𝙻𝙾𝚈𝙰𝙻 / heart

She remained by Amy’s side then as they entertained the masses with the presence of the Dudley household, ritually checking on her cousins with tender touches or sweetened whispers, straying often to Amy Robsart side when Kismet was not in need of her attention. Passing a cup towards the Countess, Jane sat by her side, arranging her veil over her head to expose the smile towards her cousin-in-law. “How do you feel? Is there anything I may do? Perhaps another cushion, or something sweetened?” She asked, doting on Amy as if she herself felt the kicks of a new life inside of her — the rest of the room then fleeting, for even if the King himself approached, Jane would not overlook her duty. @robsartd

the  dudley  family  of  warwick  castle  had  always  been  a  little  more  than  mere  strangers  to  the  countess  of  leicester,  connected  to  her  husband  by  nature  of  their  shared  blood  and  family  name  but  little  else.  as  a  newlywed,  she  had  been  hesitant  to  reach  out  to  the  countess  of  warwick  for  guidance  or  sympathy,  concerned  that  her  humble  birth  would  be  reason  enough  to  spurn  the  outstretched  hand  of  friendship  ─  instead,  it  had  been  easier  to  prompt  kismet  to  invite  her  cousin  over  in  a  careful  move  that  allowed  her  name  to  slip  into  idle  conversations  until  it  had  not  felt  so  foreboding  to  approach  the  elders  of  the  family  with  the  introductions  to  her  person  and  her  morals  already  being  made  by  jane  and  kismet  both.  she  had  always  enjoyed  the  company  of  lady  warwick,  who  was  of  a  similar  age  to  herself,  so  when  she  had  been  given  leave  to  invite  a  few  others  to  accompany  her  and  watch  the  children  as  her  belly  grew  larger  by  the  week,  there  had  only  been  one  name  that  came  to  mind.  still  believing  herself  undeserving  of  such  attention,  however,  she  endeavored  to  keep  her  requests  simple,  not  wishing  to  tax  poor  jane  or  rob  her  of  a  chance  to  shine  in  court  now  that  her  aged  husband  (  older  than  her  own  father  !  amy  had  dropped  to  her  knees  in  prayer  when  the  match  had  been  made,  thanking  god  in  one  breath  for  her  good  fortune  in  securing  a  dashing,  virile  husband  and  asking  the  almighty  to  be  kind  enough  to  give  jane  a  reprieve  from  her  marital  duties  in  another  )  was  far  from  her  side.

....

i am writing to plead for your forgiveness, beloved sister of mine, and that you may use your tongue to persuade my brother to not be cross with me as well. i have devoted my time dutifully to the princess, as you instructed me to do so ... amy, i am uncertain the transgression that i dared to take against her. there is little rhyme or reason to her anger with me, yet i feel it as one does a heavy storm cloud! it is constantly haunting and pouring onto my being. every morning, i am sent away to attend to the most vile of tasks that one may think of. i swear, i do not raise objection, nor twist my tongue in complaint, though it weighs on me. every evening, i am called again, to help her undress and haunt the shadows of her chambers till i am sent away once more. the days are horribly, dreadfully long now - with little joy to seek in them. without your presence i cannot help but weep, praying for your swift return to hampton so that i may feel less of an outcast in turbulent waters. perhaps you may supply advice to how i may seek forgiveness from the princess and claim her good graces once more. 

...

your troubled sister, 

as  devoted  as  any  sister,  the  countess  of  leicester  responds  to  each  line  written  by  the  hand  of  her  good  sister,  well  aware  of  the  care  that  kismet  had  placed  in  each  word.  the  contents  of  her  responding  letter  is  as  tediously  detailed  as  the  one  before  though  historians  will  fixate  on  the  excerpt  below  when  investigating  the  life  and  death  of  robert  dudley's  first  wife,  amy  robsart.

[  ...  ]  and  if  you  would  be  so  kind  as  to  kiss  robin  and  nan  for  me  as  thanks  for  their  concern  towards  their  unborn  sibling,  i  would  be  most  appreciative,  enough  that  i  might  barter  for  a  roll  of  spanish  silk  for  the  design  of  your  next  hood.

