𝙸𝙳𝙾𝙻 / martyr

location: bone town 

"And why should my actions reflect onto you at all?" He asked her after a moment's pause, the hurt and irritation that he normally went to such pains to suppress seeping into his tone. "I would use any power I have to protect you and your lady mother, should word reach the King of my secrets. I know you think yourself the head of the household, as perhaps you are, and thus you bear responsibility. But Amelia is my wife, in the eyes of God. And in his name, I will die to keep her and our son safe if that is what I must do." His voice had risen now, his cheeks flushed. "Do you not think that I am well aware of where a Tudor's displeasure leads? I have known since I was a child. You may at least take some minimal comfort in the notion of station and allies to whom you may beg, but I have no such luxuries. Now more than ever, it would seem."

even  before  fate  had  seen  it  fit  to  interweave  their  paths  together  through  a  shared  affection  for  her  sister,  the  duchess  of  suffolk  had  always  viewed  the  man  that  stood  before  her  as  something  of  a  weak - willed  individual,  prone  to  swaying  in  this  direction  or  the  other  depending  on  where  flattery  brought  him  ─  as  she  studied  the  thunderous  change  in  his  expression,  face  flushed  with  his  impassioned  vows,  philippa  could  not  say  that  she  blamed  him  for  the  way  that  he  flickered  like  a  candleflame,  like  a  blade  of  grass  battling  against  the  wind,  not  when  it  was  safer  to  go  with  whoever  fortune  favored  rather  than  pay  any  heed  to  the  burning  within  his  chest.  it  had  never  been  a  viable  option  for  her,  crowned  a  pauper  queen  at  the  age  of  sixteen  by  those  that  yearned  for  a  catholic  resurgence  in  england,  but  if  she  could  have  floated  through  life,  drawing  as  little  attention  as  possible,  she  would  have  done  so  and  been  glad  for  it  so  long  as  she  could  assure  the  safety  of  her  family  in  the  process.  ❝  and  you  think  that  i  want  you  dead,  john  ?  ❞

she  had,  for  a  few  months  after  amelia  had  told  them  of  the  marriage  and  the  babe,  pondered  on  just  how  grieved  her  sister  would  be  to  lose  her  husband.  philippa  had  believed  herself  capable  of  spinning  the  truth  to  protect  her  sister,  painting  amelia  as  the  fool  and  john  as  the  serpent  that  had  ensnared  her  with  his  promises  so  that  the  king's  wrath  would  not  land  so  heavily  upon  their  necks  but  one  would  have  to  be  blind  and  deaf  to  not  realize  how  much  the  hertfords  adored  each  other  ─  the  very  fact  kindled  an  ache  in  her  head  whenever  they  were  in  the  same  room  together  for  fear  that  they  would  give  themselves  away.  ❝  what  good  would  your  death  do  but  bring  grief  to  my  sister  and  leave  your  child  fatherless  ?  it  is  easy  to  die,  john  seymour,  it  is  harder  to  live.  ❞  she  had  been  prepared  for  the  executioner's  block  for  years  but  as  god  was  her  witness,  she  would  be  walking  that  path  alone.  ❝  if  you  knew  the  cost,  why  did  you  pursue  it  ?  god  above,  a  part  of  me  almost  wishes  you  had  an  ulterior  motive  to  marrying  amelia.  then,  it  would  be  easier  to  hate  you  but  no  ...  your  only  crime  is  that  you  love  her  and  for  that,  i  cannot  condemn  you  too  harshly,  but  she  is  of  royal  blood.  do  you  know  how  many  of  my  own  allies  would  flock  to  you  if  they  knew  ─  a  catholic  seymour  with  a  royal  wife  and  heir  ?  ❞  even  more  so  now  with  the  resurrected  edward  seymour  at  their  heels.  ❝  i  would  not  even  blame  you  if  you  conspired  to  betray  me  to  protect  them  if  so,  but  try,  if  you  can,  to  do  something  to  thicken  the  walls  around  my  sister  when  the  time  comes.  ❞

amongst a dozen letters addressed to philippa, lays a note in nicholas' hand; he hopes, that the font would attract her immediately. 

