To Crown A Rose

by Anne R Bailey

  Only their chaplain, James Haddon, did not approve of their revelry. He used such forceful language to Frances that she had been tempted to yell back at him.

  “We encourage the servants not to gamble. In fact, we have forbidden them to do so. What we do with our friends in our private rooms is not for you to judge. We confess to you our sins. But gambling is the way of our world. What fun would it be if there were no stakes?” Frances argued.

  Her chaplain did not seem impressed, but he also sensed her anger and did not press the matter any further.

  As the days of her encroaching confinement began nearing, she clung to her husband for companionship. She did not admit to him that she was scared and found his boisterous spirit heartening, but he seemed to appreciate having a doting wife.

  When she was not with him, she was training her bird with the falconer. They used lures of meat to get the little bird to hop from one perch to another to get its food. Slowly, it would learn to fly to its quarry and return to her gloved hands.

  Frances couldn’t wait to be free to do the same.

  Her son was born in March.

  He had come easily into the world, but she could tell there was something wrong. No one dared say anything to her, but she was not so blind that she couldn’t tell he was small and, though he fed well, he did not seem to be gaining weight.

  She found she couldn’t bear to hold him for long, nor did she find his little smiles adorable.

  She was proud to have provided her husband with a son and heir, something Queen Anne had failed to do, but she did not seem to get the joy that other mothers got at the sight of their children. She found she could forgive her own mother’s coldness towards her. Children, especially at this age, were more of a nuisance, and her son had wreaked havoc on her body.

  Her once flat stomach now felt flabby and malformed.

  It was Henry who had turned into a doting father overnight. She often found him in their son’s nursery, and she knew he visited every night when he wasn’t at court.

  By the council’s decree, his mother had finally been forced to hand over all the lands she was holding on behalf of her son, and her wardship was stripped away. They had argued before the King’s council and her son had won. They looked at Henry with a new son in his cradle and sided with him just as Frances knew they would. Frances only cared that Bradgate was now firmly in her keeping.

  Bradgate had become her refuge from the world outside.

  Her father had been forced to relinquish his holdings on many of her childhood homes, and though he had been gifted lands in Lincolnshire, she had never visited them yet. She had not seen Katherine since that fateful day, though she often thought of her which only ended up filling her with a rage that filled her to her core.

  Her father, she could forgive. He was always pragmatic and had been desperate for money. He was also in need of an heir.

  Her brother had died just weeks ago and their family was plunged into mourning. She had been unable to attend the funeral as she was in the last months of her pregnancy, but it saddened her to think that her mother’s heir wouldn’t inherit her father’s lands.

  Of course, it didn’t surprise her to hear that Katherine was now pregnant. She seemed to get everything she wanted.

  Eleanor was settled down to married life as well, and they exchanged letters occasionally. Eleanor had not had the bad falling out with Katherine that she had and Frances knew they saw each other often. This made her feel equally betrayed by her sister.

  As the weather turned warm, she looked forward to the freedom of being able to ride out and hunt again.

  In the summer, they also had plans to renovate and build a bear pit and jousting lists. She would turn Bradgate into a modern palace for herself.

  She had no need of London.

  She had no need of anyone.

  Part II

  — Nine Years Later —

  Chapter Five

  1543

  “You would spoil our children,” Frances accused her husband.

  “No, I wish to see them raised properly. A proper education is admirable to have. With their good breeding, they should be as talented as the Lady Mary — if not more so,” he said.

  She eyed him suspiciously. “I suppose if you think we can spare the expense. I know it is fashionable for the ladies of the court to be highly educated now.”

  “Good.” He patted her knee. “I was sure you would see my way.”

  She sighed, not wishing to hide the exasperation in her voice. “Learning languages was enough education for me.”

  “Frances, I have great plans for our daughters.”

  “And our sons?” she snapped.

  “And them when they come as God will surely grant them to us,” he spoke more tenderly to her now. “We are still young. You needn’t concern yourself.”

  She nodded but fixed her gaze on her hands in her lap. She thought of Queen Catherine who had been put aside for not bearing her husband a male heir. She wondered if Henry would do the same to her.

  Her thoughts were elsewhere as he pulled her towards him trailing kisses up her neck in a gesture of loving devotion.

  Could she trust him not to put her aside? She tried not to think of the little coffins buried behind the church. They were a reminder of both her failure and the cruelty dealt out to her in droves by fate.

  As if sensing her temper giving way to despair, her husband stopped. A moment later he pressed a cup of wine into her hands.

  “Shall we play some cards instead?”

  She took a sip of wine and nodded, the dark thoughts melting away just as quickly as they had formed.

  Frances left Bradgate in good spirits. She was heading for London to join the May Day celebrations. The sun shone brightly overhead, promising an easy journey.

  Her newest addition to her household, Adrian Stokes, her Master of Horse, accompanied her. He proved to be jovial company on the journey. They spoke at length about the newest greyhounds he had purchased to breed for her.