my  sweet  sister,  allow  me  to  reassure  you  that  the  sudden  change  in  your  standing  before  the  princess  is  no  reflecting  of  failure  on  your  part  and  if  your  brother  finds  cause  to  express  disappointment  in  this  revelation,  you  will  write  to  me  at  once  so  that  i  might  straighten  his  head  on  the  matter.  you  are  an  innocent  in  the  crossfires  of  a  conflict  that  has  been  ongoing  since  before  you  were  taken  under  her  plummy  wings  and  all  i  can  advise  you  to  do  is  remain  silent  and  pray  that  this  storm  passes  quickly.  remind  the  princess  of  your  devotion  to  her  happiness  and  your  discretion  to  her  secrets  should  she  share  such  matters  with  you  once  again  but  do  not  be  afraid  to  remind  the  vultures  that  surround  her,  eager  to  place  themselves  in  your  former  seat  within  her  favored  ladies,  that  you  are  a  dudley  of  kenilworth  and  that  your  brother  is  robert  dudley,  the  fearsome  earl  of  leicester,  who  still  holds  the  ear  of  the  royal  family.  oh  kismet,  my  dearest  heart,  how  i  wish  i  was  by  your  side  to  aid  you  through  such  struggles  and  dry  your  tears  so  that  you  are  not  alone  in  the  tumultuous  waves  of  the  princess'  tempers  ─  again,  i  must  ask  you  to  cast  away  all  thoughts  of  self - blame.  you  are  not  at  fault  here.

if  it  would  not  get  you  into  further  trouble,  i  would  bid  you  to  tell  the  princess  that  he  suffers  as  greatly  as  she  does,  bringing  torment  to  me  and  to  the  babe  with  his  unhappiness  in  the  hopes  that  the  news  would  bring  her  wretched  self  some  great  delight  in  the  knowledge  that  while  we  are  happy,  we  are  still  unhappy.  burn  this  letter,  kismet.

we  will  speak  more  of  this  when  i  return.  forgive  me,  sister,  for  all  that  has  happened.

[  ...  ]

Potted, cragged, swollen with insistent rain: the ancient Roman roads stretching from London to Dover made intolerable the hard ride from Hampton Court.  The furrowed brows, wan faces, and occasional red-rimmed iris among the King’s entourage suggested it was not just the Dudleys who suffered from the biting, incense-thickened air, the relentless humming of the clergymen limping about, swinging their heady censers and crosses like weapons, warding away sickness, staving off the encroaching fog, the rain like whetted arrows pouring from the skies.  Miserable, Leicester spat, this overwhelmingly frivolous display, as he looked about and found William’s entourage riding by like a guild of pilgrims, rather than a royal court – so habitually famed for its luster, horns blasting, stags bounding majestic, all eyes ablaze with happy furor and cheeks reddened by whipping wind, pomp and circumstance and gold banners brandishing about. 

Now, the troupe trailed limply, colorlessly, all the way to Dover – like unwilling sacrifices – the news of Seymour’s rebirth dampening the spirits of the court. 

Not even the King’s people, usually so eager to line up in the towns which the court passed unblinkingly, straggled to catch a glimpse of him, red-gold hair piercing through the mist, a gaggle of delighted gasps following, blackened fingertips jutted out to grab hold of an inch of his majesty, a vanished mystique. And, of course, not a one stuck their necks out to see if Elizabeth and her decorated ladies trailed behind, for they hadn’t.  She hadn’t.  And, as rain hung like blood to Dudley’s feathered cap, he knew that there would be no more of her entirely: Elizabeth Tudor was dead to him, a red-gold wraith of the past, bobbing at the tail of his eyes.  Why, then, as he flayed open his doublet and tossed it to the window bench, rain-soaked fabrics usurped with fire-warmed furs, did the thought clout him with a sort of murderous rage?  This searing agony?  Was this Divine?

Wordlessly Robert Dudley undressed and re-dressed, for there was nothing left to speak: not to himself, nor anyone else.  As he wrested the gold chain from his neck and the locket from his wrists, he thought of the Irish triad that haunted his early expeditions to that emerald isle, and grimaced, the lines of his face crowded with ghosts. ‘Three things that are worse than sorrow: to wait to die, and to die not; to try to please, and to please not; to wait for someone who comes not.’

Dudley’s gaze snapped to Amy, lingering in the doorway, as she spoke.  She looked herself, today, standing by the sleek, gilded archway: a newcomer to noble ranks.  Out of place.   The woman who for nearly half a decade his kisses had rained like Manna upon – her face, the hair that streamed over her shoulders, neck, breasts, thighs.  He’d felt her tremble against him.  Dug into the blades of his shoulders as he heaped her up against the mattress of their marital bed, driven into her with an intense and intoxicating desire, filled with his seed, for Amy Robsart at once his and something else entirely.  Passive, yet not passive; a yielding presence.  The dutiful wife; the loving mother; Helen before the war.  Why, then, he again asked, did God now see fit to bless them with a child?   His smile toward hers was surprisingly gentle, concealing the conundrum of emotions closing ranks behind his poker face.  ‘Shh.  Say naught.’  The last gilded clasp on his wrist unbroken, Dudley said, ‘the bear does not like to be disturbed.’

