Read Online Reluctant Queen: Tudor Historical Novel About Mary Rose Tudor, the Defiant Little Sister of King Henry VIII by Geraldine Evans - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Geraldine Evans
Tags: Biographical, Biographical fiction, Historical fiction, Historical, Literature & Fiction, kindle, British, Genre Fiction, Geraldine Evans, tudor historical novel, tudor fiction, multi published author, reluctant queen, mary rose tudor, literature fiction historical biographical, fictional biography
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even more. Now Mary, too, was learning that she had the gift of pleasing the people. It was a heady gift.
Surrounded by her jostling new subjects, she rode through the Porte Marcade and down the Chausée. Francis told her the name of each location and pointed out the tapestries which hung down from every available pole and window, billowing in the breeze. He explained the intricacies of the mystery plays that were enacted on every corner, leaning close beside her so she could hear above the noise.
They arrived at the Church of St Wolfran, the patron saint of the town and Mary dismounted to give thanks. She went once more through the noisily shouting populace and she and her ladies were at last conducted to their lodgings, where Mary met the fifteen-year-old Madam Claude, Francis’ wife and King Louis’ eldest daughter. With difficulty, Claude, who was very fat, sank into a deep courtesy. Claude’s pallor reminded Mary that she had but recently risen from her sick-bed and she bade her rise and commiserated with her over the recent loss of her mother. Gently, she chided the wan face before her. ‘You should really have remained in bed. We could have greeted one another just the same.’ Mary studied the girl’s white face with concern. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling quite well?’
Francis interposed. ‘She could not remain in bed whilst your Majesty attended on her. It wouldn’t be right.’
Mary was saddened to note that Francis’ young wife received none of the gallantry he had shown her. Clearly, this was no love match, at least not on Francis’ side, though poor Claude’s sad gaze seemed to follow her husband about with mute adoration. But Mary couldn’t expect the tall, elegant and witty Francis to adore his frumpy little wife even though she would, in time, bring him great riches.
As though he sensed Mary’s thoughts and wanted her to think well of him, with every appearance of husbandly solicitude, Francis enquired of Claude, ‘You’re well enough now, Claude, are you not?’
‘Yes, my lord. Francis is right, Your Grace,’ she told Mary. ‘It would not be seemly for me to abide in bed for your greeting. My father would be most displeased.’
However strongly-felt was her desire to please her father, her desire to please Francis was clearly even stronger. Mary wondered what heartbreak lay in store for the crippled and vulnerable Claude. ‘Even so, she said gently, ‘you must take care of your health. You do not want to be unwell for the ceremonies.’ These would be an ordeal and would tax the resources of the strongest, Mary knew. She turned back to Francis and asked, ‘Do we bide here for a while, my lord?’
Thankfully, Francis confirmed it. ‘Yes, you may rest for a few hours,’ he told her. ‘You must be fresh for the night’s dancing. I intend to claim a lot of dances.’
Mary laughed and turned to Claude, ‘Your husband is very gallant, is he not, Claude?’ She called to mind her own gouty and black-toothed husband, and added enviously, ‘You are fortunate to have such an entertaining husband.’
‘Yes, Madam,’ Claude answered uncertainly.
‘Oh Claude doesn’t find me amusing at all,’ Francis told Mary. ‘She thinks I am wicked and blasphemous. Claude is very religious,’ he explained to Mary. ‘And spends a lot of time on her knees—doubtless praying for me.’
Mary smiled. Francis certainly offered light relief after thoughts of Louis. She had but a few days before she must endure more than sickening kisses from her husband. Her sad thoughts must have shown on her face, for Francis was instantly attentive.
‘Such sad looks, my pretty Mother. Why so?’
Unable to explain they were caused by distaste for her husband, Mary merely smiled. But even the demands of diplomacy allowed a young girl a few pangs of homesickness and she was able to excuse her sad looks by expressing wonder as to whether she would ever see England again.
‘We must make her forget that
Surrounded by her jostling new subjects, she rode through the Porte Marcade and down the Chausée. Francis told her the name of each location and pointed out the tapestries which hung down from every available pole and window, billowing in the breeze. He explained the intricacies of the mystery plays that were enacted on every corner, leaning close beside her so she could hear above the noise.
They arrived at the Church of St Wolfran, the patron saint of the town and Mary dismounted to give thanks. She went once more through the noisily shouting populace and she and her ladies were at last conducted to their lodgings, where Mary met the fifteen-year-old Madam Claude, Francis’ wife and King Louis’ eldest daughter. With difficulty, Claude, who was very fat, sank into a deep courtesy. Claude’s pallor reminded Mary that she had but recently risen from her sick-bed and she bade her rise and commiserated with her over the recent loss of her mother. Gently, she chided the wan face before her. ‘You should really have remained in bed. We could have greeted one another just the same.’ Mary studied the girl’s white face with concern. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling quite well?’
Francis interposed. ‘She could not remain in bed whilst your Majesty attended on her. It wouldn’t be right.’
Mary was saddened to note that Francis’ young wife received none of the gallantry he had shown her. Clearly, this was no love match, at least not on Francis’ side, though poor Claude’s sad gaze seemed to follow her husband about with mute adoration. But Mary couldn’t expect the tall, elegant and witty Francis to adore his frumpy little wife even though she would, in time, bring him great riches.
As though he sensed Mary’s thoughts and wanted her to think well of him, with every appearance of husbandly solicitude, Francis enquired of Claude, ‘You’re well enough now, Claude, are you not?’
‘Yes, my lord. Francis is right, Your Grace,’ she told Mary. ‘It would not be seemly for me to abide in bed for your greeting. My father would be most displeased.’
However strongly-felt was her desire to please her father, her desire to please Francis was clearly even stronger. Mary wondered what heartbreak lay in store for the crippled and vulnerable Claude. ‘Even so, she said gently, ‘you must take care of your health. You do not want to be unwell for the ceremonies.’ These would be an ordeal and would tax the resources of the strongest, Mary knew. She turned back to Francis and asked, ‘Do we bide here for a while, my lord?’
Thankfully, Francis confirmed it. ‘Yes, you may rest for a few hours,’ he told her. ‘You must be fresh for the night’s dancing. I intend to claim a lot of dances.’
Mary laughed and turned to Claude, ‘Your husband is very gallant, is he not, Claude?’ She called to mind her own gouty and black-toothed husband, and added enviously, ‘You are fortunate to have such an entertaining husband.’
‘Yes, Madam,’ Claude answered uncertainly.
‘Oh Claude doesn’t find me amusing at all,’ Francis told Mary. ‘She thinks I am wicked and blasphemous. Claude is very religious,’ he explained to Mary. ‘And spends a lot of time on her knees—doubtless praying for me.’
Mary smiled. Francis certainly offered light relief after thoughts of Louis. She had but a few days before she must endure more than sickening kisses from her husband. Her sad thoughts must have shown on her face, for Francis was instantly attentive.
‘Such sad looks, my pretty Mother. Why so?’
Unable to explain they were caused by distaste for her husband, Mary merely smiled. But even the demands of diplomacy allowed a young girl a few pangs of homesickness and she was able to excuse her sad looks by expressing wonder as to whether she would ever see England again.
‘We must make her forget that
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