An Endless Supply Of Rubies

As It Should Be

Charles had written separately to tell her of a woman he met, Brigitte, and how she had called the King "the English Nero." He said that he had kept her prisoner for a time, but released her when the battle was over. She reminded him of her, he said, which just made him want to get home all the sooner.

29 September 1544

"How did you find France?" Amelia asked. Her husband lounged on the bed, goblet of wine in hand, watching her as she brushed her hair in the mirror.

Through the reflection of the mirror, their eyes met. "It was beautiful, but not as beautiful as you," Charles replied. "France was much colder, much less welcoming, much less kind."

She turned to face him, a smile on her face. "I'm very happy that you're home, Charles," she said softly, taking a few steps towards him. She paused when he broke eye contact to look down at his glass. "What are you thinking?"

He smiled as she sat down next to him. "That I was dead in France, but am alive again," he responded. There was a pause, where they simply smiled at each other. "Let me look at you," he said softly.

Confused, Amelia rose to her feet and took a few steps back. Unsure of what to do, she simply twirled in her nightdress, a giggle falling from her lips. After she had turned, she looked back to her husband, who was simply staring at her. "Say something, Charles," she urged.

"That's unimportant," he replied.

Smiling still, Amelia sat back down on the bed, one hand reaching out to stroke her husband's face. "I am so glad that you are alright," she whispered. "We prayed daily for your safe return, and praise God that you are home."

"There's no place I'd rather be," Charles stated, kissing his wife gently.

30 September 1544

There was a celebration held for the King's victory at Bologne, and most of the English nobility was invited. Amelia found herself greeting most of the people who passed by, a smile plastered on her face that eventually made her cheeks hurt.

When she felt that she could no longer take it, she ducked behind a tapestry, sighing deeply as soon as she was away from the crowd.

"Duchess," someone said. "How are you?"

She turned to see Thomas Seymour standing next to her. "Forgive me, My Lord, I did not see you standing there," she replied. "I am doing well, just a little tired, is all. How are you?"

"I'm doing rather well, I suppose," Thomas responded. "I fear though that I may be off to Brussels soon. His Majesty is still keen on having me as the ambassador to the Low Countries. How is your husband? I heard he was ill."

Amelia looked at him with confusion. "Ill, My Lord?" she asked. "I think you have my husband confused with someone else. His Grace is of perfect health."

"But what if he were?" Thomas pressed, taking a step closer.

"I apologize, My Lord, but I do not understand what you wish for me to say," Amelia stated calmly, taking a step away.

"I think you do," Thomas pressed, stepping closer once again.

"No, I do not," Amelia insisted. "I must bid you farewell, My Lord."

As she slipped away, Thomas mentally kicked himself. The Duke of Suffolk was getting older, as was the King. Once they were both out of the way, the entire kingdom, maybe even the entirety of Europe would be scrambling for Amelia's hand. Whomever controlled Amelia would control the Prince, since the Prince looked to Amelia as a mother.

Thomas wanted to be the one in control. It would be one step over his older brother, at least. While Edward was an Earl, Thomas was only a Baron.

After her married Amelia, he would be a Prince.

Henry Howard watched as Amelia emerged from behind the tapestry, a confused expression on her face as she straightened her skirt. She was beautiful, he would give her that. She was regal and refined, much like Queen Catherin. Her daughters would likely be just like her. It was Henry's intention to have one of the Brandon girls married to one of his sons.

"Duchess," Henry called, making his way towards her. "It is a delight to see you at court."

"Thank you, My Lord," the startled woman replied. "I congratulate you on your victories during the campaign in Bologne."

"Thank you kindly, My Lady," Henry said. "Tell me, how is your husband? I have not seen him since our return from war. Is he well?"

She looked at him strangely. "Of course, My Lord," she responded. "In fact, he is standing right over there, having a conversation with the Lady Mary. How is your wife, My Lord? It has been a while since I have seen her at court."

"Frances is doing well," Henry responded. "In fact, she is home with our children right now. I'm not sure if your husband spoke to you, but I would quite like to see a union between our two families through our children."

Amelia's jaw dropped, and she was unable to think of what to say. Henry had caught her off guard. First, Thomas Seymour, then Henry Howard. What was happening?

"Duchess, a word?" a familiar voice asked. Both Amelia and Henry turned to see Edward Seymour standing a short distance away.

Henry cursed the older man for calling the Duchess away. He was a man of vile birth, and had no right to call the woman by such a familiar term, as he was allowed.

"Remember," Henry whispered into Amelia's ear as she went to leave, gripping her arm as he spoke. "I am the lion, he is a wolf."

Amelia simply shrugged off the Earl's arm, and walked quickly over to Edward.

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking at her with concern. "You look as though you've seen a spirit."

Amelia shook her head. "I've simply had some strange encounters today, that is all," she replied. "You wanted to speak to me, My Lord?"

"Yes," Edward said. "I wanted to ask after both the Prince and my own son. I have not been able to visit since I returned from France, and I am anxious to hear news of them."

Amelia smiled. "Prince Edward is doing just fine," she said. "He recovered marvelously from his illness, and he is soon to start learning more from his tutors. I believe he is excited. Thomas and Nicholas are getting along splendidly, and they make quite the pair. I do not believe that I have ever had to chase children as much as I have had to chase them."

"But he is healthy?" Edward pressed.

"Yes, very much so," Amelia replied. "You should be very proud of him, My Lord."

"Thank you, My Lady," Edward said. "I'm not quite sure what I would have done without you."

In truth, he really wasn't sure. He could not think of any other woman that he would want raising his son, save for his own wife. Edward watched as Amelia returned to her husband's side, a smile appearing on the older man's face as she approached.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" his brother asked, appearing beside him.

Edward turned to give his brother a confused look. "You mean Amelia?" he asked.

Thomas nodded. "Just think, if we had been in the King's favor when she had returned from Denmark, perhaps one of us would be married to her now," he said. "The Duke of Suffolk is getting very old, brother, and I fear that he may soon be taken from us. And when that happens, I will be at his widow's side, offering her comfort."

Edward gave his brother a stern look. "Be careful of what you say, brother," Edward said in a low voice. "Some might start to believe that you intend to marry the Lady Amelia."

"And some might be correct," Thomas replied.

Edward took a moment to process what his brother had said. Marry the widow of the Duke and the daughter of the King? That would make Amelia little more than a pawn. Additionally, whomever she married would help to raise his infant son. Edward personally did not believe that his brother would make a good parent. On top of that, he believed that Thomas would not make Amelia happy. After all, that is all the Edward wanted to see, although he could not explain exactly why he felt that way.