To Catch A King

Chapter 18: Culpepper

Chapter Eighteen - Culpepper

Greenwich Palace
November 1540

It is very difficult to describe Henry's reaction when I told him that I had been mistaken, that I was not with child. He was not angry - I believe that he cares for me too much to have shouted or thrown a fit - but he was hurt. For a moment earlier that day, I had relived him of all of his worries at once: the line of succession was going to be safe once I provided him with a second son, our union was clearly blessed, and nothing in the world really mattered to him except that I was with child.

But now, nothing.

There is no life or spark in those blue eyes when he looks at me. The adoration still remains, but not the faith.

I find it hard to explain. Henry is not angry with me, not blaming me - at least, not overtly - and he is not crying or shouting at me. And yet, amongst all of this seemingly positive emotion, there is a silence between us which is killing me. He does not speak of my mistake, acts as if it had never happened at all. At times like this, ignoring the issue can be the worst thing to do. The King still smiles at me, still holds me and seems to take pride in me, but I cannot help but feel that it is all a pretence. He is disappointed. No longer am I the young bride that promised him so much life, I am simply another wife who cannot provide for him.

As for my own emotion, I too find it hard to define. I am embarrassed, of course, at having gotten my hopes up so quickly only to be proved wrong - I should have listened to Jane, should have taken her advice. But above all, I am so very frustrated.
Why can I not conceive? What is it that I am doing wrong?
Henry, as much as I think he tries, does not understand this and does not realise how hard I am trying. And now he has the nerve to change how he is with me - albeit very subtly - and not appreciate me quite as much as before.

Currently, we are both sat at the end of the main hall, watching a show which has been especially designed for us. I have a suspicion that it was originally commissioned, by Henry, to celebrate my pregnancy but was changed when he found out the truth. Now it is simply just a comedy, but I do not find it very funny.

Henry is laughing lightly at the play, his chin resting on his hand, his fingers brushing over his stubble with the absentmindedness of a dreamer. Leaning over to his throne, I rest my hand on his arm.
"Isn't this wonderful, my dear?" I try to sound as enthusiastic as I can.
"Mhmm." Henry grunts in response, projecting that very subtle iciness which I witnessed in his daughter, Mary.
"We should commission more of these in the future."
"Perhaps."
I sit back and try to conceal my anger. This man can be impossible at times. But, as ever, I must remain placid and happy on the outside. I seem to have given out the impression that I am an over-joyous girl oblivious to the cruelty of the world, and I must keep it that way if I am to protect myself from reality. After all, let us not forget that the eyes of the court are constantly upon me.

I survey the court quickly, nobody seems particularly different: they are all engrossed in the performance. Once again, I turn to look at the King, at least he seems happy right now.

But, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of another figure. This mystery is standing behind the King, as if waiting on him. I have heard about Henry's new courtier, and how well they get on, but up until now I hadn't seen the man. At least, I didn't realise that I had...

That face is one that I would recognise anywhere: the smooth pale skin contrasting with dark hair and stubble, brown feline eyes glimmering in the light. A spectre from a dream, from my childhood. Our eyes make contact.

I know you.

His eyes smile at me, the corner of his mouth twitching as we both remember. Thomas Culpepper. A relation of mine that I have not seen for many years now has returned to my life. That handsome face, devilish smile and smooth countenance have me hooked all over again.

I force myself to tear my eyes away from Culpepper. If anyone should see us exchanging secret glances, they would automatically assume the worst. That cannot and will not ever happen; after all that my family has risked over the past few months to get me to where I am now, the least that I can do is not let myself I get distracted by others. But he is so handsome, and it is so difficult to forget him now. One look, no more. I turn my head slightly, allowing myself the privilege of one last glance only to find Culpepper looking straight at me, that devilish smile back again.

Oh my, what have I gotten myself into?