Dearest Pippa -

It does occur to me to inquire what you have been doing with yourself in my absence - I daresay you have been as happy and as busy as ourselves on our honeymoon. As to the King; he is so sought after, engaged, that one will fear he will grow evermore conceited. Like a good sister, Mary seems keen to keep him down - no flattery does he get from her. And yet, William is a fine man - the Dowager's maternal heart must dance, at the sight of him. A certain petrifying influence surrounds the Spanish; Mary being a cold, callous epicure of all things. She is all that is famed of her late mother - she is useless as far as the communication of knowledge, but strict surveillance and observance of religious practices, she is invaluable. I find myself part of a strange, frolicsome and busy little world - I should not find anything as striking or brilliant, as my the part of my heart which remains at his majesty's court. 

  I sit down, take quill and paper because I love you, and have much to say to you; in all I write, I am tender and true. Be gentle to me, Pippa; be pitying, be a woman - imagine this poor face, and relent. You know I am your husband and friend - I love you in even your wrath, with a passion beyond any realm of what I have ever felt. Your reply will be my last comfort in a strait of loneliness; I have long accepted part is to please another. My delight is to feed my ravenous sentiments of love for you. Our detractors pronounce you a most villainous little she-hypocrite; but it is I who am a mere despotic little creature, and you, a lady of high honour. With the full benefit of your light, I allow you to think of me as more in the dark than I really am. I miss you in every waking moment; I pray for the angel of sleep to take hold, and offer me the only relief viable for a love-sick fool. The very thought of neglecting you so pierces my heart that I might cry. Life is said to be a disappointment; but towards me, I hope you shall never harbour such a notion. I have written three times - subduing my romantic phrases at every rescript. You have yet to deride my dramatic demonstrations; but I wish for my letter to only worry your features in a warm smile. 

Write to me and offer me refuge from this Tudor clique I cannot evade- write to me and affirm that you love me, that you'll have me when I return. I know it is tiresome to reaffirm affections time and time again - how has Nick, despite all his simpleness, not taken my word to heart? It is not you who I am in doubt of; it worries me that I am not a man made in the shape of someone who will be loved.

devotedly and with deep admiration, yours

enclosed  with  the  letter  is  a  painted  miniature  of  the  duchess  of  suffolk  and  a  lock  of  her  burnt - gold  hair,  meant  to  be  affixed  to  a  chain  and  hung  around  his  neck.

to  the  one  who  commands  my  entire  being,

    how  can  i  be  happy  when  half  of  my  soul  is  kept  away  from  me,  parted  by  distance  and  duty  to  the  king  ?  if  i  am  kept  busy,  it  is  only  to  occupy  my  thoughts  with  something  other  than  a  longing  for  your  presence  else  i  would  be  laid  prone  in  our  marriage  bed,  useless  to  all  who  call  upon  me  if  they  do  not  possess  your  voice.  like  lazarus  in  the  tomb,  your  words  beckon  me  back  to  life  and  fill  me  with  a  delight  that  i  will  kindle  in  the  evenings  when  the  cold  drives  me  to  seek  out  the  memory  of  your  warmth  between  the  sheets.  is  it  cruel  that  i  find  joy  in  the  thought  that  you  are  as  displaced  in  misery  as  i  am  ─  that  the  only  joy  you  can  find  is  by  my  side  and  in  my  hand  ?  i  care  naught  for  william  beyond  inquiring  of  when  he  will  return  to  court  if  only  because  it  will  see  your  return  as  well.  i  confess  that  i  am  eager  to  reunite  with  cousin  mary  who  i  have  only  conversed  with  through  letters  and  gazed  at  through  portraits,  and  i  know  that  my  mother  is  similarly  enthused  to  have  the  daughter  of  katherine  of  aragon  and  the  true  princess  of  england  back  on  english  soil.

