the sweet words

They were entirely in step, and Richard was prepared entirely, to find another witty remark, when Elinor spoke up instead, her words quietly shocking. It took quite a gesture to make Richard speechless, and yet here he stood, unsure of how to respond to her. "....Yes, of course." He finally managed to say, leading her to the terrace doors. He said nothing until the cool evening air hit his face, the two of them alone on the terrace. "I'm quite certain I don't know which cousin you mean, but I assure you that you must be mistaken, mistress."

elinor laughed a quiet, breathless laugh at richard’s response. his denials did not surprise her in the slightest, for who would openly admit to such matters to any but those closed to them, those who they trusted would understand. it had been years of a complicated dance between her and edmund before either of them had felt secure enough to utter the truth.

still, for all her sympathies, nel could not let him slip away from her now. they were as alone as they could ever be, and she needed his honesty if she was to have any hope of proceeding. she twisted her hands into the skirts of her blue gown and spoke.

"Court has a certain luster to it when looking back at it through the lens of the past, does it not? That haze of childhood which makes all things seem so much softer. But I appreciate your honest words, Lady Elinor. And it gladdens me to hear that you find His Majesty to be a just man. I ask if only because I have found myself curious, during my trip here and upon my arrival, how friends find his court."

"family, indeed," nel replied, "though we know each other little, for i was still in the nursery when you first went to spain. i believe you may have known my father a little better, perhaps."

she was more than happy to speak a little of herself, to spin the story of her upbringing in her grandfather's volitile court, of her visits to alnwick castle, of her move to wolf hall, and, shyly, of the poetry that she had written along the way.

nel had never been short on words, and was certainly not now, but she remained aware of her audience, that mary was a queen, not some close friend who was used to hearing her go on and on. so she pulled herself up short, and turned the focus of conversation back to her aunt.

Brows knit together slightly as Meg sorted out conflicting thoughts at war in her mind. She loosened her grip on Lady Fitzroy's forearm when she realized she was holding it in a vice grip, knuckles lightening in her distress. "My apologies, Nel, I do not meant to scold you, nor speak in an unbecoming tone. You have ever been a dear friend to me, and I value your care and insight." Meg could not helped but admire Nel's straight-forward nature, her proclivity to touch upon matters she found obvious or important, extending a friendly hand with which a bridge might be built. "His Majesty's fondness is but affection forged in childhood. I do not expect anything more..." Though, and if Nel was as intuitive as she appeared to be she would see, Meg was beginning to wonder if there ever could be more.

nel’s cheeks flushed at meg’s redirection. it was hardly unjustified, of course, for meg to tease her in return, especially when she had been so flippant with the subject of her own marriage before. though she disguised the exact reason, she had never been anything but distantly interested in her own potential matches. she laughed lightly, shaking her own head.

“no word from the king yet, and i almost doubt there will ever be. his majesty had always been very understanding on the matter. though i suppose i must put some thought to the matter,” she sighed, leaning towards meg with a melodramatic air.

in truth she had several thoughts, all of which were beginning to crystallise around a singular man, who may well be the best suited to her aims. and who better than meg to share that with? no other knew the reasons that would compel her to marriage better.

greek mythology: kalliope

In any event, Wills was fond of Elinor, his niece more a sister to him than any number of his numerous courtly relatives – it did not hurt her case that the physical similarities between the two proved so unutterably striking.

Swishing a glug of wine in his mouth, his lips and teeth washed in deep claret, William nodded in Elinor’s direction, curt. 

His eyes were distracted by the crowd from which she had freshly emerged, twinkling beneath the whirling candelabras above, bathing the entire court in a tarnished-amber glow that reflected in Wills' dark gaze like flecks of gold. ‘Lady Elinor,’ the King bade lowly, studying the indecipherable expression etched across her countenance.  ‘Cat got your tongue, Nel? Speak, if you have something to say.’

the matter at hand was a delicate one. elinor knew that she had both william’s trust and affection, but ill-phrased could degrade that. she was not naive to the many who saw her as a threat to the king’s power.

she had no ambition for the throne, and she had made that plenty clear. instead her ambitions were far more personal. henry fitzroy had sired no sons, so it fell to his daughter to carry his legacy, and nel intended to carry it well. she could not pass his name to her children, but she could pass his blood, and she meant to return that blood to its rightful titles. she only hoped that wills would understand it the way that it was meant.

the sea breeze rustles the fabrics of her skirts as she opened her mouth to speak, her face half turned away from her uncle, her brother, her king.

