No word arrived regarding her wedding.
October 1485
Henry’s coronation was scheduled for the thirtieth of the month. Elizabeth tried to push away her fears caused by the fact that he was being crowned without her, without even naming a date for their wedding. Those who supported him due to their love of her and his promise that they would be wed began to lose patience. Elizabeth was frequently found in her private chapel on her knees, attempting to give up her worries to her God.
As she rose from the altar on a chilly October morning, she turned to find her mother waiting to speak to her.
“Mother, you are welcome to pray with me,” Elizabeth invited.
Elizabeth Woodville’s lips curved in a smirk, but she joined her daughter before the altar. Returning to her knees, Elizabeth begged God to help her converse civilly with her mother. She knew that her mother had the best interests of the family in mind, or at least what she thought was best for the family. Rising together, they each crossed themselves and bowed briefly before the gold crucifix before turning to leave.
Elizabeth’s mother did not waste time on pleasantries. “I’ve spoken to Margaret about the wedding plans.” She also did not waste effort on titles for her former lady-in-waiting, despite her present position as the king’s mother.
“I’m sure Henry is busy with plans for his own coronation,” Elizabeth said, wondering why she felt the need to defend him when she shared her mother’s concerns.
“You are too understanding, daughter. He hurries to crown himself with no mention of marriage to give people the impression that he takes the crown by his own right.”
“I suppose he does, as the victor at Bosworth,” Elizabeth struggled to keep her tone indifferent.
Her mother was not fooled but carried on. “The sickness decimating the city does not help his case. Those brave enough to say so preach that it is God’s judgment on Tudor’s usurpation.”
“Mother, you must not speak that way. As you have said yourself, he is king and will be my husband. No benefit is obtained from considering what-ifs or past desires.” Elizabeth turned to face her mother and saw a new respect in her eyes.
“You have truly grown up,” her mother said with a smile. “I am glad that you have accepted Henry.”
“I have no choice but to accept the future that God has laid out before me. His wisdom is greater than mine.”
“You are devoted to your God and will be devoted to your king. It is as it should be. You will make a good queen, my daughter.”
Not able to completely bury her own curiosity, Elizabeth asked, “And what did Lady Margaret have to say about the wedding plans?” She was surprised that she felt any peace about moving forward with Henry. God seemed to have put tranquility in her heart about the path he had placed her on.
“She said that you and Henry would benefit from additional time to get to know each other.”
Mother and daughter shared a look that spoke volumes. Both knew what could happen to royal betrothals given enough time.
~~~~
Henry’s coronation was as splendid and glorious as the world had come to expect from English monarchs. Surely that was Henry’s point. If he looked enough like a king, the people would be bound to accept him as one.
Elizabeth and her sisters were part of the long procession that wound through the streets displaying their support of their new king. Yards and yards of Lancaster red cloth adorned the path they walked along, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but compare it to the color of blood. How much blood had been shed between Lancaster and York to get them to this place where the man wearing the crown had little of either?
Some men and women with more royal blood followed Henry today. Elizabeth and her sisters, Edward of Warwick and his sister, Margaret, John and Edmund de la Pole, were all receiving curious looks as the crowd seemed to be wondering who would be the next cousin to revert to bloodshed. Since Henry IV took the throne from his cousin Richard II, the Plantagenet family had been battling each other for the crown that would soon rest upon Henry’s head.
Outwardly, Elizabeth was nothing but supportive, and she pushed away any discouraging thought that came to mind. “God grant me peace,” she whispered as she arranged her face to meet the probing crowd of onlookers. She would encourage the country, her country, to accept this man in any way she could for the sake of reconciliation.
Henry was splendidly clad in a purple gown with cloth of gold trimming that gleamed in the sunlight. He would overwhelm them with his majesty and the richness of the presentation. Then he hoped England would love him. The procession of noble men and women made their way from the Tower to Westminster Abbey amid trumpets blaring, heralds announcing the approach of the King, and people shouting in loyalty. Looking at this moment in time, it was easy to believe that Henry was beloved.
