𝙿𝙾𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙲 / heart

A pout clouded her ever-bemused expression. "Not a thing? I thought the royal family was supposed to be interesting, Beau, their days filled with scandal and intrigue. The French certainly did not disappoint in that regard." The French almost seemed to encourage it, in fact; at least members of their court were now present in England to liven things up. "Of course I shall stay! I do not wish to be anywhere else during such a season, nor do I wish to be far from you. We shall feast and dance to our hearts' content! You, me, and our friends." She pushed herself up from the pillows then, swinging her feet around to dangle off the bed as she laid on her stomach, her cheeks propped up by her hands. "I am summoned to see the queen in the morning," she revealed, though she would not have been surprised if he already knew, whether due to his position or through their lady aunt. Big blue eyes gazed up at him then, revealing the tiniest bit of apprehension. "Aunt Alice wishes for me to find a position at court, presumably so she does not have to worry about me so. What say you, brother? Will Her Grace have me? And if she should, will I be happy in her service? I wish to make our family proud, but you know how I detest being held under lock and key."

❝  one  typically  is  when  the  wing  that  their  bedchambers  happens  to  be  in  remains  under  heavy  guard  yet  one  still  finds  themselves  plagued  by  an  incessant  little  bird.  ❞  with  the  same  sense  of  self - assurance  that  she  had  possessed  as  a  child,  pulling  him  away  from  his  tutors  and  his  lessons  so  that  he  could  partake  in  her  mischief,  his  sister  made  herself  comfortable  in  the  very  same  bed  that  he  had  tidied  after  rising,  shifting  pillows  and  kicking  sheets  away  from  her  feet  until  the  smooth  covers  were  wrinkled.  it  was  near - impossible  to  find  fault  in  her  actions,  however,  especially  when  she  reacted  so  sweetly,  so  dramatically  to  his  words  that  fondness  overshadowed  any  lingering  feelings  of  irritation  at  her  unceremonious  disruption.  ❝  you  cannot  mean  to  suggest  that  i  ask  the  king  to  mend  my  shirts,  sister.  if  not  payment  for  the  ink  stain,  then  consider  it  practice  for  your  future  husband  who  will  not  be  so  forgiving  of  frayed  ends  and  bumping  stitches  as  i  am.  ❞  if  all  went  according  to  his  wishes,  his  sister  would  have  servants  aplenty  to  do  her  bidding  once  she  married  a  man  of  high  standing,  but  he  could  not  promise  anything  of  the  sort  until  his  star  was  ascendent  by  the  side  of  the  king.  huffing  a  shy  laugh  at  the  thought  of  approaching  a  master  such  as  william  shakespeare,  beau  shook  his  head  vehemently,  more  wet - dog  than  grown  man  as  she  spoke.  ❝  father  understands  that  i  have  much  to  do  before  binding  myself  to  a  wife.  ❞  it  was  more  likely  that  their  father  knew  he  would  be  a  fool  for  any  woman  who  happened  to  be  his  wife  and  for  his  children  as  well,  vowing  to  be  a  more  devoted  parent  than  his  own  had  been.  the  marquess  of  northampton  was  not  a  miserly  man,  sparing  no  expense  in  educating  his  children  in  france,  but  he  was  also  not  a  warm  man,  driven  to  kind  words  or  random  embraces  to  emphasize  affection.  ❝  you  should  be  more  concerned  about  what  i  will  do  to  your  future  betrothed,  birdie.  ❞

leaning  his  back  against  one  of  the  columns  that  held  up  the  canopy  above  his  bed,  beau  furrowed  his  brow  as  she  shifted,  one  hand  coming  to  rest  atop  her  head  as  she  spoke.  he  knew  that  their  father  and  aunt  alice  worried  for  bridget  and  her  rose - tinted  view  of  the  world  around  her  and  the  coquettish  way  she  poked  at  the  men  at  court  before  dancing  away  to  torment  another  poor  soul  had  caused  their  father  much  concern  (  and  prompted  a  rise  in  grey  hairs  upon  his  head  ).  he  had  hoped  that  the  news  was  false  when  one  of  the  heralds  had  whispered  it  into  his  ear,  but  it  seemed  as  though  their  aunt  hoped  to  instill  a  sense  of  proper  english  responsibility  in  his  sister  at  long  last.  ❝  i  did  hear  that  ...  the  queen  runs  a  strict  household,  as  is  her  anointed  right,  and  the  women  under  her  service  are  similarly  disciplined,  married  ladies  of  court.  if  she  does  accept  you  into  her  service,  there  is  much  that  you  must  learn.  it  will  not  be  like  france  and  the  princess  elisabeth,  bridget.  ❞  smoothing  back  her  hair,  he  attempted  to  appease  her  concerns  with  a  small  smile.  ❝  it  is  natural  to  be  worried  ...  but  you  will  undoubtedly  endear  yourself  to  the  queen  before  too  long.  look  towards  the  ladies  hardwick,  holland  or  robsart,  who  is  but  a  few  years  your  senior,  for  assistance  if  you  must,  and  if  they  are  unkind,  you  must  tell  me.  ❞

