1476
"The child had the appearance of a girl, about six months old. Even if Lady Charlotte did not miscarry the child, it did not look like it would have survived. It looked like it had died already, perhaps two or three weeks ago, and she said it stopped kicking about a week ago," Hatteclyffe explained to the disheartened King. He had his qualms about the pregnancy when Charlotte said it stopped kicking, but Hatteclyffe did not want to scare her in case the child really still lived.
"What now?" Edward asked, looking up, trying to hide the tears threatening to fall. At least the child had no hope, so their argument did not cause their child's death, but that did not make accepting the death any easier.
"The Lady Charlotte lost a lot of blood, and it would be best for her to rest for at least a week, absenting herself from court. Then in perhaps six months, you can try again. You are both young enough to have more children," Hatteclyffe reassured him.
"Thank you doctor," Edward replied, dismissing the man so he could go see Charlotte.
When he entered, her ladies curtsied to him but there was a lack of love and more scorn than before in their eyes, as if he caused this! Their baby's death was just waiting to happen, it just choose that time to happen. Most of the ladies, however, had little time to spare to scrutinize their King, as they were washing the bloodied linen from the bed and Charlotte's soiled nightgown.
"Hello mon coeur," Edward began cautiously, approaching her bed carefully.
"I'm not angry with you. Hatteclyffe said it was going to happen anyway. I'm sorry too, we will have to talk more civilly tomorrow about your stepson..." she was cut off.
"No, we won't talk about it tomorrow, not until you are well again," Edward said, holding her pale hand with a weak grip as he climbed onto the bed with her, careful not to jostle her fragile body.
"We have to talk," she murmured.
"But not now," Edward argued softly.
"Are we going to survive this?" Charlotte asked, now pressed to Edward's chest.
This, she thought, such a small word for so much they had to discuss. So much damage and trauma they had chosen to sweep away to the side rather than to deal with it at the moment.
"I think so," Edward exhaled.
She tensed. "You think so?"
"This is another thing to add to what we have survived," he said softly.
"We need to talk about it," Charlotte whispered. "All of it. Everything that has happened. We can't just skirt around the subject anymore."
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"Izzy," Charlotte smiled, seeing her sister and niece in the threshold of her rooms. "Come in, come in."
"Oh, Lottie," Isabel cried, hurrying inside and hugging her. "How are you? Annie and I heard things...the rumors going around say you nearly died."
Charlotte scoffed. "Mere exaggerations. But I did lose quite a bit of blood."
"How are you?"
"Sore," she said honestly. "But Mistress Granger has given me some tonics and salves in order to speed up my recovery."
"I'm glad," her sister smiled. "We are leaving tomorrow, to go back to Warwick Castle."
"I can't say I expected that," Charlotte's eyes widened. "What happened?"
"Well, George's dog died and he's sure he was poisoned by the witch."
"Then, stay in one of our London houses," Charlotte argued. "I've enjoyed us all being close together."
"I can't stay here," Isabel admitted. "I'm with child. I don't want to risk losing another boy, I can't go through that again."
"Then go," she relented. "Go and I'll do my best to be there when your time comes."
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The August breeze barely stirred the air and Elizabeth had to discreetly mop at her brow as she stood on the docks at Dover.
She bitterly regretted her decision to come and greet this particular ship herself and, had it been carrying any other visitor, she might have given up her dockside vigil, retreated inside to the cool of Dover Castle and left Edward to greet its passengers alone, but this was no ordinary ship. It carried in its cabins the Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere, sent all the way from Rome to try the King of England's marriage, her marriage. It was only fitting that such an eminent visitor be greeted with all honor.
And besides, Elizabeth was eager to meet His Eminence away from the pressures of the ecclesiastical court at Westminster. She wanted to gauge the man's personal reaction to Edward's petition before he reached Edward's and Charlotte's sphere of influence at the castle and the trial began in earnest.
Here, with only Edward and their entourages, they were on equal ground. She was conscious that at court, the scales tipped towards Edward, towards Charlotte, against her.
At last, the ship she had been watching sail in to the harbor ground, almost imperceptibly, to a halt and its moorings secured. The gangplank was lowered with an echoing clunk. Almost at once, a tall man with dark, chestnut hair who stood swathed in the red robes of a Cardinal of Rome exited his cabin on the upper deck and swept down towards the shore, halting beside Edward to acknowledge him in a reverent half-bow.
"Your Eminence," Elizabeth breathed.
"Madam," Giuliano extended his hand for Elizabeth to kiss his silver ring.
Elizabeth obediently did so, continuing her address as she straightened. "Welcome to England. We are honored that such a mighty Prince of the Church as yourself has deigned to come and pass judgement upon the suit proffered by my husband, the King."
Elizabeth's voice was calm, but Giuliano, accustomed to reading human behavior, sensed the reluctance with which the Queen uttered the courteous words and the slight recoil that she could not hide as she spoke of the matter that had brought Giuliano to England.
So the rumors are true. Queen Elizabeth truly does think the King has pushed this matter too far; that she is his rightful wife when the rumors about her husband and the Lady Neville have been rife around Europe for years. I wonder what the Lady has to say about the matter...
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Warwick Castle, Warwickshire
December 1476
George stared in horror at the prone figure on the bed, feeling as though he had just stepped into a nightmare. He prayed that his eyes were deceiving him. That any minute now, she would stir and tease him for being so paranoid, for assuming the worst had happened.
But the worst had happened. His eyes were not deceiving him. Isabel, his duchess, his wife, the mother of his children, had left him. She was dead.
He had always told himself that men did not cry, but he could not stop the tears that trickled down his cheeks onto his jaw as he collapsed on his knees, burying his face in his wife's stomach, grabbing her cold hands in his, sobbing and begging.
"You promised. You swore, you would be here for me. Please don't go, please don't leave me. I'll do everything. Please don't leave me," he implored her, despite knowing it was too late.
First his father and brother, then his son, now Isabel. How many of his loved ones was George destined to lose? He couldn't bear it. It was too much pain.
Who was next?
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She wanted him to be rough. She wanted him to give it his all, but Edward always had his own mind.
Instead, her lover was gentle. He kissed at her cheeks as she cried silently and she could feel his own tears drop down his nose and splash onto her skin when he kissed her neck, bringing her legs up around his hips as she felt his growing hardness against her center. He didn't grip her tightly enough to leave bruises, instead soothing her tense muscles, readying her until he simply pushed inside her, finding little resistance, and began to roll his hips into hers.
He grunted into her neck and she could feel the warm tears pool against her collarbone as he held her tightly and tenderly all at once.
She wanted to hate him.
It hurt all the more to love him.
Charlotte cried out as he brought her to her peak and he shuddered as he spilled inside her.
She prayed that the Holy Mother would give her another child, another girl to help fill the void left by her sister and child.