To Crown A Rose
Page 10
Indeed, the whole of England was scandalized.
Frances traveled by litter to Suffolk Place in small stages. Margaret had accompanied her so she was not spared her commentary. At each stop they made, there seemed to be fresh news. Many were eager to share what they heard.
“The King had obtained permission from Rome to marry Anne.”
“That Lady was with child and it was created in sin.”
“The King was a bigamous with two wives.”
“The Lady was to be crowned Queen.”
Frances did not get a clear narrative until at last they arrived at her home. If her future mother-in-law was impressed with its grandeur, she did a good job hiding it. But once inside the familiar doors, Frances could escape her overbearing presence.
She rushed to hug her mother, who she was surprised to find was still confined to her rooms.
“Oh, I am fine most days but this foul weather has made me weak. The doctors say it is better I stay in bed.”
Seeing as there was no reason to worry, she asked her mother what was going on at court. Her mother, though confined, seemed to possess a powerful spy network or at the very least was well informed by her husband.
“It’s almost certain he has married her. Though I doubt it was with the Pope’s permission. She was heard declaring she would go on pilgrimage to Our Lady of Walsingham.” Mary gave her daughter a knowing look.
“She is with child?” Frances was scandalized.
“Probably.”
“Surely, the child’s birth would always be in question. It’s too soon. Is the marriage even legal?”
“You must never say that aloud,” Mary scolded her. “But if it is a boy it shall be legitimate for sure and we shall all have to bow and scrape to that Boleyn woman.”
Preparations for the wedding were underway. The best gold and silver plate was brought out of the treasury for the occasion. Her father wanted to show his opulence and her mother was never one to hide from the spotlight.
Her dress was as splendid as her mother described. It was flattering on her too, giving her skin a healthy pinkish glow. They spent days carefully sewing pearls into it. She would be dressed as finely as the Princess Mary.
Katherine had remained silent about accompanying her once she was married.
“I don’t think I can go. I should stay here. I don’t think they’d let me go anyways. I am your father’s ward.”
Frances had frowned but no amount of pouting made her get her way.
At length, she dropped the matter entirely and the two of them discussed happier matters from the clothes she received to the horse her father promised her she could pick from the stables. He also promised to give her a pair of fine greyhounds since she had seemed to take to hunting so much.
With so much wedding planning underway, there was hardly any time for her to dwell on her groom. She thought of him with a feeling of happy anticipation. When they moved back to Bradgate, he would surely rescue her from the clutches of his mother.
It turned out that the King and most of the nobles of the realm were attending her wedding, which was being postponed until April now.
She was smiling gleefully as she informed her soon-to-be mother-in-law. But if Margaret was impressed she hid it very well. In fact, she disapproved of the extravagant cost of the wedding.
“This could pay for food over the winter,” she said, when she saw the pearls on her dress.
“This is merely a dress befitting her station,” her mother interjected.
There was nothing Margaret could say, seeing as Mary outranked her by far.
Frances was enjoying her mother’s protection for once, but she wasn’t sure how long this could last. After all, what would happen when she left for her marital home? It did not seem like there were any plans being made for her to go to court, not that she would want to serve Anne Boleyn, and her mother had made no mention of her staying with her either.
It didn’t take her long to notice that her mother often retreated back to her rooms or stayed in bed for much of the days.
“Are you not well, Mother?” she asked tentatively one morning as they watched the carts full of meat and fish being brought in. With the wedding only a few days away their larders were being filled and the cooks kept busy in the kitchens day and night.
“It was a hard journey for me to come to London from Westhorpe. The doctors say I have an ague. It comes and goes but leaves me feeling weak.”
Her mother’s condition shocked her, but she quickly convinced herself that the best doctors in the Kingdom were treating her and that soon she would be well, especially when she returned to the fresh air of the country.
At last, the day arrived for her wedding. Already Suffolk Place was packed to the brim with visiting nobles and their families. The King would arrive on that morning to see her walking to the altar in the Suffolk chapel.
Where she had been anxious being the center of attention a few years ago, now she reveled in the attention she was getting. The gifts she received went a long way to stifling her nerves as well. She almost forgot that after today she would cease to be Lady Frances Brandon and become the Marchioness Frances Grey.
Her mother was in high spirits that morning, and her sister and Katherine were there to help her get ready.
A warm bath was drawn and she was washed in scented oils. Her hair was perfumed with rose water. Then piece by piece she was dressed in the elaborate gown and its undergarments. The new smock was the softest she had ever owned. The cuffs and neckline were embroidered in black thread. The crest of her family was etched into top of the cuffs visible over the sleeves of her gown.
Her mother had done it herself, and she expressed sincere gratitude.
Her headdress was one her mother had worn during her short time as Queen of France. Made with black and white satin, it was surprisingly lightweight despite its impressive display of jewels. The tear-shaped pearls encircled the hood encapsulated in a gold setting, at the center a small gold rose to symbolize her Tudor heritage was sewn in by a goldsmith.