  After her previous Master of Horse had died of the sweating sickness, her husband had recommended him, knowing he had a knack for horses. Since then, he had become invaluable to her.

  Her steward and two gentlemen ushers rode just behind her while the majority of her household followed after them. She now had the full retinue of a Marchioness.

  She was no longer a little girl fighting to gain control.

  Following in the footsteps of her mother before her, she had taken a great interest in the lands and villages surrounding Bradgate, making sure to support the local pageants anyway she could.

  “We shall have to get Jane a new pony. She will be old enough to join the hunt.”

  “I don’t think she would enjoy that very much,” he said apologetically.

  “Nonsense, she enjoys studying and God knows she’s a brilliant girl, but there’s more to life than books,” Frances said.

  Her thoughts turned to the six-year-old in her nursery who day by day proved how intelligent she was. She should have been filled with pride, but she found she could not relate to and understand this daughter of hers.

  She tried to be a good mother but felt she was failing daily somehow.

  She had not doted on her children as others had done. During their infancy, she tended to avoid them. The loss of her son had retaught her how fragile children were. Many lived fleeting lives and she could not bring herself to grow too attached.

  It did not help that she was left feeling as though her husband’s attention was waning. He was caught up in the New Learning, always reading or writing something. When he wasn’t doing that, he was seeing to their children. He took great care to appoint only the very best tutors.

  It felt like a reproach to her whenever she found him and Jane sequestered together with books in his study. She knew they were discussing theology and philosophy. She had tried joining them once but found she had dozed off when Jane had nudged her to stop her from snoring.

  Sh
e wanted him to come riding with her as they used to do, but he had less and less time for her.

  She looked at Jane with her seemingly magical power for holding his interest and couldn’t help but feel a twang of jealousy. It made her feel ridiculous. Her daughter represented the future and for that Henry adored Jane. He looked at Jane as though he expected her to conquer the world. Frances knew that Henry cherished her and respected her as his wife but he did not love her like the troubadour in poems.

  Frances wanted to be adored. She deserved it.

  Her whole life, no one looked at her with that sort of love. Her father, though kind, had been solely focused on her mother. As for her mother, she never won her mother’s approval though she struggled for it daily. Even her own friends had the tendency to betray her.

  When her party arrived at Greenwich, she headed for Lady Mary’s rooms. There was no Queen on the throne at the moment, and now the daughter of the King’s first wife, Catherine of Aragon, was the leading woman of the court.

  It was hard to believe in the last nine years she had seen four Queens come and go.

  It had been a relief to see Anne Boleyn brought so low, but her beheading still chilled Frances. To think that the King could be so cruel.

  She embraced Lady Mary with a tenderness she had not shown her own children. They had grown up together, and Frances had borne witness to her fall from grace and her revival. There was now a royal Prince growing up at Hertford and Mary’s father, the King, had made peace with his daughter.

  For her part, Lady Mary never forgot how they spent days walking by the Thames in her youth and then later the letters Frances had helped her pass along in secret to her exiled mother.

  That seemed so long ago.

  She caught sight of Catherine Parr nearby and greeted her friend with a smile.

  “You seem well,” she said, taking a seat beside her.

  “I had been troubled, but I have made up my mind with God’s guidance.”

  Frances was intrigued. “What is it that has been troubling you?”

  Catherine seemed unsure if she should confide in her but decided to tell her.

  “The King has been most attentive to me and kind. He has proposed and I have accepted him,” she whispered into her ear.

  “When?” Frances was breathless. Part of her couldn’t believe there would be another Queen! The third Queen Catherine to sit on the throne beside her uncle. The other part of her was happy to see her friend elevated so highly. Though she struggled with herself to try to suppress the jealousy at the thought of what power she would hold.

  “The plans are being made already. Not long now, the King says sometime in July.”

  “Congratulations.” Frances looked to Mary who was talking to Lady Margaret Douglas. “Is Lady Mary pleased?”

  “I am sure she has her reservations, but she has not voiced them. I think I shall show her I shall be a good guardian to her, and I hope a good mother to her younger siblings.”

  Of course, how could Mary dare to speak up against her father’s wishes?

  “I am sure you will be.” Thinking it would take a strong woman to step into the shoes of five previous wives.

  Frances had seen how strong Catherine could be. She had been left alone by her previous husband as her castle was laid siege by the rebellious Northerners in Lincolnshire. Now a widow for the second time in her life, Catherine was sure to plow ahead.

  It was as the King had said, and their wedding took place on July 12th.

  Frances helped her prepare for her wedding day, dressing her in the cream silk gown sent up to her by the King. It was a simple ceremony held in the Queen’s Privy Closet at Hampton Court.

  Lady Anne Herbert, the Queen’s sister, was all smiles. Her shoulders pushed back, strutting around as proudly as any peacock, happy with her sister’s rise to power.

