Tudor Rose

v. charity and pride

"Master Pride," I said, "Would you care to dance?"

"Of course I would... Anna." He winked at me, smiling mischievously.

The music began, a lively, spirited tune. Dancing beside Henry and I were Mary and Charles Brandon, Beauty and Lust respectively, and Isabell and Master Sloth. I didn't care enough to try to decipher who was dressed as Sloth, I only cared that Isabell was with someone other than my husband. 

"I'm sorry about the alliance," I said quietly, "You were right about Francis backing out of it. Perhaps in the future we can approach the prospect of an alliance with them again."

"Yes, perhaps," Henry agreed halfheartedly. I could tell he wasn't interested in discussing the French.

"Have you found any matches for Katherine?" I asked, directing the conversation away from Anne's failed engagement.

"Actually, I have." Henry smiled, and I perked up immediately. 

"Who is it?" I questioned eagerly, "Is it someone I've met?"

"No, I don't believe you've met the family," Henry answered, "The boy's name is James Whitewood, the future Duke of Wessex. Born the same year as Katherine, only four months older if I remember correctly. His grandfather rose to prominence during the Wars of the Roses. James will be the third Duke of Wessex."

"And the King of England, if he ends up marrying Kate," I added, a satisfied smile on my face. If Katherine was betrothed to James, then Henry would have a male heir of sorts. "Bring the Whitewood family to court. It is only proper that we meet them before seriously entertaining the idea."

"I've met them, Anna," he reminded me, "They're good people. Devoted to England, not too greedy."

"Oh, how good," I said cheerfully. 

We glided around the room gracefully, dancing elegantly along with the other twelve people. Quite a marvelous scene, I thought. It was definitely a pretty dance, and easy, too. Dancing was not my specialty, so dances catered towards the less coordinated and graceful always relieved my anxieties.  

"The oldest Whitewood child is nineteen," Henry said abruptly, clearly stuck on that topic, "Her name is Rebecca. Would you like to make her one of your ladies?"

I nodded, a bit reluctantly. "What is she like?"

"She's a sweet girl, good-tempered, too," he answered, "She would be a good companion, I think. She even acted as a nurse of sorts for our wounded during the border dispute."

"I can't wait to meet them, especially Rebecca. I'll summon the Whitewood family in the morning," I decided.

Henry smiled at me. For the first time in quite some time, we were completely happy. Not a thing was standing in the way of our happiness. Except Isabell, I thought, remembering the spectacle Isabell was making of herself. It was a poor decision on her behalf, though it was hard to deny the king things he wanted. I married him because I was too scared to say no, so perhaps, a small, sensible part of my mind whispered, Isabell felt pressured to participate in the affair. Of course, there was only one way to know for sure. I needed to confront Isabell. Sure, it was risky and came with the possibility of severe consequences but I had to know. For a time, Isabell and I were friends. I couldn't stand not knowing what was happening with our friendship.

The dance lasted about five more minutes, no more than that. Masks were removed. I was criminally underwhelmed at the reveal of my partner, not that I minded. The masque was to be followed by a banquet, which left me only a few moments to speak with Isabell. I strode over to her purposefully, and grabbed her wrist. I pulled her aside, turning a corner so that we were alone. The party progressed, and she looked thoroughly disappointed that she was missing it. However disappointed she may have been, I was her mistress and she couldn't express that outright. I knew, though. Her expression gave it away, like she wasn't even attempting in the slightest to hide it.