He was practiced as he guided her to the dance floor and joined in the steps easily, surprised at how readily she had allowed him to do so.

"Nonsense," he demurred. "There are many lovely ladies, yes, of both English and Spanish blood. But you mustn't be so modest." He offered her a smile as he rested a hand upon her waist, the blue silk nearly an identical shade to that of her eyes. "Pleasant enough, yes. Though I must admit that I prefer London, if I had my choice. Out here so near the sea, one feels quite... exposed." He paused the conversation as he turned her in the dance, meeting her eyes again only when they reunited. "How do you find Dover? And our guests?"

"i find dover perfectly agreeable, though my joy goes with the court, wherever the king may take it. and our guests do make me curious, since they are after all my kinsmen, and we are yet to truly meet,” nel replied keeping her tone airy and light as she turned her thoughts over in her mind.

richard boleyn may be a terrible flirt, but he had much he might offer to her cause, if he were inclined to accept her suit. if she had remained a ward of the crown, with all of the freedoms that william bestowed upon her, perhaps she would her lingered in her maidenhood a little longer, but the only way out from the seymours was to wed. but it must be done properly, to someone who could be trusted by both herself and the king, for only then could her ambitions be fulfilled.

out of all the men at court, richard was the best suited to bring to the altar, to open her life and her secrets to, and to champion her rights. there was no reason to keep wasting time on the matter.

she allowed the dance to pull her towards him, close enough that no one could hear the words she breathed into his ear.

Of the siblings Mary had known, Henry Fitzroy had been closest to her in age. The two of them leading strangely parallel lives, with his more at the periphery in some respects. He had been a boy, a fact her father had taken such pride in, but not one blessed with a legitimate birth. Not that it mattered, in Henry VIII's court. She had eventually found herself at the periphery too, and thus felt a certain understanding of Fitzroy - the sting of bastardy leaving its mark on them both, albeit in different ways.

She had some curiosity regarding his daughter, her niece. Though they shared blood, Mary knew that the girl had been raised under the shadow of the Howard family, the climbers who had risen to power by clinging to Anne Boleyn's skirts. What, then, would Elinor Fitzroy be? It was a question that Mary, admittedly, thought little of upon her return to England, other issues preoccupying her. Yet, it seemed poised to be answered, the young woman now standing before her.

elinor had always had some fascination with mary tudor. of all her grandfather’s children, mary was the only one who could remember henry fitzroy. anything of her father, even the faintest impressions was like gold dust to nel, who had worn his miniature around her neck since she was a small child, just to feel close to him. she had hoped that her aunt might be willing to share what she had known of him.

that was no certain thing, of course. there was no reason for mary tudor to have any interest in her. henry fitzroy could not have risen so high in his father’s favour if not for catherine of aragon’s dearth of sons. nel had been made rich off of that misfortune, and had only risen further in a boleyn court. she could hardly blame mary tudor for any disinterest.

and yet here they were, talking. perhaps not about what nel had envisioned, but it was still something.

“it is an honour to be able to meet you here, your majesty,” she said with a smile and a deep curtsy, “i find court to be as full of beauty and merrymaking as it was in my childhood. though perhaps a touch less oppressive. his majesty the king rules with a just and steady hand.”

A brow rose in response to Nel's initial statement, and Meg regarded her with curiosity. "What ever could I have done, sweet Nel, to cause difficulty for you?" She regretted asking the question in an instant, however, when the younger girl's response came. Meg's eyes darted around them and her grip on Nel's arm unconsciously tightened. The court was constantly abuzz with rumors, both true and false and it was no secret that many of its residents thrived on them...but a suggestion such as Nel's, if overheard by the wrong person, could shine upon Meg the type of attention she did not want to attract.

