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Mary had expected a letter from him, at least.
It was naïve of her to even entertain the possibility. She had turned her back to the king, simmering with hurt. When she thought of Edward now, he looked so small and round-faced, dwarfed by the throne’s golden frame.
“Please,” his voice had cracked, “please, Mary.”
Mary inhaled, though the breath stuck in her throat. Her brother and sister had made their choice; so had she.
The week had been uneventful – allowing her doubts to dwell longer. She had been pleasantly distracted by her friend, Sir Hastings' company, as well as her ladies, and the continued presence of Sir Pedro had been a most welcome one at Framlingham. For the last few days, however, business had called many elsewhere.
Without her siblings and the court, and with the absence of the Bishop and Sir Pedro, her estate returned to routine. She welcomed the calm mundanity offered. Mary was content to simply sit in the quiet near the warmth of the fire and read with her ladies.
She was doing just so that morning, when a messenger entered with a gold-gilded box in hand.
“Your Grace,” greeted the messenger. “A gift from the Lord Protector.”
Mary exchanged a puzzled look with her lady Catalina, who was well informed of the ongoing debacle at court from both her and Sir Pedro. Mary placed her book down, and crossed over to the table where the messenger laid the latched box.
“The Lord Protector apologizes for the delay in its delivery, but that the details of your father’s will are still being considered as your brother’s reign evolves.” The messenger bowed. “He hopes you find this without fault or defect."
Burning with curiosity, Mary opened the case, and immediately her ladies gasped at the treasure inside. Mary didn't make a sound.
The Queen's jewels.
She forced her gaze upwards to the messenger. With a slight nod, she said, "Thank the Lord Protector for me. That is all."
The messenger bowed and took his leave. With the door closed, her ladies descended.
"If it were any other man," Catalina said wryly, "I would think you to be wooed."
"By the Lord Protector?" sputtered Susan. "There is more passion to be squeezed from stone."
Mary's hand flew to her mouth, but she was too late to halt her laughter.
"He is still a man, Susan," Mary managed, grinning. "Something drives him. He is now the Lord Protector, after all."
"It would not be the first Seymour to try and court above their station," commented Catalina. The reminder of Thomas Seymour and his desperate plying at a proposal suddenly sobered Mary's humour. Her thumb caressed one of the gold-set rubies. What had the Lord Protector been thinking, sending this to her?
What does he want?
Seeing her mistress' furrowed brow, Susan said: “Perhaps it is an offer of friendship.”
“Or pay for your compliance.”
“Frideswide!” Susan scolded.
Mary raised a hand to stop her. “She is not wrong to speak it.” She dug her fingernail along the case's grain, frowning as she thought. “She may not be wrong at all.”
Mary took the necklace into her hands, surprised by its lightness. Her ladies around her appropriately gushed.
“My,” Susan breathed, “but many a woman would be happy to have that around her neck.”
“A good many did,” quipped Mary, to their collective laughter. Frideswide fetched a mirror.
“Do try it on, your Grace!”
Though she shook her head, Mary allowed the removal of the case from her lap and stood, holding the necklace to her neck. Frideswide tilted the mirror upwards, so that Mary saw herself. She felt hands on the back of her neck, closing the necklace’s clasp.
“Very regal, your Grace.”
“Looks much better than upon the Lady Seymour..." muttered Susan.
Mary gave her a look, enough to let her know that she had been heard, but with no true edge to it.
“First the release of the Bishop Gardiner, now Katherine’s finery.” She looked to her ladies, half-smiling. “Should I be worried?”
“I would be wary," Catalina spoke up, drawing their attention, "but not afraid. It seems you are carrying a card that the Lord Protector does not want you to play.”
Rolling the stringed pearls between her fingertips, Mary wondered if she only had the one card in hand.
…
The requested summon was unexpected, to say the least. Edward had only received confirmation of the jewels’ safe exchange to the princess, but nothing that pertained to her reaction. From what the messenger cobbled together when he asked, she didn’t seem to react at all.