Red roses had been hurriedly painted on shop fronts, embroidered on gowns, and planted in courtyards. Banners fluttered in the wind as though God himself was showing his support for the beginning of the Tudor dynasty. Elizabeth wondered where all the white roses had gone.
Henry knelt before Thomas Bourchier, Archbishop of Canterbury, under the soaring arches of Westminster Abbey. The hundreds in attendance became almost eerily quiet. Were they waiting for a sign, some indication from God that Henry Tudor was blessed and war would be no more? No flash of lightning or thunder crash gave signal of a curse, and Elizabeth sighed in relief that Henry had been so encouraged throughout the day. If she could not have her own desires, she simply wanted peace.
At the moment the crown was placed on Henry’s head, he sat on St. Edward’s Chair where the kings of England had sat for their coronation since 1308. The large chair was carved out of dark wood, and Henry seemed rather small sitting in it. A tingle raced through Elizabeth’s body as she thought of the history of the Coronation Chair, where her father, Richard, and almost two hundred years of kings coming before them had sat. Edward I had the chair built so that it had a compartment for the Stone of Scone, which had been captured from the Scottish. The placement of their coronation stone within the English coronation chair indicated England’s sovereignty over Scotland. Henry would undoubtedly have to defend his kingdom against the Scots that he supposedly ruled.
That day would be thought of later. For today, Henry was victorious, cheered by his people as he took the crown in his own right. Whether through conquest or his questionable royal blood, Henry VII stood before all those in attendance as King of England.
November 1485
A wedding was being organized. It would be beautiful and magnificent, as was only proper considering the circumstances. Margaret Stanley had her hand in the plans, but she seemed both insistent that she should be in charge and somewhat unhappy that the wedding would be taking place. The bride would be beautiful with her long, blond hair and voluptuous figure. Dressmakers had thronged around Lady Margaret’s rooms for the opportunity to be considered worthy of outfitting such a gorgeous subject. The groom, with his dark brooding face, still held Welsh charm that people accepted as handsomeness.
The couple was Katherine Woodville and Jasper Tudor.
Katherine still had her share of Woodville allure. She was twenty-seven years old, but, like her older sister, her beauty was not fading as the years passed. Her first husband, Henry Stafford, had been duke of Buckingham under Elizabeth’s father. As talk of Katherine’s wedding flowed around Elizabeth, she remembered dancing with the aristocratic Stafford. He had been so handsome and devoted to the lovely Katherine. Elizabeth had hoped to find that kind of love with someone, had thought she might with Richard. Now, they were both gone.
Through a course of events that Elizabeth still did not understand, Henry had been executed for rebelling against his one-time friend and confidant. What had made him rebel against Richard? Elizabeth considered asking Katherine, but didn’t think the time was appropriate. It probably never would be. Lost in her own selfish world at the time, Elizabeth had not considered what had bee
n Stafford’s motivation.
The thought crossed her mind that others had also betrayed Richard at Bosworth Field, making it possible for him to be defeated. Why had so many left his side when they were most needed? Perhaps there was too much that she didn’t know. She was consumed by the fact that she still did not know the fate of her brothers. Did those who had turned against Richard have knowledge of events that would tarnish her memory of her beloved uncle?
Katherine was marrying Jasper Tudor, the new king’s uncle and closest friend. He was in his mid-fifties, but was healthy and fit from the constant activity of conspiring with Lady Margaret to bring their golden boy to the throne of England. Without Jasper’s help, Henry never would have been able to raise troops, plan an attack, or fight the winning battle. Elizabeth wasn’t sure whether to thank him or hate him.
Elizabeth was lost in thoughts of this complicated family tapestry when she realized that someone was repeating her name.
“Yes? Sorry, Aunt Katherine, I was just thinking of you.”
