July 1534
The first of King Henry’s children to wed was his bastard son. He did not attend, but the Duke of Suffolk hosted the marriage (with the gift of forgiveness of his remaining debt to the King) and was every inch the proud father of the bridge. His elder daughters Mary (Baroness Monteagle) and Frances (Marquess of Dorset) acted in the stead of Eleanor’s late mother. Brandon’s eldest daughter did not attend the festivities, she had refused to attend with her husband Edward, Baron Grey of Powis. Princess Mary was the guest of honor independently of the bride and groom, although she seemed less than thrilled with the ‘honor’ her father had awarded her.
Henry had given strict orders that the marriage was not to be consummated. Popular opinion was that it was because of what had happened with his brother Arthur after marriage. The Duke of Suffolk knew there was another reason and for that reason Eleanor was daughter-in-law to the King. The young men the Duke of Richmond and Somerset ran with were an ambitious lot in the eyes of the King, and there had been whispers that FitzRoy believed his father would eventually make him, not Mary, the heir despite the wording of the Papal annulment of the King’s first marriage. The king planned to circumvent this by preventing a FitzRoy heir. Norfolk attended with his heir, one of FitzRoy’s closest friends, and watched with envy as Brandon re-forged family ties with the king.
Charles Brandon watched the proceedings with a vague feeling of dread. His only living son, Henry had been unable to attend, having a more virulent version of his late mother’s illness. It would not be long before he buried this child as well and he needed an heir more than the King did. Mary could inherit a crown, but his daughters would take the Duchy of Suffolk out of the Brandon home and into that of her husband’s. He had thought about wedding Catherine Willoughby himself after Henry’s death, but she was now in the household of Princess Mary as a lady-in-waiting. He danced with the bride, with Princess Mary, with the four ladies attending her (Catherine Willoughby, Mary Howard, Philippa Basset, and Jane Seymour) in turn and then withdrew to the sidelines with the Duke of Norfolk.
“Mary weds next,” Brandon said.
“Then the King himself,” was Howard’s comment. “Let’s hope she’s everything he wants.”
Brandon chuckled. “Let’s hope she gives him what he wants.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
August 1534
The entourage of the Duke of Beja included Portuguese nobility, but Spain had provided the ship as well its own delegation. Infante Philip (all of seven years old) represented his father Charles V – a not-so-subtle reminder of Mary’s heritage. It was impossible for King Henry VIII to keep the bride’s mother away from the ceremony, so it was somewhat of a surprise when Katherine arrived looking pale and ill. His former wife rallied well to play hostess to Beja and the others, but withdrew back to the convent after the three days of parties and feastings were over. Catherine Willoughby accompanied her mother Maria to the convent; Maria was concerned for her former mistress and Catherine was a dutiful daughter.
Charles Brandon was not present: the day he was to leave for the ceremony his son Henry, Earl of Lincoln died of the same illness that had taken his mother. But a week after the festivities, Henry VIII made a personal visit to his friend.
“What you need is a wife,” he informed Charles.
“Every man does,” was Brandon’s listless response. Since Henry had dismissed the other courtiers who had accompanied him, Brandon was not obliged to feign enthusiasm as a sign of respect for the King.
“I put Cromwell right on it,” continued the King.
“No, please, not Cromwell,” Brandon said as he picked up the ewer of wine. He poured more into the King’s glass and then into his own.
“Then who?” The King frowned at the man he considered one of his closest friends, Brandon shrugged. Henry patted Charles’ shoulder. “You could have your pick of our English roses, any of them.”
“My English rose is buried, sire. While I find many of these ladies attractive, they do not move me to matrimony.” Charles confessed. “I realize this is the place where you remind me of my words, but have mercy, sire, and let me wallow a bit in self-pity. I have lost my wife and my son; you understand best of all men how I feel.”
“I will find you a bride, Charles. I forbid to you to look for yourself. I will attend to the matter myself. Leave it to me.” With those words, the King rose and left the room as Charles frowned in thought. Who would the King believe to be a good wife for him?
