WINTER 1565
As I step off the small boat onto the deepest green grass that covers the palace's grounds i get the sense that i am finally and truly home. after years of being away, studying in the courts around the world, dancing to different rhythms, talking in different foreign langue, reading massive books in Spain, covering my face in veils and rejoicing in the fresh fruits and sweet words of Spanish, to flirting as much as one breaths in the French courts, hunting, masque, walking barefoot, holding up my many skirts along the cool shores, looking across the waves and endless seas, wishing I were back in England. Back home. Now as I stroll slowly through paths of the palace I wave to the boat man as he pushes down the river, catching a current to go to London. I see his gleaming smile and can't help but laugh. He couldn’t imagine my unbelievable joy of being back to my court. I look up at the beautiful clusters of buildings and towers of King James's favorite palace. sitting only miles up the river to another breath taking castle, Richmond Palace. I stride faster as I see figures strolling about, delicate pale hands tucked into strong arms belonging to handsome men and boys alike. I don't wait for the many servants hailing my things out of the boat that has just docked, I just need to be surrounded by the place and people I had left when I was merely a small whisper of a girl of thirteen, now only returning as a strong woman of sixteen.
I catch many eyes as I come around to the front of the great big palace, the lake a little ways away, sitting in a great big teardrop in the front of the palace and in front of the clusters of woods. I take a great big breath of the clean moist air, hugging my furs closer to me. it was a chilling winter, but in a matter of weeks, spring will be upon the courts, furs will be packed away, big thick dresses and gowns, long wool skirts, gloves and thick stockings will be shredded, a spring of colors and wading in the sallow part of the lake will welcome us.
"Little Rose?" I turn to my old nickname, smiling, but head held high and hands clasp in front of me. a pose of dignity that I had learned in Spain. I look over the older woman in one sweep. her soft brown eyes and pale composer, thicker body but still a beauty, is familiar. I try my hardest to gasp a name and after a second of struggle I have it. I beam.
"Joan!" I say warmly to the woman who had been one of my closes friend when we were children but who had been sent to the French court before our ninth birthday. we embrace and find that we are giggling like little silly girls. "My you are quiet beauty" I explain truthfully. at first glance she is pretty, up close one can admire the gold flecks in her eyes, flawless pale skin, delicate bone stutter and a sturdy body, good for childbirth, sure that many men have lusted after her as well.
"I truly feel quite plan and ugly standing next to you little Rose!" she beams. I squirm uncomfortable with her open brown eyes, suddenly narrow as she takes me in slowly.
"When did you get back?" I ask, taking her arm and walking towards the palace doors, needing the narrowness of her eyes on me to fade.
"A few months ago, when my father arrange a marriage. I am now Joan Wyatt, owner of two great house in the country, a farm and a town house in London. once my father in law dies then I will gain even more and a great pension as well." I am stun by the wellness of her marriage. not even eighteen and already married to what was almost a duke. I smile and congregate her. asking her questions of her husband and her marriage. "Oh Rose it is a dream, truly, he is so handsome and gentle, I am completely in love with him and he with me. some days we don’t even get out of bed until far after dinner, when the king final tracts us down and orders Charles to his side." I can't help smiling at her face taking on a glow and soft blush, making her even more lovely as she talks of her husband and marriage. giggling as she talks softly of being in bed, in his arms, as he whisper the most sweetest things in her ear. my homecoming joy is dimmed by the thought of someone so happy and in love, while I was alone, with no marriage in sight. since my father's death, and my mother's before it is left not to my uncle but to the king, who I sometimes think of as my father. he is the one that had sent me away when I was all but thirteen, making my vogue to Spain, France, Germany, Scotland and back to Spain, until I have finally come home. after being at some many courts and so many palaces and castle, grand in different ways, beautiful in so many aspects. by sending me away he wanted to me to gain, knowledge of the different cultures, languages, pride and modesty from Spain, charm and joy from France, strength and endurance, duty and devotion in Germany, peace and growth in Scotland. But my roots are here, in England. with my court, friends, family, blood or no blood.