the  inhabitants  of  dover  castle  bemoaned  the  bad  weather  and  the  more  irrational  of  the  king's  courtiers  marked  the  dampened  beginnings  as  an  ill - omen  for  their  conversations  with  the  entreating  spaniards  ─  while  she  was  inclined  to  voice  her  agreement  to  such  peasant  superstitions,  what  use  did  she  have  for  the  sun  when  robert  dudley  was  near  ?  pinned  into  place  by  the  weight  of  his  gaze,  so  dark  beneath  the  dampened  strands  of  his  hair,  she  was  but  a  rabbit  now  ensnared  in  the  trap  that  he  had  so  expertly  laid  out,  her  throat  bared  for  his  teeth,  her  skin  flushed  with  an  onslaught  of  sudden  warmth  that  coiled  deliciously  in  her  belly  and  around  her  heart  at  the  sight  of  his  smile  and  how  it  softened  the  shadowed  contours  of  his  features.  the  sight  evoked  a  bashfulness  in  the  countess,  her  pleasure  at  his  return  hidden  as  she  tucked  the  expression  (  and  her  chin  )  against  her  neck,  watching  as  his  fingers  made  quick  work  of  his  chains  and  clasps  before  turning  to  her  own  feigned  unfolding  of  their  belongings  if  only  to  conceal  how,  even  after  nearly  a  decade  of  marriage,  the  faintest  hint  of  teeth  behind  his  lips  was  enough  to  widen  her  own  smile  to  points  of  absurdity.  surely  it  was  not  commonplace  for  a  wife  to  feel  such  joy  at  inspiring  gentleness,  happiness  and  comfort  in  her  husband  as  though  they  were  newlyweds  and  the  burdens  of  wifedom  had  not  yet  crushed  the  first  blazes  of  love  ─  what  sorcery  did  he  practice  to  hold  her  captive  in  his  arms  after  all  this  time,  after  such  hurt  ?

discomfort  faded  into  a  dulled  ache  in  his  presence,  as  though  her  affection  for  him  was  too  great  to  allow  anything  else  to  disrupt  the  peace  between  them,  a  soft  laugh  escaping  her  chest  at  his  words.  ❝  my  bear.  ❞  it  lacked  any  sense  of  possessiveness  and  carried  the  weight  of  her  adoration,  her  regard  for  him  as  husband,  father  and  lord,  the  length  of  her  torso  melting  against  his  front  as  she  attempted,  poorly,  to  fold  one  of  his  shirts  away.  like  a  puppet  in  the  hands  of  a  puppeteer,  she  moved  in  accordance  to  his  slightest  touch  ─  her  head  tilted  in  the  opposite  direction  of  his  to  allow  him  space  to  rest  his  chin,  her  back  arched  forward  at  the  gentle  press  of  his  thumbs  to  the  center  of  her  shoulders  and  she  sighed  through  her  nose,  the  sound  a  near - purr  of  a  satisfied  feline.

an  indignant  noise  was  hummed  into  the  air,  brows  furrowing  briefly  at  the words  that  followed.  ❝  oh,  my  sweet  husband  ...  beloved  ...  my  poor,  poor  robert  ...  ❞  still,  she  teased  through  her  concern,  unable  to  stifle  the  delight  at  the  opportunity  that  dover  castle  and  their  growing  child  had  offered  her  to  monopolize  his  time  and  his  attention  for  her  own.  amy  had  not  been  told  in  so  many  words  of  the  sacrifice  that  he  had  made  following  the  revelation  of  her  expectant  state,  but  had  come  to  a  sensible  conclusion  after  studying  his  foul  moods  and  reading  through  the  barrage  of  letters  from  his  sister  that  had  followed  them  from  hampton  to  dover,  conveying  her  confusion  at  the  sudden  change  of  heart  in  the  princess.  a  part  of  her,  however  miniscule,  felt  ashamed  for  the  sorry  state  that  she  had  dragged  both  robert  and  kismet  into  with  the  news  of  her  pregnancy  ─  it  would  only  grow  larger  by  the  day  as  they  continued,  threatening  to  consume  her  with  a  guilt  that  she  had  no  reason  to  carry,  but  it  was  the  size  of  a  mustard  seed  now,  wedged  between  her  chest  and  her  womb,  easy  to  ignore  with  more  pressing  concerns  at  hand.  ❝  fortunately  for  you,  i  am  as  easily  pleased  as  i  am  displeased.  now,  it  pleases  me  to  merely  look  at  you  !  i  would  find  myself  content  to  spend  the  rest  of  my  days  gazing  at  my  ridiculously  fierce  and  handsome  husband,  no  matter  his  faults.  ❞  of  which  there  were  many,  though  she  did  not  speak  the  words  so  much  as  imply  them  with  her  punctured  silence,  amusement  at  his  expense  tapering  off  as  she  turned  to  face  him,  taking  in  the  exhausted  lines  of  his  face,  first  with  her  eyes  and  then  following  the  path  with  her  fingers,  ghosting  her  touch  across  his  cheeks  before  pressing  a  quick,  sweet  kiss  to  one.

