Becoming Duchess

2

Mary stood in the centre of the room, maids chattered amongst themselves while they laced her into her kirtle. One hand had a firm grip on a chair so that she could steady herself. "Does it really have to be so tight?" Mary asked with the hope that they would allow her to breathe. She didn't understand why her waist needed to be quite so tiny.

"Of course," replied Bess Holland unsympathetically, but there was affection in her eyes as she gazed upon Mary. Bess was mistress to the Duke of Norfolk and although Mary was first upset that her father had taken his steward's daughter, she had grown to love Bess. She knew that her own mother would not attend her wedding as she deeply opposed to the match, and the wedding of Anne to the King for the love she beared the old queen. Bess had now taken on the role of mother, one which she was rather good at.

The servants laid the wedding dress in front of Mary and she gasped at it's finery. The garment's fabric was a cloth of gold with crystals woven into the material, every time it moved the gown would shimmer. Her ladies helped her into it and she twirled so that she could see the gemstones glimmer once more. Surprisingly they all squealed like schoolgirls and Mary couldn't help but giggle with them, after all, she was a young girl at the most vibrant court in England, where else could she be more happy? The gown's the neckline was square - the French fashion that Queen Anne had introduced - this exposed the top of her developing breasts.

"Who paid for this?" Mary questioned sceptically. She doubted her family would indulge her like this.

"The Duke of Richmond. He was involved in the creation of it."

Before Mary could dwell on the kindness of Henry, Bess brought forth the veil, and undid Mary's hair, much to the complaints of the other handmaids, "wear your hair down," she whispered so that only Mary's could hear, "it represents your purity and virtue."

Mary nodded in agreement and let her hair fall past her shoulders in large, flowing waves. Bess winked at her, "Beautiful," she stated.

As the time approached fast Mary became more nervous and began to pace, awaiting her fathers presence. When he marched in, relief flooded her expression.

"It's time," was all he said and then he exited as swiftly as he arrived. Mary kept at pace with him as they approached the chapel. His grey hairs reminded her that he had been playing this game for a long time, and Mary knew that this wedding was not for her, but rather for political gain. Nevertheless she would enjoy herself.

Norfolk turned his head to look at her. "Just think Mary, you are going to be a Duchess and there are so few of them in this realm," he mentioned as he took her arm, ready to lead her in. They were at the entrance now, all they had to do was go inside. The Duke continued, "And until your cousin has her son, your husband will be next in line to the throne." Queen Mary Fitzroy, A small voice in her head whispered, the ambition that was breed into her, leaking through.

"I'm glad you're pleased, father."

A hush fell over the small crowd as they entered the church. There were people of importance in the front row including the King. She knew the Queen could not attend due to her confinement but she wished for Anne's approving glances. Mary stared ahead, focusing on her betrothed, a nervousness tickling her stomach. The young Duke turned as she came towards him and to Mary's delight, he smiled warmly. Suddenly she didn't feel as anxious. There was a shyness to him, she could detect it as he gazed at her.

They both knelt on the white taffeta cushion. Mary repeated repeated the words of the marriage vow, felt the weight of a cold ring on her finger, turned to face her new husband and felt his cool kiss in a daze.

After the ceremony there was a grand feast to which everyone was invited to, even people who Mary did not recognise. There were swans and orange blossom flowers placed delicately around the room, displaying the wealth of the King. Musicians played their sweet tunes as courtiers danced. My husband is truly treated like a prince.

However, Mary did not sit with her husband, instead the King sat between them. The celebrations seemed to stretch on, her and her husband making idle small talk while courtiers approached paying service to his Majesty. Occasionally the King would lean over to Henry or Mary and brazenly discuss a subject, eventually his eyes began to drift to the ladies, in particular Lady Eleanor Luke. It wasn't too long before the king whispered to his groom, who approached the Lady subtly with a proposition, no doubt. Mary made sure her distaste did not show but she could not help but wonder if the King was not so much in love with Anne as he used to be. He waited seven years to be with the dark-haired beauty yet now that he had her, he was going to be unfaithful?

Mary's thoughts were interrupted by his Majesty's booming voice. "Now," he said, rising out of his seat. "I think it's time for the newly weds to dance, don't you?" In answer everyone chuckled politely and clapped in agreement. The King gently lifted both of their hands and place them together, making it look as though the match was his idea all along.

Mary's eyes locked with her husband and she felt a strange warmth spread through her. She curtsied and mumbled the words, "Your Grace."

Henry seemed amused by her formality. He bent down and pressed his lips to her knuckles, "wife." His breath tickled her skin as he spoke. She could almost hear his heart rate increase. He then lead her onto the dance floor while the onlookers watched. No pressure, Mary, all eyes on you, she told herself. In the corner of her eye she noticed the King take his leave.

Mark Smeaton, the violinist, began the tune and the other musicians joined. Galliards. That was the name of the dance. Slowly the young pair started to move together, making sure that their motion was beautifully in sync. Their bodies becoming one. They both manoeuvred around the room in a series of twirls and steps, Ladies and Nobles followed suit, mirroring their partners. Lord Rochford, another Boleyn, grinned at her from behind his wine cup, he then raised it in the air, other courtiers doing the same.