She twirled in her gown before her mother’s looking mirror until she was ordered to stand still.
Before Frances knew it, there was no more time to study the jewels on her fingers or the sheen of her new gown. They rushed to the chapel where a large congregation awaited. She spotted the towering shape of her uncle, looking as Kingly as ever. He had a kind happy smile on his face when he saw her.
Then her eyes became fixed on her groom waiting in front of the priest. He seemed anxious as he fidgeted with the gold buttons of his coat. He was dressed in a matching costume of white and black satin.
He was not short and miserly. In fact, he seemed well proportioned and gave the appearance of a gentle man. Frances blushed to see he was looking at her too. His eyes raked her from her headdress down to her toes. She knew he was admiring her rich gown.
Her father led her down the aisle and handed her to the groom. She took his offered hand, and then, unable to bear it any longer, turned her attention to the priest who was dressed in his formal garb.
The ceremony seemed to drone on and on. The heavy smell of burning incense was threatening to make her sneeze. In an effort to distract herself, Frances took to thinking of the jousting and banquet afterwards. She couldn’t wait to see what other presents they had received too.
And just like that it was over.
Frances had promised to obey, and he had promised to endow her with his goods. She didn’t pay much attention to what she parroted back to the priest. She was itching to sit down or dance.
Suffolk Place had been transformed. Wine was being served freely, and, out in the courtyard, commoners were celebrating. They stopped to applaud them as they stepped out of the chapel followed by the King and her father at his heels.
Frances waved back to them, more than happy to hear from them that she made a beautiful bride. She looked to her husband and found he too was looking at the crowd and waving.
Th
ey were seated below the King and ate countless dishes of meats, fish and pies. For dessert there were two enormous marchpane cakes. One had her coat of arms and the other her husband’s.
She loved the sweet rich taste.
After all the food, she was in no mood for dancing, but her husband led her up for one dance at least, not taking no for an answer.
“We have to dance. The King is watching and it is expected of us. You wouldn’t want to embarrass me before all these people, would you?” he whispered.
So obediently she stood, and joined the others. Trying hard to smile but knowing she was grimacing as her stomach hurt from overeating. She was spared from dancing further as a troupe of maskers began to perform. Then an acrobat and a fool interrupted them, causing a minor brawl between the troupe leader and the fool, which left their noble guests laughing.
Frances was busy trying to soak it all in, when it struck her that perhaps she should speak to her husband. Watching him from the corner of her eyes, she suddenly felt shy. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing, and he must have already gotten the wrong impression about her.
She wasn’t a glutton.
It wasn’t her fault that her mother had arranged for some of her favorite foods to be served to her. She hadn’t eaten all morning either, as she had too many nerves to even think of swallowing down anything.
“Do you like Suffolk Place?” she finally asked. Then wondered if that was a strange question to ask. What did one say to one’s husband? She thought of her mother and father who always spoke and never seemed to be awkward with one another.
“It’s very grand,” he replied unhelpfully.
“I’ve been staying at Bradgate, the park there is wonderful,” she continued.
At this he seemed to perk up. “Do you like to hunt?”
“Yes, of course. My father has promised to give me a new horse and a pair of greyhounds. Perhaps we can go hunting together? Your mother has not let me hunt, so I have been restricted to merely riding.”
“My mother is…” he paused searching for way to describe her. “…an unnatural mother. She still has control over my lands until I come into my majority. I would call her greedy, but she is in fact just petty. She is fine spending my money on fine clothes for herself. Meanwhile, she has the gall to restrict my allowance.”
“She told me,” Frances leaned towards him conspiratorially. “She seems quite spiteful and did not treat me well. I am glad I shall have you at my side.”
He seemed puzzled by this.
“I shall most likely be at court. Your father has yet to settle a place on us where we can live. In the meantime, you will just have to live at Bradgate.”
“But your mother…”
“Unfortunately, I can do nothing until I am older,” he was frowning again. “You should talk to your father. Perhaps he can give us a London house and you can stay there. I shall be at court most of the time.” She saw him looking towards the King and her father who were cajoling with their arms around one another as they called out to the fool.
“Or perhaps the King, your uncle, will reward us with some gift. I wouldn’t mind another title. Perhaps some more lands,” he looked at her expectantly.
“I-I rarely, speak to him.”
“You shall speak to him more. You are his niece. I am sure he will be generous,” he took her hand and placed a kiss on the back of her hand, giving her a sweet smile. “We shall do very well the two of us.”
Frances’s throat was dry. She wasn’t sure she could do what he asked. More than that, how would he react if she couldn’t deliver?
Her mother and father always talked about how they had little money to go around. Her mother had her dower payments from France, but those were unreliable and her father was in heavy debt to the crown, so he was struggling to maintain his estate. This wedding was an exuberant expense for them.