locations: an afternoon garden delight 

 The greenery became the scene of clamorous voices, arraying of persons curiously elaborate. Courtiers descended in great gowns and silks; they took pleasure in indulging that forenoon a luxury of slovenliness - the Spanish serving as aldermen in this endeavour. In beholding this diaphanous mass, she felt herself to be a mere shadow in a field of white - in this same gown of shadow, Anne felt at ease. She took pleasure in betaking herself to the enemy - an advantage she should not have enjoyed being anything less brilliant or striking.  Groups of ladies and gentlemen stood and walked amongst the flowers; the long line of courtiers presented a throning, murmuring multitude - but it was one one fine head, which bade Anne to cease her removed demonstrations. Amy did not know Anne well; but Anne knew her, and honoured her nature, with all its plain sincerity, its warm affection and enthusiasm. There was behind Anne a throng, the Spanish a hundred ranks deep - there were many to meet her eyes and divide their scrutiny - she concentrated all on Amy, oppressing, perhaps, with the whole force of her full, dark eyes. One glance did not satisfy her - she studied Amy leisurely. Anne contrived to approach; all that was grand or good in her kept her quite tame, as she sought to receive Dudley's bride. Forbearing as she was won to be, proximity for Amy was no dangerous place - she took the others arm, and entreated her in low tones.

there  was  no  small  honor  in  being  approached  by  the  dowager  queen  of  england  when  she  was  surrounded  and  followed  by  others  of  higher  ranking  and  purpose  than  the  undecorated  countess  of  leicester  whose  only  accomplishments  were  marrying  well  and  maintaining  the  favor  of  the  esteemed  woman  that  approached  with  steady  steps  and  a  weighted  gaze.  undoubtedly,  she  believed  that  there  must  have  been  tens  upon  hundreds  of  sonnets  written  on  the  depths  of  anne  boleyn's  gaze  alone  for  her  mistress'  dark  eyes  pinned  her  into  place  amongst  the  flowers,  stripping  her  bare  of  any  pretense,  so  piercing  that  amy  could  not  help  but  worry  that  the  secrets  that  she  kept  would  be  unveiled  with  just  an  uttered  command.  what  hold  did  the  vows  of  loyalty  to  her  husband  have  over  her  heart  when  it  came  against  the  unexpected  kindness,  the  ready  acceptance  that  she  had  received  from  the  queen  ?  if  there  was  a  way  to  assure  that  amy  and  the  children  would  not  suffer  for  his  indiscretion,  her  mistress  would  be  the  first  to  learn  of  the  sorrow  that  weighed  on  her  heart  like  an  anchor  on  the  seabed  and  the  shame  that  would  go  onto  staining  her  name  long  after  she  had  departed  from  this  world.  readily,  she  went,  the  softness  of  her  figure  melting  into  place  beside  anne  with  a  delight  that  illuminated  her  features  and  imbued  a  rosy  glow  to  her  waned  cheeks.

❝  your  grace  ...  i  am  honored  by  your  attention  in  the  midst  of  far  more  interesting  guests  and  i  shall  willingly  serve  as  your  defense  against  all  that  would  dare  cast  an  unkind  gaze  upon  your  distinguished  beauty.  ❞  while  some  might  speak  honeyed  words  with  the  intention  to  endear  themselves  to  the  queen,  amy  spoke  from  the  heart,  admiration  glistening  in  her  attentive  gaze  even  as  a  knowing  smile  betrayed  her  concealed  amusement  at  the  attempt  to  shed  interest  upon  robert  when  she  had  deduced  that  anne  held  him  at  a  very  low  opinion  indeed.  ❝  if  it  pleases  your  grace,  i  am  certain  that  the  king,  in  his  devoted  adoration  of  his  mother,  would  not  dare  repudiate  the  request,  especially  since  we  cannot  conspire  to  plan  a  winter  wedding.  a  masquerade  would  be  ingenious,  especially  if  it  were  themed  !  ❞  excitement  bubbled  in  the  throat  as  the  fingers  of  her  freed  hand  danced  atop  the  colored  petals,  blooming  through  the  first  frosts  of  winter  ─  demure,  her  eyes  studied  anne  through  the  curtain  of  her  fair  lashes,  the  pink  of  her  tongue  poking  out  to  wet  her  lips  in  an  uncharacteristic  display  of  uncertainty.  ❝  though  my  involvement  in  such  celebrations  may  be  hindered  by  ...  growing  matters  between  myself  and  the  earl.  ❞  a  disappointed  hum  followed  the  words,  cleverness  faltering  in  the  presence  of  her  mistress.  