Despite what the Lord Dudley believed, Mary was not the most pressing matter – a concern, yes, but Mary was one woman – not a country whole. To treat them as one and the same would be to let the Scotland issue slip, and they couldn’t afford to delay it further.
Mary's request may be a blessing in disguise. With tensions inflamed by Elizabeth's thoughtlessness, a direct conservation may give Edward better insight as to where Mary stood. Hopefully, the Bishop Gardiner's release would have convinced the Princess Mary of the council's goodwill.
Her servant guided him to her rooms. When the door was opened to him, he could see the princess standing by the fire, dressed in lilac and silver. Crossing the threshold, Edward bowed his head low. “Your Grace.”
He raised his head just as the princess turned to him, and around her neck were two strings of clustered pearls and gold. Immediately, Edward faltered.
“You…”
Mary raised her chin, expectantly. Edward felt like a gaping fish, desperate for words rather than air. Wincing at his misstep, he found his voice enough to at least say: “The jewels are to your liking?”
“And that is precisely what I expected.” Mary looked over her shoulder to where her ladies waited. “Susan, if you would.”
At her summoning, her lady stepped forward and began to remove the necklace.
Unsure of what Mary was trying to prove, Edward prompted: “Your Grace?”
“Your reaction,” Mary clarified. “I cannot wear these – not without generating further scandal.”
Edward felt his posture ease. In the growing tensions between Mary and her siblings, he had forgotten that Mary did not feel the need to try and force herself into the constantly swaying attentions of the court.
The Lady Susan placed the necklace back into its case, gingerly arranging the stones to lie flat upon the velvet. Mary thanked her, and dismissed her ladies from the room. “I think we both realize that there is no sentimental value to these. It is not as if my mother ever wore them.”
Edward remembered a time when the mention of her mother would drain the little colour in Mary’s pale face, as if her mother’s name were an open wound. She was younger then – so had he been. Perhaps time had worn the edge of her grief, just as it had for himself when Jane died so unexpectedly, just as it had for the siblings they had lost when she lived.
Edward stepped forward. “You could design a commission – use the materials for something new.”
She nodded absently, trailing her hand over the top of the case. There was little else to do with them, besides returning them to the crown. “Why have these come to me?”
Edward’s eyebrows furrowed, as if the answer was obvious. “You are the King’s eldest daughter.”
“And yet I saw Katherine wear these without any objection ‘til now.”
Edward stiffened. “As I told the Lady Parr,” he explained with a sigh, “the king left them to his widow.”
With a smirk, Mary said, “So your brother’s marriage displeases you, also.”
Edward scoffed. “I nearly throttled him upon my return from Scotland. It’s no coincidence that their marriage occurred during our campaign. He knew I would’ve – ” He stopped himself. His eyes caught Mary’s, who thought it good that some vitality returned to the often stoic man.
“Many would have,” Mary said, her eyes serious but her lips threatening to smile. To her surprise, the Lord Somerset chuckled, though the sound fell almost too heavy. For all that Thomas Seymour was, she supposed he was still his brother, after all.
Mary heard the Lord Somerset laugh again, and she looked to the sound only to see Edward shaking his head. His smile was larger, but there was a sharpness to it.
“What was that woman thinking?” he murmured, fixing one hand upon his sword belt while the other rubbed his tired eyes.
“Evidently, your brother wasn’t thinking at all.”
His hand fell, and his eyes found hers. Edward didn’t know who was more surprised at Mary’s outburst – the princess or himself. Mary had long since harboured no love for his brother, not undeservedly, but to speak up for Katherine?
And what was Katherine Parr to her? A part of Mary thought of the woman eternally tied to Thomas Seymour before the eyes of God, after surviving the revolving cruelties of her father, and nearly pitied her. Yet after all that happened, Mary couldn’t help but think it was perhaps what a woman like Katherine deserved. It gave her little comfort.
“I find her much changed,” was all Mary offered, looking down at her joined hands.
Edward watched her sudden demureness. Every time he thought he had the Princess defined, she defied expectation. Edward supposed there were worse flaws to have.