  Frances looked to her husband with a knowing smile. They had seen many families rise and fall with the marriage of a kinswoman to the King. Hopefully, Catherine would fare better, as there were no guarantees of the King’s favor.

  She was doing her best to ignore a certain someone in the room. Katherine Willoughby, the Duchess of Suffolk, was there. She was standing beside Lady Elizabeth while Frances had chosen to stand to the left of the other sister Mary to act as a barrier.

  For years, she had done her best to ignore and avoid talking to Katherine. There had been the odd letter to her father, congratulating him on the birth of his two sons by her and random family news. Her own failure to produce a son weighed heavily on her. She somehow felt Katherine was responsible. Not only had she robbed her mother’s place, but she had continued to thrive where she had failed.

  It irked Frances that she was popular at court, known for her beauty and wit. She was held up as an example of the perfect wife and Frances couldn’t help but hate her even more for it.

  Following the fashion, Katherine had taken up with the New Faith and was known to be a reformer. Frances’s father, Charles, had even let Katherine name her dog Gardiner. An insult to the Bishop who was secretly thought to be a papist.

  They dined after the ceremony. A feast that went on for hours as the King kept calling in for more and more food. Frances, well accustomed to his large feasts, paced herself as she sat beside her husband.

  “I think you shall be pleased to hear that the King is working on an act of succession to put before Parliament,” Henry murmured to her.

  “Oh?” She sat up straighter in her seat and leaned closer to him.

  “No one knows anything for sure, but I heard rumors that your aunt Margaret has been overlooked, which means…”

  “Me…” Frances had to quickly close her mouth realizing she was gaping like some fool.

  “It is very likely the King has honored you,” he said, careful with his choice of words in case anyone could overhear.

  “Us.” She touched his hand. Her mind on the glory of being named officially to the succession.

  A plate of thin slices of beef rolled to resemble larks was put before them. Another server drizzled thick gravy over them. Her mouth watered at the rich smell, and, finding her appetite again, she served herself a generous portion.

  She did not have to wait long to have her position in the succession confirmed. By Act of Parliament, she was now officially fourth in line for the throne. The news filled her with a sensation of elation she had never felt before. A world of opportunity seemed to have opened before her. She looked to her husband to see the pride evident on his face.

  They were so close to the power and privilege they had only dreamed of.

  “We shall have to arrange a brilliant marriage for Jane,” he mused out loud, in the privacy of their room. “If anything should happen, she could be in line for the throne.”

  “There are many people before her,” Frances said, not to mention herself but she did not say this. “And we shall have a son. I know we will.”

  He patted her on the head as if she was a child herself. He wasn’t thinking of her. He didn’t picture her on the throne. Had she not shown him how strong she was?

  And just like that, her life was slipping away from her again, and she wasn’t sure how to stop it.

  She poured herself some wine.

  Letting the drink dull her senses until she was overcome with a feeling of giddiness.

  Then an idea struck her to distract her. Jane could come to court and serve the Queen. It was time she learned how to serve her family and do her duty. She would mention this to him later.

  Her husband’s lackluster response might have been a disappointment, but there was no mistaking the difference in the way people were treating her. Suddenly, many were approaching her. Ready to smile and laugh with her, inviting her to gamble or join them in a game.

  She was being treated with a different sort of deference. The Spanish and French Ambassadors, who had not spared her much thought, now found the time to say good morning to her.

  She laid down in bed at night wit
h a satisfied sigh, knowing she was now someone special.

  Frances was no fool though, she knew that the closer she got to the throne, the more enemies she was making. The Seymour brothers, uncles to the young Prince and heir apparent, treated her coolly now as if they feared she might usurp their power.

  None of the King’s daughters were married and there were no plans for their marriage. They could not produce male heirs to inherit. But she was married, she proved she was fertile, and, though God had taken away her child, she was still young and sure to inherit.

  If anything were to happen to the sickly Prince — God forbid — who’s to say the people wouldn’t look to her. After all, the King’s daughters were still illegitimate. Their claim on the throne would always be questioned.

  Frances was of course sorry for Princess Mary, but she would treat her kindly if she was put on the throne instead of her. She would be generous. Thoughts of her graciousness filled her with a special pride.

  It was Henry who was worried about the animosity of the Seymour brothers.

  “They aren’t to be trifled with,” he cautioned her. “If the Prince were to still be in his minority when he comes to his throne, then they would have command of him. They might see us as a threat and trust me when I tell you that they won’t balk at removing those they see as enemies.”

  She knew he was referring to the Boleyns. They had managed to topple the once powerful family.

  “They didn’t do it alone,” she reminded him. “Besides, we have neither position nor power at court.” Though she silently added yet in her mind.

  “No, but they might ensure we never get it either.”

  She laughed at the deep worry on his face and kissed his cheek. “Husband, don’t fret over nothing.”