Despite the easy look on Amy's face, she did not seem altogether quiet comfortable. Of course, neither was Meg, but Lady Dudley seemed to unconsciously clutch at her midsection as if trying to hold inside any bit of the morning meal she had managed to enjoy. The open air from the window had since calmed Meg's churning stomach, and she hoped it would do the same for her companion. Meg's glance turned softer at the tension she felt in the woman beside her; whether it was her own presence or Amy's general discomfort she did not know, and she would not wish either upon her...though for her own sake and the sake of her conscience, Meg hoped that in the present moment, she was not causing the other woman any harm. For in their positions, what could either of them be expected to do?

She was relieved to find that the mention of her children softened Amy a bit, as she was sure it did for any mother. "I cannot say I blame her," Meg admitted with a light laugh, happy to be thinking on more pleasant things. "Though my mother was French I have never had the pleasure of traveling there myself...perhaps we shall adapt some of their fashions as our own. I must admit, every French woman I have seen has been dressed in the most glorious fabrics." If the English were to borrow from any other country, it might as well be France. It certainly was not going to be Spain. "It is a wonderful opportunity for us all to have foreigners visit. Surely such knowledge and alliances can only make England stronger."

there  was  something  innately  irreproachable  about  the  lady  welles  that  inspired  a  sense  of  commiseration  between  two  women  in  a  court  that  would  pick  them  apart  like  vultures  upon  carrion  should  one  foot  be  found  out  of  place  ─  though  they  had  come  from  vastly  different  backgrounds,  both  seemed  to  be  aware  of  where  they  stood  and  the  silent  stretch  of  unspoken  secrets  that  they  had  to  maintain  for  their  own  reasons.  while  the  countess  of  leicester  did  not  stand  for  being  made  to  seem  like  a  fool  that  inspired  pity  from  others,  she  was  appreciative  that  the  younger  woman  did  not  poke  at  the  slumbering  beast  between  them  and  instead  diverted  the  conversation  to  much  safer  waters,  undoubtedly  learning  the  skills  of  navigating  an  unpleasant  conversation  from  her  years  at  court.  it  was  something  that  amy  still  needed  to  perfect,  no  matter  how  enjoyable  her  simplicity  was  to  some,  for  though  she  knew  what  needed  to  be  said  and  done  and  gave  advice  on  how  best  to  ride  through  courtly  conversations,  she  did  not  always  take  her  own  word  to  heart,  prone  to  wearing  her  emotions  on  her  face  even  as  she  bit  down  on  her  tongue.

unaware  that  her  discomfort  was  evident  on  her  features,  she  rubbed  absentmindedly  at  the  barely  noticeable  swell  of  her  stomach,  forcing  her  breathing  to  mellow  out  so  that  the  crisp  air  could  chase  aware  the  worst  of  her  mother's  stomach  before  she  upended  what  little  food  she  had  ingested  prior  to  the  executions.  the  thought  of  the  bodies  and  the  heads  rolling  sent  another  wave  of  nausea  through  her  frame,  however,  and  she  swallowed  audibly,  casting  her  gaze  away  from  the  window  to  glance  at  the  other  woman  as  she  spoke.  ❝  neither  have  i  ...  though  i  was  hoping  to  monopolize  the  time  of  some  of  the  french  seamstresses  that  catherine  de  medici  has  brought  with  her.  ❞  everyone  had  a  price,  no  matter  their  loyalty  to  their  country,  and  the  dudley  family  was  hardly  known  for  ruffling  any  feathers  overseas  though  she  was  well  aware  of  her  husband's  disdain  for  their  foreign  guests  ─  perhaps  an  artfully  crafted  dress  might  dissuade  his  opinions  of  the  french.  ❝  it  truly  is  a  privilege,  is  it  not  ?  i  was  glad  to  be  able  to  bring  the  children  so  that  they  might  be  involved  in  such  a  historical  moment.  they  will,  one  day,  inherit  our  titles  and  responsibilities  so  it  is  good  for  them  to  learn  now  who  england's  allies  are.  ❞