“Little was,” he began, cautiously, “considered by them – either of them.” He held her gaze, firm and steady. “Least of all: the consequences for others.”
It was an offer to let the matter rest, one that Mary appreciated. Mary would not have the likes of Katherine and Thomas Seymour consume her morning. She walked past Edward to the window, where a break in the clouds brightened the snow-dusted hills.
“Would you accompany me for a walk, my lord?”
…
A faint snowfall filled the air. It was a welcome reprieve from the dampness that usually hung above Framlingham in the colder months. Edward was glad he had opted for his thicker coat. Though plain in colour, it was rich in texture and material. He was not concerned with style – not as Thomas was, or even Jane had been – but function that befitted and spoke to his station.
Mary, however, devoured it. Her green robe trailed behind her skirt, and her fur cap sat like a crown upon her red hair. Though her brother sat on the throne, it was the Princess Mary who always dressed the most lavishly.
She led them to the garden path, where only blue-green shrubs and snowdrop flowers dotted the snow. She slowed her gait so that they walked side-by-side. A wind brushed their back.
Edward couldn’t remember the last time he was with the princess in a setting such as this. Such meetings had been by chance, which was naturally easier when King Henry’s health had been somewhat stable, and young Edward still with his nursemaids and tutors. Much didn’t come easy, now.
“Sir Pedro has told me about the situation in Scotland,” Mary informed him as she fixed her gloves.
“Did he, now?” replied Edward.
“Was he wrong to?”
“There are matters not meant to leave the privy chamber,” he cautioned, “let alone to be used as appropriate discussion for a woman of your stature.”
“As sister to the king, the wellbeing of him and his country is a most appropriate topic, no?” she questioned. “I can assure you that such details will not spill out into the streets of London. Sir Pedro may be in my service, but he fought alongside you.”
In your service, Edward thought. He has never left mine.
“You must know his character. He is not one to share information that would endanger our king.”
“You find accusations in my words where there are none,” he told her firmly.
“Tell me, then, what you perceive the Scottish threat to be,” prompted Mary. Though it did not reach her eyes, her smile was not unkind. “And how you have come to neutralize it thus far.”
And so Edward did, and at length. Mary found herself watching the Lord Protector bramble about strategy fondly. He had always been more talkative and open regarding logistics, and she could see that this was a cause that he cared deeply about. She questioned some of it: the cost, the thought, the toll, but Edward rolled with each objection, steadfast in each decision. Mary could see how he would easily frustrate the other members of the council, but for what it was worth, he listened to what she said, even when he disagreed.
Surprisingly, logistics slipped into military exploits, which Mary eagerly engaged with.
“Did Sir Pedro not tell you of how he brought an end to the siege of Haddington?” Edward asked, when she questioned Pedro’s presence at the town.
Mary shook her head, entirely intrigued. “He did not.”
It struck Edward as strange that Pedro would discuss their war so frankly with the Princess and yet leave out one of his most impressive maneuvers. Though once he thought upon it, Edward realized that the manner of Pedro’s tactics may have been considered as too vulgar for her ears. He smiled to himself. So, Pedro was vulnerable to those damned courtly pleasantries after all…
“It was rather ingenious, and took best advantage of the environment presented.”
“How so?”
“The weather was hot and humid, and the siege left the Scots with a defense line that could not abandoned lest they concede loss. They had no choice to remain and try to stand the smell.”
“The smell of what?”
Edward looked down at her. “The horses.”
“Enough now!” Mary exclaimed, bright-eyed. “You must start from the beginning.”
“I think you should wait and hear it from Sir Pedro himself.”
“Can you not tell it?”
“No, Princess,” Edward told her, almost bashful, “not in the way he could.”
She considered appealing once more, but relented. “A shame.”
It was a great story, but Edward had no skill in the telling. Thomas did, as did their sister Dorothy. Edward wondered how the princess would react to it; how Pedro would tell it. Mary was always inclined to laugh in happier times, loud and deep. For a small moment, he wanted to tell it anyway.
