Free Secrets of the Tudor Court by D. L. Bogdan

in rich, delicious sauces. There are sugared fruits for dessert, cheese and bread, and delicious mulled wine.
    “You’re looking thin, Mary,” Mother tells me.
    We have not laid eyes upon each other for a year. I suppose I was hoping for some kind of change during that time, that perhaps her longing for me would inspire her to embrace me. It must be much easier asking a girl of my age to change, rather than a middle-aged woman. I decide to accept the observation as a show of her concern.
    “I’ve been ill, my lady,” I inform her.
    She sips her wine. “No contagion, I hope.”
    I shake my head. “No, my lady. Just a fever. I was overtired.” I offer a bright smile. “I’m much better now and eating such a lovely supper restores me mightily.”
    My father is growing impatient with the nonsensical chatter. I can tell by the way he grinds his teeth on the left side. He stares at his plate, disinterested.
    “You are attending Anne’s elevation to the peerage,” he says in a quiet voice.
    My eyes grow wide. Anne is being elevated to the peerage? Anne, a subject humbly born, with no royal blood surging through her delicate blue veins?
    “If you think that I am going to lower myself to serve that whore, you are sorely mistaken.” My mother’s voice is also quiet but bears a bitter edge. She wipes her mouth. “I will not go anywhere near the slut. Unlike some, I stand firm in my loyalties. I do not compromise my principles for sake of pride.”
    Norfolk draws in a breath. “You are going. You will carry her train like a good aunt. She is to be Marquess of Pembroke. Marquess, Elizabeth! Do you realize what that means? Ladies are made marchionesses at best. A marquess is a man’s title. There is only one reason she is being ennobled: to elevate her to royalty so that she may be made presentable to Europe as the king’s chosen bride.”
    “The king already chose a bride,” Mother reminds him. “He has a bride and an heir.”
    “I should not have to condescend to explain to you that it would mean civil war putting Mary on the throne. She is a woman. No woman is fit to rule England alone, and the Tudors’ hold on the throne is too weak for her to keep it by herself.” Norfolk shakes his head, exasperated.
    I am trying not to look. I bow my head but observe through my lashes, hoping no one sees me, like at court.
    “Codswollop,” says Mother. “He has Fitzroy if he wants an heir. He even has Henry Carey if he wanted to get a little desperate. Nothing is preventing him from naming either of them. And for merit he could acknowledge Catherine Carey and God knows whatever other bastards are out there.”
    She has him.
    “Even now an act is being considered to name Fitzroy heir, should Henry not bear any more in the future,” Norfolk tells her.
    “Good. Then there’s no need of Anne,” says Mother as though it is all decided. She breaks off a piece of bread and begins to nibble on it.
    “There is need of her as long as he says there is,” Norfolk says, his voice firm. I stiffen at the tone. “You still do not seem to grasp how this affects us, how this will elevate us.”
    “I am a duchess!” Mother cries. “I don’t aspire for more!” Her eyes shine bright blue with loathing as she regards Norfolk. “When I became Catherine’s lady-in-waiting all those years ago, I pledged her my loyalty. She has it still.”
    “And a lot of good it’s done you,” Norfolk interposes. “Your ‘loyalty’ earned you banishment and nothing more. You are not remembered with favor by anyone and you certainly are not missed. Yet you will not take the opportunity to redeem yourself with the new regime.”
    “Pah! ‘New regime’! Really, I haven’t been so amused in weeks.” At once her countenance turns stony. “I tell you, Thomas Howard, I will not go. See how the court finds you when they see you dragging me, screaming obscenities and biting your wrists, at Anne’s ceremony. See how dignified you’ll look