as  much  as  she  wished  for  the  children  to  take  to  their  books  and  to  their  tutors  like  ducks  took  to  water,  both  robin  and  anne  emulated  her  vivaciousness  in  youth  in  their  own  ways  and  when  the  two  children  stopped  arguing  long  enough  to  conspire  against  their  poor  mother,  she  was  helpless  to  their  manipulations  and  childlike  logic  ─  it  was  why  they  were  exploring  the  gardens,  anne  running  ahead  with  the  sun  in  her  hair  while  robin  attempted  maturity  by  explaining  the  odd  flower  or  two  that  they  came  across  in  their  walk,  his  hand  tugging  her  forward  with  an  impatience  that  she  found  amusing.  (  it  was  sweet  how  he  refused  to  leave  her  side  even  if  he  longed  to  chase  after  her  sister  and,  as  another  child  joined  anne  in  her  games,  amy  gave  her  son  a  little  nudge  towards  cecily,  silently  assuring  her  young  knight  that  she  would  be  safe  in  the  company  of  mistress  walsingham.  )  ❝  i  have  had  to  unpick  and  fix  the  hems  of  her  dresses  thrice  since  we've  journeyed  to  hampton.  it  seems  as  though  both  my  children  have  inherited  their  father's  height  but  not  much  else.  ❞  her  longsuffering  tone  was  emphasized  by  a  girlish  shriek,  undoubtedly  from  the  little  hellion  that  had  inherited  her  hair  along  with  her  worst  qualities  as  a  child.  ❝  you  jest  but  if  she  does  grow  taller,  i  may  have  to  leave  the  disciplining  to  robert  and  we  both  know  he  is  soft  for  her.  ❞  punctured  with  a  gentle  roll  of  the  eye,  she  leaned  slightly  against  penelope's  side  in  an  unspoken  greeting  between  friends,  gaze  wandering  until  she  caught  sight  of  where  their  young  had  paused,  both  girls  captivated  by  robin's  lecture  on  a  flower  and  the  worm  that  sat  upon  it.  

Alphonse Eugène Félix Lecadre (French, 1842-1875) 

the loss of mary still weighed heavily on julien's soul, it mattered little that years had passed when he was haunted by her features often in their two children - in the way that katherine cried at night for her, or how gideon grew each day into his mother's sharp cheekbones. at times, he was envious of others who moved on so gracefully, who allowed themselves to find love in the comfort of another when julian struggled to not find guilt in entertaining other women now that she was passed. perhaps, that is why julian continued to entertain the friendship that had been fostered with amy dudley before mary had left, in hopes that he may steal some of the strength she possessed to marry robert , or to keep close one of the few that recalled his once love so vividly. another voice to pass stories with on the nights when her light seemed to grow dim.

though at times, julian could not help but selfishly wonder if he adored amy still for the comfort that she graced him with, the soft touches and knowing looks -  for the way that katherine sat perfectly on her hip, as if in another life they may have shared a hearth and home together. bound by loves long past, and love that was forged anew. 

yet, amy dudley was not his wife nor would she ever be, julian reminded himself sharply as he gazed upon the sight of her dozing comfortably with his daughter. with a faint smile, julian moved forward to help amy lift herself from her seat, the hand not grasping hers was placed on katherine's dark curls, keeping her steady till amy was righted again. " yes, i fear if i spend another meal with cecil and walsingham that i may pluck a knife from the table and place it within my own ear," he jested, voice low and quiet as to not wake the sleeping child. it was a playful lie, julian reveled in the attention that the older men offered him for he had never been blessed to have older brothers, and at times they felt dangerously close to what he had dreamt of for it. 

his  touch  was  warm  and  weighed  with  a  reassurance  that  he  would  not  allow  her  to  stumble  nor  would  he  release  her  grasp  too  early,  the  strength  in  his  forearm  pulling  him  up  from  where  she  had  been  nestled  against  the  pillows  by  the  fireplace,  cheeks  reddened  from  the  heat  and  nothing  else.  (  nothing  else,  her  conscience  warned  though  the  countess  of  leicester  could  feel  her  heartbeat  in  her  throat,  beating  against  the  slender  column  of  her  neck  like  a  hummingbird  demanding  freedom.  )  his  other  hand  rested  against  the  curly - headed  child  in  her  arms  ─  katherine  snuffled  and  blinked  back  sleepiness,  long  lashes  brushing  against  her  cheeks  as  the  movement,  however  slow,  enticed  her  away  from  the  call  of  hypnos  and  back  to  the  present.  absentmindedly,  amy  bustled  a  kiss  against  her  forehead  to  soothe  the  child  awake  even  as  her  gaze  remained  affixed  on  the  man  that  stood  opposite  her.  the  countess  had  never  been  one  to  fixate  on  religion  outside  of  the  usual  observances  but  even  she  knew  that  there  was  a  place  in  hell  for  women  who  coveted  the  widows  of  their  deceased  friends,  doubly  so  if  the  said  woman  was  married  as  well.  still,  she  was  a  glutton  for  affection  wherever  she  could  receive  it,  delighting  in  the  intensity  of  his  eyes  upon  her  freckled  features  as  he  spoke  in  a  low  tone  that  warmed  her  as  keenly  as  the  hearth  had.  it  made  her  feel  desirable  and  she  saw  nothing  wrong  with  enjoying  his  company  for  it  ─  after  all,  did  she  not  also  deserve  to  feel  cherished  unconditionally  ?