“You were looking quite contemplative,” Katherine said with a smirk. “I hope that you were not pondering too carefully. It is what often gets your mother in trouble.”
Elizabeth laughed. Katherine was more willing to take life as it came to her. “I was just thinking of the paths that we all took to get here,” Elizabeth admitted, hoping that wasn’t saying too much.
Katherine’s smile faded slightly, “Ah, then you were having serious thoughts.”
The faraway look on Katherine’s face told Elizabeth that she was thinking of Henry Stafford, and that she did still love him. But did she think him treasonous? She dare not ask.
“How are the arrangements coming along?” she asked instead.
“Oh, wondrously, of course,” Katherine sighed as she lowered herself to a stool near Elizabeth. “As you know, the Lady Margaret is more than capable of arranging all of our lives and events so that we may sit back at our leisure.”
Elizabeth grinned at Katherine’s lighthearted disrespect for the king’s mother. “She is very ambitious and driven,” she admitted.
“And soon will be planning your wedding.” It was a statement but held a slight tone of question.
“I believe so,” Elizabeth ventured. “What have you heard of it?”
“Elizabeth, you should not have to ask others whether your wedding plans are being made,” Katherine admonished. “You must stand up for yourself. It is a wide gulf between keeping yourself from being trampled and being overbearing.”
Smiling again at her aunt’s insight, Elizabeth admitted, “I do hope to avoid the reputation that our mother has earned. People do not see that she only does her best to protect her children.”
Katherine laid a hand on Elizabeth’s smaller, softer one. “I understand your concerns, but you must force Henry to make a decision.”
“And how does one force a king to make a decision?”
“Seduce him, of course!”
Elizabeth felt heat rushing up to her cheeks. “I couldn’t.”
“Don’t shake your head at me,” Katherine insisted. “I’m not saying to lay with the man. Of course not. But make him desire you as a woman and as a queen. Your innocence is one of the reasons that he will.”
Elizabeth looked her aunt in the eye, considering what she said. “You think that I am being too submissive.”
“You will need to learn to enforce your will a little if you are to be the daughter-in-law of Margaret Stanley,” Katherine said grimly.
“What of your will?” Elizabeth asked with a desire to take the focus off of herself. “Are you happy to be marrying Jasper?”
“Such a question!” Katherine exclaimed, but she patted Elizabeth’s arm as if to comfort her. “Jasper is a fine man and in favor with the king.” She paused but saw that Elizabeth wanted more than an analysis of Jasper’s political appropriateness. “I believe that we will be able to please each other.”
It was not the love that had shone in her eyes when she had looked at her Harry, but it would have to suffice. Elizabeth was determined to accept her own fate with the same resolve.
On the seventh of November, Katherine and Jasper said their vows, and a celebration worthy of the king’s most valued ally commenced. Wine seemed to flow in unlimited quantities, and there was enough food to make Elizabeth wish that she could be there to see the leftovers handed out to the poor. A feast would be enjoyed by all this day, and she felt free to enjoy herself for the first time since hearing of Richard’s death. She was determined not to concern herself with her own future for this one day. This day belonged to Katherine.
Laughing and dancing with the flush of activity and wine upon her cheeks, Elizabeth felt as though the last few months could be forgotten. More than ever before, she was ready to accept this new life. Henry joined her, and she was able to smile up at him with genuine happiness. He seemed pleased to see her so.
“I would speak to you, my lady,” he said to her as the musicians ended a lively tune.
“Of course, your grace,” Elizabeth said with a tilt of her head. Her hair was starting to fall in wisps about her face from the complex arrangement it had been pinned into.
“Please, call me Henry,” he reminded her as he placed her hand on his arm.
“Yes, Henry. I’m too out of breath to think,” she said with a smile, and he grinned in return.
“It brings me joy to see you so happy,” he admitted as he directed her to a quiet alcove and motioned to a servant to bring wine. “I understand that times have been trying for you.”
