couldn’t either. In fact, it wasn’t until Mary’s own pregnancy came to term that September and Henry congratulated him on having expanded his family yet again, with another daughter this time, that Charles dared to lean on the years of friendship and honesty between them and say, “Thank You, Your Majesty. As you may imagine, Mary and I are delighted by Lady Eleanor’s safe arrival in the world. May I in turn, offer my humblest congratulations to you?”
“Congratulations? Whatever for?” Henry sounded nonplussed. Baffled, Charles took a step back.
“Well, the Lady Blount, of course. The child must be yours. After all, you’ve scarcely been apart since the spring.”
“Oh, that, of course. Thank you,”
“If I might be so bold…You don’t sound especially pleased, Your Majesty. Surely a child at this time is a blessing; a fresh start?”
Henry’s eyes darkened momentarily and he flashed them to Charles’s face before sliding his gaze away. Charles reached a hand towards him inquiringly, “Your Majesty?”
“If it were legitimate, yes. But even if it is a boy, that child is a bastard. It could never take my throne. What good is that for England? What good is that for me?”
“It’s not too late. You could marry her. Marry her now and the child would still be born in wedlock, which is the important part. You could have your Prince, Sire. You and the Lady Blount could be King Henry and Queen Elizabeth, just like your parents were and, like them, you could have your Prince Arthur within the year.”
For a moment, Henry’s face lit with hope; then, mere instants later, he shook his head, “I can’t.”
He turned away. “I can’t,” he repeated.
“Why not?”
It was too direct a question to put to one’s King, really, but Charles sensed that this wasn’t the time for protocol. Watching, he saw how Henry’s shoulders tensed, then slumped as he exhaled.
“Because I’d curse her if I did. I’d curse her. Our child would be born dead, I know it. Or else I’d lose her. As a punishment for not staying true to Cata’s memory. Or else because my father took the throne by force and not by right of blood. No. I can’t do that to her, not to my beautiful Bessie. I can’t.”
“But now? What if the child lives? Will you at least acknowledge it?”
“Oh yes. I owe her that much, at least. And I’ll see her taken care of. God, if I could be sure that the child would live; that they’d both live, I’d marry her tomorrow. But I don’t and I can’t make the same mistake twice. I did it to Cata and I won’t do it to Bessie. I won’t do it to another woman I love. I won’t.”
“Harry…” Charles started, then sighed. He could see it was useless. Henry was determined to be melancholy tonight. He would just have to hope that, the next time Harry fell for a girl, he was able to put aside his worries for long enough to do his duty and beget a legitimate heir on her.
I like it when Henry is being somewhat more human, you know. I do try.
XVII: October 1519
"So. Harry doesn't feel comfortable, now that his harlot's pregnant?" Mary Brandon chuckled, "How ironic, given that he's the one who got her into that state in the first place."
Her voice was biting. Charles rested a hand on her stomach where it was still plump from little Nell's birth, rubbing it lightly as he answered, "No, he he's not, but I'll thank you not to be so open in your glee, Madam. He is your brother, after all, and he hasn't rescinded his orders that we treat the Lady Blount with respect yet. Besides which, need I remind you that we all know what happened the last time Harry was this insecure? We need to organise a distraction for him before we lose him all over again."
"True," Mary mused, shifting Nell in her arms and already running over the ladies present at Court in her mind's eye. They needed one who was pretty enough to tempt her brother, vivacious enough to hold his interest, clever enough to, unlike the Blount girl, not get herself with child, at least not for the moment, and humble enough not to try to take over the reins at Court as Bessie Blount had done. Unsurprisingly, there weren't that many candidates, especially not since Mary only felt safe enough to entrust the job to one of the girls in her own household. Preferably one of the ones who'd already proved their loyalty when they served her during her months in France. Sarah, perhaps? No, she was too outspoken. Henry would have loved her a year or two ago, but not now, not when he was so insecure. He'd need a girl he could play the Knight in shining armour with. Susanna? No, too old, too like Cata. She'd bring back painful memories. For everyone.
Mary was so lost in her own thoughts that she scarcely even noticed when Charles, chuckling at the calculating smirk on her lips, plucked Nell from her arms, laid her back in the bassinet and kissed them both as he took his leave. Nor did she notice, when, several minutes later, Nell started squalling with hunger.
As such, she didn't call for her to be taken back to her wet-nurse, so the poor babe was positively howling by the time one of the maids screwed up the courage to enter Mary's private chamber to fetch her without permission.
The door opened a crack, and Mary Boleyn looked in, "Forgive me, Your Grace, but I heard Lady Eleanor crying and I wondered if you might like me to take her back to her wet-nurse?"
"Oh! Yes, of course, Marie, thank you," Mary answered, waving her in and addressing her by her French name, as indeed, everyone in the Duchess's household had taken to doing in an attempt to keep the two of them apart.