    the  contents  of  my  desk  lay  strewn  across  the  room  to  make  space  for  the  letters  that  i  write  and  never  send  to  you,  papers  of  just  your  name  written  until  my  hands  seize  with  the  sweetest  pain  of  my  devotion  to  you.  how  else  can  i  assure  you  of  my  undivided  affection  ?  no  one  sees  me  as  you  see  me,  no  one  has  gotten  so  close.  you  live  beneath  my  skin,  you  are  in  my  veins,  you  are  what  sustains  me  ─  knowing  this  now,  how  then  can  you  withhold  your  words  from  me  ?  does  the  distance  between  us  put  a  chasm  in  your  affection  for  me  ?  do  you  resent  me  for  not  fighting  to  make  the  journey  with  you  by  robbing  me  of  your  delightful  romancing  ?  i  am  left  cold  in  our  chambers  without  you  by  my  side,  must  you  take  the  beauty  of  your  sweet  words  from  me  as  well  ?

    write  to  me.  i  demand  it.  i  am  mistress  of  your  heart  and  so  i  decree  that  you  must  write  to  me  so  that  when  my  eyes  close  for  the  evening  and  my  fingers  drift  upon  my  skin,  i  can  think  of  you  and  pretend  that  you  are  whispering  to  me  in  the  darkness.  there  is  an  emptiness  in  my  chest  when  we  are  apart.  fill  it  with  your  letters,  a  poor  substitute  for  your  mighty  person  but  one  that  i  must  content  myself  with  for  now.

    i  miss you,  i  miss  you,  i  miss  you.  i  love  you,  i  love  you,  i  love  you.

    you  were  made  for  me,  for  my  love,  sharp  as  barbs  and  sweet  as  molasses.  i  await  for  your  return  with  arms  outstretched.  in  me  you  will  find  a  warm  and  willing  mistress,  a  soft  wife  to  soothe  your  weary  body,  so  come  home  to  me  soon  and  i  will  press  each  devoted  word,  each  desperate  kiss,  each  hungry  bite  to  your  flesh  and  consume  you  entirely  with  the  intensity  of  my  yearning.  oh,  you  see  how  you  have  made  a  fool  of  me  !  need  you  further  validation  of  my  love  for  you  ?  what  other  man  can  reduce  me  to  such  a  state  ?

bloody days muses + taylor swift lyrics

"I did not know anything about Edward."

He suspects, naturally, that Philippa is going to ask, and so he opts to cut her off at the pass, as it were. It's all many people have been able to speak about, whether to his face or in whispers. The sudden reemergence of his cousin has been the talk of court, filling John with a mix of emotions he can only attempt to untangle. The added scrutiny on his name is an unpleasant side effect, and there is no denying that he is already growing tired. Still, his guard remains up, even as he steps into the suite of rooms where Philippa has asked to speak to him.

if  one  assumed  that  extensive  measures  had  been  taken  to  ensure  that  his  presence  in  the  grey  apartments  and  his  closeted  affections  for  amelia  went  unnoticed  by  the  scrutinizing  gaze  of  hampton's  many  courtiers,  the  recent  news  of  his  reemerged  cousin  saw  additional  steps  put  into  place  to  conceal  the  purpose  of  his  appearance  before  the  duchess  of  suffolk.  when  the  crown  had  called  for  the  heads  of  jane  seymour  and  her  two  brothers,  inspired  by  a  piece  of  incriminating  evidence  provided  by  the  boleyns,  philippa,  like  most  of  england,  had  assumed  that  the  boy - child  she  had  borne  had  been  drowned  or  thrown  out  a  window  to  end  any  potential  threats  to  mistress  boleyn  and  her  dubiously  begotten  children  ─  the  soul  of  edward  seymour  had  been  used  as  kindling  for  the  flames  of  opposition  against  the  king  and  his  maternal  kin  but  now  it  seemed  as  though  the  boy  had  not  perished  after  all,  surviving  and  thriving  long  enough  to  earn  the  potential  backing  of  the  medici  family  in  florence.  she  did  not  believe  that  john  knew  anything  of  the  matter  but  that  did  not  spare  him  from  her  vitriol  as  he  sought  entry  into  the  rooms,  her  sharp  interrogation  quelled  by  his  quick  response.