The was no living soul, man or woman, whom Bridget loved so well as her brother. It was his smile that had greeted her when she awoke in her cradle, his arms into which she took her first steps, his name the first distinguishable word to cross her lips. Never was a brother so adored by his sister, of this she was certain, though her aunts' love for her father might prove a close second. Despite their age difference and scattered years of time apart throughout their childhood and early adulthood, Beau remained the single most important figure in Bridget's life and was not remotely capable of doing any wrong. He sought to be her guiding light, but indulged her chatter and antics with more patience than he ought to possess.

As Groom of the Stool, Beau had the honor of living in close proximity to the king, which might have made seeing him more difficult if one did not have the tenacity of Bridget Parr. The guards in this wing of the palace knew the lady upon sight, and so removed any obstacle to her entering as soon as her blonde head was spotted rounding the corner. This afternoon, she offered her signature smile and nodded slightly, then pushed open the door to her brothers chambers before either gentleman could do it for her. When the door latched behind her, Bridget made a beeline for her brother's bed, making herself comfortable amongst the pillows as if she were a small child again. "Pray, brother, what news have you? Please regale me with some entertainment; I adore dear little cousin Cathy, but I am starved for real conversation. Her dolls do nothing but fuss over their dresses."

one  would  be  hard - pressed  to  find  another  brother  as  devoted  to  his  sister  as  beauregard  parr  in  the  history  of  mankind  ─  from  the  moment  that  bridget  had  wailed  at  her  arrival  into  the  world  to  the  very  moment  she  pushed  through  the  doors  of  his  chambers  without  so  much  as  a  knock  to  announce  her  entrance,  prompting  him  to  startle  and  knock  over  a  pot  of  ink  over  the  letter  that  he  had  been  painstakingly  composing  for  one  of  the  ladies  of  court,  he  had  been  a  fool  that  pandered  to  her  whims  and  wishes  no  matter  how  nonsensical.  perhaps  his  overwhelming  indulgence  had  simply  been  an  attempt  to  occupy  the  space  that  both  their  parents  had  left  behind,  their  mother  with  her  death  and  their  father  with  his  grief,  plying  his  sister  with  games  and  gossip  and  sweets  to  keep  her  from  fussing  even  as  they  grew  into  adulthood.  the  groom  of  stool  had  only  one  flaw  in  the  eyes  of  the  lord  northampton  for  where  the  father  had  looked  at  bridget  and  seen  the  cause  of  anne  bourchier's  untimely  death,  the  son  had  only  seen  the  daughter  that  his  mother  had  so  desperately  desired,  remembering  his  promise  to  keep  bridget  safe  and  to  see  her  raised  to  live  and  marry  well  in  spite  of  her  motherless  state.

there  were  certain  things  that  only  their  aunts  could  handle  but  even  then,  he  had  fretted,  be  it  in  his  rooms  at  the  university  of  toulouse  or  his  chambers  in  hampton  court,  so  having  her  under  his  watchful  gaze  once  more  brought  a  sense  of  relief  to  the  elder  even  as  he  cussed  out  a  storm  under  his  breath,  sleeve  soaked  with  spilled  ink.  ❝  a  new  challenge  for  you,  sweet  sister.  ❞  holding  out  his  arm  to  display  the  stained  fabric,  he  raised  a  brow  at  her  petulant  state,  propped  up  against  the  pillows  as  though  she  were  a  child  of  five  rather  than  a  woman  grown  ─  the  sight  brought  a  begrudging  smile  to  his  features,  brightening  the  mischief  with  something  warm  and  paternal.  ❝  i  am  certain  our  beloved  aunts  have  taught  you  how  to  fashion  a  shirt.  make  me  a  new  one  and  i  will  consider  it  payment  for  the  one  you  ruined.  ❞  he  would  wear  it  upon  his  torso,  no  matter  how  misshapen  her  attempts  might  prove  to  be,  if  only  to  please  her.  rising  from  his  small  writing  desk,  beauregard  strode  over  to  the  bed,  perching  at  the  foot  so  that  he  might  push  at  her  booted  feet,  rubbing  dust  into  his  sheets.