❝  i  cannot  promise  you  that  the  feeling  will  not  return  after  a  meal  with  our  combined  young  ...  between  your  gideon  and  my  anne,  our  ears  will  be  deafened  by  the  end  of  the  day.  ❞  amy  would  take  the  endless  chatter  of  her  children  over  conversation  with  anyone  else  in  court,  however,  appreciative  of  the  simple  fascinations  of  her  young  that  allowed  her  to  wield  her  knowledge  to  enlighten  them  rather  than  to  nod  at  the  right  pauses  as  she  was  wont  to  do  in  the  company  of  more  finely  educated  persons.  as  he  retreated  to  a  safe  distance,  her  body  swayed  forward  as  though  pulled  by  an  invisible  force  that  compelled  her  to  follow  him  but  her  feet  remained  rooted  in  the  spot,  a  shiver  running  down  her  spine  as  the  ghost  of  a  smile  played  on  his  mouth.  against  her  shoulder,  katherine  grumbled  out  a  sentence  and  she  shifted  the  child  slightly  so  that  her  face  was  turned  towards  her  father  when  she  first  peeked  one  eye  open.  ❝  i  will  tell  the  servants  to  prepare  another  plate  for  you.  look,  kitty  ...  your  father  is  here.  ❞

bouncing  the  child  awake,  amy  waited  until  she  began  to  wiggle  in  her  arms  before  she  set  katherine  down,  watching  with  an  idle  smile  as  she  ran  to  julian  with  the  evidence  of  a  good  sleep  on  her  cheek  ─  this  allowed  her  face  to  fracture  into  uncertainty  at  the  mention  of  her  husband  with  the  hopes  that  the  distracting  child  would  hide  her  change  in  expression  from  julian.  he  was  cruel  to  remind  her  of  robert,  of  her  marriage  and  the  secrets  that  she  kept  to  keep  the  family  together,  guilt  churning  at  her  belly.  some  might  argue  that  robert  did  not  deserve  her  goodness,  her  loyalty,  but  undeserving  or  not,  he  was  the  sole  recipient  of  her  devotion  ─  would  that  she  could  dig  out  her  foolish  heart  and  give  it  to  another  if  only  so  she  could  feel  less  like  a  pawn  and  more  like  a  player.  ❝  i  cannot  say  ...  he  has  many  duties  to  attend  to  for  the  king  and  the  princess,  i  can  only  hope  that  he  remembers  to  eat  in  between  that.  and  ...  your  avoidance  of  the  question  has  been  noted.  ❞  even  if  she  was  the  fool,  she  could  play  a  man  like  julian  de  vere,  leading  him  back  to  the  conversation  and  steering  it  away  from  her  husband's  whereabouts.  

Now, standing next to Amy Dudley, Meg's mind turned toward other matters. Meg never quite knew how to behave around Amy, the neglected wife of her dear friend's lover. Guilt rushed through her body at the sight of Lady Leicester, the knowledge of the affair and her own hand in keeping it alive eating at her in the presence of the wronged party. Still, her unwavering support of Elizabeth would not allow her to address such things, lest she wished her own head separated from her body.

"For the king's sake and our own, I do hope there are brighter days ahead," she continued instead, turning back towards the other woman with a soft gaze, turning her mind to more pleasant thoughts. "Your children, are they well?" Meg asked, a genuine smile gracing her lips at the thought of Amy's offspring. She did envy Amy that, the comfort of the family she had created. "It is so wonderful to see them about."

navigating  so  many  individuals,  most  of  whom  were  intricately  tied  to  each  other  by  blood  or  by  marriage,  was  not  unlike  learning  the  steps  to  an  especially  complicated  country  dance  and  fortunately  for  the  countess  of  leicester,  her  ambitious  mother  had  insisted  on  lessons  every  wednesday  before  her  chores,  already  envisioning  a  life  for  her  daughter  that  took  her  away  from  the  quaint  countryside  and  their  large  stretch  of  farmland.  yet,  in  comparison  to  some  others,  marguerite  welles  was  without  complications  insofar  as  relatives  were  concerned  though  her  loyalty  to  the  princess  elizabeth  often  placed  them  at  odds  with  each  other,  especially  if  amy  was  seeking  out  her  absent  husband  and  the  other  woman  was  complicit  in  the  concealment  of  his  whereabouts.  thankfully,  she  had  yet  to  be  subjected  to  such  levels  of  humiliation  though  she  was  certain  that  with  all  of  them  gathered  beneath  one  roof,  it  would  only  be  a  matter  of  time  before  she  would  receive  a  boldfaced  lie  and  be  forced  to  make  the  walk  back  to  the  dudley  apartments  in  shame  ─  she  had  been  preparing  her  heart  for  that  very  moment  for  years  though  the  mere  thought  of  such  blatant,  collaborating  disrespect  was  enough  to  make  her  sick.  a  hand  pressed  urgently  against  her  belly,  patting  the  stiffened  stomacher  as  though  to  soothe  a  distressed  creature  as  she  glided  forward  to  take  a  space  beside  the  younger  woman,  keeping  her  gaze  on  lady  welles  rather  than  the  appealing  horizon.