❝  you  know  nothing  of  anything  so  that  is  no  surprise  to  me.  ❞  she  imagined  that  he  must  be  exhausted  of  the  questions  both  whispered  and  boldly  asked  and  were  she  a  kinder  woman  or  a  more  sympathetic  good  sister,  philippa  might  have  offered  him  something  to  drink  or  a  comforting  word  to  strengthen  his  spirits.  instead,  she  levelled  him  with  a  glare  that  spoke  of  her  anger  and  fear  for  his  life  and  the  lives  of  her  sister  and  nephew,  now  endangered  by  the  reappearance  of  his  once - dead  cousin.  ❝  whether  it  is  him  or  not  is  insignificant  compared  to  what  he  represents  ...  hope,  john  !  hope  and  damnation  for  us  all  if  they  find  out  about  you  and  amelia.  ❞  though  the  room  was  emptied  of  eavesdropping  ears,  her  words  remained  hissed,  low  and  whistling  through  the  air,  cutting  with  a  sharpness  that  he  did  not  deserve.

❝  they  might  not  be  able  to  get  their  hands  on  edward  seymour  but  if  they  learn  of  our  deception  ...  if  they  think  we  conspire  with  him  ...  they  will  make  an  example  of  us.  they  will  pull  the  skin  from  our  bones  until  we  tell  them  what  they  want  to  hear  and  then  hang  us  for  treason.  ❞  he  knew  better  than  most  what  a  tudor  king  backed  by  a  boleyn  puppeteer  could  do  but  still  she  continued,  fingernails  digging  into  the  softness  of  her  palms  ─  the  only  outward  sign  of  her  genuine  terror.  ❝  how  can  you  possibly  protect  amelia  ?  you  cannot  even  protect  yourself  ...  it  has  all  fallen  on  my  shoulders.  it  is  my  responsibility  to  keep  you  all  alive.  it  is  my  head  on  the  block,  john.  ❞  unbidden,  the  glisten  of  tears  pricked  at  her  eyes  and  philippa  turned  her  head  away  to  stare  into  the  flames,  clenching  and  unclenching  her  fists.

He had neither anticipated nor invoked her words, which made him shudder involuntarily. "Soft or sharp? For you I am in the habit of obeying both; it is the manner of your breathing, which shall dictate whether to stroke or meet you with force. I am painfully selfish and wish to rid myself of the affliction altogether; but I am bent to obey the mould I was cast in. I know in my heart your are mine - but to hear you tell me you love me, I am made wholly new. I lay this charge upon you like a prayer - I must be a sinner indeed." Scarce a living could be so noble and honourable as to love her. He loved her too well - too much so, to smite jealousy from his path, though a cordial word from her lips would do him good for the span of a life. Nicholas owned jealousy's severe charm - there was something so wholly good in Pippa, that she could not receive it. "My life will not be well spent if it is not dedicated to the procuring of your happiness; should the Boleyns favour my head upon a spike, I could not protest my fatal post, so long as you will think of me tenderly and fondly, every now and then." Bravery and desperation sufficed to fill the post and did the work of courage in Nicholas. He was not a man whom one would seek to send to war; but of sacrificing himself for Philippa, he made no difficulty. The restraint in their marriage had since slackened in prolonged attentions; already to Philippa's lip and cheek geniality reigned, and a wreathing, dimpling smile returned. Nicholas did not merely purport levity, nor raillery, across his aspect - his position had become more pleasurable to himself, and he spoke this augmented comfort in readier language, in tones more suave. 