She was sure that Margaret had more money lying around than her own parents. Could they not appeal to his mother now that he was married to increase their allowance?
It was well passed dark when she was escorted by her mother, sister and mother-in-law to her wedding chamber. They watched the maids undress her and put her to bed to await her husband.
At length he arrived quite drunk and wobbling on his feet. His groom of the bedchamber had to help him into bed, pretending nothing was amiss.
With that, the priest came to say a blessing but her husband interrupted the serious moment by deciding to let out a loud belch, which set him and his friends laughing. Frances was mortified. Seeing him like this, she could see nothing but a rude child. This was far from the image of the Prince she had imagined.
She soon also realized how alone they suddenly were. They had barely spoken. When thinking of her wedding, she had barely focused on him or what would come after the feasting. She was scared to move and attract his attention as he was fighting with the blankets beside her. Her mother had been incredibly vague about what would happen when they were alone.
She knew from gossiping maids that a man and woman had to sleep together to have children. From what she had seen of animals in the countryside, she knew there must be more to this than just sleeping beside one another.
It still left her feeling queasy and she hoped that he would not attempt anything tonight. But it seemed that her husband had other plans. His hand had crept its way over to hers.
“You seem lost in thought,” he mumbled. “Your hair smells nice.”
She saw he had rolled over so now his face was on her spread-out hair.
She supposed this was his attempt at being seductive as he inched his way towards her. She tried her best not to pull away or look repulsed, but he did smell strongly of spirits. She thought of how meticulously her mother had prepared her this morning and felt that he was ruining everything.
“Thank you, I suppose.”
His smile was crooked as he leaned forward and placed a kiss on her brow.
She waited for something else to happen but nothing did. He had laid back down and fallen into a deep slumber.
She was dreading the morning.
She was too embarrassed to think of her maids coming in and pulling her out of bed to find her with her husband. She was mortified thinking of what her mother would say.
She was a Marchioness now, but she felt more like an animal in the field. With these thoughts whirling through her head she could not sleep.
Beside her, Henry was sleeping so soundly he had begun snoring heavily. He was clearly pleased with himself. She wished he would have had the decency to get up and leave if he wanted to sleep.
She had done her duty and welcomed him to her bed. Did she have to put up with him afterwards too?
Sometime after, when she felt she could not stand it anymore, she got up and wiped herself clean with a cloth and water from a washing basin nearby. The dancing and celebrations had left her sweaty. She relished the feeling of the cool water on her skin.
It then struck her that now that she was married she might become pregnant.
The thought was not particularly pleasant for her. She was too young to start having children. She didn’t want to get plump and fat, she wanted to dance and go hunting.
She looked over to her husband again. He had said they could go hunting together.
She returned to bed but slept on top of the sheets and waited for morning.
Frances was standing beside her husband as they played bowls in the palace gardens at Greenwich.
“The King has said he will make you a Knight of the Bath. He told my father this morning.” She looked up at him, expecting him to smile.
“Nothing about a title?”
“No.” She hesitated. “But it’s a great honor. I am sure you shall receive other shows of favor too. You have become a great favorite at court. Everyone says so.”
He scoffed and threw his bowl, hitting her own out of the way as he managed to nearly touch her cone.
She let him win the next round too.
He finally turned to her, pasting what she recognized as a forced smile on his face. “Of course, it is just I am tired of being at the mercy of others. My mother holds my lands, we have to turn to your father for charity and your uncle does not take me seriously.”
“My father is happy to support us.” Frances touched his arm. “We shall prevail upon your mother to increase your allowance. Soon you shall enter your majority and then you can kick her off your lands.”
This seemed to soothe him a bit but just as quickly he was frowning again.
“But I don’t want this to continue for another five years.”
She was at a cross roads as she watched him kicking his feet around. She could continue trying to reassure him or she could let her temper fly at him.
She chose the latter.
“It is not my fault you cannot stand up to your mother! My father has been more than generous. He is allowing us to use Suffolk Place.” She did not remind him of the countless other gifts her father had given them, including a purse of one hundred pounds.
Now she looked at him reprovingly. “I don’t have everything I want either. Do you think I do not see the gifts lavished on my sister Eleanor by her betrothed? Am I not entitled to jewels, and new gowns? My mother is the Dowager Queen of France, whereas yours is the lowly daughter of a Knight.”
He took a step back shocked at her outspokenness.
“How dare you!” Now he moved forward, but she did not balk in the face of his anger. She met his anger face on.
They were preparing to square off again when they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Realizing how inappropriate being caught in the middle of a row would be, they stepped away from each other, and Frances tried to soothe her angry expression into one of indifference.
It was Mary Boleyn who came strolling through with a stranger Frances couldn’t quite place.
They quickly excused themselves. Frances was trying her best to be polite as she had no wish to antagonize the sister of the soon-to-be Queen of England.