❝  you  are  doing  admiringly  well  for  your  first  time,  my  lady.  ❞  there  was  no  need  for  her  to  be  unnecessarily  kind  to  the  other  but  it  was  not  in  her  nature  to  be  wicked  to  those  who  did  her  no  harm  ─  she  would  not  blame  a  child  for  the  sins  of  a  father  and  she  would  not  blame  the  girl  for  the  sins  of  her  mistress.  ❝  death  is  unpleasant,  no  matter  how  deserving  or  undeserving  a  person  may  be,  and  that  was  certainly  ...  the  most  distressing  of  executions  i  had  seen.  ❞  it  was  in  the  nature  of  kings  to  be  threatened  by  traitors  at  all  corners  though  amy  was  surprised  that  it  had  taken  so  long  for  one  to  be  unearthed,  and  she  could  not  help  but  worry  if  this  was  an  omen  of  more  plots  arising  against  the  king.  ❝  god  willing,  all  those  who  wish  ill  upon  his  majesty  have  been  uncovered  in  this  plot.  this  will  not  taint  the  true  purpose  of  our  gathering.  ❞

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 : open starter 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 : chapel within hampton court 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐏 : september 1559

lady margery holland was not the most pious of women unlike most ladies at hampton court. she prayed when she could or when felt like it, attended mass when needed, but mainly they were all for appearances. as blasphemous as it sounded, margery was no longer sure that God was true or if, by any chance there was a high being, he cared little of her seeing all the difficulties he threw her way; obviously, she wasn't favored. nobody need know of her unbelief, too tired to cause a scandal at court as if her name was not dragged in the mud already. margery knew that the only reason nobody has done anything to her was that she was the dowager queen's lady. but were she not? what would her fate be like? she could only wonder.

divinity  had  always  been  a  distant  aspiration  for  most  of  her  childhood  and  early  adulthood.  by  the  age  of  six,  amy  had  learned  to  cease  her  fidgeting  during  service  so  that  she  could  concentrate  all  of  her  energy  into  the  small  list  of  intentions  that  her  father  had  made  her  recite  every  day  with  her  morning  prayers  ─  first,  she  gave  thanks  to  god  for  allowing  her  to  see  another  morning  and  then  she  would  pray  for  the  health  of  her  parents  and  her  elder  brothers  (  both  the  bastard  and  the  heir  at  her  father's  insistence  ),  for  a  bountiful  crop  at  harvest  time  and  for  continued  peace  throughout  the  countryside.  when  she  had  married  sir  christopher,  the  list  had  expanded  to  include  his  success  in  the  welsh  marches  and  the  healths  of  their  two  children  but  as  her  position  in  life  elevated  from  gentlewoman  to  noblewoman,  so  did  the  reach  of  her  prayers  grow.  as  she  genuflected  before  the  altar,  however,  there  was  only  one  thought  in  her  mind  ─  that  the  babe  within  her  would  finally  settle  and  that  her  mother's  belly  would  cease  troubling  her  in  the  mornings.  such  an  uncomplicated  prayer  called  back  to  the  days  when  her  greatest  concern  was  what  to  serve  on  the  table  for  their  evening  meal,  though  the  circumstances  and  secrets  surrounding  the  unborn  child  were  far  from  simple.  

yet  amy  was  not  without  her  comforts  or  her  support  even  in  the  chapel,  demure  figure  dropping  into  the  seat  beside  lady  holland  with  a  soft  glide  of  her  skirts.  ❝  marg.  ❞  the  older  woman  had  become  something  of  an  unexpected  help  from  the  moment  she  had  entered  into  the  service  of  the  dowager  queen  and  continued  to  be  a  valuable  friend  during  her  difficult  mornings,  taking  on  the  duties  when  amy  was  otherwise  stuck  with  her  head  over  a  basin.  ❝  do  you  think  there  could  ever  be  sanctuary  for  me  here  ?  no  ...  no,  it  would  be  easier  for  me  to  find  solitude  though  it  needn't  be  spent  alone  if  you  are  not  opposed  to  my  company.  ❞  an  arm  extended  so  that  she  might  intertwine  their  fingers  together  upon  her  lap,  a  small  smile  warming  her  otherwise  exhausted  features.  ❝  thank  you  for  covering  for  my  absence  this  morning.  i  fear  our  mistress  has  grown  most  cross  with  me  ...  perhaps  i  should  tell  her  of  my  affliction  ?  ❞