it  should  be  impossible  to  experience  with  lengths  of  affection  for  another  ─  a  feeling  that  was  so  strong  that  it  could  move  mountains,  so  improbable  that  it  could  change  night  into  day,  so  frightening  that  she  trembled  against  him  with  a  nervous  energy  as  though  she  were  a  bird  within  his  grasp.  from  the  moment  her  eyes  had  beheld  him  at  the  foot  of  the  altar,  her  resolve  to  remain  as  elusive  to  his  influence  had  faltered  and  with  every  clever  smile,  every  keen  gaze  shared  across  the  room,  nicholas  had  navigated  the  intricacies  of  her  tartarus  heart  like  a  fearless  figure  from  the  myths  and  she  was  helpless  to  his  loving  perseverance,  melting  like  wax  against  his  warm  touch  and  frequent  praise.  she  was  no  stranger  to  desire,  both  the  feeling  of  yearning  for  another  and  the  state  of  being  yearned  for  by  another,  but  none  had  enveloped  her  as  securely  as  he  had  ─  a  firm  presence  by  her  side,  his  body  and  soul  available  for  her  protection,  for  her  bidding.  it  pleased  the  covetous,  yawning  maw  in  her  chest  that  demanded  for  complete  devotion  and  in  turn,  she  awarded  him  with  a  complete  softness  that  no  one  else  was  privy  to  witnessing.  upon  her  thumb,  the  weight  of  her  father's  leonine  ring  glistened  but  before  nicholas,  she  was  a  fat  housecat  with  her  belly  showing,  begging  for  his  consuming  tenderness.

all  teeth,  her  lips  parted  into  a  smile  against  his  skin  at  the  tremor  that  her  words  had  inspired,  breathy  noises  pressed  to  his  mouth  in  between  peppered  kisses.  ❝  you  blaspheme  ...  oh,  how  i  love  you  ...  i  will  profess  it  daily  if  you  so  desire,  it  will  fill  my  every  correspondence  so  that  decades  ...  nay,  centuries  from  now,  they  will  find  my  letters  and  know  that  i  love  you.  ❞  a  fierce  declaration  from  one  that  did  not  do  anything  in  half  measure,  her  heart  was  both  made  hollow  and  full  by  his  words  ─  would  that  they  could  linger  in  this  sanctuary  forever  so  that  she  could  keep  him  for  her  own,  his  charming  goodness  bestowed  on  no  one  other  than  herself  and  the  children  that  would  come  from  their  union.  curious  tickles  morphed  into  sharp  claws,  pinpricks  of  a  needle  against  the  firmness  of  his  arms  as  she  seized  him  with  a  desperation  seen  in  the  glisten  of  her  eyes.  philippa  was  struck  both  with  pride  and  terror,  possessiveness  compelling  her  to  smother  him  in  gratitude  and  reprimand  ─  she  would  find  no  better  champion  for  her  cause  than  nicholas  but  she  despised  the  very  thought  of  harm  befalling  him  and  was  no  shy  to  make  certain  that  he  knew  it.  ❝  it  would  make  me  happy  to  have  you  by  my  side  ...  to  grow  old  with  you  and  count  the  wrinkles  in  your  smiling  face.  you  are  not  allowed  to  die,  least  of  all  for  me.  i  forbid  it,  i  forbid  it.  ❞  

Though her cheeks had shed the frightful sallow of sea sickness, Lady Suffolk’s belly was still as unsettled as the tempestuous channel her ship had crossed in order to return to England. It churned with the memory of being pitched and rolled about in the underbelly of a mighty galleon, as cramped as it was dark, until at last the skies cheered – lifting from leaden gray to a pale yellow, the coastal cliffs of Dover searing through the mist like a molten blade through butter. Almost immediately upon returning to London, Katharine had set about making improvements to the Greys’ lavish suite of apartments at Hampton Court, in the style of her opulent chambers at Chambord. Fastidiously she replaced the drab damask curtains slung over the diamond-shaped panes in the windows with cloth-of-gold, embroidered with her mother’s royal coat-of-arms; swapped the old tallow candles with fresh bees wax, burning sweetly throughout each chamber, installed in costly candelabrum of silver; replenished her daughters’ closets with the newest French fabrics and patterns, a welter of pearl and diamond-edged hoods lining the oak table of the morning room, leaking with sunshine.