Following Marie with her eyes as she scooped Nell up and crossed the room to the door that led into the nursery suite, trying in vain to soothe the ravenous child as she did so, Mary smiled wanly as she realised what a faithful servant Marie was becoming. For all that she was slightly different because of her French education, she was still a trusted friend and a part of Mary's household that she wouldn't have known how to do without.
And then it crashed over her like a thunderbolt. Marie might just be able to serve her in another way as well.
"Sarah, tell Marie I need to talk to her, would you? And shut the door behind her and make sure we're not disturbed, understand?"
"Yes, Madam," Sarah curtsied and was gone. A few minutes later, Marie, having returned from the nursery suite, was curtsying beside her, "You wanted to see me, Madam?"
"Yes. I…I...," To her horror, Mary found that this was more difficult than she had thought it would be. The words stuck in her throat and in the end, she had to tackle the matter by way of another route.
"You know Queen Katherine's memorial service is coming up next month, don't you?"
"Yes, My Lady."
"Well, I don't know how much of it you heard about, being in France as you were, but the King took the Queen's passing extremely hard. He withdrew into his rooms for months. I don't want that to happen again. I don't think the country could handle it."
"I'll pray that it doesn't, then, Madam."
"I want more than your prayers, Marie. I want your help in ensuring that it doesn't."
"My help?" Marie looked at her, wide-eyed and Mary had to bite down on a surge of anger. Was Marie really that obtuse? Was she really going to make her spell it out? Sarah would have understood what her mistress was asking long ago.
However, Harry liked his girls slightly naïve and trusting, so Mary swallowed her ire and kept her voice steady as she answered, "Yes. The King is going to need good friends about him during this difficult time," She paused to let her words sink in, then continued, lying skilfully as she went on, "I had hoped the Lady Blount would be able to support His Majesty over the next few months, but sadly, they appear to have parted ways recently. Can I trust you to offer my brother your friendship in the place of hers?"
The mention of Bessie had done its work. Understanding flashed across Marie's face, before, her features blank, she sank to the floor in a graceful curtsy, "If that is what Your Grace requires of me," she murmured.
Despite herself, Mary found herself admiring the younger girl's composure. What Mary had just asked of her – to put herself in the King's way and basically hire herself out to him as a whore, though hopefully without getting herself with child – could not be a pleasant thought for any girl who hoped to make a good marriage. Yet Marie was taking the news and agreeing to it almost without a pause for thought. Clearly, she was a better courtier than she sometimes let on. Maybe this wouldn't go as badly as she, Mary, had feared it might.
Of course, Marie had her own thoughts on what her mistress had just asked of her. It wasn't that she had anything against helping the King through his grief, of course not. She was loyal to him and would do anything she could help him. However, if she'd been taught one thing by her mother and father before she went to France, it was that a girl should never surrender her virtue before marriage, no matter who asked it of her. She hadn't given in to King Francis when he tried to court her and take it and she wouldn't give in to King Henry either. No matter what. Her maidenhood was her husband's to take and she'd make sure that, whoever he was, he was the one to take it. Which meant she'd have to go in to this game with her eyes wide open and be very careful about how far she let the King go.
Oh, it was a dangerous game she was playing, Marie knew, but it was the only game she could play. She had no choice. If the King made advances to her – advances beyond friendship, she'd have to refuse him. Refuse him and then try to deal with whatever consequences came her way.
Her voice was biting. Charles rested a hand on her stomach where it was still plump from little Nell's birth, rubbing it lightly as he answered, "No, he he's not, but I'll thank you not to be so open in your glee, Madam. He is your brother, after all, and he hasn't rescinded his orders that we treat the Lady Blount with respect yet. Besides which, need I remind you that we all know what happened the last time Harry was this insecure? We need to organise a distraction for him before we lose him all over again."
"True," Mary mused, shifting Nell in her arms and already running over the ladies present at Court in her mind's eye. They needed one who was pretty enough to tempt her brother, vivacious enough to hold his interest, clever enough to, unlike the Blount girl, not get herself with child, at least not for the moment, and humble enough not to try to take over the reins at Court as Bessie Blount had done. Unsurprisingly, there weren't that many candidates, especially not since Mary only felt safe enough to entrust the job to one of the girls in her own household. Preferably one of the ones who'd already proved their loyalty when they served her during her months in France. Sarah, perhaps? No, she was too outspoken. Henry would have loved her a year or two ago, but not now, not when he was so insecure. He'd need a girl he could play the Knight in shining armour with. Susanna? No, too old, too like Cata. She'd bring back painful memories. For everyone.
Mary was so lost in her own thoughts that she scarcely even noticed when Charles, chuckling at the calculating smirk on her lips, plucked Nell from her arms, laid her back in the bassinet and kissed them both as he took his leave. Nor did she notice, when, several minutes later, Nell started squalling with hunger.