Elizabeth frowned, not wanting to think about anything but this moment. She looked into Henry’s eyes, hoping to see his soul revealed. “I am happy right now and hope to remain so.”
“I apologize,” Henry said with a shake of his head. “I should not impose unpleasant memories on you as I comment on your pleasure. Forgive me.”
“Of course, I do, Henry.” She saw a gleam of copper in his eyes that she had not noticed before. The cast of his left eye did not distract and horrify her as it had when she had first laid eyes on him. In fact, she thought that she remembered hearing that King Edward I had a similar characteristic. “There is nothing to forgive you for,” she added, boldly laying a hand on his arm. “You are a thoughtful king.”
“And you will make a beautiful queen,” he said as he lifted his hand to trace the outline of her jaw. “So beautiful.”
Elizabeth felt a fluttering inside that she never expected to feel with Henry. It was the wine. She knew that she had consumed too much and it was fueling feelings that she did not truly have. Then she remembered her aunt Katherine’s words. Elizabeth looked across the room at Katherine, the vision of a happy bride dancing with Jasper Tudor. Only Elizabeth would have guessed that she was still longing for Harry Stafford in her heart. But Harry was dead and so was Richard.
Henry was waiting, and she lowered her eyes and looked up at him through her lashes. “Am I truly to be your queen?” She felt blood rushing to her face and hoped it would be masked by the flush already there from the dancing and wine.
“You do not doubt it?” Henry seemed legitimately shocked by her inquiry. “It has always been my plan to make you my queen, even when I doubted my ability to make myself king.”
“I should never have doubted you.” Relief flooded through her, and she suddenly realized that this was what she wanted. For the sake of her country and her family, she wanted this marriage and would have to let go of her memories and hopes of Richard.
“I will try to give you no further reasons to.” He leaned close to her and she could feel his breath on her neck. It tingled down her spine and made goosebumps pop up on her arms. He placed the lightest of kisses on her warm cheek. “You will be my queen, Elizabeth.”
~~~~
Elizabeth was on her knees in her private chapel. Despite the majesty of Henry’s coronation and the almost royal wedding of Katherine and Jasper, Elizabeth knew the city of London to be suffering yet from
the sweating sickness. Only this morning, one of her pages had been missing and she wondered if she would see him again. The work within these seemingly safe walls went on, but Elizabeth desired to do more.
She rose and crossed herself, bowed before the golden crucifix, and returned her prayer beads to their place at her waist. Her savior on the golden cross seemed to stare back at her asking how she would help his people. It was many moments before she removed her eyes from his gleaming metallic ones. When she strode from the chapel, it was with purpose and a plan.
Glancing about her rooms, Elizabeth pulled Jayne aside and asked her to recommend someone to assist her.
“It must be someone who keeps quietly to herself so that few would notice her activities,” Elizabeth insisted.
“What is it you are proposing, your grace?” Jayne asked in a suggestive tone.
“Not what you are thinking, Jayne,” Elizabeth said with a grin. “It is a mission of mercy, which I would ask you to participate in but your absence would be noted.”
“And yours will not?”
“No, because I have you to cover for me.”
“Very well,” Jayne acknowledged. “Emma. She would be perfect.”
Elizabeth looked to the young woman in question. She knew her to be pious and devout, if somewhat shy. Even her small frame, light brown hair, and sad brown eyes attracted little attention.
“Emma, would you attend me a moment?” Elizabeth asked as she stepped close to her, not wanting the others’ curiosity piqued.
Emma looked up in surprise but responded, “Of course, your grace.” She quickly put aside her embroidery, an altar cloth, Elizabeth noted. Emma followed Elizabeth to her room where she was directed to a large trunk. “What would you have me do, my lady?”
Elizabeth took Emma’s hands in her own, surprising the shy girl even further. “Emma, I would like you to be my partner in a little scheme that I have planned.”
Plantagenet Princess, Tudor Queen: The Story of Elizabeth of York Page 9