Though the ground still tilted disconcertingly, Katharine smiled admiringly at her work, two hands perched upon her narrow hips as she assessed the brightened space with pride. Yet as another wave of lingering nausea gathered within her like a great and sickening tidal, the Duchess was obliged to find perch on the velvet bench of the window, doffing the hood from her head and tossing it to the wall, milky droplets of pearls soaring into the air, rubbing the tender stretch of skin where her headdress was pinned and stabbed rather tightly into place. Katharine, never one to rest, would have liked to press onwards with all speed, perhaps even join her daughters for a hunt; but the airs of court had never been particularly salubrious, and travel had wearied her.

though  she  would  have  liked  nothing  more  than  to  sit  dutiful  by  the  feet  of  her  mother  as  the  interiors  of  their  apartments  in  hampton  court  were  upended  to  make  place  for  the  clucking  of  french  hens  and  fashions  that  had  been  lugged  through  the  countryside  of  france  to  dover  and  then  to  hampton,  certain  arrangements  could  not  be  so  easily  disregarded  ─  even  when  she  had  offered  to  stay  behind  and  abandon  her  younger  sister  to  the  wolves  of  court,  philippa  had  been  waved  off  for  being  a  fussing  nag,  concern  furrowing  at  her  brows  whenever  her  mother  pressed  a  bejeweled  hand  to  the  span  of  her  belly.  the  morning  had  been  productive  once  she  had  allowed  herself  to  participate  in  the  game  of  bowls,  emerging  victorious  in  three  rounds  and  in  rubbing  elbows  with  the  scottish  guests  that  had  followed  mary  stuart  and  appearing  without  a  care,  a  feat  made  easier  by  the  presence  of  her  mother,  awaiting  for  them  back  in  their  apartments.  with  her  cheeks  flushed  by  the  rare  sighting  of  the  sun,  the  duchess  of  suffolk  kept  her  arm  interlocked  with  her  sister  as  they  spoke  of  the  game  in  hushed  tones,  whispers  punctured  only  by  bursts  of  laughter  after  a  rather  cruel  but  true  observation  was  shared.

the  doors  parted  to  permit  them  entrance  and  her  gaze  immediately  took  in  the  gold  hanging  from  the  windows,  amusement  thinning  her  mouth  as  she  pressed  her  lips  together  to  keep  from  giggling  at  the  overt  display  of  wealth  and  french - favored  decor  ─  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  woman  behind  such  a  change,  philippa  knew  that  she  should  have  known  better  than  to  doubt  katherine  brandon's  ability  to  get  the  job  done  regardless  of  an  unsettled  stomach.  her  mother  was  unconquerable  with  an  army  of  servants  at  her  disposal  and  a  sudden  burst  of  fondness  for  the  older  woman  had  her  parting  from  her  sister's  side  to  glide  (  or  run,  though  philippa  would  never  admit  to  hastening  her  steps  for  anyone  if  asked  )  towards  her  mother,  pressing  a  quick  kiss  to  katherine's  cheek  as  her  fingers  brushed  against  the  cloth - of - gold  like  a  raven  captivated  by  a  glistening  curtain.

❝  mother  ...  ❞  her  voice  was  weighed  with  feigned  exhaustion  by  the  conversation  even  if  the  corners  of  her  mouth  curled  up  mischievously.  ❝  while  i  am  most  delighted  by  the  prospect  of  new  gowns  in  the  french  cutting,  i  am  afraid  nicholas  cares  little  for  my  style  of  dress  so  long  as  it  remains  on  the  floor  of  our  bedchambers.  ❞  turning  her  eyes  to  her  sister,  philippa  squinted  at  the  countess  of  hertford,  warning  her  not  to  take  any  sides  in  the  age - old  conflict  between  mothers  and  their  married  daughters  though,  unable  to  resist  biting  at  amelia,  she  continued.  ❝  what  does  john  think  of  the  french  necklines,  sister  ?  perhaps  it  is  you  who  will  sate  our  mother's  unquenchable  demand  for  grandchildren  once  again.  ❞  //  @myladygrey

