The Lancastrian Queen

Chapter 1

She knew there had been more decisive and dramatic moments in her life before, moments she had faced gracefully; but none of them seemed even slightly close to what Princess Marguerite d’Anjou had to face that minute, sitting in her father’s office in Tarascona. Her mother, Queen Isabella, gently touched her soft hand. “Do not worry so much.”

“They have been there for hours.” The princess replied, impatiently. “I thought it would be quick.”

“A marriage contract is not done quickly, Marguerite, especially when the groom is the King of England.”

Marguerite looked down, resting her hands on her lap and nervously twisting them. “Does he want to marry me?” She asked, as the foolishly fifteen year old girl she was.

“Of course he does,” the Queen assured her. “Why would he not?”

“He does not know me, maman.” It was her shy answer. “What if he does not like me?”

“He will like you. He likes you already. This marriage will bring a great joy to us all, it will seal the peace between England and France. You should be proud.”

“I am proud.” Marguerite rushed to say. “And very honored. But how can I know he is to like me?”

The Queen sighed, and took Marguerite’s hands inside hers. “Marguerite, do not be so concerned. You are a beautiful and clever princess, and you will be much loved. Your arrival will be a great party in England. Everyone will be waiting for you, and will love you. Your marriage will be blessed, and you will be happy.”

“How can you know?” The princess asked, fascinated by the intensity of her mother’s glare. Queen Isabella had always been a passionate woman when the matter was something she wholeheartedly believed in.

“This is how it happens. We have arranged quite a marriage for you. Henry of England, they say, is a handsome young man, and very kind and pious. He is not a violent, selfish ruler. He will like you and will treat you well. With time, you both will grow fonder of each other as you get to know him better, and he gets to know you. Just do your duty and be yourself.”

Marguerite nodded, feeling a little more comforted. Indeed, it was quite a marriage. King Henry of England! For a long time England and France would war against each other, causing great losses for both parts, but none of that would happen anymore; because she, Marguerite d’Anjou, was the French princess chosen to seal that peace treaty. She, Marguerite, would be Queen of England, and she would keep France’s interests in heart. Everyone would be happy, everything would be alright. Her life would be everything she could possibly wish for.

At first, she could barely believe her luck. Her father, King René of Naples, was hardly a powerful ruler. He had inherited empty lands, dukedoms disputed by more powerful rulers. The ambitious Duke of Burgundy, Phillip, had taken that loving father from his longing children for long years. Her mother had bravely sent her troops to rescue her husband, handled everything during his absence and tried to negotiate with the Duke. After all, she was the Duchess of Lorraine by right, and she knew how to fight for a cause. Little Princess Marguerite saw her elder sister Yolande being sent away to live with her enemy’s family, for she was to marry their son and seal peace among families. Her own brothers were negotiated to release King René from Burgundy. And after five years, they won.

There was almost no prospect of a great marriage to a second daughter of King René of Naples, not after so many unfortunate events. But Marguerite was also the niece of King Charles VII of France. And he had chosen her to be the one to become Queen. That thought primarily made Marguerite very proud, but also made her wonder why the King of France would send her instead of one of his own daughters. Surely, he could arrange his daughter Jeanne, that pale little thing, to marry King Henry, that would have made more sense, even though Jeanne was only ten years of age. Perhaps they would have to wait two or three years until the marriage. But, Marguerite thought, perhaps that was exactly the reason why she was chosen: a fifteen year old princess of France, beautiful and ready to marry. A blossom in the middle of the Spring, ready to light up the season. And, as far as she had heard, King Henry himself had requested her to be his bride! At the thought of that, Princess Marguerite felt her face warming with female pride.

“Is it over already?” She asked, impatiently, although she knew the answer.

“Marguerite, patience is a virtue,” Her mother replied, tapping her hand. “Learn to nurture it.”

“I cannot bear with curiosity! You know how much I hate waiting!” The princess stood up and started to walk nervously in circles around the room, as she always did when she was contradicted or felt anxious. “I do not like waiting!”

“Well, I am sorry, Marguerite. Sometimes all we can do is waiting. We cannot rush what we cannot control.”

Marguerite seemed as if she was ready to give a petulant reply, but before she had the chance to, the doors of the room opened, and King René entered, a big smile on his face giving away the result of the long meeting.

“It is done, Marguerite.” He said. “You are to marry King Henry of England. You are the Queen of England in waiting now. I congratulate you, daughter.”

Marguerite released the air in her lungs, feeling her whole body being filled with a hot wave of excitement and joy. The contract had been signed; she would be Queen of England.

“It was worth the wait, I see!” Queen Isabella smiled, satisfied.

“Now, celebrate, Marguerite. Your mother and I have a few things to discuss.”

Marguerite curtseyed, beaming with joy, barely hiding her immense happiness. She left the room nearly dancing. It had been done; nothing could possibly upset or bother her. Finally, she could tell her pretty reflection in the silver mirror at nights: 'I am to be Queen of England!'