"To the Fitzroy's," they all cheered. The whole court was enjoying themselves. The married couple were laughing together, oblivious to the others surrounding them.

"I must thank you for the dress," Mary abruptly remembered, feeling impolite for not saying something sooner. "It's so very beautiful."

He grinned at her in a boyish fashion. "I had hoped you'd like it. It suits you well."

She peaked at him from under her eyelashes so that he could not tell that she was examining him. She had to suss out whether he was as good hearted as everyone thought him to be or he if had a secret agenda just like the rest of the lords. Either way, she'd be prepared for the worse.

When they switched partners briefly, Mary was met with a familiar face. "It seems you are in love already."

"Thomas," she exclaimed excitedly, resisting the urge to embrace the brown-eyed poet. Thomas Wyatt had become a much needed friend of hers at court, he was one of those people who did not care for ambition.

He grinned at Mary, "Your Grace," he remarked playfully.

"I see that your time on the privy council has taught you some manners." Mary also noticed that his copper hair was as fondly dishevelled as usual, even at such a formal event.

Thomas placed a hand over his heart in mock alarm, making her chuckle, "I am forever offended if you did not think my manners satisfactory to begin with."

Mary looked to her husband as he approached her once more, "You'll have to excuse me, Mr Wyatt." The friends exchanged one more smile and then Mary spun away from him and landed in the safe arms of Henry.

They continued to dance.

"Are you happy?" He asked softly. Mary glanced at Fitzoy and considered her answer. Did he mean in this moment, if so she was joyful, or was he talking about the life she was living? She nodded at him, afraid her answer would confuse herself.

There was a matter that was bothering her, but she was hoping he'd be the one to bring it up. He did. "Mary," he began.

"Yes, my lord."

"I suppose your father has told you about how we," he hesitated, "are not permitted to consummate our marriage."

Mary couldn't help but blush slightly as Henry's eyes searched every inch of her face. Queen Anne had actually been the one to tell her and although she did not initially want to be married, she felt a pang of disappointment at the news. Every girl was curious to find out what it was really like, especially with a young handsome duke. She knew the King was behind the reasoning as he believed too much sexual activity had hastened his elder brother Arthur's death. Mary was not so easily convinced.

Mary circled Henry as a new part of the dance began, when they were close again she spoke, "he has. I am concerned that this means our marriage is not complete in the eyes of law and God," the politician inside of her wanting to enquire further. Her and Henry were both so young but they had been exposed to court life since infancy, they knew how the game was played.

He took her hand again, "Eventually we will be able to. Nevertheless, until then you will still have all your rightful lands and titles as a Duchess."

Her jaw faintly clenched in stubborn determination. "I do not care for immense wealth."

He raised an eyebrow at her as if to ask, what do you care for?

Unexpectedly, Henry then drew her even closer, his breath dancing on her skin. Her grey eyes met his, she noticed the piercing blue colour that he had inherited from his father. The rest of his features, however, were very much his mother's. Bessie Blount: the renowned beauty that was said to be the most attractive of all the King's mistresses. He had her kindness but Mary sensed his Tudor heritage surfacing when he whispered to her.

"Just so you know, I was truly looking forward to, what would have been, a most enjoyable evening together."

Mary winced in pain as the scolding water made contact with her hand. Ignoring the urge to complain she stripped off a piece of linen and soaked it. She looked over at Queen Anne to see her face twisted in obvious discomfort, her legs spread on the mattress, waiting for the arrival of her baby. Mary Boleyn clutched her sister's hand, soothing her with soft words and gentle strokes of the hair.

Mary Howard had never witnessed a birth before, although, she had heard about the intense agony it is to go through. She couldn't help wondering if her own pregnancy would ever be like this, not that she would ever become pregnant until she consummated her marriage. She knew that many women died in childbirth but apparently to the midwives, the Queens' birthing seemed as though it was going to be effortless one. If that was their idea of effortless then Mary dreaded to think what difficult was.

A midwife battered Mary away and poured the jug. All they seem to do is dither on the spot and boil water, she thought to herself while observing the ladies. Truthfully, she also felt useless.

She hesitantly approached Anne with the hot rag in her hand. She didn't know whether to give it to Anne's sister or do it herself. The Queen locked eyes with her just as she let out a shriek, "Mary!" Caught unaware, she didn't know if Anne was referring to her or Mary Boleyn but she rushed to her cousin's side anyway.

"The baby is coming. You're going to have to start pushing soon."

Mary pressed the cloth to Anne's forehead and withheld her gasp when she beheld the physicians instruments. Scalpels. She prayed they were only needed to cut the umbilical cord. If he took one of those blades to her then there was a large risk of infection. Even though Mary was years younger than the Queen, she suddenly felt protective of the vulnerable woman and shooed the physician away.

"Mary, I need you to do something," Anne stated, Mary's hand now in her fierce grip, her eyes wide with fear.