As Lady Suffolk and her retinue pounded past Chelsea’s iron-wrought gatehouse, Maria rose and preened with haste, adjusting the mighty hood and its velvet lapels draping her head, revealing just a sliver of the dark tresses that framed her face. The constant intrigue of the English court (and the ever-present threat of garrulous house callers) required Maria to be splendidly dressed at all hours; though at home in Spain, the Duchess preferred to don her loose habitos, flowing bolts of linen befitting of Lady Godiva; to wear her gleaming raven hair loose, and splashed with damascene roses; to traverse the countless glimmering moats snaking around the Mendozas’ castillos with feet bare, heels suckled by the wet grass, and with only a linen cap on her head – not, as her mistress preferred, these cumbersome headdresses. But a gleam soon wreathed her face as she dipped into a curtsy before Lady Suffolk, herself gloriously frosted with jewels and precious silks. ‘By St Michael’s Sword, you are a vision – a testament to your Lady Mother, I am certain.’ Eyeing the Duchess, Maria boasted, ‘but I see both your grandmother and your cousin Mary in you, for which you must be very proud, no?’

Philippa’s words caused the Duchess’ face to tighten with thought, her cheeks still flushed a deep pomegranate-blush from the pinching of her ladies. The persecution of Catholics in this heretical Realm had given both Maria and Queen Mary reason for grave concern but, as the former was wont to remind her mistress, no servant of God ever entered the Kingdom of Heaven but through trials and tribulations. Faithful believers such as Philippa Grey would be rewarded for her unwavering convictions, and with this reminder Maria’s face softened. She nodded in the direction of her groom, still looming in the doorway, his expression an alchemy of stony and sober heed, ‘Don Alcarz is an ordained chaplain, Lady Philippa, and will lead us in our Faith. But the Queen’s children are aware that the religion of our Holy Vicar the Pope is not tolerated here, and have agreed to take Mass privately. It is the price we must all pay under this Boleyn sun.’

Maria folded her hands over her brocade-cinched waist – wondrously softened by the string of babes borne by her womb – and signaled for her ladies to bring the pair refreshments. ‘Queen Mary is aware that her brother the King has inherited not only their father’s red hair, but his inconcebiblé temper. There is no length she is unwilling to go to make peace with England – even through natural fears for its salvation.’ A knowing poured out of the Duchess; a shared desire for the crown of England to adorn the head of king – or queen – who shared in the Catholic creed thrumming between the two.

like  a  blossoming  flower  in  search  of  sunlight,  the  duchess  of  suffolk  brightened  beneath  the  expressive  praise  that  dripped  from  the  accented  tongue  until  the  apples  of  her  cheeks  resembled  the  precious  rubies  sewn  into  the  hems  of  her  sleeves  ─  it  was  important  that  even  the  most  minor  of  resemblances  to  her  ancestresses  were  highlighted  in  a  court  that  would  rather  not  be  reminded  of  her  place  in  line  to  the  throne  and  as  the  most  recognizable  trait  of  the  family  as  often  hidden  beneath  the  fashionable  headdresses  worn  in  public,  it  was  always  a  pleasure  to  know  that  hints  of  her  tudor  blood  could  be  found  in  more  than  the  copper - rich  sheen  of  her  flaxen  head.  philippa  had  been  too  young  when  her  cousin  had  been  sent  to  spain  and  younger  still  when  her  grandmother  had  passed,  retaining  their  features  through  the  paintings  that  had  been  modeled  after  their  likeness,  so  she  would  have  to  trust  the  word  of  the  lady  medina  in  that  matter  and  in  many  other  things  besides  that.  ❝  i  bear  the  resemblance  to  my  esteemed  cousin  with  great  pleasure  though  it  does  delight  the  heart  to  hear  that  you  recognize  my  grandmother  in  my  features  as  well.  my  memory  of  her  is  short  and  clouded  with  the  haze  of  childhood  but  i  knew  her  to  be  a  great  beauty  and  a  spirited  woman.  ❞  a  spirit  that  philippa,  at  times,  lacked  and  that  she  would  need  if  she  ever  hoped  to  become  more  than  a  pawn  in  the  game.

