Copyright©2016
Imitation may be the best form of flattery, but please don't steal my work. Plagiarism is NOT COOL.
This book was inspired by a Wattpad novel "Bound to obey and serve " by Azaria Frost (Tudor Princess). She's a really good writer, you should check out her work.
I dedicate this story to her, whose story reminded me that Jane Seymour was a woman with a story as worth telling as those of the other mostly unfortunate Tudor wives.
NOVEMBER 1524
I gathered my cape about me as I walked through the palace garden. 'Twas a harsh winter this year; my mother remarked that it was an evil omen, that God was sending us a warning. If the King continued to with that Boleyn girl...
I looked about me furtively. There was nothing but frost covered hedges, but I was still afraid that I was being watched. My family, the Seymours, were greatly disliked by the Howards, Mary Boleyn's kin. We were rivals for power at court, and if Mary continued to rise in favour as she was doing... It would not bode well for the House of Seymour.
Everyone knew of the great Boleyn and Howard ambition. They had established Mary, the younger Boleyn girl, as the King's mistress. I scoffed. Everyone knew Mary to be a whore. King Francis of France had called her "his English Mare" because he "rode her often. " Her marriage to William Carey, a handsome, promising young man had not changed her at all. In fact, she had grown more promiscuous and flirtatious.
I tutted in annoyance that such a loose and godless woman should be so beautiful. Mary had long golden hair that she made sure was quite visible by pushing her decadent French hood as far back as she dared. She had the most beautiful hazel colored eyes that gleamed with the unending Howard greed every time she flirted with one of the many handsome young men at court, or any time she won at gambling, or whenever she was given a costly gift by the King who no longer shared a bed with his wife because of her. Her lips were always plump and lush, she used some herbal extract on them that I wish she would share with us. Her waist, even after childbirth, was as slender as ever.
A whore with the body of a muse.
Mary Boleyn was not going to last in the King's bed, I was sure. She had done well so far with her French tricks, but she was an easy woman. And he had had more than his fair share of easy women.
I rubbed my hands together; despite my beautiful bejeweled velvet gloves that I had won in gambling from Elizabeth Bryan I was still cold.
Mary Boleyn had borne the King a child, a bonny daughter who was named Catherine, I bet as an insult to the Queen. A bastard girl who the King would not recognize, yes, but Mary had proven her fertility. And there was nothing the King desired more than a fertile woman to warm his bed.
But there was yet hope. Bessie Blount had been his favourite, and she gave him a son. Yet he discarded her like a filthy cloth after he was finished with her and did not think twice of it.
I gathered my furs about me tightly. It was better that I stayed out there in the cold than to go inside and face my father's quick temper, which had grown even quicker when he had learnt that Thomas Boleyn had been made a Viscount while he remained a Knight.
The Boleyns looked most likely to win this battle.
JUNE 1525.
"Has the King gone mad? " I exclaimed.
"Hush! " My mother rebuked. My sister Lizzie and sister in law Ann Stanhope both stared at me, and I was sure the wide eyed shock on their faces reflected mine. We were in Queen Catherine's chamber, helping her sew a large tapestry. A few of the other ladies in waiting stared at us inquisitively. Mary Boleyn and her sister in law Jane Parker looked at us suspiciously, and upon noticing this I went back to sewing as quickly as I could. We could not have the Boleyns suspecting us of anything, especially as their star was on so a fast rise.