As such, she didn't call for her to be taken back to her wet-nurse, so the poor babe was positively howling by the time one of the maids screwed up the courage to enter Mary's private chamber to fetch her without permission.
The door opened a crack, and Mary Boleyn looked in, "Forgive me, Your Grace, but I heard Lady Eleanor crying and I wondered if you might like me to take her back to her wet-nurse?"
"Oh! Yes, of course, Marie, thank you," Mary answered, waving her in and addressing her by her French name, as indeed, everyone in the Duchess's household had taken to doing in an attempt to keep the two of them apart.
Following Marie with her eyes as she scooped Nell up and crossed the room to the door that led into the nursery suite, trying in vain to soothe the ravenous child as she did so, Mary smiled wanly as she realised what a faithful servant Marie was becoming. For all that she was slightly different because of her French education, she was still a trusted friend and a part of Mary's household that she wouldn't have known how to do without.
And then it crashed over her like a thunderbolt. Marie might just be able to serve her in another way as well.
*** *** ***
"Sarah, tell Marie I need to talk to her, would you? And shut the door behind her and make sure we're not disturbed, understand?"
"Yes, Madam," Sarah curtsied and was gone. A few minutes later, Marie, having returned from the nursery suite, was curtsying beside her, "You wanted to see me, Madam?"
"Yes. I…I...," To her horror, Mary found that this was more difficult than she had thought it would be. The words stuck in her throat and in the end, she had to tackle the matter by way of another route.
"You know Queen Katherine's memorial service is coming up next month, don't you?"
"Yes, My Lady."
"Well, I don't know how much of it you heard about, being in France as you were, but the King took the Queen's passing extremely hard. He withdrew into his rooms for months. I don't want that to happen again. I don't think the country could handle it."
"I'll pray that it doesn't, then, Madam."
"I want more than your prayers, Marie. I want your help in ensuring that it doesn't."
"My help?" Marie looked at her, wide-eyed and Mary had to bite down on a surge of anger. Was Marie really that obtuse? Was she really going to make her spell it out? Sarah would have understood what her mistress was asking long ago.
However, Harry liked his girls slightly naïve and trusting, so Mary swallowed her ire and kept her voice steady as she answered, "Yes. The King is going to need good friends about him during this difficult time," She paused to let her words sink in, then continued, lying skilfully as she went on, "I had hoped the Lady Blount would be able to support His Majesty over the next few months, but sadly, they appear to have parted ways recently. Can I trust you to offer my brother your friendship in the place of hers?"
The mention of Bessie had done its work. Understanding flashed across Marie's face, before, her features blank, she sank to the floor in a graceful curtsy, "If that is what Your Grace requires of me," she murmured.
Despite herself, Mary found herself admiring the younger girl's composure. What Mary had just asked of her – to put herself in the King's way and basically hire herself out to him as a whore, though hopefully without getting herself with child – could not be a pleasant thought for any girl who hoped to make a good marriage. Yet Marie was taking the news and agreeing to it almost without a pause for thought. Clearly, she was a better courtier than she sometimes let on. Maybe this wouldn't go as badly as she, Mary, had feared it might.
*** *** ***
Of course, Marie had her own thoughts on what her mistress had just asked of her. It wasn't that she had anything against helping the King through his grief, of course not. She was loyal to him and would do anything she could help him. However, if she'd been taught one thing by her mother and father before she went to France, it was that a girl should never surrender her virtue before marriage, no matter who asked it of her. She hadn't given in to King Francis when he tried to court her and take it and she wouldn't give in to King Henry either. No matter what. Her maidenhood was her husband's to take and she'd make sure that, whoever he was, he was the one to take it. Which meant she'd have to go in to this game with her eyes wide open and be very careful about how far she let the King go.
Oh, it was a dangerous game she was playing, Marie knew, but it was the only game she could play. She had no choice. If the King made advances to her – advances beyond friendship, she'd have to refuse him. Refuse him and then try to deal with whatever consequences came her way.
What makes Mary Boleyn different in this TL.
In OTL, Mary became one of the mistresses of Henry VIII for an unknown period of time and is rumoured to have bored him two children, though Henry did not acknowledge either of them as he had acknowledged Henry FitzRoy, his son by another mistress, Elizabeth Blount. Mary was also rumoured to have been a mistress of Henry VIII's rival, King Francis I of France, for some period between 1515 and 1519.
In OTL, Mary became one of the mistresses of Henry VIII for an unknown period of time and is rumoured to have bored him two children, though Henry did not acknowledge either of them as he had acknowledged Henry FitzRoy, his son by another mistress, Elizabeth Blount. Mary was also rumoured to have been a mistress of Henry VIII's rival, King Francis I of France, for some period between 1515 and 1519.