Then, Edward realized that in trying to gather what Mary knew of the Scottish conflict, he had only gone and told her more.
No – this was not a time of peace, nor one of calm. Mary was in direct conflict with the crown. At the very least today, he should try to appeal to her better senses.
“I would urge your Grace to appeal to the king directly,” began Edward, his abrupt change in subject not unnoticed by his company. “Returning to court would show your devotion to him and regime.”
“I think not,” Mary said. “I don’t believe my presence at court is yet needed.” Almost too quiet to hear, she added, “Or missed.”
Edward had seen Mary with her brother since the very day he was born; not only sister and godmother, but in some ways, a mother as well. It would not be easy to remedy the influence Katherine had over the king; their affection has only grown stronger since she married Thomas – but Mary and Edward’s relationship, like the country, was fractured. To see it healed, there needed to be a strong, united voice. One day, that voice would be the king’s, and Mary would have to abdicate her own if she was to keep her wellbeing in mind. If that day would ever come, Edward did not know, for it was the same obstinacy that set Henry VIII into such a fury over a decade ago. Edward could remember him and Thomas exchanging positively amused glances, watching the hulking man turn beet-red and stomp his feet over such a young girl. Then it had become dangerous, and he could see the danger creeping up once more.
In truth, Mary’s leave from court eased some of the trouble off Edward’s shoulders. Yet, in a world of Henry Greys and Thomases and Katherines, Mary’s directness and spine would be a welcome reprieve.
“Do you not miss court?” he heard himself ask.
“You rarely leave court,” countered Mary. “When you do, do you miss it, sir?”
Edward struggled not to show his amusement. “It is an unfortunate necessity.”
Mary smiled, but she couldn’t help but think how it was entirely the Lord Somerset’s choice to step in as Lord Protector. Sought, not earned, she remembered saying to Pedro, and her smile deepened.
“The king has a vision for his kingdom, and as his servants we must abide it.”
“Do you accuse me of hindering our king?”
“No, my lady. I only mean that – ”
“Because I will remind you, it is not I who declares sides or creates division. It is not I who petitions the king against another. I only ask to serve my faith so that I may serve my brother, the king, as well as the many people in this realm who follow the same as I.”
Edward grimaced. This was exactly what he hoped to avoid – what he had hoped the offering of the Queen’s jewels and the release of the Bishop Gardiner would assuage. Exactly what the Princess Elizabeth thought to accomplish in sending such a letter was beyond his comprehension, and nearly undid the little progress he made in visiting Mary and the Spanish Ambassador. Edward did not need the third Tudor sibling deepening the rift between the Princess and the King. Worst of all, Mary was right. It was other players that agitated the situation and threatened to ignite her ire.
“I understand.”
Mary scoffed.
“I do, Princess.” He stepped closer. “As I said before, I assure you that I want to see our country move forward, undivided." Mary's gaze didn't soften, but she didn't turn from him either. "And I believe Edward desires the same.”
Neither of them truly believed that, and it was evident in how they looked at each other. If the situation wasn’t so fraught, Mary thought she would laugh.
“We shall see,” Mary said, unable to offer anything else. They began to walk again, their footsteps falling back into rhythm. The estate was quiet, but there was no true sense of peace in it. The court had found them, even here. They let the silence settle, passing under the barren apple trees that had been so fragrant in the autumn. Edward felt he should say something more – take a more definitive stance, but words failed to come. Mary didn’t fill the quiet with empty chatter or feigned pleasantries, for which he was grateful. By the time they approached the front of the estate, their shoulders brushed with each step.
When she felt the dark fur of Edward’s coat brush against hers, she stole a glance at him. Life under her father had aged him – just as it certainly aged her – but she had always thought him fair to look upon. With snow flecking his red beard and the skin beneath his dark brown eyes, and without the severity of his expressions he so oft wore, she even thought him handsome.
Edward must have felt her staring, for he turned and caught her eye before she looked ahead hurriedly.
“Are you cold, your Grace?”
“No,” Mary assured. “It has just been…a long time.”