her  pale  gaze  followed  the  acknowledgment  towards  the  man  that  had  announced  her  arrival,  extending  a  slow  nod  of  recognition  at  his  watchful  guard  over  her  kin  and  their  souls  whilst  they  were  in  england  ─  the  staff  of  chelsea  house  had  been  rooted  out  and  where  necessary,  had  been  replaced  with  those  loyal  to  the  family,  plucked  out  from  bradgate  and  brought  to  london  along  with  the  travelling  party  for  their  own  security  as  well  as  the  comforts  of  their  spanish  guests.  it  was  unlikely  that  any  of  them  would  speak  of  what  occurred  beneath  this  roof  but  philippa  would  have  to  dig  through  their  connections  to  be  certain,  trusting  that  maria  could  handle  matters  if  news  of  a  potential  traitor  rose  from  their  midsts.  it  was  so  easy  to  fall  into  the  trap  of  sweet  promises  uttered  by  the  boleyns  especially  when  the  other  options  were  considerably  more  difficult  on  the  body  and  on  the  coffers  but  she  had  to  believe  that  such  secrets  would  eventually  pay  off  with  a  freedom  to  live  as  she  so  desired  without  worrying  about  her  life  or  the  lives  of  her  immediate  family.

❝  you  are  blessed  to  have  his  guidance  while  in  england,  my  lady  ...  i  cannot  help  but  feel  envious  as  it  has  been  years  since  i  have  attended  a  catholic  mass.  ❞  she  had  been  a  girl  and  her  kingly  granduncle  still  drew  enough  breath  to  turn  a  willfully  blind  eye  to  the  practices  that  her  mother,  his  niece,  conducted  in  the  privacy  of  bradgate  house.  ❝  if  i  was  not  so  certain  that  walsingham  has  his  eyes  and  ears  on  my  whereabouts,  i  might  beg  intrusion  when  mass  is  celebrated  but  my  hunger  for  the  word  of  god  must  pale  in  face  of  those  whose  lives  depend  on  my  careful  steps.  ❞  she  would  need  to  be  far  from  chelsea  house,  seen  beside  the  royal  family  so  that  none  would  be  the  wiser  ─  perhaps  she  could  send  her  sisters  over,  once  court  was  settled  after  the  unrest  of  elizabeth  tablot  and  her  conspirators,  so  that  they  could  remember  the  teachings  of  their  girlhood.  the  unacknowledged  tension  in  her  shoulders  melted  away  as  the  lingering  women  were  sent  a  little  aways  to  do  the  bidding  of  their  mistress,  leaving  the  two  alone  and  allowing  her  to  breathe  in  the  perfumed  gardens  and  the  smell  of  incense  burning  in  a  distant  room.

their  eyes  met,  dark  to  light,  and  philippa  was  the  first  to  shatter  the  connection  after  a  heartbeat  of  a  moment  and  the  weight  of  implication  in  the  older  woman's  gaze.  would  she  ever  be  as  bold  as  maria  in  her  convictions  or  was  she  cursed  to  be  as  quick - footed  as  a  rat  in  the  darkness,  darting  around  the  corners  of  the  room  in  the  hopes  that  the  mousers  will  not  catch  her  being  their  sharp  teeth  ?  a  smile  tugged  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  instinctively,  at  the  mention  of  her  younger  sister  and  her  head  lifted  to  stare  bashfully  at  lady  medina  with  glittering  admiration  and  gratitute  in  her  eyes  ─  only  a  few  minutes  had  passed  and  already  the  shadows  of  the  boleyn - infested  hampton  were  far  from  her  features,  fluttering  heartbeat  slowing  to  a  more  moderate  pace.  ❝  i  never  wrote  to  thank  you  for  so  readily  accepting  my  sister  beneath  your  care  but  please  accept  my  gratitude  now.  she  has  grown  to  become  a  wonderful  young  woman  which  our  family  credits  to  your  guidance,  my  lady.  ❞  planted  in  the  court  of  their  cousin  in  spain,  at  least  eleanor  would  have  a  safe  house  to  retreat  to  should  the  executioner  call  for  the  heads  of  the  grey  sisters  but  maria's  kind  reminder  only  softened  her  heart,  the  mask  of  composure  crumbling  ever - so - slightly  to  allow  a  measure  of  relief  to  peek  through  her  wide  gaze.