"Anything," she reassured.

"Tell me," she paused to catch her breath, "when to push."

Mary nodded and placed herself in front of Anne's feet. She supposed the birth was an effortless one: the baby was out in two pushes. It began crying just as it should and Mary picked up the child affectionately. She could detect Anne speaking with her sister but Mary did not listen to the words, all her attention was on this infant. It was not long before she realised that it was not the prince that they had all been expecting.

"Hello beautiful baby girl." Mary had never felt such kindness and loving nature to anyone as she did to the princess. I would like one, she thought, saddened by the realisation that it could not be so. How long would she have to wait? Every wife's purpose was to bear children, did this mean she had no purpose. I am not a true wife.

"Bring her to me," the Queen ordered. Carefully, Mary made her way over to her bedside. Tears fell slowly from Anne's eyes but they were not tears of happiness, Mary was unsure why. It was not as though she could control the sex of her baby.

"You must inform the King," Eleanor Luke said to her, but Mary just scowled at the King's mistress and turned to Anne, awaiting for her approval. Lady Eleanor at least had the courtesy to blush in embarrassment at speaking out of turn.

"Yes you must," Anne agreed softly but then her voice took on her her usual driven tone, "but talk to Master Cromwell." Her and Mary exchanged a knowing glance. Cromwell was their ally and would help them in this situation to break the news to Henry Tudor.

"Yes, your Majesty."

Mary kept at a steady pace as she exited the Queen's rooms. Cromwell was close by, his face resembling how everyone was feeling: anxious. As she approached he fell into step beside her, his head dipped in close to hers so that he could understand her subtle speech.

"The Queen has given birth to a healthy girl."

Cromwell's face did not betray much emotion, but a slight twitch of his mouth showed her that the information was disappointing. Any reaction was immediately gone and his cool and calculating gaze rested on her. His presence, as well as his tall stature, made him seem intimidating to Mary.

"I shall notify his Majesty," He bowed his head to her respectfully, "your Grace." Mary had to remind herself that she was Duchess now. It seemed important to remember.

Returning to the chambers, everything had been cleaned away and all that remained was the Queen with the Princess in her arms. Mary could tell just by observing Anne's behaviour that she was deeply attached to her baby already. Whenever the girl gurgled or squealed, her face would light up as though she had never seen something so pure.

Mary was helping Nan Saville with the bed sheets when the King strode in, his tears threatening to burst their banks. Every lady retreated from his path with a polite curtsey. Humiliation, that was what he was feeling, it was written all over his face. Mary understood now. He had been so patient with Anne, loving her for years with the promise that he would gain a son from her and now she hadn't fulfilled that promise. The problem being, Henry Tudor was not a tolerant man. The queen was not safe until she had his heir.

Him and Anne stared at each other, she could sense the tension stretching on. Anne spoke first. "I'm so sorry," she said as if it was her fault. What was so wrong with having female heirs? A queen could be just as good a ruler as a man.

Henry replied, his face lacked any warmth, "you and I are both young, and by God's grace boys will follow."

He then turned and began storming out of the room, without so much of a glance in his baby's direction. Mary tried to fade into the surroundings and not be noticed but she stood out from the other ladies-in-waiting due to her finer clothes. She was told that as a Duchess she needed to show her wealth and station. Unfortunately this caught the king's eye. He seemed to hesitant before leaving as his greedy eyes ran up and down Mary's body. Feeling as though she could enrage him further, she dared not speak, but she couldn't help her own eyes flickering to his. Whatever he was thinking, he appeared to change his mind as he continued his march.

Once the king had left, Mary allowed her lungs to fill with precious air; she hadn't realised that she had been holding her breath.

Anne allowed Mary to be dismissed and she returned to her rooms where she could rest for the remainder of the day. Her chambers were very luxurious indeed, with rich tapestries and paintings, and servants to attend her. Even with company, Mary still felt the rooms to be very empty. She preferred to appear at events or walk in the rose gardens than spend too long coped up inside.

Once there Mary checked to see if any letters had been delivered bearing her husband's seal. No luck. He still hadn't written to her like he had promised on the wedding day; it seemed all pledges were to be broken. She had one letter from her eldest brother, Henry, enquiring after her health and recent news. She made a mental note to reply later.

Agnes, one of her maids, approached her. "Shall I tidy your gown away, your Grace?"

She must have already known there was no prince. Mary rested her eyes on Agnes face; it was splattered with freckles which matched her fiery orange hair. She looked like a regular girl, with her hair messy and free but clothes neatly trim, implying that she was trying to make a good impression. Mary couldn't help but smile at the girl not much older than herself.

The dress was laid out neatly on the bed, ready for inspection. It was the same garment that Queen Anne had given Mary as a gift. It's red-violet colour dangerously close to purple; the shade of royalty. It was meant for the celebrations, to express her love for the queen but now there would be no jousts or banquets or masques. The king didn't want to celebrate the birth of yet another girl. Everyone knew that.

Mary's gaze returned to Agnes. "No," she said firmly, "I will wear it."