"I--" Her mouth gaped like a fish recently removed from the river as she tried to form a coherent response, so unexpected was this declaration from the king's niece. She could feel a blush creeping upward from her chest to her cheeks, and Meg ducked her head slightly. In some sense, she enjoyed that she was not the only one to notice the king's attention toward her; lately her heart had begun to quicken in his presence, as if something had awoken within her that had been lying dormant all her life. When in the past his words may not have given her pause, she now found herself replaying them in her head long after the conversation had come to an end. Meg had spoken of this to no one, of course, not even Kismet and certainly not Bess. "Nonsense," she finally replied, regaining as much composure as she could under Nel's clearly watchful eye. "His Majesty shows me great kindness, yes...but nothing more..."

nel had known meg for long enough that she could tell she had hit upon something from her reaction. she had no intention of sharing what was clearly a secret with anyone else, for she, with her heritage, knew well enough the reactions that the court would have if such an affair became known of, no matter how far it had progressed. nel would never expose meg to such public scandal. she loved her too dearly for that.

still, she could take her private interest, could tease her friend over her suitor, could imagine grand futures where meg joined her family for true. tucked away in secluded corners such things were safe to do, and nel took a mischievous sort of joy in it.

she smiled slyly at meg’s response, willing to play along with her feigned ignorance, if only because she knew that she would not hear any more of the matter from meg if she pushed too hard. it was not as though she was likely to get anything on the matter from william.

Weeks later, fate had found the young women together outdoors once again as the court settled at Dover. Bridget was all too agreeable to the announcement of travel, as a change of scenery provided endless new avenues of entertainment. The girls now sat side by side, merry courtiers milling about as the latest tourney came to a close. "Now I know how you love Hampton Court, Nel, but you cannot be displeased to have taken this journey, can you?" Bridget's eyes flitted from person to person, ears buzzing with snippets from various conversations. Her aunt remained at court and would expect a thorough review of all that transpired, particularly details regarding Queen Mary and the members of her court who arrived on the boat from Spain. The women of Bridget's family had served Catherine of Aragon faithfully, so she knew that Mary Tudor's return to England was even more important in Alice's eyes than others'.

"Tell me," she began again, settling back farther in her chair and adjusting her cloak, making herself more comfortable as they settled into their conversation. "What do you know of your aunt and her children? I must say, the Tudor resemblance is uncanny. Your bloodline is stronger than most."

"oh not displeased at all,” nel responded, “i find plenty joy in travelling, and cannot object to the coast at all. dover is an icon of our fine country, after all.”

in truth, the scenery mattered far less to nel than the persons arriving. it had been interesting to meet her only paternal cousins at court, but none held her interest like her elder aunt, mary tudor, the spanish queen. she alone among henry fitzroy’s siblings had met him, even briefly, even in the vaguest of ways, and that had raised her up in a mythical sense within nel’s mind. whether or not she was interested in nel mattered not.

she knew why the parrs and the seymours were interested in mary tudor, and she wanted no part in it. nel had her loyalties, was set stubbornly in them. she loved william as an uncle, a brother, a king. for all that mary tudor fascinated her, any queenly intrigue around her was a step too far. nel was not certain where bridget’s loyalties would lie, when it came down to it, but she knew that alice seymour would hear of all that happened, even as far away as she was in hampton court.

Richard was not well-acquainted with Elinor Fitzroy, though it seemed as if he ought to be. She bore royal and Howard blood in her veins, displayed not only in her name but in how similar she was to Elizabeth and William, her flaming red hair. There was no denying she was beautiful, nor was there any denying that she seemed fundamentally disinterested in Richard, which only served to intrigue him more. He was not much used to that; not just rejection but complete disinterest. 

It certainly didn't stop him trying, Richard taking advantage of an opportunity one evening in the Great Hall to approach her. "Mistress Fitzroy, you look well tonight. Your gown suits you handsomely. I should imagine every man here must have his eye drawn to you."

there seemed to be no end to the interests of men. nel was not blind to the draw of her looks, of her inheritance, of her connections. she imagined the attention would likely be flattering, if the idea of existing in a man’s mind in such a way did not make her skin crawl a little. the concept of marriage, of motherhood, was pleasant in a distance sense, but the realities life with a man who she could not love, and could never be understood by weighed on her.

so she put up a front of steely disinterest for every man that tried to sweep her off her feet, no more pleasant than she was absolutely required to be. she’d learnt that attitude from her mother, who forever danced just out of the reach of a second marriage. she’d been wealthy as a widow, one of the highest women in the country as a dowager duchess. nel was certainly wealthy, but while unmarried she had no control over it, and her status was high, but marriage could bring her higher, could restore her the titles that she had not been allowed to inherit.

richard boleyn had become a point of interest to her in the past few months. the man was a terrible flirt, but perhaps he was the sort of man who she could be honest with, and who she could be understood by.

she curtsied to him, let him take her hand and lead her into the dance.