Edward didn’t know what exactly she was referring to, but he felt the passage of time acutely. He had bided it as the ulcers wept down King Henry’s legs, and he continued to bide it as King Edward flicked between an overwhelmed child and an increasingly oppressive monarch.
“Yes, it has.” Their steps slowed, and for a moment as they turned to one another, all was still. “It has.”
A strange sense of relief filled Mary’s chest, at being understood without elaboration. They did share a decade of history after all.
The sound of a horse approaching startled them. Upon a black steed was Sir Pedro, who was taken back by the sight of the Princess Mary and the Lord Protector side-by-side in the snow.
The two came up to his horse, where Pedro dismounted and handed the reins to the attendant.
“Ah, the Duke Somerset.”
“Sir Pedro.”
Pedro lowered his head to them both, which conveniently hid his amusement at seeing such high-standing nobles so quickly fawn over a horse. Mary gave the obedient beast a hearty pat.
“Your steed seems well-suited to the cold,” observed Edward, who stood behind Mary.
“More than I can say for myself, I confess. You English are built for this biting air,” Pedro jabbed, as clear and confident as ever. “Though I do not think you would suffer from the Spanish sun, Princess.”
Mary quirked an eyebrow. “I cannot say, sir, for I have never felt it.”
“As a daughter of Katherine of Aragon, I think there is little you could not withstand.”
Mary nodded, her expression entirely soft. Edward’s stare flickered between the two, and he wondered how a mercenary managed to join the princess’ private circle in mere months. It was strangely discomforting, so Edward ignored it. When Pedro met his stare, the warmth in Pedro’s features dissipated. Edward resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It seemed that Pedro had mastered the many faces those at court wore.
As if hearing his thoughts, Pedro asked him, “What brings you to the country, my lord?”
“The Lord Protector was confirming a matter of my father’s will,” Mary answered instead. “It is settled.”
“Yes,” confirmed Edward. “I shall take my leave then, Princess.” He motioned to his attendant to ready his horse.
Unexpectedly, the three began to speak of horse breeds as they waited. Pedro offered insight into the differences between those favoured by the Spaniards and Italians, while Mary and Edward found their knowledge in their steeds greatly overlapped. It was aimless chatter, but a temporary reprieve from what awaited them.
His horse now readied; Edward took his reins in hand. “The king, and those who serve him, hope to see your return to court soon.”
It was a rather empty sentiment, but Mary knew it to be all part of the larger game they lived in.
“May I escort you out of the cold, Princess?” Pedro asked, but with a shiver that said it was just as much for his own comfort as hers. She failed not to grin at his predicament.
She nodded, but just as they made to turn towards the entrance, Mary heard herself call out.
“My lord.”
The Lord Protector turned, surprised.
Mary’s eyes held his. “Thank you. For the jewels. It was considerate of you.”
Edward’s surprise turned thoughtful. “Of course, Princess.”
Mary’s pale features were brightened by her red cheeks and nose, her pale grey eyes almost blue against her windswept hair. She looked healthy, much more than she had when she removed herself from the Christmas masque. Edward didn’t dwell upon why it did, but it gladdened him to see her spirits raised.
Once Edward mounted, he happened to glance back at the castle, where Mary and Sir Pedro walked side by side. As Mary disappeared into the archway, Sir Pedro paused. The knight turned and met Edward’s stare, and Edward did not like what was reflected in his dark eyes. Edward nodded in farewell. Pedro bowed his head and followed Mary inside, his snow-flecked cape draping him like a shadow.
As Edward rode away, something gnawed at his ribs, punctuated by the heavy hooves beneath him. He would expect another message from Pedro in the coming days, and Mary would be none the wiser.
It is in the interests of the realm, Edward told himself. It is in the best interests of the country, of the king, of the new, true faith. Brazingly, Edward thought it may also be in the best interest of Mary – a protection from her constant determination to flaunt her faith, to not bow when it would be so much easier.
By the time Edward was enveloped by Whitehall once more, with Thomas’ ceaseless chatter in one ear and some trivial gossip in the other, Edward was only half-convinced.